Page 80 of The Courtship Dance

He kissed the top of her head and laid his cheek upon her hair. Francesca melted into him, unable to stand against his tenderness. She let him hold her, leaning on his strength, soaking in his warmth, taking the comfort that had never been offered her by the father of the child she had lost.

Rochford lifted her up and sat down in the chair by the window, holding her in his arms. For a long time they sat that way in silence, his head lowered to hers, wrapped together in regret and sadness. But finally, with a sigh, Francesca sat up, wiping at her cheeks to remove the tears that had escaped.

“Are you certain?” he asked.

She nodded. “I—I lost a child that I was carrying, and the doctor told me I would probably never have another one. He was right. I never conceived after that.” She gave him a small, glancing smile, and stood up, moving away. “Now you understand.”

“I understand that you have carried a burden of sorrow for years,” he replied carefully, standing up. “But is this why you refuse to marry me?”

“Yes, of course!” Francesca swung to face him. “Do not play dense with me. The Duke of Rochford cannot marry a barren woman. You have to produce heirs. You have a duty, a responsibility to your name, your family.”

“Pray, do not tell me about my duty,” he retorted, his face tight. “I have lived with it all my life. Since I was eighteen, I have done my utmost to live up to the name, to avoid tarnishing or betraying it in any way. Indeed, I have sought to improve it. But I am not going to sacrifice my life on the altar of Rochford. I am more than just the Duke of Rochford. I am Sinclair Lilles. And I will marry as I wish—not for my family, not for the name, not for the estate, but for me! You are the woman I want for my wife. You are the one I love.”

Francesca stared at him. “You—you love me?”

He looked back at her, puzzled. “Yes, of course. Isn’t that what we have been talking about? I love you. I want to marry you.”

Francesca’s knees felt suddenly weak, and she went to the chair and sat down. “I…but—you never said it.”

He gaped at her. “Never said it? I asked you to be my wife. Indeed, I asked you three times! Why else would I ask you?”

“Because my family is old and well-connected. I would be acceptable. You explained all those things to me when you asked me to marry you the first time. You told me how right and agreeable it would be for the two of us to marry. How we knew each other well and our families were—”

“I was trying to convince you,” he retorted. “Not myself. I knew I wanted to marry you, and it had nothing to do with your family.”

“You desired me. I understand that. I am aware that my face and form are pleasing to men.”

“You are more than pleasing to me. You always have been. When I saw you dancing at my house that Christmas, your hair up and your skirts down for the first time, I was dazzled. I lost my heart utterly and completely. Francesca…I burn for you. I am like a schoolboy again. Whenever you enter the room, my knees threaten to turn to water.”

“Truly?” Francesca tilted her head, a pleased smile curving her lips. “But when we were engaged, you never—well, you hardly even kissed me.”

He let out a groan. “My God, Francesca! You were eighteen, barely out of the schoolroom. Did you think I was going to grab you and ravish you?”

“No, of course not, but—I did not think you loved me.”

“You are so exasperating, I could shake you. I was trying to play the gentleman, however little I felt like it around you.” He took her hand and raised it to his lips. “I lay awake at night, thinking of you, too filled with lust to sleep. I still do.”

“But—that is not love.”

“Desire alone does not last for fifteen years. That is how long I have loved you. No matter how I tried not to, I could not stop. There was no other woman who woke my interest.”

“Do not try to tell me that you have been celibate for fifteen years.”

“No. I will not lie to you. There have been other women, but none that I loved. None I would have married. When you broke it off, I did my best to hate you, and then I tried to forget you. It was like a knife in me every time I walked into a party and saw you there with Haughston. So I stayed away. I spent more time at my estates and less in London. Then Haughston died and I—It is wicked of me, but I admit it, I was filled with happiness the day I heard of his death.”

“Why did you never say anything?”

“What was I to say? You still held a low opinion of me. How was I to convince you that Daphne had lied? After all those years, it seemed an impossible task. And I—well, sometimes my pride is my own worst enemy. I told myself I would not grovel to you. Your love for me had died years ago. I saw no signs that I could bring it back. We had a sort of friendship. And perhaps…perhaps I was not brave enough to risk breaking my heart again. But this last year, it seemed…easier, I suppose, between us. When you told me Daphne had confessed what she had done, I hoped that you might come to feel differently about me.”

“Then why did you start looking for a wife? Why did you ask me for my help?”

“Sweet Lord, Francesca, what was I supposed to do?” His face contorted with frustration, and he swung away from her, beginning to pace. “You told me that you wanted to make it up to me by finding me a wife! It was clear that you had no feeling for me. But I realized—well, at first I was furious, and I wanted to lash out at you, but then I saw that this was a way to allow me to spend time with you. I thought that I could subtly woo you under the guise of letting you find me a bride.”

“So instead of courting those girls…”

He nodded. “I was trying to court you.”

Francesca could not hold back a little giggle. “What fools we both are.”