Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

F rances sat in her parlor, rolling her tired ankles under her dress. She couldn't remember the last time she walked that much at a garden party. Talking to people was exhausting. Maybe Thomas was onto something by intimidating everyone from talking to him.

She did have fun, though. It was exhilarating to be part of conversations instead of flittering around them. Still, even though she enjoyed herself, a small part of her felt at a loss.

"Miss Frances?" Dorothy entered the room. "Lord Gloushire is here to see you."

Frances sat up. "Oh, I almost forgot. Yes, of course, let him in."

Lord Gloushire entered behind Dorothy, who now stood near the window.

"Lord Gloushire, so good to see you." Frances rose at his appearance.

He crossed the room and sat in a chair across from her. "I hope I'm not interrupting your day," He said.

Frances waved him off. "I'm about to go to visit Jenny later this morning, but I have some time before then. Would you like some tea?" She signaled to Dorothy to pour a cup.

"No, thank you, Miss Frances. I'm on my way to attend to some business, but I knew your house was en route, so I wanted to stop by."

Frances chewed her bottom lip. He seemed nervous. She could tell he was trying to sound nonchalant, but his fingers were tapping on his knee while the other bounced.

"Forgive me if this feels as though it is coming out of the blue, but I have a proposition to make."

"Oh," Frances squeaked.

"I know we only just met, but I think we got along smashingly, don't you?" Gloushire reached up and tugged on his cravat.

Frances barely managed to express her agreement when he continued, "And there's no point in dragging things out when we can both help each other."

Frances swallowed. Why is it hot in here all of a sudden? "Help each other?" Her eyes flew to Dorothy for guidance.

"Yes. I hate to be forward, but I know of your father's unfortunate business deal that fell through. I can help you."

Frances' eyes opened wide. Oh no. He wasn't about to do what she thought he was going to do.

"Marry me." The words rushed out as one word.

He absolutely did it. No. She couldn't possibly be hearing this correctly. "E-excuse me?" Frances brought her hand to her thudding heart. Good heavens, she was going to faint. She was actually going to faint.

"Miss Frances, are you all right?" Dorothy came running to her. "Here. Drink this water." Dorothy stood between her and the now-standing Viscount. She shoved a cold glass into Frances' gloved hand. Her big, rounded eyes spoke volumes. She was just as shocked as Frances was.

"Thank you, Dorothy. I'm fine now. It is just a bit warm in here, isn't it?"

"Yes, Miss, it is. I'll open the window right away." Dorothy scooted over to the window and pushed it open. The gentle breeze did nothing to cool Frances.

"I'm sorry, Miss Frances, I didn't mean to startle you." Lord Gloushire offered his handkerchief to her.

"I must admit, the suddenness of your proposal surprised me." She blotted at the sweat beading around her temple.

Lord Gloushire sat next to her. "I wanted to speak with you before you went Duke Pilton's."

"You knew I was going to there today?" Frances looked back at Dorothy, who shrugged her shoulders just as baffled by his admission as she was.

"Yes." He stood and paced in front of her. "I'm doing this all wrong. There is word around town that he's fond of you."

Frances groaned into her water glass. If she heard that one more time, she was going to scream. "I think you mis?—"

"I have not. Whether it's true or not holds no consequence to me. I like you, Miss Frances. I think you like me. We paired well yesterday, to that you agreed. I could help offset some of your father's missteps, and in turn, well, I'm not sure how else to put this, but my children need a mother, and I think you would be the perfect fit."

No amount of etiquette training could school Frances' current facial expression. "A mother? Me?" She could feel a laugh bubble up within her, and she willed it back down. Laughing in the face of a viscount was frowned upon.

"I know. I just laid a lot at your feet, but all I'm asking is that you consider it. Nothing has to be announced; we can take our time if you'd like."

Frances toyed with the handkerchief in her hand and fumbled with her words; nothing seemed like the appropriate response. "All right, Lord Gloushire. I will think on it." There. That should suffice for now. Absently, she tucked the handkerchief into the pocket of her dress.

He smiled and exhaled a breath. He offered her his hand, and she stood. "Thank you, Miss Frances. I promise, if you choose me, you and your father will be taken care of. We could be happy. Plus…" He pulled her in closer to whisper. "… you could save me from all the warring insects out to destroy me," he said with a jovial grin.

She couldn't help but laugh at his earnestness. "Shouldn't the man be the protector of the household?"

"I've always believed in partnerships, Miss Frances. We shall divide and conquer."

Frances nodded her approval. "Noted. Thank you for stopping by. I shall consider your proposal."

Lord Gloushire raised her hand to his lips, placed a chaste kiss on it, and left.

Dorothy rushed over to her. "Oh my goodness, Frannie, are you going to accept?"

Frances sat in disbelief. "I should, shouldn't I? I mean, he's right. Marrying a viscount will go a long way in helping Papa get out of the mess he made. And I've always wanted children. Although, I always thought they'd come from me."

Dorothy patted Frances' shoulders. "You can still have children. I hear Lord Gloushire is not far into his thirties. And from what I hear, he is a good father to his existing children. I presume you would have a good life with him."

"Yes. I would," Frances said absently.

"But it's not him who you're thinking about, is it?"

Frances met Dorothy's knowing look. "You know me too well, Dorothy. You also know that pursuit is a fool's errand. The more reasonable match is the Viscount. Regardless, my decision will have to wait. I told Jenny I would stop over today to help aid the Duke with his dancing. It seemed the last time she tried, he stepped on her dress so much it tore."

Dorothy went with her to the door to help fasten her summer coat. "Frannie, I hope I'm not speaking out of turn, but please be careful." Frances leveled a look at her maid. "I don't care what people think, and I know you don't either. I just don't want to see you hurt."

Frances took Dorothy's hand. "Thank you. He's just a friend, really. My time is mostly spent with Jenny, and she's present when he's there." Mostly.

Frances knocked on the door. It was odd there wasn't anyone to greet her. Usually when Jenny invited her to call, one of the footmen was outside waiting for her.

The door opened, and Frances gasped. Instead of Simmons, Thomas stood in front of her. "Duke Pilton! I wasn't expecting you… Your eye! My heavens, what happened to your eye?"

Thomas spun on his heel and retreated into the library. Forgetting all decorum, Frances rushed in behind him. "You're limping! What on earth happened to you? Were you in an accident after the garden party?"

Thomas threw back a glass of brandy and slammed it down onto his desk. He glowered at her before easing down into his chair.

"Here, let me help you." Frances reached out to help guide him down, but he shrugged off her assistance.

"I don't need help," he growled.

Frances stood stunned. Men were giving her a serious headache today.

"I think you do. Your eye is a disgusting mess, you've acquired a limp, and you can barely sit. If you don't get help soon, you'll need a coffin."

"Leave me be, Frances. This is what men like me do. We get into quarrels; we walk it off. Just go. Jenny isn't here. I'll have her send word when she returns."

Frances stood next to him, refusing to budge. If he wanted to act like a hardheaded ass, so could she.

"Did you not hear me, woman? I said leave!" His gruff voice vibrated through her, but she refused to back down.

"You forget, Duke Pilton , you do not scare me. Now tell me what happened, or I shall —"

Thomas exploded out of his chair and towered over her. "You'll what?"

" Thomas? I'm home! Did Frances stop by? I completely lost track of time. Oh. I'm sorry, am I interrupting something?" Jenny stood in the doorway, looking at both of them with a curious stare.

Frances didn't need to look at Jenny to know she was, in fact, not sorry. Frances refused to be the first one to move.

Thomas huffed and glanced at his sister. "As you can see, she is standing right here."

"Ah. I see your mood has not improved. Well, this dancing lesson shall be fun then. If you two are finished here, we can move into the parlor. I'll have Simmons move the furniture, so we can get started with the lesson."

Thomas turned back to Frances who was still standing there, staring up at him.

"After you, Miss Frances."

Frances refused to address the sharp pain in her chest at his use of Miss . "I hope that cut underneath your eye doesn't bleed. You'll have to pay to have my dress cleaned if you bleed on me." She turned with a flick of her hair and stormed out of the room.

Frances watched Jenny hobble over to the sofa.

"We'll move on to the waltz." Frances stood in the center of the room, her hand stretched out towards Thomas, who stood sulking by the doorway. "Are you coming?"

"Go on, Thomas. It's time you step on someone else's toes." Jenny sat on the sofa, rubbing her aching foot.

Thomas begrudgingly moved towards Frances. He looked as if he was walking towards the chopping block.

"It's an easy dance; basically, you're making a box with your feet. You know the shape of a square, don't you?" Frances raised an eyebrow, challenging him. For some reason, this approach got the most reaction from him.

He didn't offer a response, but he grabbed her waist and tugged her towards him. Refusing to look at her, he grabbed her arm and stood there.

"Well, first things first, you need to loosen up."

Ignoring Jenny's snicker, Frances shook their adjoining arm to prove her point. "The purpose of dancing to be able to flow with the music. You can't do that if you're a statue."

"This is absurd. I don't plan on dancing with anyone." He was being positively insolent.

"You never know, Your Grace. The peerage will expect you to produce an heir, last I checked you needed a woman for that, and being a part of the ball scene is a way to get one."

"Or a garden party," he murmured.

Frances cocked her head, "What was that?"

Thomas sighed. "Nothing."

"Very well. Now, as I was saying, drop your shoulders while keeping your back straight. You want to have good posture, but you can't have your shoulders by your ears."

"I know how to dance," he stated.

Frances swallowed a retort. Thomas was usually apprehensive at the beginning of her lessons, but he would drop the facade by now. Something changed, and she'd bet her life it had something to do with his black eye.

"Your sister's feet would disagree."

"She's my sister," he complained. "Who wants to dance with their sister?"

"I am not your sister," she retorted.

"No. You're not."

Frances watched him swallow, his cravat bobbing. A simple, natural movement that always warmed her body despite how awful he was behaving.

Frances licked her lips. "Then you can dance with me. So, dance."

Frances felt Thomas grip on her waist tighten. Thomas looked over at his sister, nodding to her to begin playing the pianoforte they had been using.

When the music started, Thomas literally swept Frances off her feet. Startled by his power, it took her a few steps to catch up.

After the first couple of missteps, she and Thomas found their rhythm.

He can dance. The thought shocked her although it shouldn't. Thomas was astute and a quick study with everything they had covered.

Thomas took the simple box step and led her into the turns of the dance. Their eyes connected during the first turn. Together, they twirled around the parlor, their bodies moving in perfect time with the soft, swaying notes of the melody. With each step, Frances became more lost in the moment.

His hard eyes softened as the dance progressed. His grip gentled on her hand, yet the arm placed on her back became firmer as he pulled her in closer. Breathless, she leaned into him.

It was then she noticed a small drop of blood escaping the cut on his face.

"You're bleeding."

Thomas stopped, reaching up to dab under his eye.

Frances patted her pockets; she usually had a handkerchief in there. She pulled one out and began gently dabbing his cheek.

Thomas moved his cheek. "Tis nothing. I don't want to ruin your handkerchief. I have one I can use. Thank you."

As she pulled away, Thomas grabbed her wrist. "Wait. Whose handkerchief is this?"

Realization hit Frances. Both their eyes locked in on the embroidered initials of Lord Gloushire.

"H-he stopped by this morning," Frances whispered, her hand still held out in front of her, his hand a vice around her wrist.

Thomas' eyes narrowed on hers, the spell of their dance crashing down around them.

"This lesson is over." Thomas turned and marched out of the room.

Frances and Jenny exchanged a look before Frances took off after him.

"What have I done to deserve this treatment?" she yelled at his retreating back. "Stop ignoring me." Thomas turned, glowering at her.

"You have no right to demand anything of me," he spat.

"You have no right to get mad over a handkerchief. Why should it matter who it came from?"

"IT DOESN'T!" He bellowed.

Frances stepped back; his attack startled her. Thomas raked his hand through his hair. "Forgive me of my outburst."

Frances tucked a curl behind her ear. "Does this have to do with what happened to you after the party yesterday?"

Thomas avoided her eyes. "I wish not to talk about that."

Frances risked a step closer to the sullen man and touched his bruised cheek. Thomas' eyes closed. His hand covered hers and caressed it. His calloused fingers, from years of hard work, sent a spark of electricity through her body with each stroke.

Without warning, he pulled her into the hallway closet. He pushed her up against the closed door and claimed her mouth. Her mind raced to keep up with his movements. One moment, they were arguing in the hallway; the next they were in this darkened closet doing unmentionable things. She loved it. Nothing about him was gentle. He nipped at her mouth while his hands grabbed at her dress, bunching it up. He grabbed her leg to hold it up around his waist as he stepped into the space he created.

One hand kneaded her buttocks while the other toyed with her peaked nipple through her dress.

His hands were rough and demanding. His true nature did things to her she didn't have the vocabulary to describe. She wanted more, needed more. She grabbed onto his shoulders and let him lead the way. She sent up a prayer that he was leading her down the same path their previous time together had taken them.

The memory of that night encouraged her. Her hands left his shoulders and trailed down his body. Her fingertips grazed the hardened muscles of his chest and found the waist of his breeches. His mouth moved to her favorite spot on her neck, and she sighed. He growled and bit her neck, hard. She moaned, and he sucked harder. She was burning up.

She mumbled curses as she fumbled with his belt. She had no idea what she was doing, and he was taking too long. She was about to rip the damned breeches off him when his hands stopped her. Confusion clouded her mind.

"We shouldn't." He held their hands clasped together between their heaving bodies, his forehead resting against hers. Her leg dropped from his waist.

"It's fine. I'm ready." Frances didn't care how needy her voice sounded. She was needy.

Thomas shook his head. "No. It shouldn't be done like this." Thomas stepped away and adjusted his breeches.

"What, what do you mean?" She took a step toward him, reaching up to cup his face. "Please Thomas, I'm not afraid. I want this."

Thomas refused to look at her. "This is wrong."

Frances dropped her hand as if she were burned. "Excuse me?"

"I will not take you in a closet."

Frances couldn't make out his features in the darkened closet. She couldn't tell if he was being a gentleman or an ass. Does he no longer want me?

"It makes no difference to me —"

"Well, it should," he forced out.

"I forgot you have a bias against closets." Frances tried to lighten the mood. He wasn't the playful sort, but she hoped she would convey that she could handle the next step in their lessons with grace.

"You should go." He bit out.

"I…" Frances started but stopped. Tears threatened to fall. Swallowing her pride, she adjusted her dress and stepped out of the closet. With a quick glance around to make sure no one saw her, she made her way to the door.

Waiting for her carriage to arrive, she brought out Gloushire's handkerchief she still had in her possession. She chewed her lip, trying to understand the events of the past twenty-four hours. She met a man, who proposed marriage the very next day, and somewhere during that time, the Duke sparred with someone. Was she being naive to think the two could be related? Although, there was no way for the Duke to find out about the Viscount's proposal. She left mere moments after the Viscount left her home.

She rubbed her hands over her face. The Viscount. She still didn't know if she'd accept his proposal, but if she did, it was even more imperative Thomas followed through with their original agreement. Because if she had to spend the rest of her life with the perfectly respectable Viscount, she feared she'd never taste the true power of passion again.

She refused to let that happen.