by Jade Lee
How she wished Anthony would ask her to dance. Just once, she wanted to spin about the room in his arms. But he never did, and by the time the bell rang for the midnight supper, she was desperate for a respite. So when her current dance partner—a second son without a feather to fly with—asked to lead her into the table, she declined as politely as she could. She lied and said she'd promised herself to another. Then she turned around and sent a silent, desperate plea to Anthony.
He saw it, of course. He was standing beside her mother making polite chatter there. He never danced, never responded, even when a few debutantes tried to practice their wiles on him. But he responded to her, moving quickly to her side.
"Thank you," she whispered, and without more explanation, he extended his arm and escorted her. Ten minutes later she was sitting down to an indifferent meal, while inside, her resolve grew.
She'd experienced her first ball as a popular girl, and it only served to show her how much she hated the ton. She had no desire to join them as a married woman, no wish to spend even five minutes more with them. In short, she'd made her decision.
It was time to act on it.
Chapter 11
They were just leaving the midnight buffet when Francine said the words that Anthony had been dreading all night.
"I am nearly ready to leave, but I would like a dance with you first. If you would?"
He could see the cost to her pride that she had to ask him. In truth, it was unforgivable that he had forced her to ask him. He should have just told her the truth at the beginning.
"I'm so sorry, Francine. I don't know how to dance."
She blinked, obviously startled. "But you asked me to dance that first night. At Amelia's party."
He sighed, looking out to the musicians and beyond to where the set would soon form. "That wasn't dancing," he said softly. "It wasn't even really music. It was two friends sawing on violins, and one beating the table with his hands. Many of the men there were as hopeless as I. Dancing there did not reflect badly on you. Here..." He sighed and shook his head. "I would not do anything to detract from this night for you."
She touched his arm, and he felt the heat of her all the way to his soul. "You haven't. In fact, if it were not for you, I think tonight would have been a disaster."
He placed his hand over hers, needing to hold her to him for just a little bit longer. "But you have danced every set. Finally, you are causing a stir."
She nodded, and her gaze traveled across the glittering ballroom and the equally dazzling attendees. "This was never my world. I cannot understand why I spent so long trying to be part of it."
"You didn't. It was your father."
She shrugged. "I wanted it too. For the longest time, I yearned for it."
"And now?"
"Now I yearn for something else." Then she looked into his eyes, and his breath caught. She didn't say the words, but he felt her desire. Or perhaps that was him yearning for what he couldn't have.
"Francine..." he murmured. Nothing more. Just her name filled with all the wishes he had for them.
She smiled and squeezed his arm. There was something in her eyes. Some inner happiness that made her eyes sparkle and her step light.
"What are you thinking?" he asked. After all their talks together, he knew when something had struck her fancy. But this was deeper. This was as if she had an inner knowledge. Of what, he had no clue, and he was equal parts intrigued and terrified. Meanwhile, her smile widened as she turned toward her mother.
"Mama, I think it's time we went home. I find I have had enough of balls."
Her mother's eyes widened, and she looked back and forth between her daughter and Anthony. "So soon? But you have been doing so well."
Francine smiled. "It has been... enlightening, Mama. But now I'm ready to leave."
Her mother may not have heard the note of finality in Francine's voice, but Anthony certainly did. She wasn't just saying good-bye for the night. She meant she was done with the fashionable round forever. And given how every event for the last five years must have been torture, he heartily agreed with the sentiment. The ton would never accept her as one of their own no matter how much money her father made or whom she married.
Mrs. Richards seemed to come to the same conclusion. She took a deep breath and started moving for the doorway. "Just as well," the woman said. "I find endless rounds of stale lemonade boring."
He felt Francine jerk at that, then suddenly burst out laughing. It was that musical trill that had so electrified him weeks ago. And the tingle was still there, as strong as ever.
"Mama, you should have told me!"
"And why would I do that when you were so bravely staring down the dragons?"
Francine's step hitched, then she was abruptly giving her mother a hug even though they were still in the middle of the ballroom and the sight was decidedly unusual. "I do love you, Mama. Thank you for enduring with me."
Her mother returned the embrace, but then quickly pulled back, her face a lovely flushed pink. "Come on then, we've made enough of a scene tonight."
Stepping forward, Anthony took both ladies' arms and escorted them out. But he couldn't help noticing the secret smile on Francine's lips. What was she planning?
He found out a few minutes later when she tugged him into their carriage. "Come ride home with us, Anthony. I would like Mama to get to know you better."
"Francine, I do not wish to intrude. And your mother said she was tired."
"I said nothing of the sort, young man," responded Mrs. Richards tartly. "Now get in. I believe we have a few things to discuss."
He nodded and climbed in, doing his best not to feel nervous. He sat across from the ladies like a man facing a military tribunal. Mrs. Richards did not delay, but began the inquiry the moment the carriage door closed. Her questions were surprisingly perceptive. He had expected her to ask about his intentions, perhaps give him a reminder that Francine was destined for Lord Hetherset. But instead, she asked about his job, his pay, and his after-hours clients.
The very nature of her questions demonstrated a keen mind, and his estimation of her rose accordingly. More importantly, he realized that Mrs. Richards was likely a key part of the family's business success. Mr. Richards had always struck him as someone who thought long-term, but was rather intemperate in the moment. He always had great visions of the future, but in daily interactions he'd seemed loud and somewhat emotional. Clearly, it was Mrs. Richards who moderated her husband's more choleric decisions. And just as obvious, the two were a good match.
He spoke as calmly and clearly as he could. Francine said nothing, just sat there quietly with an excited smile on her face. And as the ride continued, Anthony began to have hope. Perhaps this was Francine's plan: to enlist the aid of her mother against her father. Perhaps a union between them was possible.
But then the woman turned to her daughter with a sad look on her face. "Francine, dear, he seems like a lovely young gentleman. Very nice. But your father has been dreaming of his noble grandchildren since the day you were born. Everything is already arranged with Lord Hetherset's son. You cannot think he will change his mind now. Not for Mr. Pierce's son."
Francine's serene expression fell, and her fingers abruptly tightened until she was clutching her skirt. "But Mama, with your help—"
"No, dear. Not even with my help. He has had it in his mind for too long now."
"But, Mama—"
"No."
And that, it seemed, was that. Anthony could see the deflation in Francine, and his heart broke for them both. Instinctively, he reached across the carriage for Francine's hand. She gripped it immediately and held on as the carriage came to a stop in front of their house. But eventually they had to get out. The footman opened the door, and he and Francine had to break apart. He disembarked, then assisted the ladies. But as he was just about to say goodnight, Francine invited him inside.
"Francine, you know I cannot," he said, but she shook her head.
&nbs
p; "You must come inside. We need to talk." Then she turned to her mother. "You must let us say good-bye, Mama. Please."
He could see Mrs. Richards sigh and shake her head, but Francine persisted. Without words, she pleaded with her mother, gripping the woman's hand and showing tears on her lashes. It took awhile, but eventually the woman groaned. "Oh, very well. Come along, Mr. Pierce. I believe we have just received an excellent brandy. Would you care for some?"
"Uh, no thank you, ma'am. I don't drink, as a rule."
She nodded as she entered their house. "Very well said. I, however, absolutely do drink. The butler will be here in a moment. Francine, please have him open a bottle of brandy for me. In the meantime, I shall be but a moment upstairs." She waived airily at them, then began climbing the stairs, barely even stopping to strip out of her cloak and gloves.
Anthony stared after her, his mind whirling. There was no figuring out the woman: excruciatingly perceptive one moment, blithely ignorant the next. "Francine," he said, "do you think your mother is acting odd?"
Francine looked up the stairs, but quickly shook her head. "Mama's thinking something. I have no idea what. Her mind is always on ten things at once. Everyone believes Papa is the brilliant mind—"
"But your mother plays a key role in his success. Yes, I had already guessed that."
She flashed him a wan smile. "It doesn't matter. We haven't the time. I was hoping she would help—" Then she abruptly bit off her words before turning to the butler who was just then coming down the hallway as stiff and proper as any good English butler would. "Thank you," Francine said to the man. "You may go now. I'll take care of the candles."
The butler's brows arched, but he didn't speak. He seemed to consider his options for a moment, but in the end, he bowed and withdrew. Anthony recognized the impropriety of the situation, but Francine didn't give him time to object. She tugged him quickly into the side parlor and shut the door. He might have said something, but the moment the doors clicked shut, she spun around and threw herself into his arms.
There was nothing he could say then. He felt her trembling in his arms and the tight grip of her hands on his coat. He held her close, his thoughts at sea. Francine seemed almost excited, and yet their situation had never been bleaker. Her mother refused to help, and her father had already declared her engaged. So he buried his face in her hair and inhaled deeply as he tried for a solution. But he just couldn't find one.
His livelihood depended on her father. His family's livelihood depended upon the Richards as well. He would not propose to a woman if he knew that he could not support her. And proposing to Francine would mean they all ended up in the poorhouse in a very short time.
"Don't cry," he whispered to his love.
She drew back. "Cry? I'm not crying! I'm angry!"
He blinked back his own tears to look at her. She wasn't crying. If anything, she looked very resolved. But she was trembling.
"Anthony, just answer one question for me. Do you love me?"
His breath left his chest, and his mouth went dry. Before he could frame his answer, she rushed on.
"I know we haven't spoken of it. Not directly, at least. We've talked about how we would live, about how easily my father could ruin you. But I have to know, Anthony. Do you—"
"Yes," he said. "Yes, I love you. I have from the very first moment I saw you playing with Ginger. I love your voice, your face. I love the way you laugh when you are excited and the way you snort when you're frustrated."
"I don't snort!"
"Of course not. But you blow forcefully out of your nose when something angers you."
"That's not snorting!" she huffed. Strongly. Out of her nose. And then she realized what she had done, and her expression softened. "I love you too, Anthony."
"I would do anything for you, Francine. I would. But I can't ask for your hand if I know we'll end up in Debtors' Prison by the end of the year."
She nodded slowly, her mind obviously working hard. "But you have clients who aren't beholden to my father."
He nodded. "It's not enough. And getting fired by your father would be a very public thing. I wouldn't get new clients easily, and I might get sacked from those I already have."
"But I could be baking. I could sell my tarts and things."
He nodded even as he dashed her hopes. "We would need a kitchen for you to work. And if you weren't living here, I don't know where—"
"Never mind," she said, and he heard the resolve in her voice. "Will you do one thing more for me then? Will you kiss me?"
Of course he would. But he wouldn't rush it. Not if this could end up being the last time they touched. So he stroked his thumb along her jaw, memorizing the silky sweet texture of her skin, seeing the way her breath caught and her mouth opened. She wet her lips and his groin tightened. What he wouldn't give to have her in his life forever.
She stretched forward onto her toes, and he took the invitation. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close as his mouth descended to hers. He took her mouth then, as desperately and completely as he wanted to take her whole body. She surrendered easily to him, but there was still fire in her. Her tongue dueled with his. Her hands mussed his hair and then slipped to his coat.
"Take this off," she gasped as she shoved at it.
"Francine," he groaned. If he started disrobing now, he might never stop.
"Oh, never mind," she said. "There isn't time anyway."
He nodded and tried to step away, but she abruptly grabbed his cravat and yanked it apart. He was half-strangled in the process, so he grabbed her hand and quickly did apart the ends. And while he was working, she started pulling pins out of her hair. She had in only a few near her face, so very quickly she was able to shake out her beautiful locks.
But she didn't stop there. She reached behind her, and with a sudden jerk, she ripped two buttons of her dress off.
"What are you doing?" he gasped as she did it again.
"Why did she sew this so strong?" she grumbled.
"Francine!"
Then she flashed him a grin before she opened her mouth and started screaming. "Oh! Oh my! Oh yes, Anthony!"
Oh God, that wasn't frightened screaming, that was badly acted screaming. What was—? He was just working out her plan when she jerked on her bodice, apparently trying to rip it apart down the center. It didn't work. Again the fabric was too strong, but she did manage to twist things askew. One of her breasts bulged, but thankfully didn't escape.
And all the while, she was screaming. "That feels so wonderful, Anthony. More! More!"
"Stop it, Francine!" he said, rushing forward to grab her hands. "This isn't the way."
"Ow! Oh, owow! It hurts!"
He looked down startled, his hands quickly releasing her wrists. But he couldn't possibly have hurt her.
"I am deflowered now!" she bellowed.
"You are not!" he cried. "Francine, your father will kill me!"
And on those fateful words, the parlor door burst open. Butler, mother, and—bloody hell—Mr. Richards came storming in.
Chapter 12
"What is the meaning of this?" Mr. Richards demanded.
"Sir—" Anthony began, scrambling for an explanation that would sound reasonable. But there wasn't anything, and it didn't matter because Francine spun around, her hair flying wild as she gasped.
"Papa! I am ruined! I must marry Anthony or my reputation is destroyed!"
To the side, Mrs. Richards sighed and rolled her eyes. Then she turned and gestured to the butler, shooing him out the door. He went with speed, closing the door behind him, though given the way Francine was shouting, the entire household would hear every word.
"I cannot marry Lord Hetherset now! Oh, the shame!"
"Stop that caterwauling this instant!" bellowed her father. His words were for Francine, but his eyes burned into Anthony's.
"I will not!" she cried. "I'm overset! I'm ruined!"
"You're nothing of the sort," he snapped. "And you, s
ir, will be whipped."
Francine's voice took on a note of pure panic. "You will not! He's to be my husband."
"You are sacked, young man," Mr. Richards continued. "And your father as well. And I'll see to it that neither of you ever works again!"
"Papa! I'm ruined!" Francine snapped, stepping forward. "I have no choice but to marry Anthony!"
Now he turned to her, his fists tight, his face red with fury. "You will be silent, you idiot girl!"
That was the moment it all changed. Before, the whole thing had felt like a desperate farce to Anthony. But the moment father turned on daughter, everything became very real, very fast. And Anthony reacted very quickly.
He stepped firmly between the two. He spoke as calmly as possible, but he made sure there was steel in his voice. "You will not harm her," he said quietly. "You have every reason to be angry, but you will not hurt her."
The man's eyebrows lowered, and Anthony saw murder in his eyes. Mr. Richards's fists lifted, and Anthony braced himself. He had no wish to fight. He hated any type of fisticuffs, and the idea of hitting an older man appalled him. But Mr. Richards was no lightweight. He was a large man overcome with fury. If that meant he had to hit someone to get past the moment, then that someone would be Anthony, not Francine.
So Anthony lifted his chin, opening his arms as the target. "Take out your rage on me if you must—"
"No!" cried Francine.
"—but you will not touch her!"
"Why, you bloody cur!" Mr. Richards bellowed as he attacked. The blows came down hard and punishing. Anthony blocked as many as he could, but even that was painful, knocking him back on his heels over and over again. He did not throw any punches, and ridiculously enough, that seemed to infuriate the man all the more.
"Stop it!" screeched Francine from the side. Anthony barely heeded her except to note her place in the room. He needed to steer her father in the opposite direction.
