While You Were Spying (Regency Spies Book 0) (35 page)

Brigham was still staring at his daughter. “I, for one, cannot begin to thank his lordship.” His tone was far from grateful.

Francesca blushed. “Y-yes.” She glanced at Ethan. “He—if he had not been there—”

“There is no need to recall any of it,
mia cuore
,” Lady Brigham interrupted. “Your
findanzato
has told us all.”

“
All
?” Francesca choked. She reached out to grasp something, ostensibly for support, but managed only to snatch at the tense air in the room. Her face paled, and she settled for gripping the material of her gown between her fingers.

Ethan pushed away from the desk and went to her, took her elbow, and seated her in a small chair near her mother and across from her father’s desk.

“I told your parents about the attack.” His touch stopped the hand wringing momentarily. “That your assailant escaped and he is most likely someone you know.”

Her fingers gripped the chair’s arm. Her gaze bore into him as if to determine what else he might have said. He returned her silent inquiry with a steady look, allowing her to read into it what she would.

“Do you have any idea who this man is, Franny?” her father asked. He was back behind his desk, all business.

Francesca tore her gaze from Ethan’s to answer. “No, Daddy. He wore a hood.”

“
Mamma mia
!” Lady Brigham flung out an arm and barely missed clipping Ethan with her grand gesture.

“Winterbourne said you told him there was something familiar about the man’s voice.” Brigham clamped his lips around his pipe. “He called you
Cesca
?”

Beside Ethan, Francesca stiffened.

Brigham grunted. “How could someone you know—
we
know—do such a thing?”

She shook her head, releasing her breath in a slow, measured stream. Ethan exchanged a look with her father. Brigham had better to end this meeting soon, or he’d end it for him. Brigham frowned, but dipped his head in acknowledgement.

“You said you thought the man was wounded,” he said to Ethan through a haze of smoke.

“The dog bit him hard enough to draw blood.”

“Poor
Cagnolino
! He is a true hero!”

Ethan stepped aside just in time to avoid a collision with Lady Brigham’s out-flung arm.

Brigham frowned at his wife, sat back, setting down his pipe.

“I’ll ride into Selborne this afternoon and make a few inquiries. Discreetly, of course. I’ll also pay a visit to Dr. Dawson. If the bite was bad enough, the man may have sought medical attention.”

“I’ll ride with you and see your solicitor,” Ethan said. “Have him draw up the necessary papers. I’ll sign after I acquire the license.”

Francesca’s brows creased with confusion.

Brigham grunted. “I ride within the hour. Best to get an early start. You have more than enough to do, what with leaving for Yorkshire tomorrow.”

“
Mamma mia
!”

Even with her mother’s loud exclamation, Ethan heard Francesca’s startled gasp and knew what she must be thinking—that he was leaving her. He wasn’t so certain she’d like the truth any better.

Brigham pushed himself up from behind his desk and went to stand before his daughter. “I understand felicitations are in order.” The viscount’s voice was cold and hard, and the look of bewilderment and dread Francesca had worn since entering the library only deepened.

“Felicitations?” Her voice shook a little, and Ethan decided now was as good a time as any for her to take her place at his side. After all, she was to become a permanent fixture there. He might be confused about his feelings for her, but he knew this marriage would take her away from Tanglewilde and protect her. The fact that it would also mean she was his, and his alone, was a point he did not want to contemplate too deeply at the moment.

He took her hand, drew her out of the chair, and put his arm around her waist. She tried to wriggle away, looking pointedly at her father, but Ethan didn’t let go.

“I told your parents the good news,
cara
.” He squeezed her waist to quell her squirming.

She stilled. “What good news?” The look she slid him was wary.

“Why, that you’ve consented to move the wedding date forward. We marry tomorrow.”

“What?” She jumped, hurling herself away from him as if burned by his touch. “You’ve done what?” she screeched.

Her mother, who’d behaved almost identically half an hour earlier, was by her side in an instant. “I know,
dolce
! I know. It is truly
impossibile
.” She patted her daughter’s shoulder and issued her husband and Ethan scathing glares. “I tried to tell him it could not be done, but your
padre
, who obviously does not care one whit for my wishes and who, apparently, wants to see me suffer, agrees with your
findanzato
.” She turned away from the two men in disgust. “I could not budge either of them.”

Francesca stared at Ethan. He arched a brow, daring her to try and budge him. Her eyes narrowed defiantly. She wouldn’t give in easily, but then, neither would he.

She turned to Lady Brigham and, taking her mother’s hands in hers, said, “
Mamma
, I’m sorry, but there will not be a wedding.”

“Of course there will be,
mia cuore
.” Her mother bobbed her head with the conviction of one who is rarely contradicted. “
Certamente
, it will be difficult to arrange in such a short time—”

Francesca shook her mother’s hands. “No,
Mamma
. I mean that I will not marry him.” She tossed Ethan an irritated glance over her shoulder. “This betrothal was a ruse, a charade so that Ethan could find my attacker. We never intended to marry. He doesn’t love me, and I will not marry him.”

Ethan crossed his arms over his chest. Her words held a finality that he didn’t care for. She was his now, and she
would
marry him. Whether she liked it or not.

“
Fammi respirare
!” Lady Brigham swung around so that she and Francesca were now facing Ethan and Brigham. “I do not believe it!”

Francesca stepped back from her mother. “It’s true,
Mamma
. The betrothal was a sham. I don’t love him.” She studied the floor, avoiding Ethan’s hard gaze as she spoke. “And I won’t marry him.”

“The devil you won’t,” Ethan said through clenched teeth.

She put her hands on her hips. “The devil I
will
!”

It took all of his willpower not to take two steps, grab her, and shake her. She was lying. She loved him. He knew it, and so did she. She loved him, and she would marry him. Whether she liked it or not.

She glared at him, and he stared right back.

“
Mamma mia
!”

“Arrogant man!” Francesca continued. “If you think you can bully me into—”

“By God, I’ve had quite enough of this!” Brigham bellowed.

Francesca jumped and clamped her mouth shut.

Ethan locked his gaze on her. She glanced at him, looked away, but Ethan’s stare didn’t falter. She was his, and the sooner she accustomed herself to the idea, the better.

Her father strode behind his desk and poured himself a brandy from the table holding his supply of fortification. When he’d drunk about half of it down, he turned, red-faced and veins bulging, back to his daughter.

“You
will
marry Winterbourne, Franny, and you’ll do it within the hour if I say so.”

“No, I—”

He pointed one finger at her, glass of brandy and water still wrapped between his other fingers. “Don’t you dare argue with me, Franny. I won’t tolerate it.” He took another swallow of reinforcement. “You say you don’t love him?” Brigham cocked his head toward Ethan. “Perhaps you should have thought of that last night.”

His meaning was unmistakable, and Francesca took a startled step back.

“
Mamma mia
!” Lady Brigham stumbled, clutching her heart. “Oh, I shall faint!”

“Would you deny last night, Franny?” Brigham asked his daughter.

She whipped her head to look at Ethan, but he only arched a brow. A scarlet flood washed from her neck to her forehead.

“I didn’t think so.” Brigham slammed his glass onto the corner of his desk. “Then I will see you”—he looked at Ethan, then back at his daughter—“
both
of you, in the church tomorrow at eight.” He mumbled something about Selborne, turned, yanked open the library door, and strode forward without a backward glance.

The heavy wood slammed with a finality that Ethan didn’t think boded well for any further challenges.

“
Impossibile
! Horrid man!” Lady Brigham fanned herself rapidly a few times, pacing the floor, then whirled on her daughter. “But he is right. Although I am certain nothing untoward occurred last night.”

Ethan met her gaze unabashedly, but Francesca stared at the carpet, digging her toe into the plush fabric.

“Your absence was noted, and if you do not marry now there will be a scandal.”

She sidled up to the desk, lifting her husband’s discarded glass of brandy. With a gulp, she drank the remainder down. “I will
not
have a scandal, Francesca.” She gave her daughter a sober look.

Francesca nodded her head and stared at the floor.

“I will
not
have my daughter ruined, cast out by Society. Is that understood?”

“Yes,
Mamma
,” Francesca whispered.

Ethan, standing near her, barely made out her reply and doubted her mother heard at all.

“If you will not do this for yourself and your own safety, think of your sister and what will become of her if you make us the latest
on-dit
.”

Lady Brigham set down the empty glass and straightened her shoulders. Ethan had never heard her string together so many words in English at one time. Beyond that, he’d never heard her put together so many sentences that all made sense.

“I will leave you alone for a few moments to sort this out between yourselves. Then I want to see you in your room, Francesca. I cannot even begin to contemplate all that we must do.”

“I’ll be there momentarily.”

“
Buono
.” Lady Brigham opened the door, pausing to glance back at her daughter. “And Francesca?”

“Yes,
Mamma
?”

“When I next see you, I want to see you smiling. He’s handsome, rich, powerful,
and
considerate.” She gestured to Ethan, indicating that, despite all appearances, she did still realize he was present. “And if you do not love him, you are a fool.”

“A
t least your mother has good taste,” Ethan said when the door closed behind her.

Francesca slanted him a sideways glance. “You don’t mind her talking about you as if you were a piece of property she was thinking of purchasing?”

“It’s not the first time.” Ethan shrugged as he crossed to Brigham’s desk, resting his hip against it.

Francesca didn’t move. Between the two chairs, she stood rigid as a statue.

“And I’m not marrying her,” he added.

Her head came up at that. “You can’t possibly mean to marry me, either. What new plan have you and my father concocted now?”

“None.” He gave her a quelling look. “I
will
marry you. Tomorrow.”

“Because my father is forcing you.”

So that was it, he thought. That was the source of her objection.

“No one, not even your father, makes me do anything I don’t want to.”

She nodded, acknowledging the truth of the statement. Her brows wrinkled, and she clasped her hands together. “But then—
why
?”

“Because I want you.”

Her eyes widened at his frankness.

“You’re mine now.”

Her mouth worked, but no words spilled out. She had the look of a startled deer. He knew the feeling. His words, the truth behind them, shocked him as well.

Then her eyes clouded. “I’m
yours
? Is this is about last night?” Her hands planted on her hips. “You feel obligated to marry me because you ruined me?”

Ethan flexed his tight fingers. Obligated? He hardly knew the meaning of the word. She began to pace in front of him.

“Well, I don’t need your misguided sense of honor.”

He almost snorted aloud.

“I knew exactly what I was doing last night, and the consequences.” Her voice cracked slightly on the last word, but she drew herself up again, turned to face him. “You needn’t feel obligated.”

“Good. I don’t.”

“We can call off—” Her chin shot up. “What do you mean, you
don’t
?”

“I don’t feel obligated.”

“I thought—” She gestured feebly. “I thought when a man took a woman’s virginity, he—” She broke off, biting her lip hard enough that the dusky skin whitened.

“Ah.” Ethan rubbed a thumb along his unshaven jaw. “There is that. But, as you’ve pointed out yourself on numerous occasions, I’m a bad man.” He straightened his cravat. “It would take more than lost virginity to bring a debauched scoundrel like me to the altar.”

She appeared not to notice his light tone. Releasing her lip from the clamp of her teeth, she considered his words with all the gravity of a queen deliberating a state secret. Finally, her gaze met his again. “Then
why
?”

She sounded so young and fragile that Ethan wanted to scoop her into his arms and kiss her until his lips erased the incredulity from her voice, erased her surprise at the notion that someone wanted her.

“Why not?” His voice was harsher than he’d intended, reflecting his anger at her self-doubt. Let her give
him
the reasons. She obviously thought she knew them.

“A thousand reasons.” She paced in front of him again, the embodiment of her father now. She paused and held up one finger. “You don’t want to marry.”

“I never said that.”

“Everyone knows it.” She paced across the floor again then held up a second digit. “And you don’t trust women.”

Ethan couldn’t deny that accusation. He inclined his head, but cut off her triumphant exclamation. “I trust you.”