He knew she wasn't. That puzzled her. It was as if he'd accepted that she'd know or at least suspect that he felt more for her, but that he was hoping, if not expecting, that she'd pretend she didn't know.

That didn't, to her mind, make sense, yet it wasn't, she was sure, an inaccurate summation of their present state.

He said one thing but meant, and wanted, another. He'd said they would go their separate ways-she'd be greatly surprised if that came to pass.

Did he want some sort of facade in place, like Horace and Henni? Was he hoping she'd agree to that? Could she?

In all honesty, she doubted she could. Her temperament was not amenable to hiding her emotions.

Was that the direction he wished to steer them in?

If so, why?

She'd asked him last night, and he'd refused to answer. There was no point asking again, even if the context was somewhat altered. At base, it was the same question-the question she kept tripping over, again and again.

So she'd have to forge on, try to find a way forward, without the answer. It was as if she were doing battle on a field obscured by mist-fighting for her future, and his, without knowing where or what obstacles were in her path. If he thought she'd grow discouraged, give in, and settle for less than the enduring, open love she'd always wanted, especially now she knew it could exist if he would allow it to be, he would need to think again. Resigning battles was not her forte.

Unfortunately, it wasn't his either.

She slanted an assessing glance at him. They would see.

The coach slowed, then turned a corner. A huge park appeared on the right.

Gyles glanced at her. "Hyde Park. Where the fashionable go to be seen."

She leaned closer to look past him. "And should I be seen there?"

He hesitated, then said, "I'll take you for a drive around the Avenue one day."

She sat back as the carriage rounded another corner. Almost immediately, it slowed.

"We've arrived."

Francesca glanced out at a row of elegant mansions. The carriage halted before one; the number 17 glowed against the stonework flanking the door.

The carriage door was opened. Gyles moved past her and descended, then handed her down to the pavement. She looked up at the green-painted door, at the gleaming brass knocker.

Behind her, Gyles murmured, "Our London home."

He led her up the steps and into the blaze of the hall. The servants were waiting, lined up to greet her, Wallace at their head, Ferdinand farther down the row. They'd traveled up in Gyles's curricle ahead of the main carriage. Wallace introduced her to Irving the Younger, then stood back while Irving introduced her to Mrs. Hart, the housekeeper, a thin, somewhat ascetic woman, a Londoner from her speech. Between them, Irving and Mrs. Hart introduced all the others, then Mrs. Hart murmured, "I daresay you're eager to rest, my lady. I'll show you to your room."

Francesca glanced about. Gyles was standing under the chandelier, watching her.

She started toward him, glancing back at Mrs. Hart. "I'm not tired, but I would love some tea. Please bring it to the library."

"At once, ma'am."

Reaching Gyles, she slid her arm through his. "Come, my lord. Show me your lair."

He should have put his foot down and ushered her into the drawing room. Two days later, Gyles could see his mistake clearly. Now the library, which in this house doubled as his study, was as much her lair as his.

He quelled a sigh and frowned at the letter spread on his blotter. It was from Gallagher. He glanced to where. Francesca sat reading in an armchair before the hearth. "The Wenlows' cottage-do you remember it?"

She looked up. "In that hollow south of the river?"

"The roof's leaking."

"It's one of three, isn't it?"

He nodded. "They're all the same, built at the same time. I'm wondering if I should order all three roofs replaced."

He looked at her, watched consideration flow across her face.

"Winter's nearly here-if one of the other roofs spring a leak, it'll be hard to fix if it's snowing."

"Even if it isn't. Those old roofs get so iced, even without snow it's too dangerous to send men up." Setting a fresh sheet on the blotter, Gyles reached for a pen. "I'll tell Gallagher to replace all three."

She read while he wrote, but looked up as he sealed the letter. "Is there any other news?"

He recounted all Gallagher had told him. From there, they got onto the subject of the bills he was researching. They were deep in a discussion of demographics relating to the voting franchise when Irving entered. "Mr. Osbert Rawlings has called, my lord. Are you receiving?"

Gyles bit back a "no." Osbert wasn't in the habit of calling for no reason. "Show him in here."

Irving bowed and departed; a minute later he returned, Osbert in tow. Announced, Osbert nodded to Gyles, who rose. "Cousin." His gaze swung to Francesca; Osbert beamed. "Dear cousin Francesca-" He broke off, glanced at Gyles, then back at her. "I may call you that, may I not?"

"Of course." Francesca smiled and held out her hand. Osbert took it and bowed over it. "Pray be seated, or is your business with Gyles?"

"No, no!" Osbert eagerly sank into the other armchair. "I heard you were in town and felt I must call to welcome you to the capital."

"How kind," Francesca replied.

Suppressing a humph, Gyles sank back into the chair behind his desk.

"And"-Osbert searched his pockets-"I do hope you don't consider it impertinent, but I've written an ode-to your eyes. Ah, here it is!" He brandished a parchment. "Would you like me to read it?"

Gyles smothered a groan and took refuge behind a news sheet. Still, he couldn't help but hear Osbert's verse. It wasn't, in fact, bad-merely uninspired. He could have thought of ten better phrases to more adequately convey the fascinating allure of his wife's emerald eyes.

Francesca politely thanked Osbert and said various encouraging things, which led Osbert to fill her ears with predictions of how much she would enjoy the ton, and how much the ton would enjoy her. That last had Gyles compressing his lips, but then Francesca appealed to him over some point and he had to lower the news sheet and answer, sans scowl.

He bore with Osbert's prattle for five minutes more before desperation gave birth to inspiration. Rising, he crossed to where Francesca and Osbert sat. Francesca looked up.

"If you recall, my dear, I'd mentioned taking you for a drive in the park." Gyles turned his easy expression on Osbert. "I'm afraid, cousin, that if I'm to give Francesca a taste of all you've been describing so eloquently, we'll need to go now."

"Oh, yes! Of course!" Osbert unraveled his long legs and stood. He took Francesca's hand. "You'll enjoy it, I'm sure."

Francesca said her farewells. Osbert took his leave of Gyles and quite happily departed.

Gyles watched his retreating back through narrowed eyes.