Page 78 of The Courtship Dance

Francesca smiled. “Thank you for the thought, but I would not have you do that. It would cause you guilt in the end.”

“I think not.”

“Well, I do not wish it.” She linked her fingers through his. “The rest of the bruises came from our struggling in the carriage—oh, and when I landed in the grocer’s stand.”

“The what?”

She giggled, finding humor in the incident in retrospect. “The grocer’s stand. We drove through the market area when he first took me. There were vendors all about, beginning to set up their wares. We had slowed down, so I jumped from the carriage—that was before he had bound my legs, you see—and I landed among the fruits and vegetables. It made for a softer landing, I suppose, but it doubtless gave me bruises.”

“So you led the blackguard on a chase.” He let out a bark of laughter. “I should have known that you would make it hard on him.”

“I fear I was reaching the end, though,” she told him, then lifted his hand and kissed his palm. “Thank you for coming after me.”

“Always.” He kissed her neck where it joined her shoulder.

“You must get very tired of rescuing me,” she went on softly.

“I would never tire of rescuing you,” he assured her, going up on his elbow and turning her onto her back, so that he looked down into her face. “I hope that I am always there when you need me. But you know, it was you who rescued yourself. Had you not fought as you did—screamed and struggled and jumped into the fruits and vegetables—I could not possibly have reached you in time. You delayed him—your courage…your strength.”

Emotion swelled Francesca’s throat, and she smiled up at him. He bent to kiss her, then pulled back with a sigh.

“If I stay here much longer, I won’t be able to leave at all.”

“Leave?” Francesca watched as he rolled away and got out of bed. She sat up, pulling the sheet up to cover her chest, feeling suddenly modest now that he had left the bed. “Why? Where are you going?”

He pulled on his breeches and continued to dress as he explained. “To visit the magistrate about Perkins. To order you food and a bath brought up, if you’d like.”

“Oh, yes!” A bath sounded heavenly, but the empty rumbling in her stomach was almost as compelling.

Rochford flashed her a quick smile and leaned over the bed, resting his fists on the mattress, to kiss her lightly on the nose. “And I thought I might find you some clothing to wear. Much as I would enjoy the trip home with you wearing only that nightrail, I imagine you would rather have a dress.”

“I would indeed,” she agreed. However, she could not help but feel a trifle bereft as he pulled the chair from the door and left.

It was all very well for him to tell her how brave and resourceful she had been last night in fighting off Perkins, but she knew how scared she had been the whole time—and that some of the anxiety still lingered in her now, even though she knew that Perkins was safely locked up.

Two maids brought up a long metal tub. It was a far cry from Francesca’s own porcelain slipper tub at home, but the maids filled it with warm water, and it was such a wonderful feeling to sink down into the heat that she did not mind that it was a trifle cramped and anything but elegant.

Somehow the maids’ chatter relaxed her and helped ease the anxiety inside her. Even their rampant curiosity and sidelong gazes were so normal that Francesca felt more herself again.

After they left, she lay back and relaxed, her lids drooping in exhaustion, but her eyes flew open when the door was shoved back. Then she saw that it was Rochford who stood framed in the doorway, and she relaxed. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, his eyes drifting slowly down her body. A smile hovered at the edges of his lips.

“You look very inviting, I must say,” he told her, tossing the bundle in his hand onto the bed.

“Perhaps you would care to join me,” she suggested boldly, leaning back in the tub and making no move to cover herself.

The twitch became a grin. “I think there might not be enough room in there for both of us.” He sat down on the chair and pulled off his boots. “However, I would be happy to offer my services in drying you off.”

He shrugged out of his jacket and went to work on the buttons of his shirt as he walked toward her, then leaned down, bracing his hands on either side of the tub, and kissed her.

His lips moved slowly, deliciously, savoring the kiss, and by the time he pulled back, Francesca felt as warm and liquid as the water around her. She smiled up at him, the somnolent heat in her eyes beckoning him. He reached down and grasped her arms, pulling her up, and wrapped his arms around her.

She giggled. “You’re getting all wet.”

“I don’t care,” he assured her as his mouth sank into hers.

They made love unhurriedly this time, moving without haste in a counterpoint to their lovemaking of the night before. Caressing, kissing, making their way with almost agonizing slowness, they heightened their pleasure almost to the breaking point. Time and again they retreated from the intense peaks, until their bodies were slick with sweat and their breathing ragged, their flesh searing with desire. Then, at last, they came together, soaring on a wave of passion so strong that their bodies shook from it.

Afterwards, they lay curled together, lazily drifting in a state of golden, loose-limbed warmth. Sinclair brushed his hand down her arm and nuzzled into her hair.