Some of her glow began to fade. She didn’t feel like laughing anymore. “I am afraid I will become like her.”
“What do you mean? She is a beautiful, desirable woman who has worked to make her business a success.”
“She has had her heart broken many times, and men have used her for their own ends.”
“I would have thought she used them.”
“She abandoned us.”
“You were kidnapped.”
“If she wasn’t off pursuing some man, it wouldn’t have happened.”
“Francesca…”
“No.” She pulled away from him, tears sparkling in her eyes. “You’ve spoiled it now,” she whispered, and turned and fled up the stairs to her uncle’s house.
Sebastian stood and watched the door close behind her.
So that was what was wrong. She believed she was Aphrodite’s daughter in more ways than one, and to give free rein to her emotions, to her desires, would be to invite disaster. So she bound those emotions inside her, keeping them in tight check, restraining them as a prisoner was restrained in a cell.
It was time someone unlocked the door and showed Francesca Greentree that she was no ordinary woman, and as such she must live her life to the full. There might be tears, there might be hurt, but there would be happiness, too. And yes, there would be desire.
And who better to teach her that than Sebastian?
Aphrodite’s death was taking far longer than he’d hoped. But he had to be careful. He didn’t want any suspicion attached to it, and he certainly didn’t want doctors and magistrates crawling all over the place, pointing the finger of suspicion. The whore couldn’t last much longer.
But there was another problem looming. The little spy he had planted in Aphrodite’s Club wasn’t happy. She hadn’t said so, but Angela knew, and had reminded her where her true loyalties lay. He might have to do something about the spy. But he’d allow the dust to settle on Aphrodite’s coffin first.
He was a patient man, not by nature but because he’d learned that wishes were usually granted if you waited long enough. Obstacles were removed, or died, and if they didn’t…Well, there was always murder.
First Aphrodite, then the spy, and then Francesca.
After twenty-five years he’d finally be free of the dark cloud that had hung over him. He’d finally be able to enjoy himself without fearing discovery.
It was a heady thought.
Francesca could barely keep still as each new dress was draped around her, discussed as if she wasn’t even present, and then removed. Helen was in raptures over the ball gown, chattering away, all her unhappiness completely forgotten. Amy caught her daughter’s eye as if to say, Take heart, your suffering isn’t for nothing.
Toby arrived as they were sitting down to afternoon tea, and greedily piled his plate with slices of cake and little sandwiches. “Ah, here she is, the belle of the ball,” he said, with heavy-handed flattery.
“You’re very kind, Uncle Toby.”
“Kindness has nothing to do with it, niece. You’re looking as gorgeous as ever. A goddess! Are you hoping to catch yourself a husband? An earl, I hear!”
“No, a chimney sweep will do.”
For a moment Toby thought she was serious, and then he laughed good-naturedly. That was the trouble with Toby, Francesca decided; he could always take a joke, and therefore one could not hate him as fully as he deserved.
“I think your uncle William is expecting something better than ‘trade,’ if he’s forking out all this blunt. Not known for his kindness and generosity, is he? Not without getting something in return.”
“Aunt Helen is doing a marvelous job helping to arrange everything,” Francesca said hurriedly. “I can’t thank her enough.”
“It’s almost like having a daughter of my own,” Helen gushed, and then her eyes swiveled abruptly to Toby and away again. “If I had one, of course, which I haven’t. A daughter, I mean.”
“But Francesca is the next best thing,” Toby said gruffly. “Come on, my love, time to go. Cook says we have roast beef and gravy, and you know how I love roast beef and gravy.”
“Of course, Toby.” Flustered, Helen rose swiftly to her feet, and Toby bustled her out.