The Rake and the Recluse REDUX (a time travel romance) (32 page)

Francine lazed in her bed, thinking of the previous night. She’d tried to sleep, but it hadn’t worked. She didn’t want to be taken away from Eildon Hill, from
her
duke, from everything she currently knew. He had promised he wouldn’t allow it, but she’d heard promises before. It was always the last foster home, the last family court hearing, the last school, the last time she’d ever say goodbye to someone she cared for. The final goodbye she’d promised to herself, over and over again.

Her mind kept returning to the desperation of her situation. She realized she had to do something, but didn’t know what that something was.

She’d slept in the curve of Gideon’s body and woke in the still darkness to the sound of his breathing. Wiggling out of his strong, protective arms as quietly as she could, she’d reached for the robe she’d left at the end of his bed. She had no idea where her nightgown was, but figured it didn’t matter much and, wrapping the robe around herself tightly, she’d crept back to her room.

She hadn’t wanted to say goodbye again so she went to him, but he he’d been so damnably honorable. Back home, a twenty-year-old virgin was a rarity. Not that she hadn’t
tried
to be done with her virginity; she’d just never had the opportunity—men seemed to shy away from her. Until now, until
this
man, and she was suddenly thankful that she had this gift to give him. She hadn’t realized what a treasure it was until
he
refused to take it, and she’d tried to give it not just willingly, but almost by force. She massaged her tender throat as she pondered.

Where she was from, being chaste wasn’t accepted and didn’t generally last. Promise rings were given up as prayers were returned without being granted. Chastity was prudish, and men didn’t like prudes. But this man had treasured her innocence. He wasn’t ruled by human instinct. He ruled his actions, and his sense of morality was so powerfully a part of him that she couldn’t sway him, even with the seduction of her body against his. He carried his passion close to the surface, but didn’t let it break.

His fervor last night had been different—so strong, almost ferocious. She finally understood what it was he was restraining when around her. It wasn’t that he was stuffy or stiff, it was that he held himself in check. And the evidence of his true passion she had now witnessed. She’d seen how his emotions could carry to a fevered pitch.

Francine had no idea how long this adventure was to last, whether she would be here for another day, another minute, another second. She marveled at the thought; according to her father’s assumptions, this was it. This man, Gideon, would be her end, as he was her beginning. She had traveled through time to find the man who was born for her, and she him. No wonder she’d never felt like she belonged anywhere; she hadn’t found where she belonged until now.

She knew his touch, his intimate embrace, but there was so much more to learn. He’d given her something she’d never felt, but even with that knowledge she sensed that what she yearned for was so much more powerful, more thorough, more important. She sighed, and her skin flushed at the memory.
My duke
. She couldn’t wait to see him again.

Gideon woke at the sudden beam of light breaking the darkness of his room. He reached out to the pillow next to him, but it was empty. She was gone—or had she ever really been there to begin with? He moved across the bed and winced as the sheet shifted across his backside—the scratches she left behind were no dream. He closed his eyes and sighed. Ferry had dealt with his peculiar behaviors enough lately, and now Gideon was going to have to dress without him.

Well, mostly without him. Ferry wouldn’t take kindly to not being able to fuss over him. The valet was proud and it showed in his work. Gideon had always been well-dressed, perfectly pressed and appointed—until recently. He heard water splashing into the tub and grumbled. “Ferry, leave me to my bath. I shall call for you when I am ready to shave.”

“Yes, Your…” The statement faded as Ferry bent to retrieve a candlestick wrapped in a piece of white fabric. His eyes widened as the nightgown unfurled in his hand, then dropped it back to the floor dismissively. “…Grace,” he finished. He placed the candlestick back on the side table and left.

Gideon heard him stride determinedly from the suite—which was odd, as Ferry was respectfully silent when he moved—and cursed under his breath. He wondered what Ferry had seen, certainly not the marks on his person—yet.
Perhaps the marks aren’t that bad,
he thought. He stood, twisting to look at his backside in the glass. No. They weren’t bad. They were
horrible
. Big, angry, red welts, four on each cheek. He turned away and walked to the tub. He’d need to have his pants on before Ferry returned to his room. He looked over his shoulder again, saw the smaller half-moon scratches on his shoulders, and realized he would need to have a shirt on as well.
Good Lord. The woman has talons, not nails.

This was a right damnable turn of events, as Ferry would object to shaving him with a shirt in place. Gideon sank in the tub, hissing through his teeth as the heat sank into his scored flesh.
Damnable situation,
he thought, shaking his head. She overpowered him. Not physically, of course, but his mind felt addled whenever she was around. He had no idea how he had managed to refuse her last night. His entire body ached from trying to control his movements. As he leaned back in the tub, it dawned on him. His eyes snapped open.

“Ferry!” And he was there—silently. “You may shave me,” Gideon said as he settled in.

“Now, Your Grace? In the bath?”

“Yes, get on with it. I am quite sore from—from
riding
yesterday. I wish to soak for quite a while. If you are to shave me today it will be now—”

Ferry stiffened and Gideon looked at him with a warning glance.

“Or not at all,” he finished.

The blood drained from Ferry’s face and he brought the wet, warm towel from the bucket over the fire and wrapped it around Gideon’s face before moving to the dresser to retrieve the soap and shaving tools. He shaped the blade with the strop and added a bit of oil to the sandalwood soap, then moved back to Gideon.

When he finished shaving him, Ferry left the room until Gideon allowed him back in to fuss over him again, but only after he’d pulled on a pair of trousers and a crisp white shirt. Ferry huffed when he was called back to find Gideon nearly dressed of his own accord. He went straight to the wardrobe and pulled out a cravat, waistcoat, and jacket.

Afterward Gideon descended the stairs, rubbing his jaw against what was possibly the closest shave of his life. He went to his study so he could make notes before the meeting with the solicitor. M. and Mme. Larrabee would both attend, as would he and Perry, then the Larrabees would depart for France to send the other girls back.

Shaw also rose early, his mind quite active after the excitement of the day before. He couldn’t stop thinking about the missing area on the first floor. He walked into one of the passages near the suites and began examining the walls for evidence of catches that would release a hidden panel. He’d been in the passageway for an hour when he heard a voice in the main hallway and went out to see who else was about that might be interested in the search.

“My lord, you certainly are up early,” Shaw said when he found Perry heading toward the staircase.

“Me? You are the one ferreting around in the back passages at an ungodly hour,” Perry said.

“Oh, I beg pardon, my lord. Did I wake you?”

“I beg you, please call me Trumbull, and no, you didn’t wake me. I cannot imagine anyone could still be sleeping at this point, especially me, as I am to be guardian to four young ladies from France.” He clapped Shaw on the shoulder. “Sleep is a commodity I can no longer afford.”

Shaw grinned. “Remember,
Trumbull
,” he said with a nod, “we believe the oldest is already married off and of course, Francine— Well, I think we all know Francine will not be under your care for long.”

Perry grunted as he turned toward the stairs. “Still. Until then, she and two other chits are to be under my guardianship, and that is not a fate I would wish upon the worst sort of person.”

“Which are you referring to?” Shaw asked irreverently. “The fate of the guardian, or the ward?”

Perry glared back at him. “Either one, I would say.”

“Which is why it was left to you, I suppose.”

Perry looked at him curiously.

“I mean to say that most would not be aware of the precarious nature of the situation. You are well suited, simply for your knowledge. And who better than you, to—to know how to protect innocents from the rakes of London?” Shaw finished with a smile

Perry growled.

“Careful there, Trumbull,” Shaw said cautiously. “You don’t want to be mistaken for His Grace, do you?”

The comment sobered Perry and he turned, considering Shaw’s statement. “That does
not
interest me,” he said, a cavalier smile breaking his severe expression. “Shall we break our fast together?”

“Of course,” Shaw replied. “Of course.”

Halfway down the stairs, Perry heard his name again and looked down into the great entrance. “Ah, Rox. Ready for breakfast?”

“Yes,” he replied distractedly. “I have made arrangements for us to travel to town with the Larrabees to draw up the paperwork for your guardianship. I would like to get this taken care of as soon as possible.” Shaw was silent as they reached the bottom of the stairs and Gideon stopped in front of him. “Shaw, would you mind terribly continuing your work here in my absence?”

“Not at all, Your Grace.”

“It’s settled, then. We’ll leave after breakfast and return when the papers are drawn and—”

Gideon was cut off by the sound of Stapleton opening the front door. The three turned to see several footmen carrying stacks of packages, followed by a beautifully attired woman in a blazing red silk dress that looked like wildfire as she moved. Her dark brown hair was piled loosely on top of her head and adorned with sparkling jewels. A second impeccably dressed young lady accompanied her.

Stapleton took her calling card on the salver and walked over to Gideon. “Your Grace.”

He took the card and read it.
Madame Basire
.

“Ah, the dressmaker. How fortuitous. Stapleton, please notify Mrs. Weston immediately. Have you seen the Larrabees yet today?”

“In fact, Your Grace, I have not. Though their suite is still guarded, so it is my assumption that they remain inside.”

Good.
I was somewhat definitive about them leaving the suite.
“See to them,” he said to Stapleton. “They should break their fast soon, so we can be about our business.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

Gideon walked over to greet Madame Basire.

“Madame Basire. Do you usually call so early?”

She winced at his curt greeting while, out of the corner of his eyes, Gideon saw Perry and Shaw depart quickly toward the breakfast room.

The dressmaker examined him. “Why, Your Grace, when the wardrobe of a young lady is in question, I would call in the dead of night.” Her smile warmed her features.