Tears burned the backs of her eyes. “Probably, but what else are we to do? I must think about my family. They’ll be destitute without this match.”
“Your father should be thrown in debtor’s prison,” Lucas growled.
Again, she fought the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. “That’s not particularly helpful, Lucas. Debtor’s prison provides no options for men like my father.”
Footsteps thudded on the staircase above them.
Lucas paced away from her again. “Blast it, Frances. What if . . .?”
“‘What if’ what?” she asked brokenly. Tears sliding down her cheeks. “Please don’t say what if you and I were to marry. I cannot marry a footman, Lucas. Unless you happen to have a secret fortune.”
He clenched his teeth and pressed his closed fist against his forehead. “Damn it,” he ground out, drawing out each word.
She wiped the tears away with her fingers. “I’m sorry, Lucas. I didn’t want things to end this way. It’s not what I prefer.” She swallowed again. “But I’m resigned to it.”
More footsteps.
He swiveled on his heel so quickly he nearly knocked her over. He gently cupped her shoulders to keep her steady. “What if things were different?” he blurted, searching her face. “What if there was another way?”
She shook her head, still meeting his gaze. “What way? What are you talking about?”
“Do you love me, Frances?” He squeezed her shoulders gently. His heart was in his eyes.
Her tears were falling steadily now. She swiped them away with the backs of her hands. “I do love you, Lucas. But what choice do I have?”
The thud of footsteps on the stairs above them increased. Lucas dropped his hands to the sides. “The servants are coming down to prepare to serve dinner. If we stay here any longer, we’re certain to be seen. I cannot explain now. It’s not the right time. Will you do me one last favor?”
“Anything.” Her voice broke. She swallowed yet another painful lump in her throat.
“Will you meet me in the library tomorrow morning? There’s something important I must tell you.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Lucas rapped three more times on Bell’s bedchamber door. The marquess wasn’t answering. Where the hell was he at this hour? He had to be inside. He hadn’t been down in the servants’ hall earlier when Lucas had gone looking for him. It had been a pure coincidence that Lucas had been there when Frances had arrived to find him.
Lucas rapped on the door for a third time, harder and longer this time. He didn’t want to wake the other sleeping servants, but he desperately needed to speak with Bell before morning.
Finally, Lucas heard mumbling and shuffling from inside the room. Several moments later, a sleepy-looking Bell clad only in a pair of no doubt hastily pulled-on breeches ripped open the door.
“Kendall?” he groaned, “I mean, Lucas, get in here.” He yanked Lucas none-too-gently into the room by the scruff of the neckcloth and shut the door behind him with a loud thud.
Lucas stepped into the darkened room. No candles were lit, but a full moon shone outside the window illuminating a great portion of the space, including the desk by the window. He strode over to it and sat on its edge.
“My apologies for coming so late,” Lucas began.
Eyes closed, Bell ran a hand over his face and sniffed. “What bloody time is it?”
“Two o’clock,” Lucas admitted.
“In the morning? That’s bloody ridiculous.”
Lucas shrugged. “When I was in the Navy, I used to stand watch at two o’clock.”
Bell groaned. “Well, neither of us is in the Navy at the moment, are we? I, for one, find this a ludicrous time to be keeping company.”
Lucas halfway turned and stared out at the night sky. “I have to tell you something, Bell.”
Bell yanked open the doors to his wardrobe and stared blankly inside. “What is it?”
Lucas stood and braced his palms behind him against the desk. “I’m in love with Miss Wharton.”
“I know,” Bell announced, tugging a shirt from a peg in the wardrobe.
“You know?” Lucas frowned. “How the hell would you know?”
“Of course I know,” Bell continued. “As you’ve reminded me on more than one occasion, I’m a bloody spy for Christ’s sake. It’s my business to know what’s going on in this house.”
Lucas tapped his boot against the floor. Very well. Bell already knew, but his friend’s revelation didn’t change what he’d come here to say. “I’ve been meeting with Miss Wharton, every day in the library. We talk about politics, life, …the Employment Bill.”
“I know,” Bell said, tossing the shirt over his head.
The frown remained on Lucas’s face. “You know that, too?”
Bell turned to face Lucas and pointed both of his thumbs toward himself. “Spy.”
“Very well.” Lucas ran both hands through his hair. “Do you also know I’ve kissed her? Several times. She kissed me too, actually, but please don’t spread that about.”
“I didn’t know that,” Bell admitted, tucking his shirt into his breeches, “at least not the ‘several times’ bit. Of course I won’t say anything, you bloody fool, spies don’t tell secrets.”
Lucas nodded. That was why he was here. In addition to giving sound advice, Bell was an excellent secret keeper. You could tell the man anything, and even the French couldn’t torture it out of him. Lucas had known before he’d opened his mouth that Bell would keep this conversation entirely confidential.
“The question is,” Bell continued, “why do you find it so important to tell me that you love her at this hour?”
Lucas tugged at the ends of his hair. “Because of what Sir Reginald said.”
Bell adjusted his shirt on his shoulders. “What does Sir Reginald have to do with it?”
“She’s going to marry him.” Cold dread gripped Lucas’s chest. It wasn’t until he’d said it aloud that he realized how sickened he was by the notion.
“Pardon?” A furrow appeared between Bell’s brows.
Lucas nodded. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Her father arrives in the morning. They intend to
