All About Passion (Cynster 7)

Gyles grinned and slipped through the door.

A hip bath stood on a rug facing the fire; Francesca, black curls piled high on her head, was sitting facing the flames. Wisps of steam rose, wreathing about her as she smoothed a soapy sponge down one gracefully extended arm while softly crooning what sounded like an Italian lullaby. Gyles listened for a moment, then closed the door.

“Who was it, Millie?”

He strolled forward. “Not Millie.”

She tipped her head back against the rim and watched as he neared. Smiled delightedly. “Good evening, my lord. And to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

He halted by the bath’s side and smiled down at her. Let his gaze roam the curves of her breasts, sheening wet and laced with suds. “I believe my pleasure is rather greater than yours.”

She arched a brow; he reached for her hand, lifted it, bent and pressed a kiss to her wet knuckles, then turned her hand and ran his tongue over her palm, then sucked lightly at the pulse point at her wrist.

He raised his head reluctantly. “You taste good enough to eat.”

Their gazes met, held; she raised both brows in question. After a moment, he smiled, squeezed her hand and released it. “We have to be at the Godsleys by eight.”

Drawing up a chair, he sat. “I wanted to ask if you’re acquainted with Lady Carsden.”

Francesca nodded. “We meet quite frequently. She moves in the same circles.”

“And Lady Mitchell?”

“Indeed, but Honoria knows her better than I.” Drawing her knees up, wrapping her arms about them, she searched his face. “Have their husbands spoken to you?”

“Much to my amazement. I don’t think Mitchell or Carsden has been in the House since their investiture.”

Francesca grinned. “Well their wives felt it was time they said something-did something-useful. Will it help?”

“Every vote helps. But I wanted to ask-how many have you and Honoria spoken to? Do you have any idea which others might be inclined to support us?”

Eyes sparkling, Francesca leaned forward. “Well…”

They traded names and opinions; from there it was a short step to the overall numbers, the increasing possibilities of success. They lost track of the time, only remembered it when Francesca suddenly shivered and looked down at the cooling water.

Gyles frowned. “Damn-I forgot.” He stood. “I’ll ring for more hot water.”

“No-don’t bother. I was finished anyway.” She pointed at a towel.

Gyles turned to pick it up as she rose. He turned back-and stopped, his mind wiped clean.

Dropping her sponge in the water, Francesca straightened and looked up, instantly noted the stillness that had claimed him, his fixed gaze-the flames flickering behind the grey of his eyes. She let her gaze roam swiftly, then she smiled, reached for the towel, tugged it from his slack grasp.

Dropped it on the floor and reached out her arms to him.

“I’ll write to Lady Godsley that I was in fear of taking a chill. And now, my lord, you had better warm me up.”

Gyles met her gaze, then reached for her, locked his hands about her slender waist, and lifted her from the tub.

Five days later, their select band of searchers still hadn’t found Walwyn, hadn’t unearthed the slightest trace of him, which only made them even more wary, more suspicious. According to Walwyn’s sister’s husband, “the old reprobate” was definitely in London, but where and in what guise they had no idea.

Leaving yet another meeting at White’s, Gyles returned home in time to dress for dinner. Tonight was Francesca’s family party, her attempt to gather the clan. He hoped for her sake the family would rally and enough would attend for the event to be deemed a success. She, his mother, and Henni had had their heads together for the past week, organizing and ordering. Although Francesca had regaled him with their preparations, distracted by his search for Walwyn, Gyles hadn’t taken much in.

He did know tonight’s dinner was to be a small affair with, aside from Francesca, only his mother, Henni, and Horace present.

“There were simply too many to invite,” his mother told him when he joined them in the drawing room.

“Indeed.” Henni took up the tale as he moved to greet her. “Even restricting the list to the heads of the different branches-why, there were over fifty, plus spouses-and if we’d selected amongst them, well-that would have caused ructions, which is precisely what we’re attempting to heal.” She frowned up at him as he straightened. “You’re looking a trifle peaked, dear. Have you been busy with your parliamentary business?”