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She nodded, eager to latch on to the banal topic. “Yes. Nearly the entire foundation of the castle is still intact, along with one wall of what had been the main hall. Jasper used to take me there as a girl after he’d inherited, and we’d climb around together.”
“You visited often?”
She nodded. “Papa took over the running of things for Jasper until he was old enough to handle the responsibility.” Francesca had spent many a summer at Festoon Hall, and they were some of her happiest childhood memories.
“Your father seems a sporting fellow for taking on such a task.”
“My parents see Jasper as one of their own children and have always treated him as such. I was just a babe when he came to us, so I really only know him as my brother.” While there were times that Jasper grated on her nerves, she was forever grateful to have a brotherly relationship in her life. If not for him, she might have found herself alone and abandoned on the road to Scotland last year. The reminder of James Berrington and his smooth, seductive lies was enough to cool some of the heat coursing through her from Barrow’s presence.
“He seems to share the sentiment,” her companion said placidly.
“Enough to chase after my foolish self last year,” she replied with the merest twinge of bitterness. They made it beyond the pond and walked into the shade of the trees, Barrow remaining silent for several minutes. Just when she was regretting bringing up the topic at all, he finally spoke.
“Would you like to talk about it?”
“About what?”
“Him.” He looked at her calmly in a way that told her he wasn’t trying to pry, merely giving her space to talk about it if she wished.
Francesca gazed around the forest, taking in the lush greenery and pleasant birdsong as she debated how to respond. She’d never spoken about James in great detail to others, no one having actually asked her about him. Her family remained silent on the matter, Sophie in particular going out of her way to avoid even saying the man’s name despite being his sister. It was as if everyone thought she would crumble at the mere mention of him. While that might have been true in the days and weeks immediately after the elopement, it had been a full year already. Her feelings, which she had eventually come to realize were shallow, had long since withered away, replaced only with anger and more than a little self-disgust at allowing herself to be fooled so well.
Perhaps now was a good time to air things out in the open, to finally accept the full brunt of what had occurred and move on. “I met him relatively early in the spring. It was my third season, one that I suspected would be my last due to the lack of attention I was receiving. Being plain and quite shy, I could never boast of much charisma, and there was a larger selection of well-dowered ladies than usual that year. After the first few weeks, I was feeling quite sorry for myself.”
“He preyed upon your lack of confidence,” Barrow remarked with a frown.
“Easy to do when I had no reason for such feelings.” Next to the pretty, conversational competition, Francesca had felt rather like a brown hen in a sea of beautiful peacocks. When James, one of the most beautiful men she’d ever seen, had given her his utmost attention, the prospect of having something worthwhile after all had dazzled her.
“Perhaps when focusing on your face alone, you aren’t a diamond of the first water,” he stopped them in the middle of the path and put his hands on her shoulders, his gaze focused and sincere. “But you are pretty, and when your vibrant emotions come forth, smiling or scowling, it transforms you into one of the most stunning women I have ever met.”
Taking in Mr. Barrow’s face, the chiseled lines and focused grey eyes, she wondered why she had ever thought James Berrington to be the peak of masculine beauty, for the man before her dominated the very air with his presence. Having his attention, his genuine attention, fixed so firmly upon her filled her with a lightness that paled in comparison to the shallow confidence she’d felt last year. Even if he held no deeper feelings beyond admiration, and even though she knew they would go nowhere, Francesca had never felt more alive. The decision to brace her hands on his chest and lean forward was an easy one. When their lips touched, she felt not a moment of regret.
**
Lady Francesca was shaping up to be one of the most charming women he’d ever had the pleasure of embracing. Her hands clenched into the fabric of his waistcoat while her mouth lingered almost demurely against his own. He caressed her lips and, much to his surprise and pleasure, her tongue tentatively darted out. She was a fast learner, Arthur noted with a small smile. He answered her in kind, wrapping his arms around her waist and delving inside of her mouth as she let out a small moan. How had she been overlooked for three seasons? Her vibrancy was obvious to anyone who bothered to take more than a passing glance. But then, who were more frivolous than the men of the Ton?
Alarm bells rang in his head as the kiss deepened, but he was beyond caring. To hell with Amberwood and anyone else. If Lady Francesca wanted to find pleasure in his arms, that was no one’s business but her own. As if to prove his point, her hands slithered from his chest to wrap around his waist, her breasts pressing invitingly against him. Her bonnet toppled from her head, and he grasped the garment and all but throw it off her. Cupping her face in his hands, he moved them backwards and pressed her against a nearby tree. When she only reacted by tightening her arms, he left her mouth to trail kisses down to her lovely neck.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” she said breathlessly while he licked and nibbled at her pulse.
“I’m beyond caring,” Arthur murmured against her skin. He palmed her shapely breast in his hand and pressed his thigh between her legs.
“I as well.” Her breath hitched as he pressed more firmly into her, and she rubbed herself against him with a soft moan. Too riled up to care about easing her into things, Arthur pulled at her skirts, rucking them up enough to slip his hand between her soft thighs. Her quim was already slick for him, his finger gliding with ease over the silken flesh. She parted her mouth with a breathy whimper as his fingers swirled over her nub. His cock throbbed as she became wetter against his hand, her hips grinding in search of more.
“Arthur,” she moaned out.
Hearing his name leave her lips was enough to snap any shred of caution left within him. “Do you trust me, Francesca?”
“Always,” she replied, and then huffed in disapproval when he withdrew his hand.
Arthur could almost feel her curious gaze as he crouched and pushed her skirts higher until she was bared fully before him. He gazed at the glistening flesh of her quim and licked his lips in anticipation. “Spread your legs for me, love.”
Francesca paused, and for a moment he thought he’d scandalized her genteel sensibilities a bit too much, but then did as he bade. Her voice trembled as he left a chaste kiss on the inside of her thigh. “What are you doing?”
“Putting my mouth on you,” he murmured. He suspected most ladies of her station wouldn’t appreciate such crassness, but his Francesca was forever a surprise.
“Oh,” was all she said, her voice quiet but curious. “Oh,” she said again with a high-pitched gasp as he buried his face into her without preamble. He caressed his lips over her swollen flesh, darting his tongue out to taste her arousal. Without ceasing his ministrations, he looked up and nearly groaned aloud at the sight of her gazing down at him, even as her face contorted with whimpering pleasure. Her hands raked through his hair, nails tightening on his scalp as his tongue thrashed roughly against her. He pressed his palm against her abdomen as she squirmed, her breathy pants turning into soft cries as he continued his torment. Unable to resist any longer, Arthur unbuttoned his falls and took himself in hand as the pleasure built between them. It was her sudden, strangled shriek of release that did him in, and he spent hard on his fingers, moaning against her soaked quim while Francesca twitched with the last waves of orgasm. He rested his hand against her trembling form, waiting for the regret to hit him. Stubbornly, he only felt the relaxing warmth of sexual satisfaction and a vague sense of utter contentment. There was everything wrong with what they had just done and yet…
“Arthur?” she said timidly. “It’s chilly.”
