A Taste of Seduction (An Unlikely Husband) (26 page)

Before he could consider his actions, he turned on his heel and headed up the spiral staircase. His heart pounded faster as he approached her door, rapped softly, and waited. Disappointment filled him when Francie didn’t answer. He should leave now and wait until morning to see her. But he didn’t want to wait, not another hour, or another minute, not even another second. He wanted to see her now and for once in his very organized, proper life, he let impulse take over and turned the knob.

Lavender smothered his senses as he slipped inside without a sound. His body jumped in response. The little witch was gaining control over him, more so every day. He lifted the lantern and pointed it toward the bed.
Empty
. The counterpane was in perfect order. Not a rumpled sheet or pillow. No one had slept in the bed this night.

A moment of panic gripped him. Where in the devil was she? Perhaps she’d been waiting for him in his study, as anxious to see him as he was to see her, and had fallen asleep. He might well find her tucked beside George and her blasted cat. He raced out of her room and down the stairs, unaware he held his breath until he let it out in a shaky rush and grasped the knob to the study.

A constant, steady droning greeted him, followed by a half-sigh. It was George, lost between sleep and dreams, no doubt salivating over one of Mrs. Jenkins’s beef bones. Alexander stepped into the darkness and held the lantern in front of him. George lay curled upon the Aubusson rug, his tan coat blending into the rug’s fibers, and the little nuisance, Mr. Pib, rested under his chest.

There was no sign of Francie. She wasn’t sitting at his desk or lying on the sofa. The chairs were empty
, too.
Where in the devil could she be?

He turned to leave, thinking he’d check Philip’s study next, when a faint glimmer from the lantern cast a shadow on his desk. Something lavender, something looking like an envelope lay there. He hoped it wasn’t another blasted invitation from that bothersome Claire Ashcroft.

Alexander walked to his desk and picked up the envelope. His name was scrawled on the outside in a woman’s bold handwriting. Curious, he opened it and pulled out a single sheet of paper. The scent of lavender filled his senses, telling him it was from Francie. Why would she leave him a note? Dread spread its nasty talons, digging into him, drawing blood. Before he read a single word, he knew. She was gone.

He forced himself to read the note anyway, to feel the pain her words would bring, like a knife piercing his heart, draining the life from him, one word at a time. There were three sentences. The first released him from any debt or obligation toward her. The second gifted Drakemoor to him, if not technically, then through forfeiture, for she did not intend to return to her father’s estate. Ever. The third wished him well. Her signature was at the bottom of the page. Francie. Simple. Impersonal.
As though he were a stranger
. As though he hadn’t touched her, or tasted her, or heard her soft moans as she reached her release in his arms.

Alexander balled up the note and threw it across the room.
Damn her!
Why did she have to leave now, when he’d just gotten used to the idea of marriage, even admitted to himself he looked forward to marrying her? Now she was gone with nothing more than a single sheet of lavender paper and three sentences.

Did she think she could just wish him well, as though he were a stranger she’d just met? Well, she wasn’t rid of him yet. Not by far. He’d find her, damn it, and then he’d drag her back to Drakemoor. Francie was going to marry him, whether she liked it or not.

Alexander stalked from the room and headed down the hall, his boots resonating through the quiet of night. He didn’t care whose sleep he disturbed, let the whole blessed household wake up. He stopped in front of Bernard’s room and raised a fist, ready to pound on the door, but hesitated. Eleanor may not know of Francie’s departure and there was no sense troubling her if she didn’t, at least not yet. Bernard, on the other hand, probably knew everything about her “escape” plan, down to the last tiny detail. He rapped quietly on the door and waited.

Nothing. He lifted his hand again, preparing to knock louder. The door inched open and a slightly disheveled Bernard peered at him. “Alexander, what’s wrong?”

“I thought you might be able to tell me.” Amazing that he kept his voice low when all he wanted to do was shout out the words at the top of his lungs.

Bernard stepped into the dim hallway and closed the door behind him. “What do you mean? What’s the matter?”

“Where is she?” Alexander was in no mood for games. He was tired and angry. And damn it, more than a little hurt.

“You mean Francie?”

“Who else would I be talking about?” Alexander snapped.

“At this hour, I imagine she’s asleep.”

Even an honest, straightforward person like Bernard could be persuaded to lie for the little witch. “Her bed’s empty.”

“What?” He seemed confused.

“I said her bed’s empty and from the looks of things, she hasn’t slept in it.”

“That’s impossible.” Bernard turned and hurried down the hall, throwing open the door to Francie’s room. Alexander stood behind him, his lantern offering a flickering illumination of the empty bed. The old man let out a long breath. “Where is she? She didn’t feel well. She didn’t even take supper with us. Complained of a headache after—” He halted mid-sentence. “Oh, no. Oh, no.”

“What, Bernard? Tell me.”

Bernard shook his head and turned to Alexander. “She came to me and asked if there was
a provision in Philip’s will that required you to marry her.”

Alexander couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. “You told her.” It wasn’t a question or a statement, not even an accusation.

Bernard let out a long sigh. “I had no choice. Philip’s solicitor told her and I couldn’t lie.”

“Philip’s solicitor?”

“He met with Francie today. Apparently, he explained the conditions of the will.”

Alexander closed his eyes. “That makes no sense.”

Bernard shrugged. “I tried to make her see, tried to make her understand her father meant no harm. He wanted the two of you together. That was all.”

“He used us,” Alexander said.

“He didn’t use you. He loved you. He loved both of you. You were the two most important people in the world to him. Philip only wanted you to be happy.”

“As he defined the word.”

“That’s not true.” Bernard threw him a disapproving look. “He wanted you to know the happiness he never knew. He wanted that more than anything.”

Alexander shook his head. “Somewhere along the way, he should have realized he was playing with real people, flesh and blood and feeling, not just whimsical fairy tales.”

“Alexander—”

“Enough. It doesn’t matter why Philip did what he did. At the moment, I only care about finding Francie. I have no idea where to start but Amberden, and I know she wouldn’t be foolish enough to go there alone.”

When Bernard didn’t reply, Alexander narrowed his gaze on him. “Please tell me Francie didn’t go there.”

“I don’t know where she went,” the old man said. Alexander closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, praying for strength to get through this ordeal. When he got his hands on the little minx, he’d make certain she never tried anything like this again.

“...but if I had to guess, I’d say Amberden. She considers it home.”

Alexander’s eyes flew open. “What did you say?”

“It’s the only place she knows. If she were troubled or upset, she’d head home.”

“
This
is her home.” Alexander fought to keep his voice down. “Drakemoor.”

“I doubt she feels that way at the moment.”

“Then I’ll enlighten her,” Alexander said. “But first I have to find her.”

Alexander spotted the little cottage at the end of the village and prayed Francie was in it. He edged Baron closer, the sound of the horse’s hooves on stone shattering the night air. If she were inside, lost in the safe embrace of slumber, he could breathe again.

He’d ridden as fast as the midnight road permitted, all the while wondering if she’d taken the same path hours before. Wondering, too, if she’d faced a dark road with all of its hidden treacheries. His chest tightened at the thought. A young woman traveling alone could meet a number of misfortunes, anything from a robber to a broken wheel on a carriage. Or worse.

An image of Jared Crayton raced through his head. The last time he’d seen the man, he’d smashed his pretty face and pummeled his body until Crayton fell to the ground in a lifeless heap.
All for the sake of Francie. If the bastard were still preying on the innocents of Amberden, he may have come across Francie on her journey. And if he were bent on revenge or worse, still obsessed with her, he might have acted on those feelings. He might have—Alexander forced the possibilities from his brain.

He stopped in front of the cottage, dismounted, and tied Baron to a side post. There were no other signs of a horse or carriage, nothing to indicate anyone had traveled here. Alexander held his breath as he tried the doorknob. Locked. If Francie were inside, at least she’d had sense enough to lock the door behind her. If she weren’t...he’d tear the countryside apart, village by village, estate by estate, until he found her.

He pounded on the door. Again and again he beat on the worn oak, but it was useless. “Francie! Francie!” Her name fell from his lips in a desperate litany. His shoulders slumped as he murmured her name one last time. “Francie.” It was a plea whose only answer was silence. She wasn’t inside and he had no idea where to look next. He turned and headed down the stone path toward Baron and a long night of what he feared would prove a futile search.

“Alexander?”

He swung around.

It was her
. Soft and shimmering, cast in an ethereal glow from the candle’s light flickering in her hand, red hair tumbling about her in a mass of curls.

“Alexander?” Uncertainty coated her voice, thick and heavy, smothered in doubt, laced with caution.

“Francie!” He moved toward her in trance-like steps. Once he reached her, Alexander lifted a trembling hand to her cheek. “Why did you leave?” He tried to hide the pain in his voice, tried not to let her see how her leaving ripped his world apart, but the words fell out in ragged breaths, each one more gripping than the last.

She gnawed and pulled on her lower lip, finally releasing it to tremble on its own. “You were only marrying me to get Drakemoor.”

He wanted to tell her that this sort of arrangement happened all the time with the upper class. It was expected. Properties were traded for titles or wealth or any number of things. Most times, the parties did not concern themselves with the eccentricities of the arrangement. It was merely accepted. Why then, at this moment, did he feel lower than when he’d mucked out stalls in Drakemoor?

The answer hit him square in the gut.
Because he’d been dishonest with Francie. And with himself. He’d told her she needed his protection in marriage, told her there’d been no other suitors. Both lies. And he’d told himself he was only marrying her to obtain a hold on Drakemoor. Another lie.

He was marrying Francie because she was fresh and open and alive, and she made him feel that way. Something he hadn’t felt in a very long time, if ever. She’d poured into his life like a tempest, raging on his perfect, proper existence, threatening to wash away everything familiar.

Yet, in its place, she’d left the promise of hope and possibility, wrapped in laughter and innocence. He’d tried to crush her freshness with restrictions and dictates and demands. Now he’d lied to her and jeopardized their chance for a future together. The only choice left was honesty.

He hoped it would be enough.

“I’m sorry.” He forced the foreign words past his lips. Apologies were as unfamiliar to him as wide-mouthed grins and barefoot walks in the grass. “I should have told you about Philip’s wild scheme to throw us together.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “But I was furious with him for forcing me to choose when he knew I wouldn’t be able to,” he said, meeting her blue gaze. “I was the one who didn’t know I needed you. I think I’d have figured it out, eventually.” He pulled his lips into a faint smile. “Philip just helped me along a little.”

“Are you saying you
want
to marry me?” she asked, her words soaked in doubt.

Alexander stroked her cheek. “I want to marry you.” He cupped her chin in his hand and bent toward her.

Francie jerked back, eyeing him with suspicion. “Because you need me? I doubt you’ve ever let yourself need anyone. But you need Drakemoor, too, don’t you? Then there’s the duty you feel toward my father. Since no one expressed the slightest interest in me, you feel honor-bound to offer for me.”

“Yes, no, and no.” All that infernal blathering jumbled his thoughts. The woman would well and truly drive him to Bedlam. Only patience and a clear head would see him through this. “I do need you. More than I care to acknowledge.” The confession pinched his brain and brought a slight smile to her lips. Damn, she’d never let him forget those words.

“And Drakemoor?”