The Wedding Challenge by Candace Camp

forward to give him her hand.
    “I apologize for the early hour, Lady Francesca,” he replied stiffly, moving to her and bowing over her hand.
    “Do not worry. I realize that you are…concerned.” She sat down and waved him toward the sofa that faced her chair.
    “Yes.” His jaw tightened. “I—I trust that Lady Calandra is well.”
    “Oh, yes. She is still asleep. I thought it best if you and I had a discussion together first.”
    He nodded, avoiding her eyes as he said, “I appreciate the note you sent. I would have been most worried this morning if I had not already known that she was safe and sound at your house.”
    Francesca knew that it was an indication of the duke’s inner turmoil that he, usually the most urbane and smoothest of conversationalists, was speaking in such a stiff and uncomfortable way. She could not help but feel a rush of sympathy for the man.
    Before she could speak, he went on, “It was very good of you to take her in, and I must apologize for her imposing on your good nature in this way.”
    “Nonsense,” Francesca told him firmly. “It was not an imposition, and Callie is always welcome in my home. I am very glad that she felt she could come to me.”
    His expression grew even more wooden, if that was possible, as he said, “I presume that Callie told you that she and I…had a disagreement.”
    “She did.”
    He looked over at her, seemed about to speak, then released a sigh and let himself sag back against the sofa. “The devil take it, Francesca,” he said gruffly. “I think I have misstepped badly with the girl.”
    “Yes, you may have.”
    He cut his eyes toward her, and for a moment amusement lifted his features, so that he looked more himself. “My dear Francesca, you might at least have made a pretense of protesting my admission of incompetence.”
    Francesca chuckled. “Ah, but what would be the point in that?”
    She leaned across to him, putting her hand on his arm sympathetically. “Do not worry. I am sure that you have not ruined yourself with your sister. Callie clearly loves you, and it worries her, too, that you and she were at odds.”
    “I hope you are right,” he replied with more fervor than he normally showed. “I know that I was too severe. I handled the whole thing badly. I wanted only to protect her.”
    Francesca shrugged. “I have been told by Dom that that is simply the way brothers are. It is very nice at times. I can tell you that as a sister. I can also tell you that there are moments when a brother’s protectiveness can be excessively annoying. Callie is a levelheaded young woman, you know, nor is she just out of the schoolroom. I am sure that she would not do anything foolish.”
    “It was not Callie I did not trust,” Rochford retorted darkly. “It was the man with her.”
    Francesca frowned. “Who was it that was so terrible? Callie thought that he was an eligible young gentleman.”
    He started to speak, then glanced at her and just as quickly looked away. “I suppose he is. But he does not wish me well, I think.” He shook his head, as though dismissing it all. “It was nothing, really. It was just that when I saw him there with her…Well, I may have spoken too harshly. I can only hope that Callie will not hold it against me forever.”
    “I am sure she will not.” Francesca answered almost absently, her mind busy picking over the fact that he had not given her the man’s name.
    Why was Sinclair reluctant to reveal the man’s identity? She cast about for someone who was known to be an enemy to Rochford, but, quite frankly, she could not come up with anyone. Rochford was not the sort of man whom anyone wanted to cross. Indeed, people were typically much more interested in currying favor with him than setting him against them. And, actually, he had not said that the man was an enemy, only that he did not think the man wished him well.
    All she could think was that, in that typically masculine and very annoying way, Rochford