“Ah, well.” Charles looked at Francesca. “It seems to me the right choice was made all around.”
Gyles was sure he heard Fate chuckling.
Charles turned back to him. “You’ll understand if I don’t remain long. We’re returning to Hampshire the day after tomorrow, so tomorrow will be busy.”
Gyles felt a pang of relief. He held out his hand. “I’ll wish you and Ester and Franni a good journey now, in case I don’t see you before you leave. But now you’re here, do take the opportunity to meet some of the others.”
“I will.” Charles released his hand, took his leave of Francesca, then wandered into the crowd.
Gyles watched him go. He liked Charles, had from the first, but he was glad to know Franni would soon be leaving London, would, within days, be hidden away once again in deepest Hampshire. He now understood Charles’s wish to live quietly, removed from the eyes of the polite world. Protected from that world, from the whispers, the pointing fingers.
Society was not kind to those like Franni. Gyles understood Charles’s stance and respected him for it.
He glanced at Francesca. He understood her, too, enough to know that loyalty and devotion came naturally, a part of her she wouldn’t deny. A part he couldn’t ask her to deny. Explaining his nebulous unease over Franni was something he’d rather not attempt, given Francesca saw Franni as merely childish, backward, disturbed because of her mother’s death.
There was more to Franni’s strangeness than that-he would take his oath on it-yet she was such a helpless soul, how could he speak against her?
Over the past week, the plans for tonight had taken all Francesca’s time; he hadn’t had to worry she’d try to visit Franni. Given Francesca’s character, forbidding her to see her cousin was out of the question, persuading her to that end wasted breath. But if Franni would soon be gone, he wouldn’t need to speak, to steer Francesca from her company purely to ease his very likely unjustified, totally amorphous concern.
He remembered Franni as he’d last seen her-remembered the burning look in her pale eyes-and uttered a heartfelt silent “thank-you” to Charles for resolving his problem for him.
Francesca turned to him. He smiled as she introduced a young cousin shortly to make her come-out.
For Francesca, the evening was perfect and more, a triumph unmarred by any infelicitous occurrence. All proceeded exactly as planned, and the turn out of Rawlingses exceeded her wildest expectations.
“I never imagined so many would come.” Tired but inexpressibly happy, she leaned against Gyles as, with the house at last quiet about them, the very last guests gone, they strolled toward their apartments.
“I never imagined there were so many.” Gyles’s arm about her waist tightened briefly. “You performed a miracle.”
She laughed, shook her head. “No-I merely gave the miracle the opportunity to be. They came, they made it-they were the miracle.” She understood that now; she squeezed the hand at her waist. “You’ve no idea of the plans being made-for family celebrations, for balls next Season. Why, two of the families discovered their daughters, both to be presented next year, were born on the same day, so they’re now planning a huge event.”
“I can imagine.”
At his dry tone, she paused before her door and looked up at him. “But it’s good, isn’t it? Good that the family’s together again, no longer fragmented and apart?”
Gyles studied her eyes, then raised a hand and traced her cheek. “Yes. It’s good.” He hadn’t thought it important until she’d made him see. He glanced at her door. “Now get rid of Millie so we can celebrate your success as you deserve.”
Her brows rose; her green eyes glowed. “Indeed?” The glance she threw him as she opened her door was provocation incarnate. “As you will, my lord.”
It wasn’t as he willed but as they willed.
They came together in the dimness of her room, earl and countess, lover and loved, partners in life. They were partners in truth, bound by a power nothing on earth could break; Gyles no longer saw any point in denying it, in trying to hide it. Saying the words, out aloud, might still be difficult-might always be beyond him-but living their truth was not. Not with her.
She was life and love-his future life, his only love. They came together with the ease of practice, and the power of their own passionate natures, reflected between them, intensified almost beyond bearing now there were no barriers between. He let the last down, deliberately, intentionally-let it sink without a qualm, without regrets. Fate-and she-had shown him, taught him that love was a force beyond his control, a force whose power he coveted and craved. A force that, having once experienced its majesty, its enthralling allure, he could not exist without.
It was a part of him now and forever. As was she. And if there was still an element of his nature that shook with fear at the realization, at the unequivocal knowledge of how much she meant to him, and how much his life now depended on her, she knew and applied the only balm that could ease him, could soothe the soul of the barbarian he was.
She loved him back-with a powerful passion that burned like a flame in the warm darkness of her bed. A flame that joined with his own and heated them, set them afire, consumed them.
Wrapped in her arms, sheathed in her body, he drove into her and drove them on. Their lips met, fused, tongues tangled. Their hearts thundered and rejoiced.
There were moments in life when simplicity held more power than elaborate gestures. When a direct, undisguised act shattered perceptions and cut to the heart of the truth. So it was that they loved-directly, simply, with no guile to shield their hearts, no remnant of separatedness to keep their souls apart.
When, locked together, they tumbled into the void, into the abyss of creation, the only sound either could hear was the beat of the other’s heart.
Later they stirred, parted, then slumped together in the darkness. Gyles reached down and drew the satin comforter up, over their cooling bodies. He collapsed back on the mounded pillows and drew Francesca into his arms, settled her warm curves against him.
After a while, she stretched, languid as a cat and equally boneless, then she wriggled around and draped her arms about his neck. “I’m so pleased.”
Her purr warmed him. He recognized the ambiguity for what it was. “So you should be.”
She wasn’t talking about the party; her soft chuckle confirmed that. “I suppose we should sleep.”
“We should.” She was increasing-she needed her rest. “No need to be greedy. We’ve all our lives ahead of us.”
“Mmm.” She nestled her head on his shoulder.
Within minutes, she was asleep.
All their lives. Gyles listened to the soft huff of her breathing. Then he closed his eyes and dreamed.
Chapter 21
“Do come along! We’ll be late.”
“Nonsense.” Francesca smiled placatingly at Osbert as Irving helped her into her pelisse. “It’s only just three. Lady Carlisle won’t be expecting us so early.”
“Oh, won’t she?” Osbert cast a knowledgeable glance over Francesca’s new green wool coat with its velvet collar and matching velvet muff. “That suits you. Where was I? Oh, yes. Her ladyship and every single one of her guests will be waiting to hear about last night. How the Great Rawlings Experiment went.”
“Experiment?” A sharp rap on the door had Francesca glancing around. She watched as Irving accepted a note.
Laying the note on a salver, Irving brought it to her.
“A young lad said it was from your cousin, ma’am. He expected no reply.”
“Franni?” Francesca unfolded the note. She read it; her emotions swung sharply from the inner joy that had warmed her all day-the joy of knowing that the love she’d always wanted, a love to last a lifetime, was hers-to plunge into worrying concern. The change was abrupt, cold reality slicing keenly into her warm world of earthly bliss.