Deadly Kisses (39 page)

 

H
E WAS SO TERRIBLY TIRED,
a kind of fatigue that he didn't recall ever having experienced before. It was raining. The few mourners, all of whom had been either his family or Francesca's, had left the cemetery some time ago. He stared down at the small marble stone that commemorated the child he had not wanted and now would never know. Francesca had chosen the inscription. “Here Lies Innocence; the Perfect Soul.” Remarkably, tears filled his gaze, blurring it. He had thought his tears long since dried up.

“Calder? It's pouring.”

He started, unaware that Francesca had come to stand beside him. He hadn't seen her in the past four days. He slowly turned to her, and his heart began to expand with life as he looked into her worried eyes and at her beautiful face. Something inside of him that had felt frozen began to melt.

She did not carry an umbrella and she was soaking wet. He
jerked off his jacket, draping it about her shoulders. “I thought you had left!” he exclaimed. “Francesca, you could catch pneumonia!”

She pressed against him. “I was not going to leave you standing here in the rain by yourself. It was a beautiful funeral, Calder.”

The lump of anguish that had been choking him for days surprised him by not rising up. Instead, it began to recede. He found himself putting his arm around her. She was warm, alive, and he had missed her terribly. “Thank you for the inscription.”

She smiled just a little at him. “Raoul is waiting. Send your driver on—I will give you a lift home.”

He realized he would like nothing more than to share a carriage with her. “I have missed you, Francesca.”

She reached out, laying her fingertips across his cheek. “The feeling is a very mutual one.”

He had spent the past four days in his own personal hell, mourning his child through four sleepless nights, all the while haunted by the little boy he had once been. He pulled her close and they started toward the coach. “How are you?”

“I have been worried about you.”

She had halted and so did he. And before he knew it, he was holding her small face in his hands and his feelings were pouring forth, fervent and uncontrollable. “Francesca, since we first met, I have wanted to show you every possible pleasure here on this earth, from Paris in the moonlight to Tahiti at sunset. I only want you to experience the wonders life has to offer—the finest Rothschild wine; the rarest, flawless diamonds; French couture; van Gogh. Since we first met, I have thought of hundreds of ways to show you the finest things in the world. I have wanted to take you by the hand, travel the globe, enthrall you—especially in my bed. I
never
wanted to be the cause of your hurt and pain. I am so sorry!”

She was crying. “I am undone, Calder. Has any woman ever told you that you are the most romantic of men?”

“If I have become romantic, Francesca, it is because of you. Thank you for allowing me my privacy these past few days. I cannot begin to tell you how much your consideration means to me.”

She sniffed, the tip of her nose red. “I will always respect your needs, Calder. By now, surely you know that?”

He wiped two teardrops with his thumb. “I think I am beginning to understand that.”

She laughed a little, the sound shaky. “But I did speak with Alfred every day, to make sure you weren't locked in the library with a case of Scotch—to make sure you didn't need me, in spite of what you said.”

“You are a miracle,” he said, a powerful image of Francesca in his hallway, sneaking a conversation with Alfred while he wept in the master suite, overcoming him then.

“Hardly,” she said, rolling her eyes.

He would have laughed, because she was so adorable and so modest, but he had yet to say what he had to say. “By trying to protect you from the scandal of Daisy's murder, I have hurt you—no, do not interrupt! You have been so brave and so strong. This has been so hard for you, hasn't it?”

She did not hesitate. “It has been very hard, Calder, but I understood that you only thought to protect me from scandal. Your motives were very noble. You see? You are a true gentleman after all!”

He almost laughed; the sound was choked instead. “Only you could be so forgiving when I put you through such hell. You are an extraordinary woman,” he said unevenly. “I don't know you half as well as I intend to. I can think of nothing more exciting than spending the rest of my life uncovering every facet of who you are.”

She became still. “I should gladly allow you to spend a lifetime
searching for such hidden facets, although you are giving me far too much credit, Calder. I am really rather ordinary.”

He actually laughed. “There is nothing ordinary about you!” he exclaimed, and then sobered. He had never missed anyone the way he had just missed Francesca.

“Calder?” she asked, her eyes shining with love and hope.

And in that instant he had an epiphany. His feelings were a miracle, he realized.
She
was a miracle—his miracle. What had he been thinking? “Fracesca, darling, I want that lifetime with you,” he said thickly. “But can you ever trust me again? And are you certain that is what you still want? Society is gleefully lined up, waiting to throw their newly sharpened knives at me, I have not a doubt. I don't want a single barb aimed at you—I will not allow it, if you give me another chance.”

Francesca cried out, flinging her arms around him. “Foolish man! I would give you a hundred chances—no, a thousand!”

He held her tightly. “God, I hope I do not need a hundred new chances.”

“You probably will,” she whispered teasingly, “as you are so arrogant, high-handed and resolute.”

He did smile, even as his body came fiercely to life. “I do not know what I was thinking, to offer you a platonic friendship in exchange for what we had.” He cradled her face in his large hands. “I cannot live without you, Francesca. These past few days have shown me that. My life is black without you. Without you, it hurts.”

She became still as their gazes locked, his darkening with the smoke of desire. Need rose up in her so swiftly her knees buckled. Instantly he reached out to steady her. “I am very glad to hear you say that,” she whispered shakily, “because I cannot live without you, either. I will always be at your side, whether you want me there or not, to ease your pain. But—” she smiled “—will you at least admit that perhaps you overreacted to the crisis at hand…darling?”

“I have a feeling that I will always overreact where you are concerned,” he said roughly.

She had to smile at him, and their hands slid together. “I like the sound of that, Calder.”

His dark gaze softened and was searching. “I committed myself to you long ago, before you ever accepted my proposal, and at the time I did not even know I was making such a commitment. It was a commitment that came from my heart—perhaps from my soul. It was a commitment I never dreamed I would ever make—and it will never change.”

She was overcome. Somehow, in spite of their engagement having been briefly broken, their love had grown. Somehow their commitment had become even greater, as impossible as that seemed.

“Nothing has changed for me, either,” Francesca whispered. “I love you and I will remain with you through thick and thin. If from time to time you think that you must protect me from your dark side, I do understand and I will accept it—protestingly, of course.”

“Of course.” He smiled, his hands splayed now upon her hips. “And you will always be here, to ease my pain?”

Her heart skipped in excitement. “Hart, I was refer ring to your battered heart.”

He smiled just a little at her. “Oh! I misunderstood.” His grin was suggestive. Then it vanished. “As badly as I wish to kiss you, there is something I must do first.”

She began to tremble.

He was deadly ernest. “Francesca, I know I am a difficult man. I know I have a sordid past. This past week proved that. I know you could do far better than me. You deserve better. But I am in love with you. Deeply, darkly, hopelessly in love with you. And I wish to marry you—if you will really give me another chance—as soon as possible.”

Francesca laughed and cried and kissed him, at first quickly, and then deeply and slowly, her tongue thrusting deep.

He returned her kiss for a long, long time. Then, when they were both out of breath, he whispered, “Is that a yes?”

She kissed his fingers. “It is a thousand yeses, rolled into one.” She waved her hand at him.

He laughed. “I thought you might refuse me, or at least pretend to be coy. But you are still wearing my ring.”

“Of course I am! Even if you married someone else, I wouldn't take it off!”

He laughed, the sound happy, his pleasure lighting up his face, his eyes. Then he became serious. “There will never be anyone else, not in my bed, my heart or my life.”

“I can manage that,” she said as happily, seeking his hand with hers. Their palms clasped. “So what do you think we should do? Papa has said he wants to sit down with you and get to know you somewhat. He is coming around, Calder. That means we can have a small ceremony, just family and friends.”

“We can invite all of society, if you wish, and have a scandalous, impossibly expensive society wedding, so our detractors can be green with jealousy.”

“Ooh, I do like that idea.”

He laughed. “I thought you might,” he murmured. He kissed the top of her head.

Francesca met his gaze and smiled. Did they dare have the wedding of the decade and taunt society in such a manner? She wasn't sure it mattered, but the idea was so tempting.

Her wildest dreams, her dearest hopes were going to come true after all. Only that morning she hadn't been sure if their relationship would survive as she wished it to, but it was hardly over. This was a new begining—better and more promising than ever before. The joy inside her was threatening to make her burst. “Maybe we should get out of the rain and go somewhere
private—to discuss our wedding,” she said in a silken tone. It had been far too long, she thought.

He grinned briefly. “Yes, somewhere private, a good idea, darling.” The last word dripped from his tone like cream and there was no mistaking his intentions.

She went still. “You wish to discuss the wedding?”

His gaze was dark. “Of course. However, I recently—very recently—heard you claim that you could never refuse me.” He gave her a sidelong look.

Every heated moment they had ever shared raced through her mind. Francesca tried to breathe, but her chest had never felt so tight. “I will never refuse you,” she said softly. “Just tell me what you want.” And she simply looked at him.

“You know what I want,” he said thickly, pulling her completely into his arms. “I want to take you to my bed—right now—and I want to show you how terribly I have missed you and how much I have regretted our separation.”

“Then we should call your driver,” she whispered. “Because I am no longer shy and innocent and I want to show
you
a thing or two.” She could not smile, not now.

“A thing or two?” He blinked, amused.

He had been poised to kiss her for several seconds now and she somehow smiled, quite incapable of drawing a normal breath. “I want to show you how much I love you, Calder. And I am going to show you—in your bed—I am going to remind you, again and again, that I am here to stay, no matter what demons you think to fight, and I will never leave you, or doubt you. But I must warn you. My passion does not feel controllable tonight.”

He stared, his gaze smoldering. “Warning taken,” he murmured, and he wrapped his arms around her, kissing her very, very thoroughly, tongue to tongue, for a very long time.

When he was done, she was breathless and dizzy, the grass beneath her feet tilting quite precariously. Worse, he had set a fire and it needed to be extinguished, as soon as possible—the
carriage would do. And then, of course, there was the wedding they must plan. She could barely wait. “Take me home, Hart,” she said.

He gave her a lazy, heavily lidded look. “I think that can be arranged, darling.”