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—MILTON
“My lord! We weren’t expecting you! You have—”
“Good day, Otis. Where is my wife?”
Hawk was slapping his fine gray leather gloves against his left hand, waiting for a response. There wasn’t an immediate one and he looked intently at his butler’s unbelievably distraught face.
“Well, my lord,” Otis began, wishing he could wipe the sudden perspiration from his brow.
“Yes, Otis?” What was going on here? Otis sweating?
Otis pulled himself together. “I believe, my lord, that Lady Frances is in the estate room. She—”
“Estate room? How strange. Well, no matter. See to my things, will you, Otis?”
What the devil was Frances doing in his estate room? Was she hiding from his staff? Had she taken over the small chamber as a refuge? Why was Otis acting so particularly? He strode across the vast entry hall toward the back of the house. He was vaguely aware that fresh flowers filled every vase on every surface. Their sweet scent permeated the air. It was spring, he thought, then dismissed it.
The door to the estate room was closed. He frowned at it a moment. Little fool, was she so diffident, so timid that ... ? He caught the knob, half-expecting it to be locked. It opened smoothly, and Hawk stepped into the room, coming suddenly to a complete and utter halt.
He stared, his mouth dropping open. There was a woman seated behind his desk, a beautiful woman, and Marcus Carruthers was standing beside her, speaking quietly, his finger pointing to a piece of paper on the desk in front of her. Hawk blinked, not understanding, completely at sea. The woman ... her hair was a rich, streaked chestnut, with delicate wisps trailing down her graceful neck. Her gown was exquisite, a pale lemon yellow, fitted perfectly to her lovely bosom ...
“Oh my God!”
Frances, intent on Marcus’ explanation, looked up to see her husband standing inside the door, a look of utter confusion and chagrined disbelief on his face.
He had to come back sooner or later, she thought, drawing on a thin thread of poise. She had wished, devoutly prayed that he would give her warning, but then, Hawk never did the expected. Oh heavens!
She said in a calm voice, “Good day, my lord. You have just arrived?”
“Frances?”
“Yes, my lord.”
Hawk continued to stare at her, stunned. “Where are your spectacles?” he asked stupidly.
She shrugged and gave him a small smile.
At that moment Hawk became completely aware of Marcus Carruthers. He had managed to move a bit closer to Frances, as if protecting her. His look, his posture, looked intimate. Hawk felt rage rise in him.
“What the devil is going on here?”
Frances blinked at his outburst. A jealous husband’s outburst? It was all too absurd. Very slowly she rose. “Nothing at all untoward, I assure you, my lord. Marcus, thank you very much. We will make a decision on this matter a bit later.”
Marcus Carruthers saw the incredulous expression on the earl’s face and for a moment he was very afraid of the man. But he was more concerned about Lady Frances. Did he dare leave her alone with him? Fool, he reminded himself, the earl was her husband.
He cleared his throat. “Welcome home, my lord,” he managed on a croak. “I will see you later,” he added, but neither party knew exactly to whom this was addressed. He slipped out of the room, noting as he walked past the earl that his hands were fists at his sides. Reinforcements, he thought. He needed to bring reinforcements.
“As I said, welcome home, my lord,” Frances repeated, her mind a whirling morass of stray thoughts. She didn’t move from her post behind the desk.
“Where is my father?”
“He left for Chandos Chase last week.” She added silently that he had waited until she was well in control of everything at Desborough Hall before taking his leave. She wished he were here now. Her errant husband was the only thing, the only creature, she couldn’t control.
“I believe, Frances, that you owe me an explanation.” His voice was very soft, gentle almost, but Frances wasn’t fooled, not for a minute. He was furious, very probably wanted to strangle her, and was barely in control of his temper.
“Someone must see to things here, my lord,” she said mildly. “You weren’t here. I was.”
“Damn you, you know that isn’t what I mean!” He strode toward her, his eyes growing wider as he neared her. “What the hell happened to you?” He still couldn’t believe it. She was lovely enough to make a man ache just gazing at her. Her eyes were large and gray, fringed with thick, dark lashes, eyes grayer now, cold like the North Sea in winter. Her delicate chin rose, as if in challenge. No, he silently amended, not just delicate, stubborn as the devil. Who and what had he married?
