“Excuse me,” Frances said, and left the room without another word.
Hawk thought: I will give you until tonight to come to grips with yourself.
“Well, Frances, what are you up to?”
Frances looked up to see her husband leaning over the stall door. She gently finished tying up the bandage on the bay stallion’s fetlock, and slowly rose. “As you see, I am attending to Clancy. He’s got a speedy-cut, which, of course, shouldn’t have happened. It is the result of him striking one leg with the opposite foot. He probably did it galloping, since he has a tendency to turn out his toes. I’ll have to to speak to Belvis about this.” She saw that her husband was watching her patiently, and raised an eyebrow. “What is it you want, my lord?”
Hawk let that formality pass. Indeed, he was perturbed. He held up the envelope. “The letter from my father—”
“He is all right, is he not?” she asked quickly.
“My sire will live to see us all underground,” Hawk said, his voice acid. “Actually, he had expected this letter to find me in London. Its contents are most interesting. He informs me that I should consider bringing myself home quickly, as there is talk about my wife and my steward becoming closer than is proper.”
“What? He said what?”
Hawk watched the shocked expression deepen the color of her eyes. He had realized quickly enough that it was but another ploy on his father’s part to get him back to Desborough Hall. He supposed he was wicked enough to draw her on, just a bit.
“Well, what do you have to say about that, madam? Remember, I saw Marcus leaning all over you on the day of my arrival.”
Frances wished she had her breakfast plate. She would surely hurl it at his head. How could he believe such a thing! Then she saw the gleam of mocking amusement in his eyes, and she realized her father-in-law’s purpose. Hawk didn’t believe it, not a word, but he was enjoying himself at her expense. She lowered her head and began to twist her hands in front of her.
“Frances?”
She lowered her head even more. She heard the tentative uncertainty in his voice and was hard-pressed not to smile. Wretched, mocking man! She said in a halting, very guilty voice, “Oh, dear, how could he! I didn’t really mean to ... well, you know that Marcus is so very nice and handsome and—”
Clancy’s Pride snorted and Frances quickly let herself out of his stall.
“What did you say?”
She heard the beginnings of outrage in his voice, and allowed her chin to tremble. Her voice was liquid with guilt and shame. “I didn’t mean for it to happen, truly I didn’t, it is just that I was so lonely and—”
Hawk grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “What the devil are you talking about?”
“Why, I’m talking about my illicit behavior with your steward, my lord.”
His eyes glittered and he realized that she’d turned the tables on him.
Frances fluttered her lashes and said in a sweetly reminiscing voice, “Ah, such a pity, but—”
“I am going to beat you,” he said, shaking her again.
Frances couldn’t help herself. She started laughing, marvelously mocking laughter that made Hawk see red.
“Frances,” he growled, deep in his throat. “Stop it, damn you, or I’ll throttle you!”
She did, very quickly, and in the next moment had pulled free of his hands and raced toward the doorway. She looked back to see him standing beside Clancy’s stall, his face a thundercloud, his hands fisted at his sides.
“Ah, yes, Marcus is such a grand lover ... so considerate—”
Hawk took a step toward her, and she fled, her laughter float
ing back to him.
When the marquess arrived early that afternoon, he was met by a tearful Frances, who flung herself in his arms and whimpered in an agonized voice, “Oh, my lord, why did you have to tell him? Hawk, I mean. Marcus and I felt so very safe, until that letter—”
Hawk arrived on the front steps in time to witness his wife’s sterling performance. He watched the dazed confusion on his father’s face become guilt, then awareness of what was being done unto him.
Hawk applauded. “Bravo!” he shouted. He clapped louder.