Page 24 of The Courtship Dance

He was just as close to her now. She had only to reach out a hand and she could touch him. She remembered how much she had longed to do just that fifteen years ago, worried that he would be disapproving of her boldness, afraid that someone else might see.

The breeze caressed her cheek and tugged at a lock of hair beneath her hat. Everything around her seemed brighter, the leaves glossier, the shade beneath the trees deeper and more inviting. The faint scent of the duke’s cologne teased at her nostrils, and she was very aware of him beside her. She thought of his kiss the night before, of the way his hard body had pressed into hers, his arms tight and strong around her. His lips sinking into hers…his mouth velvety and inviting, hot with desire.

Francesca swallowed and turned her face to look off to the side, hoping that the sudden flush in her cheeks would cool down before he glanced at her. How could she be thinking this way about that kiss—her flesh tingling, her muscles tightening, heat coiling in her stomach?

She wished that she could deny the effect his kiss had on her, but she knew that she could not. Even the other night, in her dream, she had thrilled to his kiss, her whole body melting against him, her mouth opening to his seeking tongue.

“I thought a great deal last night about what you said,” Rochford began when they had reached Hyde Park and he no longer had to focus on the reins to such a degree.

Francesca, lost in her thoughts, started. “Oh?” She hoped he did not notice how breathily her voice came out.

“Yes. When I calmed down, I realized not only that I had been appallingly rude, but also that you had been quite correct in what you said. And my grandmother, as well.”

“Really?” Francesca stared at him in some astonishment. “Do you mean—”

He nodded. “Yes. It is time that I married. Past time.”

“Oh. I see. Well…” Francesca was aware of an odd feeling in her stomach, a faintly queasy sensation reminiscent of the way she felt when she looked down from a great height.

“I decided you were right—it is time I started looking for a bride. I doubt I shall suddenly develop any interest in marrying. I should simply set myself to the task and do it.”

“Being resigned hardly seems a good foundation for marriage,” Francesca blurted out. She was, she realized, perversely disheartened by the duke’s words.

Rochford quirked an eyebrow at her. “I thought that was what you wanted.”

“No! I didn’t want you to drag yourself to the altar. I—I wanted to make you happy.”

As soon as she said the words, she realized that they sounded all wrong. She glanced away, hoping that she did not appear as flushed as she felt.

“What I mean,” she continued, “is that I hoped that marrying would provide you with happiness. That it would change your life for the better.”

Quietly he asked, “Did marriage make you happier?”

Francesca shot a flashing look at him, then turned away. Tears clogged her throat. She would not, could not, talk to him about that. Swallowing hard, she gave a shrug and turned a bright smile toward Rochford.

“Ah, but we are discussing you and your happiness, not me.” Quickly, she moved on. “What are you planning to do, now that you have decided on marriage?”

“I have already taken the first step,” he informed her, his eyes steady on her face. “I came to you.”

Francesca stared at him speechlessly for a moment. “I—I beg your pardon?”

“What better person to guide me through this project than the woman who has brought about so many successful matches?” Rochford asked. “I thought that you could help me find my bride.”

“But I—” She felt blank and strangely weak. Whatever she had thought Rochford might say when he arrived at her house today, this certainly had not been it. “I fear that my accomplishments have been greatly exaggerated.”

“If even half of what people say you have done is true, then you must be quite skilled in the matter,” Rochford protested. “Certainly you did well by my cousin. I don’t know when I have seen a more happily married man. And your brother and his wife are quite happy. I saw them only recently, and they are obviously still as much in love as the day they married—perhaps even more so.”

“Those are unusual cases. And I cannot take credit for—for the love that they have found.”

“But for you, none of them would be together today,” he pointed out. “Nor my sister and Bromwell.”

“You cannot be pleased about that.”

“As long as Callie is happy, I am well pleased.” He paused, then went on. “In any case, you have already done a great deal of the work. If I understood you correctly last night, you have come up with several prospective brides for me.”

“You are not shamming?” Francesca studied his face earnestly. “Do you really want me to help you?”

“That is why I am here.”