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Frances gritted her teeth. “I am not with child, Alicia. My husband doubtless refers to the ... Scottish fever I occasionally suffer.”
“Do I? Not with child, my dear? How depressing. As I said, a husband has so many duties and responsibilities.”
John sent his wife an agonized glance. He was acutely uncomfortable. He wanted only to leave and let the two of them fight it out. Alicia had been gleeful about the evening. Even she looked doubtful now. John wondered briefly if Frances would leap out of her chair and plant her husband a facer.
As for Frances, she had had quite enough. “Alicia, shall we retire now? The lemon pudding and the rhubarb tarts aren’t to your liking, I know. But they are his lordship’s favorites, as I’m certain he’ll tell you. Gentlemen, excuse us.”
There was no footman and no Otis to pull out her chair. John quickly rose from his chair to assist his wife. Hawk merely stared at Frances down the length of the table. His look promised full retribution, but she tossed her head and marched in full-blown regal manner from the dining room.
“My lady!” Otis stared at her, aghast.
She forced a smile at her ally. “See to the gentlemen, please, Otis. Lady Alicia and I will be in the drawing room.”
“My, my,” said Alicia. “Hawk is in a rare taking.”
“He is an objectionable brute,” said Frances, so furious that she could barely gather her woefully scattered thoughts together.
“You did deceive him, Frances,” said Alicia in a very tentative voice.
Frances looked positively fierce. “I hope he chokes on the pudding!”
“He looks so outrageously handsome in his evening togs, don’t you agree?”
“Alicia,” Frances said in a warning voice, “you are giving me a headache.”
Alicia tripped onward. “His hair is so thick and shiny, don’t you agree? And his beautiful green eyes.” She gave a delicious shudder, daring a sideways glance at Frances’ glacial face. “And he is so very ... virile and strong.”
“I will strangle you, Alicia!”
“He is your husband,” Alicia said reasonably. “I like rhubarb tarts,” she added.
“Curse you, Alicia! Whose side are you on?”
“I think I shall play some ballads. You listen, Frances, it will soothe your savage, er, feelings.”
The gentlemen joined them all too soon. Hawk strolled to where Frances sat in splendid isolation and moved behind her chair. She felt his hand on her shoulder, and froze. She felt his fingers curl and uncurl in her hair.
“Leave me alone,” she hissed between her teeth.
“Oh no, my dear, I shan’t do that. Not until I wish to, at least.”
John and Alicia escaped. That was the only word for it, Frances thought, as she and Hawk walked with them to the front doors. Alicia gave Frances a quick hug. Otis hovered, to Hawk’s displeasure. He took Frances’ hand and drew her back into the drawing room. He closed the door firmly and stood against it.
“Now,” he said, grinning at her. “We are finally alone.”
“So?”
“You present a lovely picture. I am most anxious to see more of the picture, perhaps with less ... paint.”
He spoke in a most normal tone, but it took Frances but a moment to glean his meaning. She stared at him, her eyes widening.
“I dislike you intensely,” Frances said.
He arched a black brow, but said nothing.
“You are no gentleman!”
“I also suspect that you, my dear, despite being the daughter of an earl, are no lady. A hoyden, perhaps.”
