Brenda Joyce - [Francesca Cahil 03] by Deadly Affairs

see your little hoodlum has not changed his manners,” Hart said, unruffled and amused. “Pray tell the both of you are not chasing ruffians these days.”
    “His manners are just fine,” Francesca returned.
    “Ever the defender of the underdog,” Hart said. “It is ever so charming, Francesca.”
    She was pleased, because she knew he meant it. “Should I change overnight?” she bantered.
    “I hope not!” He laughed, his hand going to his heart. “I would be stricken. What would I do without such a unique friend?”
    She smiled, realizing he was flirting with her and she loved it. “You would be at a complete loss; I assure you of that.” She glanced at Connie. “How was lunch?”
    Hart looked at Connie, too. His eyes softened, then gleamed. “Lady Montrose?”
    “Lunch was wonderful,” Connie replied, but her gaze had locked with Hart’s and something sizzled between them.
    Testing her, Francesca asked, somewhat sourly, “And what did you have?”
    “I am glad you so enjoyed yourself. I think a luncheon out, with myself, is exactly what the physician has ordered for you,” Hart said softly.
    “Yes, I do think so,” Connie said. “I cannot recall when I have passed such a pleasant afternoon.”
    “And I was thinking the exact same thing,” Hart told her.
    In that moment, Francesca realized that Connie had changed her dress before meeting Hart. She was wearing a sapphire blue gown that was low-cut and extremely fitted, revealing her every curve and an expanse of cleavage; the prim and proper pink was gone. “What did you have for lunch?” Francesca insisted. She realized her tone was shrill.
    Connie and Hart looked at her. “I do not remember,” Connie said, and she blushed.
    Hart laughed warmly, his gaze sliding over Connie and lingering on her small bosom, which hardly looked small now. Francesca felt like kicking her sister right in the butt. “Shall we? I hate to end a perfect afternoon, but I have a final meeting this afternoon at four-fifteen. Fortunately, it is uptown.” He signaled to the waiter for the bill.
    “And I must get home.” As Connie began to stand, Hart rushed around the table to quickly move her chair and help her up. She leaned into him. “Thank you,” she said, and her tone was husky.
    “Oh, please,” Francesca heard herself mutter.
    Connie did not hear; Hart did. He glanced at Francesca and he grinned. Once again, he was clearly enjoying himself. He winked at her.
    A waiter approached; Hart signed the bill. “Ladies?” As they all began to leave, he grabbed Joel’s shoulder. “Ladies first, Kennedy,” he said.
    “As if you would know,” Joel retorted, but he let Francesca and Connie walk out ahead of them.
    Connie did not speak to her or even look at her; Francesca could tell that she was extremely annoyed at having her sister appear at her luncheon. As they walked out of the hotel, Connie’s pace quickened. Francesca recognized her elegant brougham, parked one coach ahead of Hart’s. Her driver, Clark, immediately opened the carriage door, having instantly remarked her approach.
    Connie’s strides lengthened, and as Francesca quickenedher step they outpaced Joel and Hart. Connie faced her, and her eyes flashed. “Just what do you think you are doing, Fran?” she demanded.
    Francesca smiled pleasantly. “Rescuing you.”
    “Whoever said I needed rescuing?” Connie asked coldly.
    “All moral women need rescuing from Hart.”
    Connie’s hands, encased in blue gloves a shade darker than her dress and coat, fisted on her narrow hips. “If I did not know about your feelings for Bragg, I would say you are jealous.”
    “I am not jealous,” Francesca said quickly, but with an odd inkling that she lied—even to herself. “I do not want to see you fall victim to Hart’s considerable charms—not to mention his expertise.”
    “I am not falling victim to anything or anyone,” Connie snapped. “And I suggest that you consider your own personal life