The Rake and the Recluse REDUX (a time travel romance) (30 page)

Francine was shaking like a carriage on a washboard road. She curled up in bed, holding herself tightly, attempting to subdue the tremors. That woman downstairs was certain she was her daughter. Francine could see in every inch of her demeanor that she believed it to be true. Francine knew deep inside that she was right, even though in some small sense she wasn’t.

She looked like herself, except her hair was long and brown, and of course she wasn’t really herself, was she? She wasn’t in her hometown, she wasn’t in her apartment, she wasn’t riding in a cab on the way to work, she wasn’t even in the 21st century. She exhaled sharply. She was this woman’s daughter. She sat up.
The woman downstairs is my mother
.

She shook her head, driving away the thought. The woman downstairs had seemed cold and distant after that first startling outburst. If they had at one time been irrefutably connected, wouldn’t her body feel some physical twinge when they came together again? She didn’t feel the slightest sense of recognition, and shouldn’t she? She hoped that the connection between a mother and a daughter wasn’t so easily disrupted.

She remembered the feeling every time she had returned home to see her mom; she would feel a small tear in her belly until she was warmly embraced by her, repairing the damage of separation. She still felt that tear, so the woman downstairs could not be her mother.

Her mother had been so safe, so warm, the epitome of what motherhood should be. She knew she probably embellished her memories as they pertained to her parents, since she’d been so young when they were killed, but that didn’t matter. The underlying feelings, the basic sense of connection, was still there. She already had a mother, and that woman was not Mme. Larrabee, regardless of heritage and ancestry.

She felt dangerously adrift, and she needed something tangible. She had no control over herself, her future—anything. She couldn’t even decide what she was eating for lunch—it was simply made for her like it had been when she was a ward of the court. But she had become used to having complete control of her life since leaving the system. Nobody told her what to do, and if they tried, she fought against it and generally won. She sighed and huddled on the bed. She hated being handled.
I can handle myself
.
Or maybe—maybe I can’t.
How could one small person become so irretrievably lost, and why did it have to be her?

Stapleton jumped when the door to the parlor opened.

“You may retrieve His Grace,” was all M. Larrabee said.

Stapleton bowed and walked back across the great entrance to the study. “Your Grace, Monsieur Larrabee has requested your presence in the parlor.” Stapleton held the door for the gentlemen.

Shaw was sitting in the chair nonplussed. Gideon stood, clapped him on the shoulder, then reached out to his brother.

“Blargh!” Perry spat as he was yanked unceremoniously to his feet.

“You are a mess. You could have waited until after their decision to get soused, could you not?”

“Four,” was all the reply Perry gave.

“Time to pay the executioner,” Gideon jeered at him. “Come, Shaw, you won’t want to miss this.”

Shaw nodded in agreement and helped Gideon straighten his brother’s jacket.

Mme. Larrabee looked at the three men with a great deal of satisfaction when they entered. The look eased Gideon quite a bit. He walked directly to M. Larrabee and stood tall, his shoulders squared, his hands clasped behind his back, causing M. Larrabee to step back a pace. Perry came to stand beside Gideon, attempting the same stature, but coming up just a bit shy, as foxed as he was.

“We have decided to accept your offer, with a few caveats of our own,” Larrabee said. Gideon and Perry gave him twin cautionary looks, causing him to back up another pace and clear his throat.

Mme. Larrabee nudged at his back. “First,” he began, “we expect to be apprised of our daughters’ progress. We do not wish to be removed entirely from their lives.”

“And second?” Gideon asked with a glare.

“Second,
you
must inform the suitors that the girls are no longer available, and make reparations directly, making sure they will not seek remuneration from us.”

“And?” Gideon prompted again, expecting a laundry list of petty requests.

Larrabee stood straight and looked into Gideon’s eyes. “
C’est tout
.” His hand cut the air in a gesture of finality.

Mme. Larrabee hit her husband on the shoulder.

“Yes?” Gideon encouraged.

“Yes, Your Grace,
eu
, we would request a room
pour la nuit
. It is quite late and we have traveled a great distance. If you have accommodation, may we rest?”

Gideon thought for a moment. He couldn’t very well kick them out without a word. He would—after all—be their son-in-law, though they weren’t aware of it. Misguided as they were to their daughters’ upbringing, he would not begrudge them shelter.

“Stapleton will show you to a guest suite. Of course, in consideration, and because we have not yet formalized this arrangement, I would request that you do not leave the suite unaccompanied. I will have a footman attend you, and please be aware that should you leave the suite at any time, I
will
be informed.”

“Of course, Your Grace. We will abide by your graciousness and hospitality.”

Gideon nodded. “We can make the arrangements on the morrow. I have a man in town who can draw the necessary guardianship paperwork.”

Perry groaned, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. “Excuse me, I believe the lamb is not sitting well. I must bid you all good-night,” he said, then practically scampered from the room.

Gideon called for Stapleton, and the crowd retired.

Gideon disrobed and crawled directly into his bed, throwing the heavy counterpane aside as he stretched and settled the many sheets over his body. He was too exhausted to even bother dressing in his cotton sleeping trousers. He had no plans to leave his room until the following morning.

He snuffed the last candle over his headboard and was settled on his stomach for some much needed sleep when he heard first the outer door, then the sitting-room door, and finally his bedchamber door open and close quietly. He lifted up on his elbows, expecting to hear Ferry traipsing across his room. Then, realizing Ferry would have come from behind the fireplace, his breath caught.

“Gideon,” Francine whispered, and with that one small word he was rock hard. He jerked up, trying to discern her figure in the darkness. He heard her trip on something, a tiny cry escaping her lips. He moved to help her, then realized he was trapped in the bed by his nakedness. His breath hissed as he inhaled.

“Gideon,” she whispered again, “are you still up?”

He shook his head.
Still? Not still. Again—yes, but not still.
“Yes,” he grumbled. “What are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t sleep. I had to see you,” she whispered so softly he could hardly hear her.

Leaning forward, he grasped her hand, trying to stop it from moving across his body as he felt her fingers passing over the blankets, coming dangerously close to the evidence of his arousal. “You shouldn’t be speaking, and you shouldn’t be here,” he said.

“And yet, I am.”

“You
definitely
should not be in
here
,” he said, attempting to convince her again that she should leave. “Mrs. Weston will have an apoplexy when she discovers—” He drew in a resolute breath as he felt her other hand on his chest and the weight of her body on the bed.

He let go of her wrist as she moved toward him. “Lord take it, Francine, you must leave, you simply
must
. This is terribly untoward, you cannot—” He was cut off again by her hand, this time against his mouth. He thought his cock would burst from the pressure pulsating violently to his loins. He groaned, and her lips caught the noise before it had a chance to escape, her tongue teasing timidly.

He reached up in the dark to find her shoulder to push her away, but her arm wasn’t where he guessed it would be, and he ended up with the soft mound of her breast cradled in his hand. She gasped and pressed her lips harder against his as he opened his mouth to her.

The woman above him was not acting like an innocent. He marveled at the thought as he momentarily yielded to her pleasures. Larrabee said he hadn’t received confirmation of the consummation of her marriage; Gideon had assumed that meant that she wasn’t yet married, but what if she was? What if Hepplewort had already claimed her? Gideon could never marry her, and she had been lost to him before this began—but for tonight, if she was married and he made love to her, he would cuckold that bastard for terrifying his innocent wife.