Phillip had to face facts. He was absolutely, undeniably besotted with his wife. He had probably always loved Franny, but now he was wretchedly in love. Pathetically in love. Straight out of the drivel Franny liked to read in love.
If he awoke before she did, he waited until her eyelids drifted open and her green eyes met his. He hadn’t even bothered with his own bedchamber in days. His valet had given up on him entirely in disgust.
He resented Chastity for dragging her away to social functions that did not involve him even as he delighted in her summaries upon her return. He didn’t expect her to spend every waking moment with him, but it would be lovely if she wanted to. He longed for the ease of the countryside that was mere weeks away and its promise of endless hours with her.
He rushed through dinner just to drag her upstairs to her bedroom, where she was fortunately, delightfully, willing and eager. He’d assumed their first time had been a fluke. That the feel of her body sheathed around him was only a hundred times more intense than any other because it had been her first time. But then there had been the second and third and he’d been forced to accept that it had nothing to do with how many times they made love, and everything to do with whom he made love to. It was Franny. It had always been Franny.
Even now, he was impatiently waiting for her to take her final bites of lamb, willing her fork to travel to that succulent mouth, so he could sweep her upstairs. Or, he considered with a devilish smile, so he could take her on the dining room table. This inevitably led to daydreams about the pianoforte.
“Why are you grinning?” she asked with a knowing eyebrow arch as she sat across from him in a lovely green dress he was already adept at removing.
“You’ll see,” he promised.
“I see,” she said. “That reminds me. I meant to tell you that I’ve been invited to a game of cards tonight.”
His fork stopped in mid-air. “A game of cards?” His stomach twisted as he remembered the ignorant, carefree words he’d spoken to her months before.
I don’t see how the occasional card game would hurt. And then, All mature, sensible couples have nights away.
Unfortunately, he was no longer sensible. He was insane. She would be spending most of the night away and…no, he couldn’t think that of Franny. He wouldn’t become like the duke, but by God, if she was with another man he would maturely and sensibly kill him and then maturely and sensibly be rid of the body. “Is that so?”
“Yes,” she continued. “Lady Chesterley organized an affair.”
He choked on the word affair.
“Are you all right?”
He nodded, taking a fortifying sip of wine. How would he extricate himself from this predicament? He had promised her a degree of freedom that he now no longer wanted for himself. How could he expect the same of her and still be fair to the marriage ideal he had promised?
She kept up steady chatter about the various strategies she intended to employ to guarantee her success at the night’s activities and he listened, half impressed by her tactics and half distracted by the slippery slope they were on. First cards. Then what?
He kissed her to distraction before she left, hoping to leave the impression that he preferred her quick return. As the carriage pulled away, he couldn’t quell the chilling thought.
What if she was not on her way to a game of cards? He couldn’t help thinking she’d never actually swooned for him. What if she still wanted to swoon, even if in a harmless way?
He was in a hired hackney to Lady Chesterley’s within moments.
* * *
Francesca was pleased to discover that the mathematical theories on faro she had gleaned from a prodigy at last week’s ball were indeed profitable. Strangely, the only joy she derived from the winnings was the story she would be able to share with Phillip when she returned home.
It was funny that she’d always thought of Phillip’s home as hers, so now that they were married it hadn’t changed in the least. Her home was always with Phillip.
She puzzled as to why he had not been off to his promised card games and carousing after their marriage. Was he merely allowing her a temporary illusion of marital bliss?
The thought was depressing. She did not want to embark on his version of a delightful arrangement, where they spent all their time apart. She found their arrangement delightful as it was. And yet, she didn’t know how to tell him this when she’d knowingly agreed to the proposal, knowingly accepted the terms when he’d proposed to her in that broom closet. He’d asked her and only her, and she’d agreed. She couldn’t blame her father.
She supposed it was her fault for falling in love with him, but how could it be helped when she’d apparently loved him from childhood?
Francesca sighed as she laid out her next round of bets.
“Is winning boring you, my dear?” Lady Chesterley asked wryly.
“Not at all, Lady Chesterley,” she said reassuringly.
“Excellent,” the matron teased. “I’d hate for my destitution to send you to slumber.”
Francesca numbly sat through the next round of winnings before extending her apologies and lame excuses to return home. She wondered if Phillip would still be awake at this hour. She wondered what he’d implied by the glint in his eye at dinner. She knew that look. It usually appeared before he ripped off her clothes.
As the footman welcomed her, she asked, “Has my husband retired for the night?”
“His lordship is out for the evening.”
Her veins ran ice cold. “Out?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Out where?”
“I do not know, my lady.”
Francesca fought for composure as she thanked him and ran upstairs to her room. Where could he be? Surely not…surely not out with someone unsuitable?
But oh, what had he said when he first proposed?
All mature, sensible couples have nights away.
Her maid entered the room and Francesca ordered her out as tears spilled down her cheeks. The empty ache in her belly consumed her until she curled up on the bed, tucking her knees into her chest. How could she feel such pain if nothing was physically wrong with her? Or was her heart literally breaking? She heard the creak of the wooden door between their rooms and sat up in bed, wiping her cheeks.
“Franny, darling, what’s wrong?” Phillip asked. He crossed the room quickly and knelt at her bed, the intense concern of his features belying the activity he must have been indulging in.
“Nothing,” she insisted with a fake smile.
“Why are you lying to me?” he asked. He stood, pulled off his coat and sat next to her on the bed. He still smelled of musk and spice. No cloying female scent. For that, at least, she was grateful. “Did you lose much? You know I don’t care. I would never…be angry with you that way.”
“I know,” she said.
“Please tell me.” He leaned forward and kissed away a tear.
“You went out.”
He shook his head, still puzzled. “You’re the one who went out, Franny.”
“To play cards,” she said. “What were you doing out?”
He set his jaw stubbornly, confirming her worst suspicions.
He froze, and it was all the condemnation she needed.
“Get out! Out!”
She threw a pillow at him, then another, and as if they were stones, he ducked and backed out of the room.
* * *
Well damn, he was in a predicament, Phillip thought as he swirled his brandy.
He could not tell Francesca the truth. He could not tell her that he’d had a moment of doubt. A moment where he had not trusted her. He would be no better than the duke, and by God, the only thing he wanted to be in this life was better than the duke…for her sake.
In his hesitation, Francesca made up her own mind—and she’d gone where he never expected.
An affair. The idea was preposterous. Laughable. He’d never, ever allowed himself to love another woman, having always known he was going to marry Francesca. He wasn’t a saint or a monk, and he’d enjoyed the company of women—women who understood the nature of their relationship—but never someone who could have mistaken his intentions in the slightest.
He heard a small knock at the door and lifted his head.
Francesca stood against the frame, small in her nightshift. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I…I was no better than my father.”
“Stop,” he said, opening his arms. “You don’t need to.”
She flew into them and rested her head against his shoulder. “I know you, Phillip. I know you wouldn’t, and yet it was so easy for me to assume. Is that what it was like for my father?”
He kissed the top of her head, knowing she didn’t want answers from him. She just wanted to talk.
“It must have felt awful to hear me make those assumptions about you. If you’d made them about me…I don’t know that I could…”
He felt something inside crumble.
“So tell me,” she said with false cheer, pulling away. “Where did you go tonight? Was it fun?”
And so he found himself looking into her eyes, and lying. “Yes. The club. It was fun. Absolutely.”
* * *
Franny narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re lying.”
He winced.
She pulled away and took a step back. “Were you with another woman? Don’t make me into my father, Phillip, don’t make me feel crazy. I can’t think about you with another woman and—”
“Franny, stop,” he whispered, stilling her chin with his hand. “I wasn’t with another woman.”
“Then where were you?” she said, feeling half hysterical. How could she do this? How could she become this person - this shadow of her father? “Why won’t you tell me who you were with?”
“Franny,” he said with a choked laugh, “I was with you. I was following you.”
“What?”
“I hired a hackney to Lady Chesterley’s. I lurked like a common criminal, peeking in through the windows. I watched you play faro. I couldn’t see the hands, admittedly, so I assumed you’d lost heavily when you left so early. I had to wait to find another hackney to take me home.”
“What? I don’t—” She shook her head as if she could shake off her confusion. “Why?”
“I thought maybe you were being discreet.”
“Discreet?” she repeated.
“About keeping company.”
Dawning realization swept through her. She punched his arm. “How could you think that of me?”
“I know! I felt awful. That’s why I couldn’t tell you at first. But Franny, how could you think it of me?” he countered.
“Because…because…” She gave a rueful laugh. “We’re awful. We’re both awful.”
“We’re not awful.”
“All your talk about spending nights away from each other.”
“All your talk about flirting and London life and swooning.”
“I didn’t really want those things,” she said.
“You wanted escape,” he said, echoing back the words she’s spoken to him.
“That’s not all,” she said. Her heart thudded in her chest. Could she trust Phillip with her heart? Could she tell him her most hidden desire?
“What is it, Franny?”
She tried to answer but she couldn’t say the words. What if she did and he laughed? What if he threw back his head on a chuckle and told her she was naive?
“Franny, please,” he persisted. “If you don’t want us to end up like the duke and your mother, then please don’t curse our marriage with the silence that befell theirs.”
“I want you to love me,” she blurted.
He blinked. “Franny-”
“No - don’t say it,” she said. She tried to pull away, feeling foolish, but his arm came around her like bands of steel. “Don’t say it. Don’t - not if you don’t mean it.”
“You don’t want me to say that I love you,” he repeated slowly.
“You’ll say it because it’s your duty,” she said.
He cupped her cheeks in his hands. “It absolutely is my duty.”
Her muscles seized at his statement. She wanted to pull away but he held her fast.
“It is my honor.” He kissed her forehead. “It is my absolute responsibility.” He kissed her cheek. “It is everything I am and everything I have wanted to be. Loving you is, for me, Franny. It just is what I am.”
With each kiss, with each word, Francesca felt her heart swell and melt and her resistance chip away bit by bit. “I am an idiot,” she declared.
“Fortunately for you, our marriage vows preclude I would remain married to you under these circumstances.”
“Watch your tongue or you shall get worse,” she said with a smile.
“And you, Franny?” he asked. He swallowed hard. She felt his hands tremble at her cheeks like he was frightened of her answer.
It was her turn to hold his face in her hands. Her whole life, her whole happiness, was between her fingers. It was a heady thought and most of all, it was a freeing thought. She blinked back a tear of relief. “I love you. Of course I love you.”
He rested his forehead against hers.
“Will you shake on it?” he asked, drawing her lower lip into his mouth.
She captured his kiss on a sigh. “Delightfully.”
The End
* * *