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‘Francis, no.’ She had no idea he felt anything for her beyond friendship. Had she been so very blind or had she not chosen to see what was under her nose?
‘I would never have said anything to you, never have touched you, never have betrayed him like that. But I kept it bottled up and it grew and grew and that night he said something about what a lucky fellow he was and it all just came pouring out, what I felt about you.’
There were tears in his eyes and a pain too terrible to look on, so she gathered him to her and he laid his face on her lap and sobbed as she held him and finally feeling flooded back—pain and regret and loss and a desperate pity.
‘I love you.’ He lifted his face. ‘I always will.’
‘Oh, Francis.’ Sara bent her head until their foreheads touched and held him tightly.
‘I love you, Sara.’
‘How very touching.’ The voice from the doorway dripped sarcasm. ‘My dear Sara, might I suggest that if you are going to run two lovers at the same time that you learn to keep the back door locked?’
Sara twisted round in the chair, Francis fell back sprawling on the carpet. Lucian stood looking down at them with pure murder in his eyes.
‘However did you get in?’ Sara demanded, shock and fear giving an edge to her voice.
‘You left your fan in the sedan chair. I walked back with it and caught a glimpse of a male silhouette against the drawing-room blinds. It seemed prudent to enter from the back if I could get in, and the back door was, very carelessly, on the latch. I was rushing to your rescue, my dear, thinking to protect you from the man who was giving you nightmares. Apparently that was not what was disturbing your sleep.’
‘I can explain,’ Francis said urgently. ‘I mean Lady Sara no harm. I came to explain what happened when her husband died and my feelings overwhelmed me. She was comforting me, that is all.’ He started to stand up.
‘Stay down if you know what is good for you.’ Lucian’s voice was a snarl.
To his credit Francis got to his feet regardless. ‘Cannock, isn’t it? What business is this of yours—and what right have you to speak to Mrs Harcourt in that way?’
‘And you are Walton, I presume. The friend of the family,’ Lucian said, his lip curling. ‘Mrs Harcourt is betrothed to me.’ He glanced down at Sara who registered the present tense, as no doubt she was meant to.
‘Lady Sara has done nothing wrong. I am entirely to blame both for the duel that led to Michael’s death and for placing her in this present position. I love her and I am all too aware that the sentiment is not returned, but she is a compassionate woman and, I had hoped, able to forgive me. At least, she allowed me to explain what had happened.’
‘You are not lovers, then?’ Lucian regarded Sara with an expression that seemed to hold nothing but simple curiosity. She was not deceived.
‘No.’ They both spoke at once.
‘Never,’ she added. ‘I have never been with anyone but my husband and with you.’
‘And yet you put your hands on her, Walton. On my fiancée. You blubber on to her bosom, you pour sentimental twaddle about love into her ears, you follow her about making her fearful. I think you had better apologise, Walton, and assure us both that you are taking yourself off to whichever Continental bolthole you have been skulking in before the law catches up with you.’
‘The inquest verdict has been overturned and Harcourt’s death found as accidental. I have returned to England and I intend to stay. As for apologising to Sara—’ Francis smiled at her ‘—I will gladly apologise for all the distress I have caused her. Apologise for seeking her out to tell her the truth about what happened? No. And as for apologising for loving her, I might as well apologise for living.’
‘Then perhaps we should do something about that. I challenge you to meet me, Walton. As neither of us have friends here on whom we can call, I suggest we fix a date when we may both be in London.’
‘Certainly, my lord. I will await word from your second. My club will find me.’ He reached into his breast pocket and handed a card to Lucian.
‘Stop it, both of you!’ Sara found herself on her feet, her hands upheld as though to keep the two men apart, even though neither had moved. ‘What earthly point is there in this? I am not hurt, or frightened of anything but what the pair of you might do. I have already lost my husband—
do you think I want to lose my betrothed, or my friend?’
‘I killed Michael, even if it was by accident,’ Francis said, his face white and set. ‘This is only justice. If I had kept my mouth shut, if I’d had the guts to go away and leave you it would never have happened.’
‘Rubbish, you cannot go through life yearning for what-ifs. The past is past and you told me yourself the verdict had been overturned. Think what it will do to your parents if you are killed now. Think if there is another accident and you kill Lucian. Nothing would save you if that happened.’
She ignored Lucian’s scornful snort of disbelief, but she could not ignore his baleful presence. He had settled his shoulder against the door frame, crossed his arms and was watching them from under hooded lids.
‘I cannot refuse a challenge, not and retain my honour,’ Francis stated. ‘And I will not say I do not love you, because that would be a lie.’
‘Is it? I do not think you love me, I think you have talked yourself into it to justify what happened with Michael. We flirted, you and I. Indiscreetly, but innocently, and you talked yourself into making that some kind of noble, unspoken love. The more I think about it, the less I believe in it—I could tell if a man loved me, surely?’
Francis broke into speech, stuttered to a halt and looked at her, aghast.
