I Thee Wed (21 page)

The strength with which he led quite took her breath away, if truth were told. His firm hand on her back guided her across the floor, and his hand around hers made it easier to follow, as easy as a walk through a park. Even if she had never danced before and knew none of the steps, she could have danced with Orion.

It was more than simple skill on the ballroom floor, more than following the music and avoiding stepping on each other's toes. Their dancing contained a unique quality, an effortlessness not shared by the other couples at the ball. Francesca wondered if he even noticed. Orion so often seemed to be above normal, everyday concerns—oblivious in the way that only true genius could be. Did Mr. Orion Worthington realize how rare their partnership was? And if he did, could he feel the bond growing between them with every touch, every look? If he did, then how could he continue the pretense that he meant to marry Judith?

Perhaps because he still had every intention of doing so.

Was she being a fool? Was she building castles of fog in her imagination, believing that just because she loved him, he must love her in return?

If it were not for Orion's mastery of his dance partner, Francesca surely would have stumbled.

I love him
.

Oh no
.

L
OVE?

Oh yes. Francesca had never been more sure of anything.

For a long moment, careful to keep her eyes from meeting his, she allowed herself to absorb the wonder of it. She'd assumed her heart was immune, for she had never felt more than a passing interest in any man before. One might have had a nice smile, but his candle burned too dimly. Another provided good conversation, but she felt nothing stir at the sound of his voice.

So when it struck her that she was in love—how could she be so very sure?

Because if he turned and walked away from me at this very moment, I am quite sure that my heart would tear itself from my chest to follow him!

It was horrible. It was marvelous. It was dizzying, and tragic—and the worst mistake she could have possibly made.

Oh heavens, how did I let this happen?

The musicians brought the waltz to a close, and her feet
slowed at Orion's unspoken cue. Numbly, as if her hands and feet were frozen in a killing winter frost, Francesca allowed him to guide her back to where Judith waited. To Orion's credit, it was obvious that he knew something was wrong. He did not bother with inane questions regarding her health. Instead, he barked a single command to Judith as he walked past. “Water!”

Judith gasped at the expression on Francesca's face. “Of course!” She turned to move quickly toward the refreshment table, her blue silk skirts flaring.

With his arm still around Francesca, Orion guided her to the graceful double doors leading to the balcony outside the ballroom.

Once she was on the terrace, the chill, damp air stole some of Francesca's numbness away. Unfortunately, that only made more room for the pain.

Orion bent to look her in the eye as he tilted her chin up with one finger. “What happened to you in there? Was it the heat of the crush, the crowd? No, no, that wouldn't bother you, would it, being from warmer climes? What was it, then? Tell me!”

Francesca blinked back the dampness in her eyes and met the concern in his gaze. How could she tell him that in a single second of mind-twisting clarity, she had at long last found love—found him!—and just as quickly had lost him again? For their one night was over, and he intended to wed her cousin.

He still held her hand in his. Taking refuge in the warmth of his fingers wrapped around hers, she closed her eyes and simply ached. The bittersweet pain that flooded her might pass in time. She was not a fool. She knew that disappointment in love did not kill.

It only felt as though she might die from it.

I want to tell him
.

But she must not tell him.

What good it is to love someone if they do not know?

But why tell him something that he most certainly did not wish to hear?

And what good would it do, other than expose her silly heart? What purpose would be gained with that? If Orion loved her, surely she would know it. He liked her body, and obviously enjoyed her touch. He had said he admired her mind. He certainly enjoyed her cooking!

That was not love. That was friendship, or perhaps some more amorous version of friendship. Most of the time they argued like fishwives over nothing at all. Unless they were kissing . . . or more. But that was only lust, and it was over with.

I do not want it to be done!

“Kiss me,” she whispered.

Orion did not hesitate. All he heard was that she needed him. All he knew was that he could no longer fight the power she had over him. Whatever she asked of him would be done in an instant.

To deny Francesca would be to deny himself.

The moment the words left her lips, Orion tugged the hand that he held, pulled her two steps closer, and pressed her open palm to his chest. He slid the fingers of his other hand up into her hair and tilted her head back. He cradled her there before him. Possessiveness swept him as he lowered his mouth to hers.

Mine
.

The first touch of Orion's lips upon hers was warm and gentle, even questioning. She could feel his concern for her—he sought to understand what caused her mood to shift in the ballroom. But Francesca ignored his gentle questioning, his tender concern, and instead made it clear that she wanted something more. She wanted to ride the wild tide of love and need within her. Francesca rose up on her tiptoes, pressed her mouth to his, and parted her lips. She began to dart her tongue across his. She nibbled at his lips. She opened for him and welcomed him in.

With a low, surprised moan, Orion responded instantly. Warm hands became hot and demanding as he pulled her hard against him. His tongue tangled with hers. She felt his erection rise against her lower belly, and her own body yielded in response. Within seconds the core of her had gone hot and wet, ready for all he had to give and all he wanted to take—all from just one taste of him!

Somewhere, dimly, in the recesses of his mind, Orion was aware that they were on the balcony outside of the Duke of Camberton's elaborate ballroom, in plain sight of anyone who happened to glance out the double doors or step out for a breath of air. The odd thing was that the concern seemed trivial. What was important was that Orion had not touched Francesca for an eternity. A day? A decade? These were details that belonged in the realm of logic and reason, which he had clearly left behind. All he understood was that he had missed her, and he would be making up for lost time.

At that moment, Orion was lost in a wonderland of lust. His heart beat with the truth of his desire for her. His lungs burned with her heady female scent. He knew he had no choice but to claw at the golden silk of her gown like an animal, tear away her bodice, sweep his hands up the naked flesh of her back as she writhed in his grasp . . .

Out of nowhere, something—or someone—flicked at his ear.

“
Cacchio!
Drat! Someone was here!”

As if emerging from a black pool of confusion, Orion opened his eyes and reared his head back. Francesca stood before him, wild-eyed and frowning. But how had this come to be? Just a moment ago there was the ripping of her gown, the writhing of her naked flesh.

Or perhaps not.

The fully clothed Francesca smacked him in the arm. “Look! There!”

Orion followed Francesca's trembling finger to see a single, lonely crystal goblet filled with water. It had been placed close
to where they stood, balanced on the flat surface of a stone balustrade. A fascinating pattern of condensation had begun to form on the outside of the cut glass . . .

Orion suddenly snapped to awareness.
“Merda!”
He quickly glanced toward Francesca. “I do apologize for my language.”

“Your language? I don't give a fig about your language!” She gestured wildly. “Someone has seen us—and I think it may have been Judith!”

*   *   *

O
NCE
O
RION HAD
straightened his waistcoat and realigned the buttons of his dress coat—and sought one last visual confirmation that Francesca's ball gown was indeed still intact—he escorted Miss Penrose back into the festivities. He did not wish to know if any of the gentlemen stared. He did not notice if any of the ladies whispered, or giggled, or hid their comments behind a gloved hand as he and Francesca strolled by. Orion simply put one foot ahead of the other, his head held high, with Francesca's delicate hand balanced on his forearm.

But he did see Sir Geoffrey cutting a path through the dance floor and heading their way. His benefactor resembled a frothing horse after a long journey. Clearly the evening had been too much for the elderly gentleman, as Orion noticed how his hands shook and beads of sweat formed on his pasty brow.

The instant Sir Geoffrey opened his mouth to speak—something unkind, in all likelihood—Judith swept in, placing herself in front of Orion and Francesca.

“Papa! You look ever so tired!” She supported his elbow and turned him toward the front staircase and the exit that lay beyond. “Let me call for our carriage,” she said, supporting her father as they walked.

Orion exchanged a brief glance with Francesca, and he saw his own question reflected in her eyes: Had Judith just
intervened on their behalf? Had she just spared them embarrassment of some kind? After they had betrayed her so?

Moments later, Orion sat rigid upon the carriage seat, his mind harkening back to his childhood. As a Worthington, he had been forced to endure many a strange carriage ride. There was the time Iris staged an entire production of Shakespeare's
Much Ado About Nothing
inside the carriage while traveling from London to Shropshire. And the time Elektra and Callie had been forced to strap the twins to the luggage rack because the reeking boys had wrestled each other into a pit of sheep dung. But that night in Sir Geoffrey's stately carriage was by far the most excruciating three-quarters of a mile of his life.

Indeed, Orion was surprised the horses could pull the weight of all the misery contained within that one small carriage compartment.

He was positioned next to Judith and across from Sir Geoffrey and Francesca. No one made eye contact or attempted small talk. It was as if each person had been depleted from the events of the evening and was now walled off from the others, each lost in his own particular brand of wretchedness.

It was no longer sheer speculation that Sir Geoffrey suffered from some manner of illness. His skin appeared gray in the dim carriage light, and he was sweating profusely. Judith had taken measures to ensure his comfort, but he refused any assistance offered from Orion or Francesca. Her father was slumped against the seat directly across from Judith, his gaze averted.

To Orion's right, Miss Blayne alternated her absent stares between the open carriage window and her father, her face remaining a blank page all the while. Judith's posture was as regal as always, and she held her clasped hands in her lap as if she were on a leisurely day trip in the country. But there was a tightness around her eyes and mouth that Orion had never before noticed. She reminded him of a violin string wound too tightly, about to spring loose from its tuning peg.

And then there was Francesca. She bit her lip and wrung her hands, her curls now surrendering to gravity and tumbling with abandon from their pins and pearls. The golden skin of her chest was flushed, and she stared down at her dancing slippers as if they were the most fascinating footwear in London. Orion's chest tightened with guilt. It was his fault she was distraught. He was responsible for her fear that they had been seen on the balcony, and by Judith no less. He was to blame for it all. He had lost his mind, abandoning the reason and logic that had always separated him from typical Worthington madness.

However, Orion had to admit that the entire evening could have been a page from the
Worthington Family Chronicles
, complete with unrestrained emotion, mayhem, subterfuge, and avoidance of reality. The night had been a mess, pure and simple, and this carriage compartment had become a stewpot of human foibles.

All the while, Francesca's scent surrounded him, squeezed his heart, and intoxicated his blood. There was no escape.

Orion closed his eyes and forced himself to return to the world in which he belonged. The world of science—chemistry, botany, beakers, and laboratories. He needed to immerse himself in the clean and precise rules of science, where everything made sense.

The carriage wheel caught on an uneven cobblestone, and the little group was jostled about inside the compartment. Judith was thrown close to his right leg.

“Pardon me,” Orion said. She turned away.

And that was when it occurred to Orion that he could never marry Judith. That meant he would not be able to marry himself into the Royal Fraternity of Life Sciences—and why would he need to? He was Orion Worthington, and he was perfectly capable of earning admission on his own merit. The Fraternity would eventually welcome him because it would be unable to ignore the importance of his contribution to
science. It might take him a bit longer with his limited resources, but Orion had never lacked faith in his own abilities.

It was settled. The instant Orion returned to Blayne House, he would pack his thankfully scanty belongings and leave. He would focus anew on his own experiments and make his own way into scientific history.

S
IR Geoffrey and Mr. Worthington had said their good nights. Francesca and Judith stood side by side in the foyer of Blayne House while Eva, the lady's maid, took their wraps. Francesca was jittery. A queasy ball of unease had taken up residence in her belly. She knew what had to be done and prayed she was brave enough to do it.

The truth would have to be brought out into the open.

Francesca watched Judith pass her reticule to Eva and begin the long process of unbuttoning her evening gloves. Her cousin was so lovely and calm, always so kind to Francesca. Judith had certainly never caused her harm. In fact, Francesca liked Judith and never even imagined keeping a secret from her. Yet as of that evening, Francesca had betrayed her. A lie was now wedged between them, like a splinter in a fingertip, and it had to be removed for relief to be found.

“Judith, may I speak with you a moment?”

Her cousin's cool blue gaze settled on Francesca. “Of course.”

Eva extended her hand for Francesca's reticule, and she nearly dropped it in her nervousness.

Oh! Where was she to begin? There was so much she wished to say to Judith—and learn from her—and yet she was afraid that her cousin might shrink away from a serving of honesty in its more direct form. In addition, she worried any confession could damage Orion's chances at membership in the Fraternity.

To complicate matters further, Francesca wasn't even certain she should feel guilty. Were Orion and Judith truly involved? Was there any kind of formal understanding at all?

Judith stood before her, impenetrable as always, obviously waiting for Francesca to speak. How ridiculous she would seem if she asked for a conversation she was unable to start!

“Er . . . thank you for the water.”

One of Judith's fair eyebrows arched slightly in question.

“The water you brought out to the terrace when I was feeling unwell.”

Judith's mouth produced a tight smile. “Of course. I instructed a servant to bring it to you.”

A servant? Highly unlikely. Francesca knew what she had heard and seen—a brief flash of cornflower blue out of the corner of her eye, a small gasp of surprise, the rustle of silk followed by the sound of quickly retreating footsteps. Granted, Francesca had been in the throes of being thoroughly and enthusiastically kissed at that moment. Perhaps there was an infinitesimally small possibility she was mistaken.

Had the quick footsteps she had heard been the fleeing of a shocked lady, or merely the sound of a busy servant with better things to do?

She studied her cousin. On the surface, Judith seemed her usual composed self, yet Francesca could see the tendons in her neck tighten. It broke her heart to think she had caused her cousin pain.

“I do not wish to hurt you.”

Judith handed her gloves to Eva without a trace of reaction. “There is no danger of that, Cousin. I assure you.”

Francesca was puzzled. Had Judith just implied she did not care for Orion? Or had she hinted that there was no feeling between them? “I don't under—”

“Perhaps I shall take a page from your book and never wed at all!”

Francesca swore she saw Judith's lip twitch involuntarily. Could it be that Francesca was seeing the first crack in her cousin's facade of porcelain perfection?

“Judith?”

“I am off to bed. Papa will expect me to be useful in the morning. Good night, Francesca.”

Judith made an elegant turn and glided off toward the staircase. Francesca felt her jaw unhinge as she watched her cousin ascend the stairs.

That night she tossed in bed for hours, unable to sleep despite her deep exhaustion. If Judith was not fond of Orion, she needed to tell him so. If the courtship was some kind of ruse, he needed to know the truth.

Yet it was not Francesca's place to right these wrongs. The matter was between Judith and Orion.

So then, what could she do?

Francesca punched her pillow and let out a giant sigh of frustration, flopping onto her back. She stared up at the dark ceiling, thinking . . .

She wanted Orion Worthington. Her epiphany on the ballroom floor was not the product of champagne. She loved him. It was a fact. It was permanent. It was undeniable.

She had thought she'd known who she was and what she wanted. Marriage had seemed like a restraint that would stunt her dreams and prevent her from seeing and experiencing and taking large bites out of the world!

For the first time, it occurred to her that it might depend on
whom
one married. Perhaps an ordinary man would try to tame Francesca's ambitions—but Orion Worthington was
no ordinary man! Orion felt that his mother should paint and that his sister should publish more botanicals and that ferocious little Attie's mind was even better than his own!

I want it all
.

Oh yes. She wanted liberty
and
understanding. She wanted to see the world
and
to share it with someone. The very possibility that she could indeed have everything a woman could desire, personal fulfillment
and
marital happiness, sent a wild thrill of delight through her.

I could have freedom . . . and I could have a family of my own, at last
.

Perhaps her duty was to persuade Orion to break off any understanding he might have with Judith. And the best way to do that would be to tell him she loved him and make it impossible for him to deny that he loved her.