All About Passion (Cynster 7)

Gyles hid a frown.

“But where are you staying?” Francesca asked.

“Walpole House,” Lady Elizabeth answered. “It’s just around the corner in North Audley Street, so we’re close.”

Gyles let his horses prance. “Mama-my horses. It’s getting cold…”

“Oh, indeed you must get on, but no matter-we’ll see you tonight at the Stanleys.’ “

He felt Francesca’s glance but didn’t meet it. They made their farewells and parted. He took the shortest route away from the Avenue, then headed out of the park.

Francesca sat back and considered him. “Are we going to the Stanleys’ tonight?”

Gyles shrugged. “We have an invitation. I suppose it’s as good a place as any to start.”

“Start what?”

Features grim, he guided his pair out of the gates. “Your emergence into the ton.”

He’d wanted to put it off for as long as he could-he realized that now. And he knew why. His wife would exert the same visceral tug on the ton’s rakes as honey exerted on bees. At this time of year, those present were of the most dangerous variety, undiluted by the more innocuous bucks up from the country for the Season. Those at the Stanleys’ would be the London wolves, those who, as he had done, rarely hunted outside the capital with its alluringly scented prey.

He’d made up his mind that he wouldn’t leave Francesca’s side before they’d even greeted their hostess.

She, predictably, was thrilled.

“A great pleasure to see you here, my lord.” Lady Stanley nodded approvingly, then shifted her gaze to Francesca. Her expression warmed. “And I’m delighted to be one of the first to welcome you to the capital, Lady Francesca.”

Francesca and her ladyship exchanged the customary phrases. Gyles noted her ladyship’s transparent friendliness, not something to be taken for granted in the cut and thrust of the ton. Then again, the ton had been back in London for some weeks; the news that he’d married and that his marriage had been an arranged one would have circulated widely.

That news would gain Francesca greater sympathy and acceptance than would otherwise have been the case. She’d never been in competition with the ton’s ladies or their daughters given that the position of his countess had never been put on the marriage mart.

That was the good news. As they parted from their hosts, and he steered Francesca into the crowd, Gyles took in the creamy mounds of her breasts revealed by the neckline of her teal-silk evening gown, and wished he could retreat. Take her home to his library and lock her in, so that only those men he approved of would see her.

None knew better than he that the news that their marriage had been arranged would expose her to the immediate scrutiny of those who’d recently been his peers. One look, and any rake worthy of the name would come running. She exuded the air of a woman of sensual appetites, one who would never be content with the mild attentions of an indifferent husband.

The thought was laughable. He shook his head. She noticed and raised a brow.

“Nothing.” Inwardly, he shook his head again. He must have been mad to have set himself up for this.

“Lady Chillingworth?” Lord Pendleton bowed elegantly before them; straightening, he glanced at Gyles. “Come, my lord-do introduce us.”

Mentally gritting his teeth, Gyles did. He couldn’t very well do otherwise. And so it began-within ten minutes, they were surrounded by a pack of politely slavering wolves, all waiting for him to excuse himself and leave her to them.

Hell would freeze before he did.

Francesca chatted easily. Her social confidence increased her attractiveness to this particular audience. He knew them all, knew the question he was raising in their minds by remaining anchored by her side. How to escape before one of his ex-peers guessed his true position and decided to make hay of it was the primary question exercising his mind.

Relief appeared in an unexpected guise. A tall, fair-haired gentleman shouldered his way through the crowd.

Francesca was surprised when, apparently without exerting himself, the newcomer won through to her side. Intrigued, she offered her hand. He took it and bowed.

“Harry Cynster, Lady Francesca. As your husband has been elected an honorary Cynster, that makes you one of the clan, too, so I’ll claim the prerogative of a relative to dispense with formal introductions.” Harry exchanged a glance with Gyles over her head, then concluded, his blue eyes wickedly alight, “I’m honored to meet you. I always did wonder who would trip Gyles up.”

Francesca returned his smile.

“I’m exceedingly surprised to see you here.”

She turned at Gyles’s drawl; he was looking over the heads, scanning the room.