All About Passion (Cynster 7)

Gyles bit back a “no.” Osbert wasn’t in the habit of calling for no reason. “Show him in here.”

Irving bowed and departed; a minute later he returned, Osbert in tow. Announced, Osbert nodded to Gyles, who rose. “Cousin.” His gaze swung to Francesca; Osbert beamed. “Dear cousin Francesca-” He broke off, glanced at Gyles, then back at her. “I may call you that, may I not?”

“Of course.” Francesca smiled and held out her hand. Osbert took it and bowed over it. “Pray be seated, or is your business with Gyles?”

“No, no!” Osbert eagerly sank into the other armchair. “I heard you were in town and felt I must call to welcome you to the capital.”

“How kind,” Francesca replied.

Suppressing a humph, Gyles sank back into the chair behind his desk.

“And”-Osbert searched his pockets-“I do hope you don’t consider it impertinent, but I’ve written an ode-to your eyes. Ah, here it is!” He brandished a parchment. “Would you like me to read it?”

Gyles smothered a groan and took refuge behind a news sheet. Still, he couldn’t help but hear Osbert’s verse. It wasn’t, in fact, bad-merely uninspired. He could have thought of ten better phrases to more adequately convey the fascinating allure of his wife’s emerald eyes.

Francesca politely thanked Osbert and said various encouraging things, which led Osbert to fill her ears with predictions of how much she would enjoy the ton, and how much the ton would enjoy her. That last had Gyles compressing his lips, but then Francesca appealed to him over some point and he had to lower the news sheet and answer, sans scowl.

He bore with Osbert’s prattle for five minutes more before desperation gave birth to inspiration. Rising, he crossed to where Francesca and Osbert sat. Francesca looked up.

“If you recall, my dear, I’d mentioned taking you for a drive in the park.” Gyles turned his easy expression on Osbert. “I’m afraid, cousin, that if I’m to give Francesca a taste of all you’ve been describing so eloquently, we’ll need to go now.”

“Oh, yes! Of course!” Osbert unraveled his long legs and stood. He took Francesca’s hand. “You’ll enjoy it, I’m sure.”

Francesca said her farewells. Osbert took his leave of Gyles and quite happily departed.

Gyles watched his retreating back through narrowed eyes.

“Well, my lord.”

He turned to see Francesca, head tilted, regarding him with a smile.

“If we’re to go driving in the park, I’d better go and change.”

A pity-she looked delectable as she was, the scooped neckline of her day gown drawing his eyes, the soft material, clinging to her curves, drawing his senses. But she’d be too cold in his curricle. Catching her hand, he carried it to his lips. “I’ll order the carriage. Fifteen minutes, in the hall.”

She left him with a laugh and one of her glorious smiles.

It was the fashionable hour, and the Avenue was packed with carriages of every description. The larger, more staid broughams and landaus were pulled up along the verge, while the smaller, racier curricles and phaetons tacked along between. Speed was not of the essence-no one was in any rush; the whole purpose of the exercise was to see and be seen.

“There’s so many here!” From her perch on the box seat, Francesca looked around. “I’d thought at this time of year, the town would be half-empty.”

“This is half-empty.” Gyles divided his attention between the carriage in front and the occupants of the carriages beside them. “During the Season, the lawns are half-covered, and there’re more horsemen about. What you’re seeing is primarily the elite of the ton, those who have business, usually politics, that brings them up for the autumn session.”

Francesca surveyed the ranks. “So these are the ladies I most need to get to know.”

Gyles’s brows rose, but he inclined his head.

Then he slowed his horses, drawing the curricle closer to a carriage on the verge. Francesca looked, then beamed. “Honoria!”

“Francesca! How delightful!” Honoria looked at Gyles and, still smiling, nodded. “My lord. I can’t tell you how delighted I am to see you here.”

Gyles’s answering smile was chilly. Francesca raised her brows fleetingly at Honoria-the swift look she received in reply clearly stated: I’ll explain later.

Honoria gestured to the three other ladies sharing the barouche. “Allow me to introduce you to Devil’s aunt, Lady Louise Cynster, and her daughters, Amanda and Amelia.”

Francesca exchanged greetings, smiling as she recognized the thoughts behind the girls’ wide eyes. Each was the epitome of a fair English beauty, with golden ringlets, cornflower blue eyes, and delicate, milky complexions. “You’re twins?”

“Yes.” Amanda’s gaze was still skating over her.