Smiling, the Dowager touched Francesca’s hand. “It’s a great joy to see Gyles suitably settled at last, but it is true-you will have to make sure he doesn’t slide. At least until the role becomes second nature. Then…” She gave a Gallic shrug signifying that then, all would take care of itself.
Parting from the older ladies, Francesca whispered to Honoria, “How do they know?”
Honoria glanced at her, then whispered back, “It’s written all over your face, and his.”
Her nod directed Francesca’s gaze ahead, to where their husbands stood waiting. Two tall, strikingly handsome, broad-shouldered men with eyes just for them.
Honoria flicked her an understanding glance as they neared. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”
“Mmm” was Francesa’s reply. Smiling, she took Gyles’s arm, and they turned toward their booth.
“Mmm, what?”
“Mmm-hmm.” Francesca dimpled up at him. “Are we dancing, my lord?”
Gyles looked to where couples were waltzing in the area before the booths. “Why not?”
So they whirled. Gyles was aware of the admiring male glances they drew; he could hardly complain. She was happy so she glowed, her eyes sparkling, her lips curved. That smile and the light in her eyes were all for him.
The dance ended; as they headed back to the booth, they came upon another area of congestion. Gyles held Francesca’s hand firmly and led her through; she walked behind him, sheltered by his body.
They turned the corner toward the booth door, and the crowd eased.
A lady halted directly in front of Gyles, startling him into halting, too. She smiled like a cat and stepped closer.
“My lord-what a surprise.”
Gyles blinked. Her tone was a poor imitation of Francesca’s seductive purr. That instant’s hesitation encouraged the woman. Smile widening, she pressed close.
“I had heard you were no longer receiving, but that can’t be right, surely. Just because you’re married… well, a leopard doesn’t lose his spots overnight, does he?”
Who the devil is she? Gyles couldn’t recall.
“This leopard,” came a voice from beside him, “is spoken for.”
The madam’s eyes flew wide; to Gyles’s surprise, she took an involuntary step back as Francesca stepped between them.
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She looked the woman down, then up, then tipped up her nose haughtily. “You may be interested to know that I take an active interest in my husband’s social life-all requests for his company on any but business matters should henceforth be addressed to me. And as for his spots, you may be sure I appreciate them and have every intention of enjoying their benefits for many years to come.”
The woman blinked. So did Gyles.
Francesca’s head rose another notch; he would have given a great deal to see her face as she imperiously, asked, “I trust I have made myself clear?”
The unknown lady cast him a very fleeting glance, then-and he would have sworn to her own surprise-bobbed a curtsy. “Indeed, my lady.”
“Good.” Francesca waved. “You may leave us.”
Blushing vividly, the woman did.
Gyles shook his head. Curving a hand about Francesca’s waist, he urged her on. “Remind me to send any further importuning ladies your way.”
“Do.” On the threshold of the booth, she whirled and faced him. Her eyes burned with green fire-not the warm sort. With her chin set the way it was, he could understand why the lady had retreated.
“I’ll be happy to deal with them.” Her expression stated she would relish the dealing. Her eyes met his, then haughtily, she turned into the box. “I am, I believe, more than a match for them.”
Gyles wasn’t about to argue. She was more, much more, than any who had gone before. Aside from all else, she was a Rawlings-they shared, it seemed, quite a few character traits.