“I can’t expect her to upset her family over me,” Sebastian was saying. “He was furious, and she was frightened. I wanted to kill him…” He shook his head, qualified his words. “I wanted to bloody his nose.”
“Many of us feel like that about William Tremaine,” Aphrodite assured him.
“If I call on her, I know I will only make things worse for her.”
“Francesca knows this. She may call on you.”
“Unless he’s watching her. I wouldn’t put it past him.”
“Love will discover a way through the obstacles,” Aphrodite said blithely. “With a little help.”
“Speaking of help, I did as you said.” He gave her a glance that was almost shy. “I dared her. And you were right. She reacted just as you said she would.”
“Francesca is not a female who likes her men to be tame. She seeks out the dark and the dangerous—in her imagination, anyway. That is why she likes you, Sebastian. You can be the dangerous man of her dreams, and yet she knows she is always safe with you. A woman needs to be safe while she is naked in her man’s arms.”
He smiled, thinking that he very much enjoyed Francesca’s imagination, but in another moment he was serious again. “I worry about her, Madame. She’s in a precarious position.”
“Ignorance keeps her safe, and as yet she is ignorant as to the truth.”
“All the same…”
Aphrodite reached out and touched his hand. “Enough. You cannot always be serious. Francesca will be here in a moment, and I wanted to ask you whether you wished to accompany my daughter on another adventure, my lord? You should take every opportunity to bind her to you with addictions of the flesh. She will be returning to her dreary moors soon, and then you will need to prise her away from them. If she is in love with you, or at least in lust with you, the battle is already half won.”
“Madame…”
“I have been giving it some thought, and I believe the Bacchus Room will do the trick.”
“The Bacchus Room?” Sebastian wondered whether he’d ever get used to Francesca’s mother instructing him on what was most pleasing to her daughter when it came to the art of love. Probably not.
“One can let one’s imagination go wild,” she said, a twinkle in her eye. “And my daughter has a very vivid imagination, my lord.”
“Yes, she has.”
“I will send her to you, oui?”
“Please do.”
“Good! Now, let us set the scene. A forest glade. A maiden all unaware, and hiding in the bushes, watching her, lusting after her…the satyr.” She tapped her finger on her cheek, deep in thought. “I believe you would make a very good satyr, Sebastian.”
He tried not to choke. “A satyr it is then.”
“And remember, you must bind her to you. I do not want Francesca to return to those dreadful moors. She belongs here in London, where she can shine like the diamond she is.”
“She belongs in Worthorne Manor.”
Aphrodite smiled broadly. “I see we are thinking along the same lines, Sebastian. That is good, that is very good…”
Francesca was glad to see Aphrodite looking more like her old self again. She even had ink stains on her fingers. Her mother was “resting” in her boudoir, but had smuggled some of her ledgers up and was now busy tallying figures. Or at least she had been until Francesca arrived.
“I’m surprised you were allowed out to visit me,” Aphrodite said with a watchful glance.
“You mean ‘allowed’ by Uncle William?” Her voice was dry.
“Lord Worthorne tells me your uncle was not very happy with you at Lady Annear’s ball, petit chaton.”
“No, he wasn’t. But he seems to be trying to mend bridges. I’m surprised, I admit, by the change in him, but it’s very welcome.”
“Perhaps he wishes for a reconciliation with Amy, after all.”