Engaged in Passion (A Bridal Favors Novella) (8 page)

The feelings started to well up in her. An ache right beneath her stomach that grew until she felt choked by it. Her eyes burned and her toes even cramped from where she was digging into the floorboards through her slippers. She couldn't let him do this to her. Once Papa's word was given, he never went back on it. But the idea that she'd never see Anthony again had her slamming her fists on his desk, one word exploding out of her.

"No!"

Her father reared back in shock. "What did you say?"

"I said I don't want to marry Lord Hetherset's son. Don't do it, Papa. I won't marry him."

Far from the tirade she was braced for, her father actually smiled. It was a cold smile, one she'd rarely seen before. And it chilled her to the bone for its total lack of feeling. "It's already done, Francine. The papers have already been sent."

"No!"

"Yes. Now go. If you're frightened of marriage, then go talk to your mother. She can ease your fears."

"But I don't want Lord Hetherset's son!"

"And I didn't want to make hats either. But look where we are now."

"But—"

"Out, Francine. I have already spent too much time on your future. We're expanding, you know. Buying up that shoe store next door."

"Papa!"

"
Go now!
"

And that was it. His face was flushed, his eyes narrowed, and his hands had clenched into fists. If she persisted, he was fully capable of picking her up and throwing her into her bedroom. That's what he'd done when she was younger. And if not that, then he had the key to her bedroom. He would lock her in on bread and water. The last time he'd done it, she'd sat in there for two weeks.

She couldn't risk that. Not if she wanted to see Anthony. Not if she wanted to bake him cherry tarts and try out his new dressmaker. Not if she wanted any of the things that were important to her.

So she left. She knew when it was best to retreat to find a new strategy. She didn't know what she'd do, but by God, she would not marry some lackwit aristocrat just for a title. In fact, she would damn well never marry someone she didn't choose! And as she sat in her bedroom with Ginger, her little kitten, curled up in her lap, the spark of stubbornness inside her grew to a brilliant fire. She thought of Anthony, she thought of everything she'd once wanted for herself. And she thought about something very odd: the day her father had hired Gary, the brilliant hatmaker.

No one in the house spoke of it. She was so young, they probably thought she didn't remember it, but she did. She remembered that her father had burned all the toys he'd been making. That the fire had burned so hot she had to hide behind a doorway because of the heat. And she remembered how her father had cried. He'd collapsed onto the floor and sobbed like a child.

The heartbreak in every wrenching sob caught her even now, choking off her breath with the pain of it all. That could be her too, she knew, on the day she married Christian, the lackwit, impoverished, future Lord Hetherset. But that would never happen. Because no matter what she had to do, she would never sit in front of a fire while the future she wanted burned to ashes.

Chapter 7

Anthony could not sit still. Over the last three weeks, he'd managed to sneak time to see Francine about a dozen times. He'd been persistent, as had she. But the amount of effort it took to create moments together—away from both their parents—was exhausting. He at least had some freedom, though less and less now that he was apprenticing with his father. But she had to feign illnesses from parties and slip out early. She had bribed her maid to help her sneak out of the house before the sun, just so they could whisper together at the park.

It was maddening, and he was rapidly losing his mind. Or perhaps it wasn't the secrecy that was making him twitchy. Perhaps it was the fact that she was the most amazing woman. Once she was away from everyone else, she laughed with a carefree abandon that was noticeably absent at her home.

They talked about everyone and everything. They whispered confidences to each other and shared dreams. Well, his dreams. She was completely silent on her own, except for the desire to have children one day. And to bake more. She liked to bake and, in fact, had brought him a different sweet every time they met. The depth of her ability with food was astounding.

So astounding that he did something behind her back. Something that she might or might not appreciate.

He'd meant to tell her his plans last night. He'd crept around to her house well after midnight. They had a signal. She kept her window open, and he tossed a pebble inside. She was downstairs in a flash, meeting him in the dark alley behind her house.

He would have told her then what he'd done. He meant to confess all his plans and his hopes to her. But she had come to him all flushed with happiness. Her eyes had danced, and she'd laughed her throaty laugh. He'd kissed her then, and the next hour was lost.

What they had done was inappropriate, to say the least. But her mouth was on his, and she loved it when he caressed her breasts. The full mounds had delighted him too, and he had pressed her against the wall and ground himself against her while their mouths fused. Just thinking about it made him harder than a rock, his entire body aching with hunger.

She had wanted to do more. He had wanted it with a desperation that nearly drove him insane. But he couldn't do it. He couldn't lift her skirts in the alley as if she were a common tart. He couldn't shame her that way. So he'd backed away. He'd forced himself to send her back to her bedroom, though every cell in his body strained for her.

He forced her to go, and now he was actually twitching with the hunger to see her again. She had her final fitting at A Lady's Favor dress shop today. The timing was awkward, but she had especially arranged it for an afternoon when her mother couldn't attend. He told her he might be able to escape on the pretext of running an errand and taking lunch. He might, if only he got—

"Good God, you're like a nervous cat. What is wrong with you today?" his father cried.

Anthony looked down at the receipts in his lap. Apprentices didn't get the luxury of a desk. He sighed. "I am very behind on my work for the dress shop," he lied. "And Mr. Petham's butchery as well. I need to visit them, and if I wait until night—"

"You will have to choose, Anthony. The pennies you receive from those places are nothing compared to what you can get from Mr. Richards."

Anthony shook his head. "Not now, I can't. Now I am paid an apprentice's wage. I need the extra income from the other shops."

His father snorted. "Why? What need have you of that? You live with me and your mother. I pay for your food—"

"I am a man, father. I cannot forever live at your expense. What if I want to marry? Will my wife move in with you as well?"

His father's eyes narrowed, and his expression turned canny. "You have met her."

Alarm shot through Anthony's spine. His father couldn't possible
know
. Not about Francine. He would be beside himself with fury. So he pasted on as neutral an expression as he could and looked blandly at his father. "Her whom?"

His father released a sharp bark of laughter. "Don't try to fool me, my boy. You have found
her
. The woman you intend to marry. I knew it within an hour of first laying eyes on your mother. She was the girl for me. And now you have met the one for you." He leaned forward, his expression eager. "What is her name? Tell me about her! Is she of a good family?"

Anthony swallowed, wondering how he would negotiate this disaster. In the end, he shook his head. "I cannot tell you the details, Father. I... it's too uncertain." That at least was true. "She is of an excellent family, but I'm not sure you will like her."

His father stiffened. "I course I will like the woman you love! You have excellent judgment. Why? Is there something wrong with her?"

Anthony shook his head. "She has an, um, abrasive way about her. But it is only because she has been hurt before. Papa, could you truly trust my judgment and give her a chance?"

His father's expression softened and he pursed his lips. "For you, my boy, I would give a gorgon a chance." He narrowed his eyes. "She is not a thief or any such thing?"

"Definitely not! She just has been unkind at times, and she regrets it terribly now."

"Well, as to that, I've been known to be too gruff as well!" Then he chuckled. "Anthony, I trust you. You've grown into a fine man, and I am sure I will love the woman you choose."

Anthony released a tight breath. One problem solved. Sadly he still had a greater difficulty. "What if
her
father does not approve of
me
?"

"Not approve! But you are a catch, my boy! You have excellent prospects, are handsome, have no vices, and will come to her with a full salary from Mr. Richards's Millinery."

"Not yet, I won't," he said. "I'm an apprentice."

"You'll get a full salary soon. I swear it. I'll talk to Mr. Richards immediately. Tell him you are thinking of marrying—"

"No!" Anthony cried. Then he took a deep breath at his father's surprised expression. "I want no special favors from Mr. Richards." Well, none except for his daughter's hand in marriage. "I will get my promotion or not as custom dictates."

His father pursed his lips, but in the end he nodded. "Quite honorable of you. Excellent perspective." Then he punctuated the thought by lifting his quill and pointing it directly at his son. "I'm proud of you," he said. Then he returned to work, inscribing something in the endless columns of numbers that were their livelihood.

End of discussion, thought Anthony with a sigh. Then he tried to focus on his work, but it was hard. He was dead tired from too many nights and a few very early mornings. It was hard enough working for Mr. Richards, not to mention doing his own after-hours work. Plus, working without a desk made his shoulders hunch and his back hurt.

And when would he be able to see Francine again? How—

"Oh, bloody hell," his father said with a most unusual curse. "Go. You are getting nothing done here today. Take care of the dress shop and the butchery. And the girl, because I know that is the real reason you cannot focus today."

"Father—"

"But mark my words. You will come back here tomorrow and work doubly hard. Do you understand?"

Anthony nodded, unable to believe his luck. Was his father truly releasing him before midday? "Are you sure, Father?"

"Hush! Go! And I shall tell your mother to start thinking about a wedding."

"No, Father, you can't!"

His father lifted his hands, palms outward. "All right. All right. I won't say a word. Provided you work—"

"Triply hard tomorrow. I swear!" Then while his father was still chuckling, Anthony grabbed his hat and satchel, running out the door without even bothering to don his coat.

He made it to the dress shop as fast as he could, but once there, he encountered a surprise. A gentleman—an aristocrat by the looks of him—frowning at the building. Anthony slowed, but didn't speak. He had no idea why a lord would be so interested in a dress shop, and he had no intention of asking. Besides, he was already late. Francine was inside for her fitting, and he was desperate to see her. But as he passed, he saw a piece of paper in the man's hand. It was one he recognized since it had been written in his own hand: a bill from this shop.

His responsibility to the shop warred with his desire to see Francine. He paused, and in that moment, he was caught. The aristocrat saw him looking at the bill.

"Are you associated with this shop?" the man asked. There was authority and an innate arrogance in the man's voice which meant the man had to be titled. Bloody hell! Would he never get inside to see Francine?

"Yes, sir, I am." It took everything he had in him to make sure his expression was open and pleasant. "Is there a problem?"

"Yes, yes," the man said as he waved the bill in the air. "I've got some questions regarding this bill."

"Of course. Well, you need only enter here—" Anthony began, heading for the front door, but the man stopped him.

"I know. Problem is, I'm a little bit on the outs with Mrs. Mortimer. I said something rude about her dress designs, I'm afraid. Didn't mean it, but you know how awkward that can be."