Read Lady Belling's Secret Online
Authors: Amylynn Bright
Thomas snatched five or six almond biscuits and sat back in his chair. He crossed one ankle over his knee and waved for them to continue on. He wondered if he even needed to be here at all.
“I still contend it’s the proposal,” Anna insisted.
The duchess turned to him. “Tell us how you proposed.”
How did he propose? He thought back to the many conversations he’d had with Francesca where he’d try to get her to marry him. “I can’t remember.”
Both ladies stared at him with jaws slack. Anna spoke first. “I told you. I told you. I told you.” She smacked her palm flat on her knee. “I should have bet you my pin money.”
The duchess waved her off. “Are you seriously telling us you don’t remember how you proposed? Were you drunk?”
“No, I wasn’t drunk,” Thomas protested. Admittedly he’d been drunk an awful lot lately, but not
all
the time. Interestingly, it seemed like he’d always been drunk immediately after an argument with Francesca.
Anna chimed in, “When did you do it? It couldn’t have been that long ago that you’ve forgotten already.”
“No. I first mentioned it the day after I saw you at the solicitor’s. In the park that next morning.”
“You mentioned it.” The duchess blinked at him first and then turned to Anna. “He ‘mentioned it’.”
“I told you.” Anna punctuated her statement with a vicious chomp on the last biscuit.
The duchess leaned forward in her chair when she asked him, “Did you ever actually propose to my daughter?”
“Certainly,” he agreed with emphasis. “I’m sure I did.”
“He did-n’t.” Anna actually said it in a sing song voice that made him want to pinch her or something.
“Yes, I did.”
Anna didn’t protest, just shook her head at him.
“Did you say the words, ‘Will you marry me?’” The duchess’s eyebrows rose in question.
“I don’t know if I used those actual words.” Thomas was beginning to feel like a bit of an idiot.
“Did you use any words or just assume Frankie would be so overcome with your attentions that she’d jump at the slightest suggestion you were interested?” Anna asked. When did the chit get so mean? All that sarcasm stuffed into such a petite body.
Thomas stood up from the chair. It was easier to think when he was moving. “I didn’t just assume she’d marry me. She loves me and has done for years—way before that incident in the park five years ago. Why wouldn’t she want to?”
“Maybe we’re going about this the wrong way,” the duchess suggested. “Why do you want to marry her?”
“She’s beautiful and smart and funny. I love that she has opinions after she reads the
Times
and is happy to argue them. I actually love how much she loves her family and friends.” Anna and the duchess smiled at him like he’d finally said something right, so he carried on. “She’s great with children and dogs, and I can imagine her with my own children some day. I love that she loves me.”
“I still haven’t heard the most important thing.” The duchess looked at him expectantly.
He looked to Anna for a clue but got nothing from her. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what it is.”
The duchess walked across the room towards where he stood by the window. “You’ve said everything you love
about
her, but do you love
her
?”
“Do I love her? Yes! Yes, I love her. I despair at how much time was wasted before I found her. I’m horrified how close she came to marrying someone else before I came home. Yes, I love her.”
“Here it comes.” Anna directed the comment to the duchess as she rose from her seat to stand before him. “Did you say
that
to her?”
“What?”
“Those actual words.” Anna had lost the beatific look from only minutes before, and now she appeared skeptical again.
Had he? “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” Anna cried. She flung herself back on the sofa. “Honest to God, you’re helpless. I don’t know if you deserve her, you dolt.”
“You’re not helping.” The duchess glared at Anna.
“I’m not certain he can be helped.”
“I can too be helped.” He hated that he sounded like a petulant child. All he needed was to be told what he did wrong and he’d fix it.
The duchess took him by the hand and led him back to the seating area. He sat gingerly on the edge of the seat. “It’s the words, darling. You absolutely must say the words.”
“The
actual
words,” Anna repeated. “Now I completely understand what’s happening here. Think about it, Thomas. If you’ve never told her the words and you’ve never actually proposed, she thinks you’re marrying her out of obligation. She thinks she’s a trophy you want to win. You haven’t proven you’re all in.”
“But I’ve done everything I can think of to show her that I love her.” He ticked off evidence of his devotion on his fingers. “I’ve sent her flowers. I’ve wooed her. I’ve fought over her. I’ve bought her presents.” He thought of the dogs at the house that were probably, at that very minute, destroying some priceless atrocity his mother had paid a fortune for.
Anna turned to the duchess again. “You’d think a man with his reputation would have a real understanding of women, wouldn’t you?”
“He has an understanding, all right. He can get them to tumble in bed with him in a heartbeat, but he’s got no real understanding of how to love one of them.” The duchess gave him a soft look he wasn’t expecting. “You, my boy, deserve to love my daughter as much as you deserve to be loved by her. It’s not your fault your family never taught you how.”
Anna led him from the room by his elbow and pointed him towards the door. “For the love of all that’s holy, man, say the words to her.” Then she gave him a light shove.
He felt a tad dizzy as he aimed his feet towards the front door. Tell her the words? Really? That was it?
He was a complete idiot.
Anna’s voice follow him down the hall. “Lord, I hope he doesn’t botch it up again.”
Thomas was too worked up from his conversation with Anna and the duchess to linger around their house waiting for Francesca to return. But from the minute he walked into his own townhouse, he knew he wouldn’t get any thinking done there either. The house was in an uproar over the puppies who’d, just as he suspected, cut a swath of destruction through the house. In a moment of inspired brilliance, he enlisted a couple boys from the stables, and he had them take the puppies out for a romp in the park before the entire staff marched out en masse. The lads were clearly thrilled at the opportunity. Thomas gave them each a long leather leash and told them to head towards an empty field where they could run and bounce to their hearts content. He watched from the walk as the boys paraded down the street with the dogs pulling exuberantly on the leads and barking and woofing with glee. Thomas earnestly hoped the boys would be able to tire out the fuzzy little beasts. They were just as adorable as they could be—when they were asleep. It was when they woke up that the house seemed like it had been hit by a hurricane. He shook his head at the memory of the newspaper the butler had so perfectly ironed and lain out for him this morning before the hellions shredded it beyond recognition.
He checked his watch for the time and pondered how long he should wait for Francesca to arrive home. He also checked the clock in the hall and the one in the study. There were still several hours before he could expect her, so he wandered aimlessly through his home at odds with what to do with himself.
He was nervous and anxious and excited. He felt like a little kid again anticipating Father Christmas or some sort of rubbish. Grown men weren’t supposed to be giddy. It was embarrassing, but nevertheless, there it was.
He had the shredded newspaper spread out on his desk and was trying to piece enough of
The Morning Post
to finish an article about Napoleon’s latest conquests when he heard the knocker bang against the front door. Within seconds, his butler announced the arrival of the Duke of Morewether and Lady Francesca Belling.
He was caught completely off guard. Here? He surely hadn’t expected them here. “Show them in.” Thomas straightened from where he’d been leaning against the desk with the newssheets.
Of course, Christian walked in like a storm cloud. He filled the room with his sour disposition and surly attitude. Francesca, however, even as pale as she looked, was everything that was sunlight and goodness.
Oh dear God, I’m a pathetic caricature of every man I’ve ever made fun of.
But it didn’t matter. The pale blue walking dress she wore draped her willowy frame to perfection, showcasing her curves and her outstandingly long legs. She was beautiful and he loved her. He loved her and she loved him. He let out a deep, contented sigh. Whatever was currently irritating her brother, and knowing Christian the list was probably long and wordy, Thomas knew he could overcome it because he loved her.
He really wanted to say what she wanted to hear out loud. They held a lot of power, those words. He of all people should know. He’d never said them to anyone in his entire life, if in fact he’d ever even thought them before.
“You’re unexpected.” He smiled at her, a big toothy grin, and ignored Christian for the time being. “I’ve just been waiting for you. Well, not to come here, certainly, since you were unexpected here. I meant for you to get home. Then I was going to come over. To your house, I mean. I’m sorry, I seem to be babbling. How very odd.” Somehow he managed to shut his mouth and stop the gush of words.
Christian stood behind his sister and shook his head at Thomas with a look of bewildered disgust. “What is bloody wrong with you?”
Thomas replied by grinning wider. Christian snorted with derision.
Thomas finally tore his gaze from Francesca and the endless green of her eyes to speak with both of them. “Why
are
you here?”
Francesca opened her mouth to answer, but her brother interrupted her. “There are matters that need resolution.”
Thomas nodded in agreement. “Christian, I need to speak with Francesca. Alone.”
“No,” Francesca told him and then reached behind for her brother’s hand. She clasped a handful of Christian’s coat, grasping the superfine wool in her fist. “Don’t leave us.”
“Whatever you need to say to Francesca can be said with me in the room.” When had Christian become so hard?
“Are you sure?” Thomas asked her.
Francesca agreed warily. “He knows everything.”
“Then at least give us some room,” he asked Christian. Francesca still grasped her brother’s coat like a life preserver. “I won’t touch you,” he promised. “I just have some things to say.”
Her fingers relaxed, and eventually she let go of her brother completely. “It’s just that you have a way of making me forget myself, Thomas.”
Thomas understood. She did the same to him. He hadn’t made a sane decision in almost two weeks—a fact he could lay at her feet if he was inclined to want to blame anyone.
“I’ll be right over there,” Christian told her, and sauntered over to the far side of the room, pretending to ignore them.
Thomas strode from behind his desk and stood in front of her, but true to his word, he didn’t touch her. “I’ve done some soul-searching.” He hesitated. It seemed like there should be a way to say this perfectly. Maybe he should have read some of Lord Byron’s poetry or Shakespeare’s sonnets for inspiration. Finally, he just said them.
“I love you.”
Francesca’s mouth opened softly, and she inhaled a gasping breath. Her eyes watered, and she blinked several times. “Christian, we’re going to need a few minutes alone.”
Thomas leaned his head back and chuckled. Before Christian had even closed the door to the study, Francesca flew into Thomas’s arms. With a hand on either side of his face, she drew him down to her and kissed him.
He’d said the words.
She had come here today, towing her big brother along for protection, with only a dying flicker of hope. But she’d come anyway because Anna had asked her one simple question:
When his every deed tells you he does love you, will you throw everything away because he can’t say the words?
It was a different perspective than she had ever considered before. She had been so self-absorbed she’d never stopped to think about it that way. She knew Thomas’s family history. She could clearly remember the forlorn little boy who spent so much time with her family, even flourishing there. For a child who never knew love and affection from his parents, it was a miracle he was able to give her as much as he already had. How hard must it be for him to admit he loved her?
Nevertheless, she’d been wary.
And then he’d said the words.
She couldn’t even wait for her brother to quit the room before she launched herself at him. She put everything in that kiss: the strength of her childhood crush, her adult love of the grown man, her newly discovered sexuality. Her mouth ravaged his, and he returned her passion by taking charge of the kiss. His hands supported her body as he pulled her flush against him. Their hands seemed to be everywhere. His strong fingers ran down her back and over her buttocks then slipped between their bodies to cup her breast. Eventually he broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers, his arms wrapped tightly around her.
“It took me a while to understand what you needed,” he admitted, his breath coming in pants that puffed against her face. “I’m sorry. The feelings were always there, I just didn’t realize how important the words were. I do love you, more than anything, and the thought of being without you makes me ache.”
She hiccupped a little sob.
“I don’t want to be without you. I can’t sleep, I’m surly, and I drink too much. Please, will you marry me?”
The agonizing reality struck her full force. He’s said the words—the only words she’d ever really wanted to hear. Everything she’d ever wanted was in her grasp. But it wasn’t. Not really. They couldn’t marry—she was still engaged and her wedding was three days away.
Certainly the reason Christian came charging back into the room was because he heard Francesca crying. His arm cocked back ready to throw a punch, he roared, “Damn it, I knew you couldn’t be trusted.”