Page 29 of The Devil in Her Bed
So why did she feel so despondent? Because the world felt as though it was moving on without her? As much as her friends had said it was impossible, that they were forever a female family, she realized she’d been so naive to think it could be so indefinitely. Cecil and Alexander would be each other’s lawful relations, as Redmayne and Ramsay were half brothers.
They didn’t have another brother for her, not that Francesca wanted one. She categorically didn’t.
She was happy for them. Really. Because they were happy, her Red Rogues. Happy and hopeful for the future, having children, and making plans for adventures with them, with one another.
And of course, they always made room for her at their tables.
But… what would she be after all this business with the Crimson Council was over?
She knew she was being maudlin, but she allowed herself to wallow in this moment of self-pity.
For a young woman—well… young-adjacent—she suddenly felt very old. She’d been so many places, enjoyed so many experiences and suffered through others. She’d trained with masters of almost every kind of art, from the physical to the mental, visceral, and aesthetic. She’d climbed to the top of things. Ridden to the edge of other things. Crossed nearly every border and pushed the boundaries allowed to a woman in almost all but one arena.
Sex.
Huffing, Francesca bucked her hips away from her perch on the desk and flicked at a tassel on her bronze window drapes. Perhaps it was time she actually slept with one of the men she marked as her unwitting informers rather than drugging them. Biting her lip, she paused. In order to succumb to a man’s advances, she’d have to mark a man worth seeing in the nude. She’d have to find hands worth touching her. A mouth worth kissing.
A body worth allowing inside her own.
Now, that did pose something of a problem.
Oh, of course she was kidding herself.
Every time her mind followed this path, its destination was invariably Lord Drake. His kiss had kindled a fire inside of her that’d taken days to quench, one that had addled her into a puddle of quivering female desire.As far as she knew, he was no one to the Crimson Council. And no one of consequence to her.
Except that he’d promised to take her to heaven.
Francesca bit her lip at the memory of his voice sliding down her body like velvet and vice.
No, no, best to pick someone else. Someone less lethal. Less suspicious. For something told her that the man who lived behind Drake’s gaze was too dangerous even for her to handle. And that wasn’t something she readily admitted.
Besides, he claimed to have known Francesca. And she had no real way of repudiating that claim.
Which made him dangerous on an entirely different level.
She touched the healing wound on her thigh, the one she’d inflicted weeks ago that would be a scar in a matter of days. She was still furious with herself for forgetting it had existed. When she’d been so careful to take on every slice of Francesca’s persona since childhood.
No, the judicious thing to do would be to stay away from Preston Bellamy, Lord Drake.
Drake was another name for dragon, and this city had room enough for only one of those.
Francesca swept out of her study and into the damask-papered hall, calling for a footman. She nearly collided with an older woman as she shuffled around a corner.
“Serana!” She steadied the woman, who was still more elegant than aged, though rheumatic bones kept her from moving like she used to. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.”
“Distracted by your schemes, child.” Serana pattedher on the cheek as she’d done when she was a girl. “I’ve been bowled over by worse.”
Interlocking her arms with her friend, Francesca helped her to navigate the staircase to the ground level. Even though Serana had taken to living in the luxurious accommodations of a countess, she still favored the animal-skin slippers her tribe of vagabonds crafted in the eastern mountains. Warm, light, and utterly silent.
“Are you engaged to go to a party tonight, love? Do you need me to mix you a dram for one of your villains?”
“What I need is a footman to set up the pole vault in the back garden.” She bellowed for her butler across the marble-and-parquet entry. Just where was her staff today?
“A pole vault, you say?” Serana wasn’t a woman who gave in to surprise, but her eyebrows crawled up her forehead. “Whatever could you need with that?”
“To practice, dear Serana. I’ll meet my end as a stain on the cobbles if I don’t make my jump.”
“Just how far is this fall you might take?” Serana’s brows made a significant inversion, drawing together in worry.
