Joan Wolf Read Online Free PDF Page A

Ian!” As he pressed forward Frances put a restraining hand on his forearm, feeling the hard muscle underneath the correct black evening coat. “It’s all right, Lord Bermington,” she said. “I know him. It’s Ian Macdonald, Lochaber’s brother.”
    Ian’s eyes went from the marquis’s face back to Frances. His hand tightened on her arm. The watching circle was aware of the intense feeling, part hostile, part something else, that vibrated between the girl and boy. “I’m coming,” she said, and went back across the polished floor with him, her slender body straight as a lance.
    Neither of them spoke until Ian had closed the door of the small anteroom behind them. Then Frances said, “You do choose your moments, don’t you?”
    The face she looked at was set and stern and the dark eyes held a glitter in their depths that caused her breath to quicken. “I got a letter from Douglas,” he said. “I came immediately. What the bloody hell are you up to, Frances?”
    Her eyes widened innocently. “I don’t know what you are talking about. I am making a come-out. Plenty of other girls do that.”
    “You are not plenty of other girls,” he said grimly. “You’re my girl. Douglas told me you’ve been collecting suitors faster than Penelope. What are you trying to do? Teach me a lesson?”
    “I wouldn’t dream of doing that, Ian,” she said sweetly. “Anyone clever enough to get himself sent down from Cambridge doesn’t need lessons from me.”
    His eyes narrowed in comprehension. “Ah. I had a feeling that was what the problem was.”
    “Problem?” She was annoyed to hear her voice was shaking. “What problem? The fact that you are making a mess of your life? The fact that you have thrown away your best chance for the future? The fact that you obviously don’t care about my feelings? I don’t see any problem.”
    He looked at her once more and then turned and prowled up and down the room. “I couldn’t take it any more,” he said finally, coming to stand before her. “I was so bloody bored.”
    “And just what is it you won’t find equally boring, Ian?” she asked steadily.
    His smile transformed his face. “You,” he said. “What are you doing in London, Frances? If you want to marry someone, marry me. There’s no point in our waiting another year now that I’m not going back to school.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “I must admit I had that thought in mind when I—er—parted from Cambridge.”
     For a long moment she stood still, feeling the warmth of his fingers on her bare flesh, the sudden tumult of her heart. Ian could always do this to her. “Have you given up trying to get your mother to buy you a commission?” she said breathlessly.
    His face hardened. “No.” He slid his hands down her arms. “But you could come out to Lisbon with me. A number of officers’ wives are living there. I’d get back on leave to see you.”
    “Or maybe you’d come back like Alan. Permanently. In a coffin.”
    “Frances . . .” he said low. “I love you.”
    “No, Ian,” she said, and tried to draw away from him.
    “Come here.”
       “No,” she said again, but by now he had an arm around her, pinning her arms down and pressing her head back against his shoulder. She stiffened against him, but he only held her more tightly, forcing her lips up to his. His kiss was hard and demanding. She could feel the strength of his body pressed against hers. Slowly she relaxed against him, surrendering to the wild singing in her own blood. She kissed him back. They were so totally absorbed in each other that neither one of them heard the door open.
    “For God’s sake, Ian,” said Douglas. “You could have a thought for Frances’s reputation even if you have none for your own.”
    The two of them looked at him as if they didn’t recognize him. Then Frances laughed. “When did you ever know Ian to care about the opinion of others, Douglas?”
      There was a recklessness in her