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‘No,’ she said quickly, although that was an outright lie. She had been following him and right now she couldn’t think of any other excuse as to why she might be in this part of town, peering out of her carriage just as he left whatever establishment he’d just been in.
‘Boxing club,’ he supplied helpfully.
‘What?’
‘You were wondering where I’ve just been.’
Feeling completely flummoxed, Francesca took a deep breath and composed herself. She was a lady, the widow of a viscount, the daughter of a viscount. Probably the future wife of an earl. All her life she’d been coached to stay calm and serene whatever the world threw at her. Surely she could do that when faced with Ben Crawford.
‘I was following you,’ she said slowly, giving him a half-smile as if they were conversing about something as dull as the weather.
‘Couldn’t keep away?’ he asked.
Francesca felt her stomach drop away from her as she realised it was the truth. She hadn’t been able to keep away from him. Whatever she told herself, whatever lies she concocted to cover this embarrassing little episode, she’d just wanted to see Ben one more time.
‘I wanted to apologise,’ she said.
‘You have nothing to apologise for, Frannie.’
‘For my father. What he did to you...’
‘That’s his sin to bear the burden of, not yours.’
‘I tried everything I could,’ she said quietly.
When she’d heard Ben had been arrested for theft she’d confronted her father, who had promptly slapped her so hard she’d been knocked senseless for a few seconds, then he’d bundled her into her room. For days she hadn’t been allowed out, but eventually one of the maids had taken pity on her and unlocked the door. Francesca had headed straight for the county gaol and there had told anyone who would listen that Ben was innocent.
He had been accused of stealing jewellery from her family. None of it had been found in his possession, except one small locket. Her locket, the locket she’d given to him as a token of their friendship earlier that summer. The magistrate hadn’t listened when she had tried to explain and within half an hour her father arrived to drag her off home. The last time she’d seen Ben had been through the bars of a cell.
For eighteen years she’d agonised about her part in his conviction, wondering if she’d just shouted a little louder, begged a little harder, if things would have turned out differently.
‘I know, Frannie. I’ve never blamed you. You were just a child.’
‘So were you,’ she said, her eyes coming up to meet his.
As their eyes connected she felt her body react to his gaze and was reminded neither of them were children now. Francesca had images of Ben slowly undressing her, of their bodies coming together and his lips on her skin.
‘Perhaps...’ Ben said, but trailed off.
‘Yes?’
‘I know our time together is limited,’ he said slowly. ‘I know you have to marry Lord Huntley.’
She nodded, not wanting to be reminded of it, but knowing there was no getting away from her fate.
‘Perhaps we could find a way to make the most of the weeks we have left,’ he said.
‘What do you propose?’ she asked, hearing the slight wobble to her voice and trying to stop herself from imagining a whole host of wonderful, but not entirely respectable, pastimes.
He smiled, holding out for a long few seconds before answering. ‘Eight days for eight years,’ he said.
Frowning with confusion, she waited for him to explain.
‘You give me eight days of your life, one for every year of my sentence.’
‘And what do we do with these eight days?’
There was a mischievous glimmer in his eyes as he shrugged. ‘Whatever we want.’
It sounded wonderful. Eight days to be free, to do whatever she wanted. After that she would have to accept her fate, but for just a little while she could pretend her life was on a different track. He held out his hand to seal the bargain and tentatively Francesca placed her fingers in his.
‘When do we start?’ she asked, trying to ignore the warmth of his hand on hers. Neither of them was wearing gloves despite the icy temperatures and it was the first time she’d felt his skin against hers. His fingers were a little rough, probably from the years of physical work, and his hand engulfed hers completely.
‘Tomorrow.’
Tomorrow was as good a day as any. She had to remember she only had a few more weeks of freedom anyway. In six weeks her year of mourning finished and then she didn’t doubt her father would waste any time in arranging her marriage. She would likely be Lady Huntley within three months with no opportunity to go running after her childhood friend.
‘Tomorrow,’ she agreed.
Only then did he release her hand, placing it softly back in her lap. He was a man of contradictions. Physically powerful but gentle in his touch. Gone through so much suffering, but outwardly charming and jovial. And an ex-convict who could blend in at society events. He was a confusing man to be around.
‘Until tomorrow,’ he said, leaning over. For a moment she thought he was going to kiss her. She felt her lips part in anticipation and her heart begin hammering in her chest, but then he reached for the catch on the door, threw it open and hopped down.
‘How did you know it was me in here?’ she asked as he went to shut the door. ‘When you came out of the boxing club?’
She didn’t think he’d caught sight of her in the darkness of the interior.
‘Who else would be following me?’ he asked. ‘I barely know anyone else in London.’
With a smile and a wink he spun on his heel, striding off down the street. As she watched him go Francesca thought she even heard him whistling a jaunty tune. Trying not to think too much about what she’d just agreed to, she leaned out and instructed the coachman to take her home. Really she should be feeling dread and regret at her agreement to his proposal—no respectable lady would agree to it—but as she searched her emotions she could only find excited anticipation.
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