Part 40 (1/2)

”Come back to Harborough House with me now,” he asked as, at last, he began to dress. ”The duke's bed is at least the size of Hanover Square, and I promise we'll test every inch of it before dawn.”

”I can't, caro mio,” she said, stretching indolently against a cus.h.i.+on. ”I must tell Uncle Peac.o.c.k about you first, and that must wait until breakfast.”

”I could persuade you, Your Grace,” he said, coming back to rest his palms on either side of her waist as he leaned over her and took one rosy nipple into his mouth, teasing her flesh with his tongue. She gasped as sensation rushed through her blood again, and she marveled that her body could still be so responsive after all they'd already done. ”And there would be the carriage ride to consider as well, Francesca. The cus.h.i.+ons are wide, the springs accommodating, and the coachman discreet. Consider it, la.s.s, consider it well.”

”No, Edward, don't!” she cried, giggling as she rolled from the bench and beyond his reach. Swiftly, if haphazardly, she began to dress herself, not bothering to repin her hair and counting on the swath of her shawl to cover any deficiencies. ”When you return tomorrow and meet my uncle, then I'll leave with you, but not now. Come, I'll see you to the door myself, so we won't shock the servants.”

But despite the hour, she'd underestimated Mrs. Monk's loyalty, curiosity, and her desire to wait upon a d.u.c.h.ess.

”Your Grace,” said the housekeeper, bustling forward importantly as soon as Francesca stepped into the hallway. ”Shall I fetch supper for you, Your Grace?”

”No, thank you, Mrs. Monk,” she said, grateful that the hanging night-light in the hall would hide both her blushes and the telltale creases in her muslin gown; she and Edward had been too caught up in each other to be particularly reserved, and she didn't want to consider everything that Mrs. Monk likely had overheard here in the hall. ”His Grace is just leaving now.”

She wanted to kiss Edward again, but not in front of her uncle's housekeeper. Without a thought for the chilly night, Francesca opened the front door herself and stepped outside, pulling Edward by the hand after her. His carriage was waiting in the street, and though the footman hopped down at once from the box to open the door, he discreetly turned back toward the horses when he saw Francesca. She didn't want to cause a scandal on her uncle's doorstep, but a minute wouldn't hurt. Only a minute, she told herself, a quick farewell to send Edward home thinking of her.

”Whatever are you doing, Your Grace?” teased Edward as she slid her hands beneath his cloak and inside his coat, both to keep warm and to touch him one more time. ”We cannot have this sort of low behavior in a respectable neighborhood like Barlow Street!”

Beneath the lantern, her laugh showed like a puff of white in the cold air, and when he pressed her back against the wall she could feel the chill in the bricks through her thin gown. But inside his wool coat it was warm indeed, the slippery silk lining holding not only the heat of his body, but the male, animal scent of it as well, and she burrowed against him with sensual delight.

”Then kiss me quick, husband,” she whispered, turning her face up toward his, ”before the watch comes and catches us!”

He kissed her as she'd asked, his mouth doubly warm in the cool night air, and when she felt his hand cover her breast, she pressed against his hand with a little groan of pleasure.

”Who needs to go inside to see th' pictures if we can have a show for free in th' street?” called a man's raucous voice, loose with drink. ”You didn't lie, McCray, when you promised us a rare bawdy sight at th' Italian doxie's house!”

Francesca gasped and jerked her shawl over her rumpled gown, frantically trying to look around Edward to whoever was in the street. But though she moved fast, Edward was faster, turning instantly not only to face the men but to s.h.i.+eld her with his own body.

”McCray!” he roared, at a volume more suited for the quarterdeck than for a quiet street in Westminster. ”What the devil are you doing here?”

Finally Francesca wriggled free, and over Edward's shoulder she saw three men, all of them in uniforms and boat cloaks like Edward's, the high curved silhouettes of their hats marking them as other navy captains. No wonder he was so angry, to be treated so by his peers!

”Ah, Ramsden, don't be so blasted righteous,” called back the captain who stood in the middle, a stocky bulldog of a man with straggly dark hair. ”You can't blame us for coming to see your little foreign missus' wares. She's the one that put the announcement out, wasn't she?”

”I'll thank you not to speak of my wife like that, McCray,” said Edward, his voice as ominous as his warning. ”Don't you recall our last conversation?”

”Oh, aye, I recall it, Ramsden,” said McCray, stepping forward. ”You turning so high and mighty that you'd not share a dram with a fellow officer and gentleman who'd wished you well. Your Grace. So b.l.o.o.d.y high and mighty that you knocked me down upon the cobbles and walked away before I could demand my satisfaction.”

”Edward, caro, don't do this,” begged Francesca, clinging to his arm. Already shadows and candles had appeared at the windows of the surrounding houses, and here and there the sashes had squeaked upward, drawn by the angry raised voices. ”Someone truly will summon the watch if you do not end this.”

But it was almost as if Edward hadn't heard her, he was so focused on the man in the street.

”I'll treat you like a gentleman when you deserve it, McCray,” he said with disgust, ”and not before you retract what you said of my wife before the gates at Whitehall.”

”Oh, Edward, please, please, do not do this for my sake!” she pleaded. She knew where this was headed, and knew where it would end: He'd once made a jest about fighting duels, but there was nothing amusing about this at all. ”Please, love, please, you cannot challenge every man who'll speak ill of me!”

”Aye, so that's your dear wife looking after you, isn't it?” jeered McCray. ”The one that paints the sinful pictures to show what postures and positions she knows? I should've guessed from how she was rubbing up against you in rut.”

One of the other captains grabbed McCray's arm, trying to pull him back. ”He's been drinking all night, Captain Your Grace,” he explained nervously. ”He doesn't know what he's saying.”

”h.e.l.l, I know exactly what I'm saying, and to whom,” insisted McCray, shaking off his friend to take another step toward Edward. ”A tawdry dago b.i.t.c.h with filthy habits is what you picked for your d.u.c.h.ess, Your Grace!”