Scared him.
He glanced at the window; the light had almost died. Crossing to the bed, he picked up his crop and the gloves he’d flung there earlier, then headed for the door.
It was time to call on Charles Rawlings and arrange the final details of his wedding.
He would leave Hampshire immediately after.
* * *
“Good evening, my lord.”
Gyles turned as Charles Rawlings entered the study and shut the door.
Charles approached, concern in his eyes. “I hope nothing’s amiss.”
“Not at all.” His elegant mask in place, Gyles shook Charles’s hand. “My apologies for calling so late, but an unexpected matter intervened and prevented me from calling earlier.”
“Well, no harm done.” Charles waved Gyles to a chair. “Now, are you sure you wouldn’t rather hear Francesca’s decision from her lips…?”
“Quite sure.” Gyles waited while Charles sat. “What is her decision?”
“As you’re no doubt expecting, she’s agreed to your proposal. She’s very conscious of the honor you do her-”
Gyles waved the formal words aside. “I fancy we both know where we stand. I am, of course, pleased that she’s consented to become my countess. Unfortunately, I must return to Lambourn immediately, so I’d like to confirm the details of the marriage settlements-Waring, my man-of-business, will send you the contracts in the next few days-and we’ll need to discuss the wedding itself.”
Charles looked slightly stunned. “Well-”
“If Miss Rawlings is agreeable,” Gyles ruthlessly continued, “I would prefer the wedding be held at Lambourn Castle-the chapel there is the traditional place in which our ancestors have celebrated their nuptials. It’s now the end of August-four weeks will give sufficient time for the banns to be read and should allow ample time for Miss Rawlings to assemble her bride clothes.”
Without pause, he switched to the details of the marriage settlements, forcing Charles to scurry to his desk and take notes.
After half an hour, he’d tied every loose end-tied himself into matrimony as tightly as he could.
“Now”-Gyles rose-“if there’s nothing else, I must be on my way.”
Charles had surrendered long since. “Once again, it’s a most generous offer and Francesca is delighted-”
“Indeed. Please convey my respects to her. I look forward to seeing her at Lambourn two days before the wedding.” Gyles headed for the door, forcing Charles to catch up with him. “My mother will coordinate the social details-I’m sure Miss Rawlings will receive a missive within a few days.”
Charles opened the door and accompanied him down the corridor and into the front hall. Pausing before the front door as Bulwer hurried to open it, Gyles smiled sincerely and offered Charles his hand. “Thank you for your help. And thank you for taking such good care of your niece-I look forward to taking on that duty in four weeks’ time.”
The concern that had hovered in Charles’s eyes lifted. He grasped Gyles’s hand. “You won’t regret this evening’s work, you may be sure of that.”
With a brief nod, Gyles strode out. The stablelad was walking his horse in the courtyard. Mounting, he raised a hand in salute to Charles, then he tapped his heels to the chestnut’s flanks and cantered down the drive.
Never, Gyles vowed, would he return to Rawlings Hall.
If he’d turned around and looked at the house, he might have seen her, a shadowy figure at an upstairs window, watching him-her betrothed-ride away. He didn’t.
Francesca watched until he disappeared into the trees, then, frowning, turned inside.
Something was not right.
By the time she’d reached the lane home that afternoon, she’d accepted that making love al fresco might not have been the way he’d wanted to celebrate their first joining. Her practical side had also pointed out that, despite her eagerness, beneath the trees might not have been the best venue to commence her career in that sphere.
So she’d accepted his decree and ridden home at nothing more than a canter. But why, after all that had passed between them, had he held to his determination not to speak with her face-to-face?
Where was the logic in that?