I Thee Wed (14 page)

With a tinge of regret, Orion held his tongue. When Eva breathlessly threw up her hands and backed away, Francesca appeared to be a slightly off-kilter version of Judith.

Except from the front, of course. And the rear, Orion observed as the ladies turned away. Eva turned to assist Judith in removing the outerwear she had just shoved Francesca into.

Judith's slender grace gave her twill overcoat a statuesque trace of style, while Francesca's shorter, rounder form did its best to remind the male of the species of his duty to find a mate and procreate!

Orion blinked back a sudden urge to chase after Francesca to guard her—claim her!—from any other fellow with a functioning cardiac system and at least one working eye!

That was when Erasmus Darwin hurried into the foyer. His wig was askew and his eyes worried. “Has anyone seen my little grandson, Charles? He went to play in the garden, but he isn't there any longer.”

Francesca's eyes grew wide. She shot him a glance of alarm. Orion stepped quietly to her side.

“What is it?” he asked her in a low voice.

She leaned close enough for him to catch her orange-blossom scent. “I saw Attie earlier. She came in the back way to feed the rabbits for me.”

Chaos followed Attie like a faithful pup. Chaos was loud
and furious and easily detected.

Chaos, although disruptive, was vastly to be preferred over quiet.

They listened for a long moment.

“Damn,” Orion cursed softly. “It's too quiet.”

O
RION put one hand on the latch of the laboratory door, but instead of resisting, it swung open at once. A tingle of warning went through him. Then he heard his sister's voice. The alarm transformed into full-blown panic.

“And now I'm going to add the aqua fortis to the spirits of salt mixture—”

The two main ingredients of hydrochloric acid.

“No!” Orion flung himself into the laboratory. He saw Attie pause in shock and half turn toward the door. The little boy, Charlie, turned his head to gaze pale and openmouthed, the picture-perfect image of a child caught in the act.

Even as Orion's long legs ate up the distance between them, he could see the clear liquid trembling on the lip of the jar in Attie's hand. With her attention on his mad dash forward, she had frozen as commanded. However, that was the funny thing about gravity. It was always there when one least wished it to be.

The moment stretched, but Orion could see that he was too late, even as he flung himself at the two children. The
momentum from Attie's startled turn had sent the liquid in the jar sloshing to the back. Now it sloshed forward again, forward . . . and out.

“Get down!” Even as he shouted the warning, he was there. Stretching both long arms, he caught a child in each, eliciting a yelp from Attie and a high, feminine scream from little Charlie. Spinning his body, he clutched the two genius brats close and bent his back to shield them from the—

Crack!

The crystalline shatter filled the room as the glass beaker disintegrated from the explosive heat of the sudden chemical reaction. Orion felt boiling liquid spatter over the back of his coat and upper sleeves. The heat was intense—but that was only the beginning, he knew.

He hefted both youngsters into his arms and ran from the laboratory. As he flashed through the doorway, he glimpsed a pale Francesca just outside, her back still pressed to the outer wall of the building. Her eyes widened even further when she saw him. He thrust Charlie at her, sending the boy through the air without allowing his little booted feet to touch the grass. “Check him!”

His back muscles twitched from the heat. It wouldn't be long now—but first he had to make sure Attie was all right.

With shaking hands, he ran long fingers up her bare arms and over her face and neck, tugging her hair roughly aside to search her skin. It was clear and unmarked by heat or worse.

“Orion, look!”

Orion looked down to where Attie pointed at his sleeve where the acid had splashed. The corrosive had already eaten away at the wool of his jacket. Tiny dots widened before their eyes, first showing the dark lining of the sleeve, then, as it was eaten away, the white of his shirtsleeve.

Already he could feel the heat from the chemical reaction through his next layer of clothing.

Small quick hands pulled at the back of his collar. “Quickly!”

Orion dropped his shoulders to allow the much-shorter Francesca to pull his jacket off him. Already he could feel the sting of a hundred tiny droplets on the skin of his arms.

“Attie, get help! You, too, Charlie! Run!”

Attie took off, her long skinny legs flying across the lawn. Young Charlie scooted after her, although he threw one wide-eyed glance back at Orion as he ran.

“Bloody hell!” The heat began to spread. Dimly, Orion realized that Francesca's fingers were tugging madly at his cravat. She'd already half pulled his waistcoat off.

The stinging turned to fire. The caustic had worked its way through everything he wore and now meant to eat its way through his very skin! Francesca yanked on his arm. He pulled away from her. “Don't get it on you!”

She ran around to the other side of him and began to push. “The fountain! Get in the water! It will—”

“Dilution! Yes!” He ran for the circular fountain in the center of the lawn behind the house. As he pelted the last few yards, he tugged off his cravat and pulled his shirt over his head, sending his shirt studs flying unlamented into the grass.

The flames were lancing deeper now, the tiny stings becoming red-hot welts. Soon they would be wounds!

Orion flung himself into the knee-high water of the fountain, boots and all. A second after he fell backward into the sweet, cold relief of the fountain, he heard another splash beside him.

Small cold hands began to scoop water over him, sluicing the acid from his shoulders and upper chest and neck. Orion dropped his face into the greenish water without a thought to the likely impurities and scrubbed more water into his hair.

Together, their hands colliding and entwining, scooping and sluicing, Orion and Francesca washed every inch of his upper body with the blessedly cold water of the fountain.

Francesca pushed his head back under the surface to scrub at his left earlobe, easing a burn he'd not even realized was
there. He came up gasping, his heart pumping madly with the adrenaline of fear and relief.

Her hands fell away, and she stared at him.

Orion wiped water from his eyes. “What?” He twisted his neck to glance around himself. “Am I badly burned?” He didn't think so. Already the flaming pain had retreated to a throbbing sting that would be gone in a few hours.

He looked at Francesca again. Her gaze was wide and dark—and hungry. As he watched her, the tip of her tongue slipped along the seam of her lips.

“You—”

Francesca swallowed back the tightness in her throat. “You are
magnifico
!” Her voice was a strained whisper. She hardly recognized it as her own.

Dio
, he was gorgeous!

The pearly sunlight gleamed on his wet skin, highlighting the corded muscles wrapping his broad shoulders and winding down his bare arms. The sprinkling of dark hair on his chest sparkled with diamond droplets. She followed the path of the water as it ran down between his thick pectorals, joining other drops to stream between the ridges of his abdominal muscles, following the trail of dark hair down to the soaked, sagging waist of his trousers that hung on his narrow hips.

“Come delicioso
 . . .
”
She heard her voice again. Had she said that aloud? She certainly hadn't meant to, and she had no doubt that she would blush heartily later, but at that moment she could hardly bring herself to care.

He stepped toward her through the knee-high water. “Chessa—”

At hearing her family nickname, she jerked her gaze upward in surprise. His blue eyes had gone black with desire as he stalked intently toward her.

His skin would be cool and damp to her touch, she knew. Her fingers flexed at the memory of touching him just moments ago. In her hurry to help him, she'd only thought to
cleanse the caustic away. However, now she remembered the sensation of running her bare hands over his naked skin, stroking her palms down his hot flesh . . .

I want him.

He wanted her as well. By the set of his shoulders and the hunting intensity of his lowered head, she knew the wolf was on her trail. Like trapped prey, she could not look away from the desire in his gaze. She didn't want to look away. She didn't want to flee her fate at his hands.

All thought of what might be considered wise or prudent or even simply harmless had been washed away by the water running down his astonishing body.

He came so close that droplets falling from his damp curls fell upon her bosom, shockingly cold on her desperately heated flesh.

“Chessa,” he murmured. “Your hands.”

Dazed by his nearness, she lifted her hands and gazed down at the tiny white blisters forming on her fingers and palms. They matched the spots on his skin.

His deep voice took on a tenderness she'd never heard before. “Look what you did to yourself . . . for me.” He lifted his hands as if to take her by the shoulders and pull her close.

Her eyelids drifted closed in surrender as his intensity overwhelmed her. Her own hunger throbbed between her thighs, the drumbeat of her pulse like running feet. Was she fleeing—or was she the hunter? She wanted him to take her. She wanted to take him.

She ached.

O Dio, how I want him!
She leaned forward, pulled as if by a force larger than herself.
Touch me. Take me.

Love m—

“Mr. Worthington! Are you all right?”

A simultaneous reflex pulled them apart, first one step, then two, just as Judith came around the hedge with Pennysmith and two footmen carrying blankets.

Orion turned his shoulder to Francesca and faced Judith. “Yes, Miss Blayne. I believe Miss Penrose and I have removed the worst of the acid.”

Francesca turned away and busied herself by gathering up her soaked skirts. She lifted them enough to step across the bowl of the fountain to the lip, where she allowed one of the footmen to aid her escape—er, ladylike exit.

“Oh, Cousin, you must be chilled to the bone! You're shaking!” Judith rounded the fountain and wrapped one of the blankets around Francesca. “And that water is none too clean. Pennysmith, have baths drawn for both Miss Penrose and Mr. Worthington. Cool, not hot! And bring a bit of ice from the cellar.”

Alas, though bathing with Mr. Worthington sounded like a fine idea, that was not Judith's intention for her cousin.

Moments later, Francesca found herself in her chamber before the fire, at the mercy of Eva, who stripped her in a businesslike fashion and thrust her into the deep copper tub, carefully scrubbing her down with cold, soapy water and a fluffy washing cloth.

Unfortunately, nothing could cool the heat still simmering in her blood.

When she had decided to never marry, Francesca had disdained any thought of missing out on physical intimacy with a husband. If one did not plan on having children, then what was the point of such laborious activity? She'd been smug in her secure knowledge that she would have much more time to pursue her own interests without a man and his progeny to look after!

She'd thought herself immune to flirting and sighs and, most of all, to thrilled girlish discussions of boys and men and what was to come when she was a wife.

She still didn't wish to marry. She didn't. This mad, animal yearning for Orion Worthington was nothing more than—than a single mating season!

Mating season. Secured in a thick wrapper and forced into a chair by the fire, although she still burned from within, Francesca pondered the notion of the mating season.

Every spring, all over the world, animals and birds and even reptiles sought out a member of the opposite gender. It was the biological imperative at work, pulling all creatures away from hunting and eating and sleeping just to roll around with a mate for a little while.

There were several creatures that mated for life. Swans. Wolves. Even some classes of fish.

Humans were not considered to be one of them, biologically speaking.

So . . . what if she was merely interested in one such season?

Or, to be more specific, one such night?

T
HOUGH the day had offered much in terms of dramatic excitement, by evening Orion hadn't spent a single moment focused on his only responsibility at Blayne House—Sir Geoffrey's research. Determined that the day should not be utterly devoid of serious inquiry, Orion decided to review his notes from the previous day and put his thoughts in order so that he might start fresh in the morning. Unfortunately, Sir Geoffrey was in possession of Orion's most recent notations, and it was too late to disturb an elderly man, especially one of such unpredictable temper. Orion decided to retrieve the notes for himself.

As much as he tended to distance himself from his family's eccentricities, Orion had to admit there were benefits to growing up a Worthington, including the development of certain skills outside the norms of gentle Society. So it was that he set the candle near his feet, slipped a pick and lever from his trouser pocket, and began to carefully open the lock to Sir Geoffrey's study. The latch gave way, and he let himself in, sure that it was a quick and harmless errand. Besides, with
all the chaos of the day, no one in the Blayne household would notice or even care if he had fetched his own notes in the middle of the night.

One story above, Francesca was on a mission of her own. She moved with stealth through the pitch-black house, holding her skirts so they would not brush against the floor as she rushed breathlessly toward Mr. Worthington's bedroom, and toward her own sensual liberation. Oh, it was scandalous indeed to succumb to desire! But after wrestling with her own mind for several hours, she realized she had no choice—social standards were arbitrary creations of civilization, but biological imperative was the force of creation itself. Who was she to deny nature? Why would she even want to?

Of course, there would be consequences. She would betray Judith the moment she offered herself to Orion Worthington, and for that she felt a twinge of guilt. But only a twinge. She did not want to hurt Judith, who had always been kind, if a bit distant. But Francesca had observed with interest how passively her cousin accepted Mr. Worthington as a suitor. There was no passion in the dance of their courtship. In fact, Judith seemed to have simply surrendered to her fate, caught in the matrimonial net and pinned onto Orion Worthington's future like a butterfly in a collection, powerless to extract herself.

That was how Francesca knew that pursuing her own desires would not hurt Judith, because Judith's true yearnings, though cloaked, must surely reside elsewhere. Perhaps one day Judith would reveal the true yearnings of her heart—or the truth about anything at all.

Just as she passed the top of the stairs, Francesca's ears pricked and her eyes darted toward movement. In the dimness, she caught sight of a tall and broad male figure opening the door to her uncle's study. She pressed a hand to her mouth to suppress a gasp—it was Orion himself! What in the world was he up to? Sir Geoffrey's study was off-limits. Curious indeed!

Silently she slipped down the staircase and through the hall, reaching the study just as Orion eased himself inside. Francesca pushed against the door when Orion tried to close it.

“Hello,” she said.

Orion jumped, his spine stiffening as his eyes narrowed in the dark. “What in heaven's name are you doing here?” he hissed.

Francesca smiled at his face shadowed in candlelight. “One might ask you the very same question, Mr. Worthington.”

“Shh. Come. Hurry.” Orion grabbed her by the elbow, glanced quickly up and down the hallway, and drew her into the confines of the dark study.

Now what? Francesca froze, her back to the wall. The two stood awkwardly close, their rapid breathing the only detectable sound in the room. They were truly alone. In a room lit only by a single candle and a shaft of moonlight. And in close proximity. The intimacy of it was overwhelming to Francesca, and she felt her heart bang away under her ribs.

But wasn't this what she came looking for?

“I was merely retrieving my research notes,” Orion said, his voice overly formal. “In all the bedlam today, I forgot to ask Sir Geoffrey to return them to me.”

Francesca let the back of her head touch the wall behind her, trying to slow her pulse and breath.

Orion tilted his handsome head, his frown deepening and his eyes straying from Francesca's face, down to her bosom, and up again. He seemed agitated. Could it be that he had struggled with his desires the same as she had today?

“Orion—”

“I only wanted to review my work so that I could be prepared to start again in the morning. I—”

“I don't give a fig about your notes, Mr. Worthington!” Francesca straightened, calling forth every bit of courage she possessed. Oh, how she hoped this was not pure folly! “I sought you out this evening to . . . to offer you a proposition.”

His confused scowl and the way he absently passed a hand through his mussed-up hair caused her to smile. Still, icy butterflies fluttered madly in her belly at the thought of what she was about to say. She clasped her hands tightly before her.

“I propose that we see it through, sir.”

He seemed fascinated by the pulse pounding in her throat. “See what through, Miss Penrose?”

She lifted her hand and allowed it to do something it had longed to do. Her fingers trembled as she trailed them through his disheveled hair, then let them drift to caress the point of his chiseled cheekbone. “This,” she said simply.

His eyes widened. His fisted hands opened. For an instant, she thought he might step closer and reach for her.
Oh yes. Please
.

Then he seemed to shake off his first inclination. He drew back. “We should not even be having this conversation. We should not be in this room, in the dark, alone. You know perfectly well that I am expected to court Judith. She is an excellent match.”

Francesca laughed at him. “Oh, Mr. Worthington! I don't want to marry you.” She shook her head, still laughing. “Can you imagine it? We'd kill each other within a year!”

He frowned again, seemingly miffed at the notion that she might not want to marry him. She'd been too frank. Goodness, men were sensitive!

“I mean to say,” she began again more carefully, “that I do not ever intend to marry. That sort of imprisonment does not interest me. I wish to spend my life on my work, not on my husband!”

His brow eased. “I don't see what husbands have to do with it. My mother wants to paint, so she paints. All day long if she likes.”

Francesca nodded. “That is how it was in my family as well. Many of my female relatives pursue their own careers—but those who do rarely marry.” She sighed. “And marriage
seems like such a bother, don't you think? Always asking, ‘What do you think, dear?' and ‘Won't you take me dancing, dear?'” She nodded. “If I wish to dance, I shall dance.”
And if I wish to take a lover, I shall take a lover.

Orion eased forward to better examine this strange specimen of a female more closely. He could not disagree with her reasoning. He himself would not be interested in marriage if it were not beneficial to his scientific career. And if it could cost him that career? Then hell no!

So, she meant to become one of those bluestocking women who never wed. Orion was well acquainted with the sort. His own aunts, Clemmie and Poppy, had never wed. The two old birds tramped freely about England, accountable to no one, looking at the gardens of great houses and raising obnoxious little dogs that Clemmie was prone to carrying about in her loose, drooping bodice.

In his imagination, he pictured lovely Francesca out on safari, studying the biology of Africa and counting lion toes. It made him smile inwardly. And why shouldn't she? If he were a lion and such a bossy, dark-eyed vixen of a biologist wanted to count his toes, he would allow it!

She was watching him carefully. “That doesn't shock you?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I can't think why it would. You have a very fine mind. It would be a shame to waste it on running a house if you don't care to.”

She blinked. “Oh. Thank you. I thought I was ‘frivolous and scattered.'”

“You are. You are all of the above, Miss Penrose. Intelligent, talented, scattered, and occasionally frivolous.”
And much more. Beautiful. Fascinating. Extraordinary.

She thought about that for a long moment. Then she grinned at him. “I believe I find that appraisal acceptable.”

Orion did smile then. She was so endearing—in the way that hedgehogs were endearing, yet also difficult to handle and prone to jabbing a fellow when he least expected it.

“Now,” he said, attempting to steer the conversation back to a more linear path. “Explain ‘see it through.'”

Her grin faded as she swallowed hard. “I—” She cleared her throat.

Orion considered her with some surprise. Was the brash, indomitable Francesca Penrose
nervous
?

She took a breath. “We do not like each other, but you must admit that our attraction is undeniable. What is needed is full combustion—the opportunity to burn through our sexual attraction and be done with it.” She lifted her chin. “I think we should become lovers.”

Oh yes. God yes
.

She inhaled again, then hurried on. “I propose a single night. We are spending far too much of our valuable time wondering about each other. It is much more efficient to light the flame than simply let it smolder.” She held up a single finger. “One night to explore and eradicate this unwanted distraction, to do whatever is necessary to turn our burning desires into ash.”

Yes, please
.

He didn't say it out loud, thank goodness. Instead, he managed to simply stare at her. His jaw dropped, but he was fairly certain he did not drool.

He hoped.

Then he found himself clearing his own throat nervously. “I—”
Oh, shut up, man, and take her up on it!
“I do not think that would be appropriate.”

She looked down at her hands. “Because you mean to wed someone else? Are you saving yourself for marriage, then? What a lovely bride you will make some lucky fellow.”

He couldn't read her expression, but he could hear it in her voice. She was laughing at him again!

He wasn't about to tell her that she wasn't far from the truth. His virginity had never been much of a problem for him before, but now the idea that he might actually need to confess such a thing to her—

Ah. Just the argument. “I cannot in good conscience take your virtue, Miss Penrose. While you do not wish to wed at this time, you may change your mind—”

She looked up then. “No, I won't. I really, truly won't.”

He continued virtuously. “And I would not wish to be the cause of costing you that option.”

“That is no one's affair but mine.”

He held up a hand. “Your lack of virtue would become my affair, if we—”
Affair.
Oh God, he really, truly wanted to be her lover! “If we took a step down that road.”

She looked at him then, with her head tilted and her eyes narrowed. “Hmm. Define virtue, if you please.”