Page 62 of The Courtship Dance

He handed her a snowy white handkerchief, and she took it, not looking at him, and stood up, walking away as she dried the tears from her face. Rochford let out a small sigh and rose, too, watching her.

She turned back and found him studying her. A blush started up her throat. “I am sorry.”

“Stop saying that.” His voice was harsh, and he seemed to realize it. He closed his eyes and visibly relaxed. “Francesca…tell me what is troubling you. You said that you were scared. Who has frightened you? What happened?”

She drew a breath, gathering courage. Suddenly the thought that had seized her back home in the midst of her despair no longer seemed so feasible. “I—I came to ask you for a loan.”

He stared at her, dumbstruck.

She hurried on. “I know it is terribly improper, and I had sworn that I would not ask you, but I can think of no other way, and I cannot bear to think of that man in my house. I must do something!”

“Man! What man? Are you telling me that a man broke in to your home?”

“No, no. He did not break in. It is Perkins.”

“Galen Perkins?” Rochford’s dark eyes were suddenly a little frightening. “Perkins is in your house?”

He started toward the door, and Francesca hurried to grab his hand. “No! No, he isn’t there now. I am telling this all wrong. Please, come back and sit down. Let me begin at the beginning.”

“All right.” He allowed her to lead him back to the small sofa and sat down with her. Her hand was still in his, and he curled his fingers around hers. “Tell me.”

“Lord Haughston—”

“It starts that far back?”

“Yes, it does. Andrew was…imprudent.”

He let out a short, harsh laugh that held no humor. “Lord Haughston was a fool.”

Francesca started to protest, then shrugged. “Yes, he was. You were right about him.” She turned her face away from him, unable to look into his eyes as she went on. “I was an idiot to marry him. You tried to tell me, and I would not listen. I’m sorry.”

She looked at him then and was surprised to see the pain that flashed in his eyes. “It is I who am sorry. I knew it was useless to tell you, with you in the throes of new love, but I had to try. I made a mess of it.”

“I was certain that you warned me against him only because you were…bitter.”

Rochford had come back from his estate after her engagement was announced and had told her in a cold, hard voice that she was making a mistake to marry such a fool as Andrew Haughston. She remembered the pain that had sprung up in her afresh when she saw him, and she knew that it was that pain, more than any love for Andrew, that had made her storm out of the room, refusing to listen to him.

“I was bitter,” he admitted with a grimace. “But it did not mean I was not telling you the truth. I handled it poorly. I would have been better served writing you a letter instead of appearing on your doorstep. I could have presented my case more clearly. I fear that I have never been very clearheaded around you. I should have proved to you what sort of man Haughston was—stayed there until you listened to me and believed. But I let my deuced pride rule me.”

Francesca smiled and squeezed his hand. “Oh, Sinclair. Pray do not blame yourself. It was my fault and no one else’s that I married the man. I should have been more careful. Should not have rushed into marriage. It was just—I wanted to love him. I wanted to believe that he was the perfect man for me. I was hurt and lonely, and angry at you.”

She looked into his eyes. “You called Andrew a fool, but I was ten times that, hastening to marry because I wanted to prove to you that my heart was not broken.”

He went still, his fingers tightening on hers. Realizing how much she had just revealed, Francesca jumped to her feet and walked away.

“But that is not the point of my story. What is pertinent is that Lord Haughston left me almost nothing when he died. Indeed, he left me with a number of debts to pay. Since he died, I have been barely scraping by.”

“I know,” he told her quietly.

Francesca stared. “You know?” Heat rushed into her cheeks. “Is it common knowledge? Does everyone in the ton know?”

“No, no,” he hastened to assure her, rising and crossing to her. “It is only I. I had my suspicions how he might have left you, knowing the way he was. I…made a few discreet inquiries.”

Her embarrassment deepened. All these years, the man from whom she had most wanted to hide her financial problems had known about them. “You must have thought me a terrible fool.”

“No, of course not.”

She sighed. “I suppose it should not matter. You have always known the worst of me.”