Francesca watched Selbournedisappear into the shadows of the night. She turned just in time to see Ethan exit the library. She went after him, following him up the stairs. She was almost breathless by the time he reached his room, but she made it right before he closed the door.
“Wait!” She leaned her shoulder against it.
“Francesca, go back to bed.” The levity was gone from him now, and his tone was harsh and irrefutable.
“I must speak with you.”
“Absolutely not.”
She tried to scoot into his room, but he angled his shoulder to block her path.
“Let me in,” she hissed, sparing a furtive look down the hallway. “It must be close to four, and the servants will be up soon.”
“Then go back to your room.”
They were nose-to-nose now, and she felt the warmth of his body.
“We’ll talk later.” He tried again to shut the door, but she wedged her shoulder against it.
“We’ll talknow.” She hadn’t tossed and turned half the night to be put off when she had him before her.
He pushed against the door again; she lodged herself more firmly. He scowled; she scowled right back.
Finally, with a sigh, he released his hold, and she stumbled inside. He didn’t catch her this time. Instead, he took a step back, folded his arms, and raised his eyebrows.
Francesca swallowed at his dark look and took her time closing the door behind her. When she turned back, he hadn’t moved.
“I know it’s early, but I wasn’t certain we’d have another opportunity to speak privately,” she said.
Not to mention, she wouldn’t have been able to wait another moment. She hadn’t slept all night, flopping restlessly against her mountain of pillows until they were mere hills and knolls scattered across the floor. She tried everything she could think of—reading, sewing, counting sheep—and had finally given in.
Now, he was standing in front of her, all but growling, but still the most sensual man she had ever seen.
She hadn’t known she could feel the way she had that afternoon in the tack room, hadn’t realized her body was capable of those sensations. Roxbury’s kisses and caresses had bored and then frightened her. But Ethan...
“Fine,” Ethan said, interrupting her thoughts. “Let me light another candle. This one is almost out.”
She watched him go about the task, then stared out his window at the jabs of lightning piercing the sky. Lying in bed, she’d gone over every touch, each of his lingering caresses. She’d been as charged and full of energy as the storm rumbling through the countryside. But in the aftermath of the storm, she’d felt mostly confusion. It seemed he had been leading her toward something, taking her somewhere she had never been. Then there had been the knock at the door and Pocket.
Perhaps Pocket’s interruption had been a good thing. There was so much about Ethan that remained a mystery. Was she correct in guessing he was an operative for the Foreign Office, or had she simply misinterpreted a meeting between brothers? The truth was she knew nothing about him. Was he a hero who secretly served his country with no need for recognition? Or was he simply a callous rogue—unfeeling, uncaring, and embittered by the betrayal of a former lover.
Shecouldn’treconcile the two vastly different pictures he presented, she decided, raising her gaze and fixing it on Ethan, who had finished lighting the candle and frowned at her with impatience. Francesca took a deep breath. She couldn’t go on allowing herself to fall deeper in love with him, to become more intimate with him, to believe that there was a possibility of a future together. She had to remember that he’d been with many women, and though what she’d shared with him in the tack room might mean something to her, it undoubtedly was just another pleasant diversion for him.
Well, she was no one’s pleasant diversion. But she’d need all of her strength to fight against the tempting picture of him standing before her now, sullen and bare-chested. She tried to focus on anything but his naked chest.
“Yesterday—” Her gaze fixed on the tester bed behind him, and she hastily averted it again.
“Yesterday?” Ethan prompted, shifting in annoyance.
“Yesterday—” Her throat closed as she considered her next words. Better to say it quickly and be done with it, she thought.
“Yesterday was a mistake,” she blurted.
He arched a brow. “A mistake?”
She nodded. “Yes. I don’t think we should do that again.” She stared at the rug, feeling her face burn and clenching her hands behind her back in an effort to stop their nervous shaking.
“Do what again?”
