br /> Hawk wondered vaguely if she would plant her fist into his belly. One could never tell with Frances, the unaccountable little witch. He very slowly, with great attention to her fisted hands, drew her against him. “You smell so nice, Frances.”
“That isn’t at all the point,” she said against his shoulder.
He continued stroking his large hands up and down her back. “Why did you wish to speak to my sister?”
He felt her stiffen, and put her away from him so he could see her face. “Why, my dear wife, did you know that Edmund was with his betrothed? Did you enter her bedchamber on purpose?”
Her flush betrayed her. He was vastly amused at the thought of his wife wanting to see another man and woman in bed. “Did they look like us, Frances? Was your curiosity satisfied?”
“I don’t know what we look like! I didn’t mean ... well, truly, it was horrible, I should never have listened to Gertrude—”
“What did grating Gertrude have to do with it?”
“She told me that she’d been looking for Edmund and when she couldn’t find him she went to Bea’s room and heard strange sounds and—”
“But you knew, didn’t you, my dear? Indeed, you just made that up.”
She looked as if she would protest a bit more, then hung her head. She nodded. “I suspected as much. All right, I did invent a bit of it.”
“And then you come running to me with all this assumed ire! Most human of you, Frances. I find it delightful that there is a bit of wickedness in you.”
“I am as dreadful as Gertrude, I suspect,” Frances admitted, feeling like an absolute fool. Would he always see clearly through her? It was most disconcerting.
“Well, I shan’t punish you. Indeed, I believe I should like to ...” He broke off, casting a swift glance to the desktop. Unfortunately, it was covered with papers, books, and various odds and ends. He gave her a rueful smile. “I suppose I shall just have to reward you with some good news.”
She gave him a suspicious look.
“I told Edmund that I will not sell out to him, or to anyone.”
“Hawk!” She threw her arms about his back, alternately squeezing the breath out of him and exclaiming with delight.
He kissed her temple. “Such enthusiasm, love. It pleases me to please you.”
Love. That made her suddenly very silent, very wary. Was it just another endearment gentlemen employed with little meaning?
“You are not returning to London, then?” she asked, holding her breath.
He arched a black brow upward, studying her face. “Do you wish me to leave, Frances?”
“I simply assumed that you would wish to. After all, your mis—”
“Ah, yes, my mistress. Most gentlemen have mistresses, you know. Do you mind, Frances?”
She didn’t hear the grave seriousness in his voice, only the mocking drawl. “Why should I?” she snapped. “If you gave her up, then I should have to give up all my ... lovers!”
“A dreadful prospect,” he said, only the mocking drawl present now.
“You are remaining only because your sister and Edmund are here!”
“That could be partially true,” he said.
“You are staying only because you are not yet bored with me!”
“Frances,” he said very calmly, catching her chin in his palm and forcing her face upward, “you infuriate me, you make me want to throttle you, you prick huge holes in my man’s pride, but you never bore me.”
“You’re remaining only until you have gentled me—your words, my lord!—and made me weak and silly.”
“What an awesome memory you have, my dear. Are you feeling particularly gentled? Weak and silly yet?”