Something had changed between them and Francie couldn't quite put her finger on it. When they sniped at each other his retorts didn't have the heat they did at the beginning. There was an overall gentleness in how he treated her that hadn't been there before. Was it pity? Or something else? She could see how it might be difficult to be mean to a girl whose home had just burned down. She knew people who could do it, but apparently Reggie wasn't among them. But she hoped that it might be something more than pity or sympathy. That he had developed feelings for her, just as she had for him. Was it too much to wish for?

After their kiss they stared at each other. He gently stroked her cheek while she wound her fingers in his hair. She thought he would pull away, but they stayed just so for long minutes, as though wanting this time to become forever.

His face scrunched in thought. "I just realized, I'd best be careful buying you an ice this early in the year. You might turn into an ice sculpture."

She laughed. "True enough, but why would you buy me an ice?"

"You've never had an ice?" He looked genuinely surprised. "The ice is shaved and flavor poured on. You've not lived until you've had a lemon ice."

"That sounds horrible!"

His voice dropped to a scandalized whisper. "I have so much to teach you." He kissed the side of her throat and it felt surprisingly good. A bit ticklish, but thrilling. She tipped her head and he took her unspoken invitation, kissing and nibbling his way down to her collarbone.

Yet again her mind railed at her to open her mouth and tell him that she loved him. That she wanted to go with him to Bermuda. That she would even eat his disgusting ice treats simply because he liked them. His tongue dipped into the hollow of her throat and it felt so good she squirmed. Bloody hell, she might lie and tell him she liked the ices too if he would keep doing that.

He rested his head on her shoulder and gave a weary sigh. "You are an irresistible temptation."

"How do I rate against ices," she teased.

That, apparently, required a serious answer because he drew back to look down at her. "I would eschew ever having another ice in my life if I could have you."

Her heart bloomed. But what did he mean? Have her forever? Or have her once? Was she simply a sexual temptation to him? Should she stop being so bold in her attentions? Once he 'had' her would his interest wane?

He drew back further, making her realize she'd sunk down rather bonelessly on the bench when they had been kissing. She straightened herself and he went back to simply holding her hand.

"But," he said, "it would be unforgivable if I returned you to your uncle completely compromised. If we were to," he paused as though searching for words, "stay together after this, I wouldn't want it to be because you were forced by society."

She looked at their joined hands. He was the very definition of a gentleman. It wasn't just that he stood when a lady entered the room. He had an underlying decency to him. She wasn't sure if it was bred or trained, or simply a blessing from the heavens. It made her feel strangely weepy to think that such a wonderful man might be considering marriage to her.

Patting their joined hands she said. "I won't make you give up ices." After a pause she added. "Even though they sound horrid."

He laughed and squeezed her hand. "You'll see."

She looked out the window again to watch the landscape speeding by. It had been ages since she'd ridden in a carriage, and even then it had been a cramped mail coach with Mama. She tried not to hold Reggie's advantages against him, but he clearly had sufficient funds to simply hire a private coach whenever he wanted, rather than agonize over the coach schedules and prices as she'd remembered her mother doing. He was wonderful and wealthy and she was simply poor little Francine Walters. Why would he ever want to marry her?

 

***

 

Once at the port Reggie distracted himself with activity again. He procured rooms at one of the finer inns and went to talk to the port master about what ship they might take to London soon. It was a blessing they could travel on a Navy boat because he'd already papered the north with his debts at this point. He'd never billed so many things to his father's name in his life. Most young bucks ran afoul of that mistake in the gaming hells of London, but for Reggie it had taken a viper tongued maiden in distress. He would undoubtedly hear about it, from both father and Jeremy. But he had no regrets, even if he had to pay it off from his Navy salary for the rest of his life. Francie seemed pleased and curious about everything. When he left her at the inn she'd been inspected the seams on the draperies and exclaiming they were better than on many dresses she'd seen.

The path forward seemed very clear. Take her to London. Meet her family. Have her meet his family. Propose. What could be simpler? The challenge, of course, was not bedding her like a doxie in the meantime. They had separate rooms tonight as he wasn't as concerned that those infernal ruffians had followed them here. However, that Mr. Donovan could expect some complaints from the Burnham family. Among the greater debt Reggie had incurred was assuring Francie's landlord that anything she was liable for in the building, the Burnhams would pay for. But if the landlord did see fit to charge them anything for the fire then he would bloody well beat it out of Donovan's hide.

He ran up the plush, carpeted steps of the inn and knocked on her door.

"Who is it?" She sounded suspicious.

"Mr. Burnham," he responded.

"Oh," she said, close to the door. "I'm not sure I know a Mr. Burnham. Could you describe him to me?"

He put his hands on the door frame. "Francie."

"Too familiar, sir! But perhaps I do know him. Does he have dark, wavy hair?"

He sighed. "Yes."

"And amber eyes, I think?"

"Yes, Francie. Please open the door, you little witch."

"And is he very easily frustrated?"

If he growled in reaction that would only prove her point. He rolled his eyes and leaned against the frame, unsure how long this was going to last. "Not by his beloved." 

The door opened a crack. "Who is she? I've not heard of her."

He entered and kicked the door closed behind him, cradling her face in his hands. "You're only wearing a robe."

"That's why I needed to keep unsavory men out of my room."

She looked impudent and beautiful and seductive all at once. "I came to tell you something but I can't remember what it is now."

"The name of your beloved?"

'You already know her name."

The hopeful smile she gave him made his gut churn. He shouldn't be so indirect, he should just tell her. He kissed her instead. She responded with enthusiasm, wrapping her arms around his neck. The robe was so thin he might as well be touching her bare skin. He felt the flare of her waist to her hip, the fullness of her bottom.

He pulled away and tried to bring his breathing under control again. "We need to get you some clothes."

"I could make some-"

"There is a ship we can take in three days. Ready made would be best."

"I'm not sure I could afford that," she admitted.

He kissed her hand and realized she wasn't wearing her gloves. "Let me treat you." If he couldn't tell her that he loved her, then certainly he could show her.

"How can I repay you?"

He wished he could say his first thought was her hand in marriage, but the truth was his thoughts turned far more carnal. He squeezed her hand reassuringly. "There is no need."

That made her frown rather than be delighted by his largesse. Technically his father's largesse, but why quibble about it right now?

"Doesn't that make me a bought woman?"

"I, er, no," Reggie tried to catch up to her thinking. "Where I grew up a man buys things for a woman."

She withdrew her hand. "A man only buys things for two women. His wife and his mistress. We aren't married."

Her pronouncement shot his patience. "Oh bloody hell, Francie. Now you turn missish? You know bloody well you're not my mistress."

"Am I not?"

"No," he growled. He looked her up and down in her thin robe. "Not that you haven't tried to become so."

She wrapped her arms protectively around herself but had no waspish answer for that.

He threw his arms up in exasperation and left. If he slammed her door a bit, it was no less than she deserved.