Francesca by Joan Smith Page B

she might leave town before he spoke to her. He bought his snuff and went out to leap into his curricle, which his tiger had awaiting him.
    “Half Moon Street,”he called, and let his man take the reins, to allow him to prepare his speech. A little apology for last night’s brusqueness for openers. Some excuse for being still in town, when he had claimed a trip to Newmarket. A fleeting, oblique mention of the trouble she found herself in. He would not dwell on it or rub it in. He hoped she didn’t cry. He despised watering pots. But of course she would be deeply troubled, and that is when he would broach his plan of rescue.
    He meant to be not only generous, but lavish. He would pay for the stolen necklace, and set her up in style in London. Her reputation would not suffer in the least, rather, the contrary. She was a widow, not a deb. Officially, they would be good friends, but within the inner circle, people would know the relationship between them. This need not prevent Lady Camden from being accepted everywhere. Adultery was tolerated when it was executed with style and discretion. When their affair was over, she would be free to marry where she wished. Much better off than she was now. Yes, she would certainly jump at his offer.
    No fear of rejection bothered Lord Devane when he lifted the brass knocker of the tall, narrow house on Half Moon Street. Not much of a house; he would do better for her. “Lord Devane to see Lady Camden,”he said when the butler answered.
    The butler had not been aware of Lord Devane’s odium, and went to the saloon to announce him to Lady Camden, who had just come down. Probably expecting his lordship, the butler surmised. From the hallway Devane heard himself being announced. A dead silence followed. After a long moment Lady Camden’s voice was heard. “I am not at home to Lord Devane, Palter.”
    Francesca was in a fury and made no effort to lower her voice. Let him hear her deny him entry. How dare he come here, after the way he had treated her!
    “Very good, madam.”
    Palter turned to leave and found himself confronted with the very tall, wide-shouldered nobleman wearing a sardonic grin. “Thank you, Palter,”Devane said, and strolled into the saloon. Palter gave one helpless look and left, shaking his head.
    Devane bowed punctiliously and spoke in polite accents. “I am sorry to hear you are indisposed, Lady Camden.”
    She rose up from the sofa, pale as a wraith, her features frozen in disbelief. In her white face her eyes were like banked coals. “Get out!”she said.
    Devane continued toward her. “I have come to apologize for last night’s brusque injury. You may imagine how I felt, to see you with Mr. Caine—again.”It came to him as an inspiration, to pretend jealousy.
    “Out, I say!”she exclaimed, pointing a finger to the door.
    “Let me speak my piece. Every dog has his bite, and we are confirmed dog-lovers, you and I. Come now, there is no need for such Draconian treatment as this, Francesca.”
    Slightly mollified by his apology, and extremely curious, she sat down. Devane sat on the chair nearest her and reached for her hand. This was doing it a bit brown, and Francesca withdrew her fingers. “Say what you have to say, and go,”she said coolly.
    “I came about the necklace,”he said, and watched her closely. Yes, that got to her.
    She looked at him, a helpless yet hopeful glance. “Oh, you have heard about it.”
    It was all the encouragement he needed. He rose and joined her on the sofa, an avuncular arm around her shoulders. “Poor girl. All of London knows. Nothing else is spoken of on Bond Street this morning.”She drew in a sharp breath and moved a little away. The skin on her pale face seemed to tighten visibly. She bit her lips, and looked a question at him. “That was what you wished to discuss last night, I collect?”he asked gently.
    “Yes. I was going to ask your help.”She looked at him uncertainly.
    “Naturally I am eager to help,