Her eyes flashed, and for a moment he hoped she would flare up into temper, but she quashed the emotion and put on her proper face. “No, I’m going home where I belong.”
“Non, non, petit chaton,” a voice whispered from the bed. Aphrodite was awake again, her dark eyes brighter than before. “You have forgotten. There is to be a ball in your honor. Amy sent me a little note. You are to be introduced to London society, is that not so?”
“I can’t possibly—” she began.
“But you can. You must. I insist upon it.” She turned her head and found Dobson. “Jemmy,” she murmured, “you must act for me in this. Mr. Thorne needs his instructions.”
He looked into her eyes, and then he nodded abruptly.
“That is good,” she whispered. “All is well.”
Outside the room there were voices, and then quiet footsteps mounting the stairs. The door opened, and Sebastian stepped aside as a short, plump woman with fair hair peeped in. Francesca stood up with a gasp, and came around the bed and into her arms. Neither of them said anything, Francesca’s head resting on Marietta’s. It was only after she released her that she realized that Marietta was with child again, as round as a pumpkin.
“How is she?” Marietta asked anxiously, looking over to the bed where their mother lay.
“Sleeping, I think. She drifts in and out.”
“Is it true? That Maeve…?”
Francesca knew that Maeve and Marietta had always been close; it must be a terrible shock to her sister. Francesca squeezed her hand. “It’s true.”
Marietta moved toward the bed, and Francesca left her alone with Aphrodite. She felt Sebastian following close behind her, out onto the gallery. His fingers clasped her elbow, and his voice in her ear was angry.
“You’re not serious about not needing me?” he said. “Damn and blast it, Francesca, you’re still in danger!”
“Not in Yorkshire. You’ve made certain of that.”
He looked as if there was a great deal more he wanted to say, but she didn’t want to hear it.
“You’re going to climb back in the cage and close the door,” he said bitterly. “You don’t know what you’re missing out on, Francesca.”
She gave a shaky laugh. “Oh, but I do. That’s the trouble. Still, with most of England between us, I hope to forget. Eventually.”
“Francesca?” It was Marietta calling her, and without another glance at him, she returned to the bedchamber and closed the door.
Sebastian stood in the gallery and wondered what he was going to do. He felt as if his job wasn’t completed, and yet perhaps Francesca was right and she was no longer in danger. Perhaps he would have to learn to live without her.
“Mr. Thorne?”
Dobson was watching him. “I ’ave something to tell you. A name.”
Sebastian frowned, and then he realized what it was Dobson was going to tell him. “You know?”
“Of course I know. I’ve always known. And when I tell you, you’ll understand why Aphrodite is so worried about Francesca.” He moved closer and spoke it softly. “So you see now the difficulties?”
“Yes, I do see,” Sebastian murmured. “I see it all. Then her father is…?”
“Yes.”
“Damn and blast it.” He sighed, and shook his head. “It’s not over, then, is it? I need to protect her even more vigilantly than before.”
Dobson nodded. “He feels threatened and he’ll strike out. Francesca’s a threat to him now. She can take everything he’s clung to all these years. He’ll try and stop her before she learns the truth.”
Sebastian didn’t reply, and, satisfied, Dobson left him there.
Sebastian didn’t know what to think. The name brought everything in focus, he understood so much now, but it also increased his anxiety where Francesca was concerned tenfold. The man in question was a gentleman, someone who could pass through society without anyone giving him a second glance. It didn’t matter if she was in Yorkshire or London, Francesca was going to be exposed to him—she was exposed to him already. How could Sebastian look out for her? How could he be where she was, taking care of her? He was Mr. Thorne, and Mr. Thorne would be told in no uncertain terms that he was not welcome in the places where Miss Francesca Greentree could go with impunity.