A Taste of Seduction (An Unlikely Husband) by Mary Campisi Page B

tin of tobacco from his pocket and began filling it.
    “I prefer cooler temperatures,” Alexander said. And anyplace your niece is not . What was wrong with him? He was babbling like an idiot.
    “I don’t want Francie to blame herself for Eleanor’s attack,” Bernard said, lighting his pipe and taking a long drag. “If anyone’s to blame, it’s me. I should not have left her alone.” His voice cracked. “But I never dreamed the monster capable of such violence. Word in the village was he seduced young girls with his good looks and easy smile. Not this,” he faltered, “this...”
    “He’ll pay for his actions,” Alexander cut in, uncomfortable with Bernard’s raw emotions. He wasn’t used to seeing a man cry over a woman or express feelings with the openness Bernard showed tonight.
    “I’m counting on you, Alexander. The monster has to pay for what he’s done.”
    “He will,” Alexander vowed, though at present he wasn’t certain how he’d keep this vow. Perhaps he should request a private audience with the duke himself? Or maybe a little visit to the perpetrator first would negate a meeting with the duke. No. That wouldn’t work. Jared Crayton’s word counted for less than nothing. He’d have to speak with the duke himself.
    “I want to get Francie and Eleanor to Drakemoor as soon as possible,” Bernard said. “They’ll be safe there.”
    Alexander nodded. “And Eleanor can recuperate in peace. Thank God it looked worse than it was. Swelling and bruises and no broken bones.”
    “Thank God, indeed,” Bernard returned, taking another long drag on his pipe. “Eleanor’s a tough one. We’ll do just what the doctor said. She can lie down and rest the entire trip.”
    Visions of the crowded carriage flitted through Alexander’s mind. If Bernard and Eleanor shared one side of the carriage, then Alexander would spend the entire ride tormented by Francie’s closeness, her lavender scent teasing his nostrils. If she shared the seat with her aunt, he’d be forced to look at her, tortured by her sky-blue eyes and red-gold curls. If his eyes dipped below her neck, well, then he’d be in true agony.
    “Francie may have a hard time adjusting to life at Drakemoor,” Bernard said, interrupting his thoughts. “She’s quite content here in Amberden.”
    “I’ve gathered that,” Alexander said in a dry voice. He thought of her sleeping in the chair, tucked in with a blue and green blanket. Warm, cozy, and content. More seductive than the most skilled mistress sprawled on a silk counterpane.
    A hint of a smile peeked from under Bernard’s mustache. “That’s Francie. Content with everything. She never complained, even when she had to wear the same gowns three years in a row, all too short and too tight. She never said a word.” His smile deepened. “And Eleanor, well, she never was the best seamstress.”
    Bernard puffed away a few moments, saying nothing more. Alexander figured he was most likely thinking of his injured wife and just when the silence stretched to the point of uneasiness, the older man pointed the end of his pipe at Alexander. “Francie deserves the best. She should have grown up wearing the finest silks and satins. Diamonds, rubies.” His voice thickened. “She shouldn’t have had to dig around in that blasted dirt, sewing and crafting into the night with a needle that made her fingers bleed, even if she claimed to love it.”
    No, she shouldn’t have, Alexander thought, with a twist in his gut. She should not have been forced into a crude existence, dependent on the land and her own industriousness to survive, when he, a product of filth and depravity, enjoyed a comfortable existence at Drakemoor with her father.
    “Why did you take her away?” It was a question he needed to ask. Alexander pulled a thin cigar from his pocket and waited.
    “Eleanor and I had no choice. We promised Catherine, who was Francie’s mother and Eleanor’s sister, to protect any child who