Mistress of Scandal (Greentree Sisters 3)

Her eyes slid over his chest and stomach, dropping to his groin.

But her staring at him was igniting desire again. She was half propped up against the pillows, her wild hair curling around her, her improper mouth swollen from his kisses. She was like a dream come true—she was his dream come true—and he wanted her with a fierce ache.

Her eyes widened at the evidence of his feelings. Perhaps, he thought, he could have her again, before it was over. Was twice too greedy? Sebastian knew he was willing to take what he could get.

“Francesca, you were made for love,” he murmured huskily as he moved toward her. And realized it was the worst thing he could have said. He might as well have told her that she was her mother’s daughter, and for a woman like Francesca, struggling against her bloodline and her nature, it was setting a match to tinder.

She sat bolt upright. “I need to leave now,” she said in a hard little voice.

“Francesca…”

But it was no use; he could see she’d made up her mind. Her clothing had hardly dried, but she began to dress, and with a sigh he did the same. “Wait here,” he said when he was done. “I’ll try and get us some horses.”

When he had gone, Francesca stood by the fire and wondered how she could feel so empty after what she had just experienced. She’d enjoyed what they’d done, yes, and she didn’t regret it, but suddenly she could see how it was possible for a woman to become like her mother. Sebastia

n had made her feel like a goddess, and she already wanted more. It was addictive. She knew she would never be with Sebastian again, but she could also see it might become possible to begin searching for him in every man who looked at her, every man who touched her. Always searching and never finding.

The idea made her sick and dizzy with disgust and terror.

Oh so very easily, she could become another Aphrodite.

The door opened softly and he returned. “There’s only one horse in the stable.”

So she would have to ride pillion, pressed against him, reliving the moments they’d spent together. Francesca dreaded it and longed for it at the same time. It will be a test, she told herself as she followed him down the stairs. If I can bear this without showing my true feelings, then I can do anything.

But the journey was surprisingly swift, and they hardly spoke until the lights of Greentree Manor came into sight. She meant to jump down and run, but he was too quick for her, reaching to help her. She fell against him, and for a moment she was enveloped in the scent and feel of Sebastian Thorne. One last time. And then she was pulling away.

Running. As if he really were the devil.

She heard him call her name, but she didn’t turn. Her head was filled with just one thought, and one regret. She wanted him.

But she couldn’t have him.

The next morning Francesca waited until the hour was late before coming downstairs, and as she had hoped, he was gone. It was as well they were traveling to London after all. She told herself she would be able to forget Sebastian Thorne in the bustle and rush that was the capital, and by the time she returned to the manor, all thought of him would have been washed from her mind.

So very neat and tidy.

She could only pray it was true.

Chapter 9

London

Late summer

As they passed through the newly completed Euston Square Railway Station, Francesca looked up at the grand Euston Arch. The metropolis was changing and growing at an amazing pace. It had been four years since she’d last visited London. That had been when Marietta married her Max in a grand ceremony at St. James’s Church. Since then her sisters had visited Greentree Manor often enough that Francesca had not been obliged to travel south to London. Besides, Max and Marietta spent much of the year in Cornwall with their daughter, while Vivianna and Oliver were currently at their estate in Derbyshire with their two sons.

Her sisters had their own lives to lead, and if sometimes Francesca felt the loneliness of her own solitary state, it was what she had chosen, and she told herself she was content. Better to be alone than prey to her emotions.

I have had my dance with the devil. Why should I need another?

The reminder was meant to comfort her, but it seemed to have the opposite effect.

A railway porter fetched them a hansom cab and loaded their luggage aboard. Amy held up a handkerchief to her nose as the smoke and grime of the city swirled around them, complete with an amazing collection of smells. At least summer meant there were not so many coal fires burning, so there was less chance of the impenetrable fogs that frequently smothered the capital.

The vehicle soon rattled its way into the thick stream of traffic, jostling with carts, omnibuses, carriages, and pedestrians. They were on the final leg of their journey. While Amy fidgeted and Lil sat bolt upright in her corner, looking frighteningly neat, Francesca closed her eyes and tried to picture herself far away from this man-made chaos.

“It seems ages since I was last in London,” Amy said. “I am looking forward to seeing the new London bridge, and the statue of Nelson in Trafalgar Square, and the work on the Houses of Parliament in Westminster. And the shopping. Perhaps I can persuade Helen to come with me, although she never needed much persuading to shop. And you must come, too, my dear. It will do you good to freshen up your wardrobe.”