Brenda Joyce - [Francesca Cahill 05] (26 page)

Could this really be happening
?

Daisy returned to the room. “Forgive me, Calder. It was a rather shocking moment for me.”

“I understand.” Francesca heard relief in his tone.

“Do you have to go?”

“I should, yes.”

Daisy did not reply.

And the silence lengthened.

And when several more moments passed, Francesca became unnerved. The silence could only mean one thing. Or was she leaping to conclusions? Could Hart possibly be making love to Daisy after all he had just declared? She reached for the doorknob, trembling, and hesitated. She should not spy, and she did not dare get caught. But she
had
to know what they were doing.

Francesca turned the doorknob as gently as she could, cracked the door, and peered through.

Calder stood not far from where Francesca stood. Daisy had her arms around him and she was on her tiptoes, nibbling on his lips. For one moment, as his eyes were open, Francesca thought that he had seen her.

But his eyes drifted closed.

Francesca thanked God she hadn’t been caught, was about to back quickly out, and then changed her mind. Daisy was trying to seduce him; that much was clear. Calder was hardly being responsive or encouraging. Yet he hadn’t tossed her aside, either. Francesca knew that she should go, but she would be forever tortured if she didn’t stay to see whether Daisy succeeded in seducing Hart or not.

She watched Daisy slip her hands beneath Hart’s white shirt, and incredulous, she saw Daisy begin to sensually shift her hips back and forth, clearly rubbing herself over his loins. Francesca couldn’t move or breathe; Hart’s eyes opened, but he was smiling now and Francesca did not worry that he might notice her. He was becoming too involved.

Daisy reached down between them and Francesca bit her lip hard, because it was obvious that Daisy was grasping his
manhood through his trousers. Stunned, she heard Daisy say, “I think you need me for a few minutes, Calder. Please, it is my pleasure. Sit down.”

Francesca wanted him to tell her “No.”

But another part of her wanted him to say “Yes.”

Hart’s jaw flexed. “You are the ultimate temptress, Daisy,” he said softly. “And God, I have been celibate for several days.”

“You are a man who needs a woman on a daily basis, Calder. And you are hardly married yet. Do you think to remain celibate from this day forward?” Daisy asked simply.

Francesca already knew that answer.

“Absolutely not,” he said, and then his teeth flashed. “What are you wearing under that dress?” he asked.

Daisy smiled seductively. “Nothing.”

“Take it off.”

Francesca’s heart leaped. She watched Hart help remove Daisy’s dress, so adept that it slithered down her naked, flawless body and to the floor within seconds. She was mesmerized. Hart clasped his mistress’s soft pale buttocks and sat down in a chair, pulling her down on top of him.

Francesca felt the fire in her own loins. She held on to the doorknob so she could remain standing up. This was, most definitely, the time to leave. But God, she could not move or breathe, and Francesca knew golden opportunity when she saw it.

Daisy laughed huskily and began licking his lips, his face.

Francesca’s heart lurched; her nipples tightened; her sex swelled. And she watched Daisy toy with the seam of his lips. Francesca had just tasted him yesterday. She recalled very vividly how he tasted, how he felt, and even how he smelled. And now Hart’s head had fallen back as he gave in to pure carnal pleasure, his long strong throat suddenly vulnerable and exposed, his eyes fluttering closed.

Daisy kissed his throat.

The jealousy came then. Francesca had the insane urge to run into the room, pull Daisy off Hart by her pretty platinum
hair, settle herself on his lap, claim his lips with her own, and ingest all of him that she could.

Daisy unbuttoned his shirt.

Francesca’s knees buckled as swathe after swathe of rock-hard chest and torso was revealed. His arms were sculpted like the statue
David
. His chest was two hard slabs of muscle. His nipples were copper-colored and very erect. Daisy latched onto one, suckling it vigorously.

Desire made her feel faint. And Hart finally groaned.

The sound was raw and so sexual, Francesca knew it was a sound she would never, ever forget. . . . Daisy was kissing him in the center of his chest. Francesca gasped, realizing her intention. She moved lower and lower, working her way down the center of his belly with her lips. Francesca gripped the door. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. Daisy unbuckled his belt, sliding off his lap to do so, on her knees, between his thighs. Francesca stared as Daisy freed Hart’s manhood.

Daisy flicked her tongue over it.

Hart groaned again. His large hands clasped her head, as if to hold her down.

Daisy began laving his shaft, up and down, all around.

Then she sucked the huge head into her mouth and, a moment later, half of his length.

Francesca cried out weakly. She couldn’t breathe. And she could taste him as if he were in
her
mouth and
her
throat. Somehow, she knew he would be salty yet sweet. She could feel him throbbing against the walls of her cheeks, the back of her throat. Her lips stretched taut. She wanted to suck him down even more deeply. Somehow, she could find ecstasy in doing so. She simply knew it.

Hart gasped.

Francesca blinked, clinging to the door, which was somehow more wide open now, and saw Hart on his feet, unsmiling and intense. He removed his shirt, staring down at Daisy, who now sat on the floor at his feet, her lips slick and swollen, her small breasts heaving. He removed his shoes, his socks, his trousers and drawers. Francesca bit her
fist so she would not moan and attract his attention.

He was gorgeous. Man and sex.

He extended a hand, lifting Daisy to her feet. Then he swept her up and laid her on the couch. Francesca knew that if she were Daisy, she would be begging him desperately to hurry and enter her.

Hart lowered himself over her.

Francesca could not—would not—move.
Hurry
, she thought wildly,
hurry, Calder, hurry
. . .

And Hart laughed, low. It was the most sexual sound Francesca had ever heard, and then, to her shock, her amazement, her dismay, he slowly began rubbing the bulbous head of his penis over Daisy’s sex. He was slick and wet. So was she. Daisy began to pant and whimper, to writhe.

Hart’s rhythm increased. The tendons in his biceps and arms bulged, as did the straining muscles in his shoulders, his back, his buttocks.

“Hurry,” Daisy whispered.

Or was it Francesca?

He thrust slowly, maddeningly, deep into her.

Francesca cried out.

It took a long moment to recover. Her body had exploded in sheer shameless ecstasy, her heart beat so hard it felt dangerous and life-threatening, and she had bitten her wrist to keep quiet. Sanity returned. Dear God, what had she done? And how could she have let happen what
had
happened just now?

Francesca squeezed her eyes tightly closed, disbelieving now. Dismay consumed her savagely now, and then came the equally burning, odious guilt. When suddenly she froze, recalling that the door behind her had been left wide open.

Dread overcame her.

She sat up slowly with dread, certain she would see Hart standing in the doorway, staring down at her.

She almost fainted with relief. The doorway was empty.

And then she heard the soft, rhythmic sound coming from the other room.

She quickly leaped to her feet and ran to the doorway.
Hart and Daisy remained wildly embraced. Daisy was whimpering uncontrollably—she appeared about to climax. Hart, however, appeared intent and absolutely in control. He looked capable of making love to his mistress for several hours.

Francesca shut the door, grabbed her coat, and ran out of the house.

F
RIDAY
, F
EBRUARY 21, 1902—5:30 P.M.

“Y
OU MUST HELP ME
dress,” Francesca shouted. “Hart will be here at any moment!” She ran past her gaping mother and sister and landed on the wide, sweeping stairs, still running.

Julia and Connie had been chatting over sherry. Now both women leaped to their feet and hurried into the hall. “Francesca?” Julia asked. “Whatever is wrong?”

“Nothing,” she lied. “I am terribly late!”

Connie and Julia exchanged glances. Julia said, beginning to smile, “Now why was I not informed of this evening’s affair?”

Connie shrugged, smiling. “I’ll help her. And I will find out all the details, Mama,” she added, lifting her silk skirts and hurrying upstairs.

In her bedroom, Francesca flung open an armoire and stared wildly at all of her gowns, many of which were new, due to the fact that she had so wanted to help Maggie Kennedy, she had hired her to make a dozen dresses that she
hadn’t even needed. A sea of brilliant color swam before her eyes. She had to cancel the gallery and supper tonight.

Because she simply could not face Calder Hart just yet.

“Miss Cahill? Let me help you,” Bette said, entering the bedroom.

Francesca leaped around, startled, because extremely graphic images of a very naked and very aroused Calder Hart refused to leave her treacherous, stubborn, disloyal mind. Francesca muttered, “I don’t know what to wear.”

Connie laughed.

Francesca saw her coming up behind Bette and started, because her sister’s smile seemed genuine and she hadn’t seen such an expression on Connie’s face in so long. “Thank God you are here!” she exclaimed.

“Having trouble deciding on a gown, Fran?” Connie teased. “And since when did you even care if your shoes came from the same pair!”

“I need help!” Francesca cried. “And I need to speak with you.” She rushed to the door. “Bette, would you give my sister and myself a moment, please?”

“Just wait,” Connie said, strolling over to the armoire. “Where are you and Calder off to, tonight?”

“I have decided to cancel,” she said grimly. “In fact, I am positive I am ill!” In fact, the more she thought about what she had done, the sicker she became.
If Calder Hart ever learned of her spying, he would never speak to her again
.

She knew it. The act had been an unconscionable one. She had invaded his privacy and his trust. What was wrong with her!

“Dinner, I suppose? Perhaps at Sherry-Netherland’s?” Connie guessed.

“He will be here at six,” she snapped, frantic. “And no, we are going to supper at some place downtown where the food is excellent, but apparently it is not elegant, so no one who knows us will be there. And we shall attend an art exhibition first.” She hugged herself.

“The turquoise,” Connie decided. “It is new, it is the
latest, it is intriguing, and it will make your eyes appear even bluer than they are.” She took the gown and handed it to Bette. “Please press this. And tell the doorman to seat Mr. Hart with Mama when he comes. Thank you.”

The maid hurried out.

Francesca ran to the door and slammed it closed and looked at her sister. “I can’t go.”

“Fran, what has happened now?” Connie asked with real caution.

“I have done something too terrible for words.”

Connie raised her pale brows. “Well, I am sure you are eloquent enough to share your latest faux pas with me, your closest friend and sister.”

“I spied on Hart.”

Connie crossed her arms, her gaze narrowing. “What does ‘spy’ mean?”

“It means I watched him make love to his mistress.”

Connie finally understood and she paled. “You did what?”

“I know, I am a fool, an idiot, and terribly amoral!”

“Fran? Whatever possessed you?” Connie asked worriedly. “How
could
you?”

Francesca sank down in a chair. Glumly she said, “I was calling upon Daisy. I wanted to find out more about her relationship with Calder. When he called, I hid, because I did not want him to know that I was there, prying into his affair with his mistress.” Francesca looked up. “He told Daisy he is ending it with her when we become engaged.”

“That is wonderful,” Connie said, at once her usual self again.

“He said he will be faithful,” Francesca told her, still in some disbelief as far as that announcement went.

“Mama is right. Every rake has his day. Apparently Calder has had his,” Connie said, sounding delighted.

Francesca did not smile. “Daisy was very upset. She seduced him. I should have left; I simply could not move.”

Connie sat down in the adjacent chair. “Fran, I know you like Daisy, but you must be wary of her now. Her interest
is in remaining Hart’s mistress, even after you are wed.”

Francesca was grim. “No one can tell Hart what to do, and he is too clever to be manipulated.”

“All men can be led about by a woman, Fran. If you get my meaning.”

Francesca thought about the way Daisy had so boldly seduced him, and she grew afraid. “What are you telling me?”

“I am telling you to make certain Daisy’s bags are packed and she is out the door when you and he are finally married.”

Francesca caught herself nodding; then she leaped to her feet. “Wait! We are both forgetting one important fact. I am not marrying anyone!”

Connie also stood. “Why not? Hart adores you; he is a premier catch; he is rich. Why ever not?”

Francesca gave her a disbelieving look.

Connie made a face. “Haven’t you heard? Rick Bragg has reconciled with his wife. We saw them at the opera last night in a party that included the mayor and Mrs. Low.”

Francesca said, “I know.” And the hurt returned, slight now, but nagging. With it came so much regret.

“So?”

“I don’t want to marry anyone! For God’s sake, it is a lifelong commitment! If I marry Calder, it will be until I die!”

“Well, considering the fact that you are a sleuth and in constant danger, your marriage might not be as long as you think,” Connie said cheerfully.

Francesca grabbed a pillow from the bed and threw it at her.

Connie laughed.

Francesca smiled, too. It was so good to hear her sister laugh again and speak like herself. Of course, her anger had been frightening—as was the fact that she blamed Fran for the state of her marriage. But anger was far better than melancholy.