Brenda Joyce - [Francesca Cahill 06] by Deadly Promise Read Free Book Online Page B

yearn to be—in my arms . . . and soon . . . in my bed.”
    Had he been closer, she would have struck him. She wrenched at the ring to throw it back at him. He seized her hand. “I apologize. That was uncalled for.”
    “That was cruel,” Francesca said breathlessly. “You asked me to be honest with you, as you are honest with me. I have never been anything but kind to you, and I ask you to treat me the same way!”
    He was silent, and he did not release her hand. Then, “Did it never occur to you that your departure last month, with only that frivolous note for comfort, was an act of cruelty?”
    “What?!”
    He leaned close, his grip tightening. “Did it ever occur to you that the way you speak about him—to me—is cruelty?”
    She stared into his eyes, then at his mouth, which was provocatively close. “But you don’t love me.”
    “I don’t believe in love, but I am damnably fond of you, and you know how I treasure you, Francesca,” he said tersely. “And there are times—like now—when I feel like killing off Leigh Anne myself and tossing you and him together to be done with it all, at last!”
    “Please, don’t speak that way,” she begged.
    He released her hand, moving back into the space hehad previously occupied. “I am sorry if my emotions are not always noble ones. I am sorry I am not the epitome of virtue as he is.”
    “You are very virtuous,” she whispered weakly, “when you wish to be. When you forget about competing with Bragg, when you forget about shocking pleasant company.”
    He made a rough sound, and it might have been one of acquiescence.
    Francesca hugged herself. “What possessed you, Hart, to make that announcement tonight?”
    “It is Calder, Francesca, not Hart, damn it.”
    “Please.”
    Hart stared without comment.
    “We should have never made it public that way,” Francesca whispered. “But I forgot he was there, my mind was so addled from lovemaking.” When he remained silent, she added urgently, “Please, tell me you had also forgotten he was there.”
    He met her gaze. “I knew he was there.”
    She inhaled.
    “But that doesn’t mean I made the announcement to spite him, which is what you are thinking.”
    She wasn’t sure whether to believe him or not. She hugged herself.
    “I made that announcement to end your indecision, Francesca. I made that announcement because you accepted my proposal a month ago, and proved to me in the hall tonight that you had not changed your mind. Yes, my decision was a selfish one. But frankly, one of the reasons I am who I am today is because when I want something, I do what I have to in order to get it.”
    She swallowed. “I am not a painting.” Hart was a world-renowned collector of art. “Nor am I a collectible.”
    “And I have always been opposed to marriage, in theory and in fact. But since meeting you, I have decided to undertake matrimony—with you as my wife. No, you are not a thing, Francesca, far from it. You are a unique—no, an amazing—creation of contradictions, wit, and will, not tomention beauty. I need not defend my desire to marry you. I probably should have discussed making the announcement tonight.” He suddenly hesitated. “I am used to doing what I want, when I want, Francesca. Most bachelors are. In my case, I fear I am worse that way than most. However, you did run away in a very unseemly manner—the trigger for my behavior tonight. All of it,” he added with a rueful look.
    Francesca was having trouble getting past his statement that she was an amazing creation of contradictions, wit, will, and beauty. She shook her head to clear it. “Are you apologizing to me for announcing our engagement?”
    “Yes, I am. However,” he held up a hand to forestall he surprised comment, “if I had the entire night to do over, while I would not have behaved like a beast in the hall, I would still make that announcement.”
    She sat back against the squabs, wide-eyed and staring. “Hart,” she