Her pulse was still racing, her blood still up, far more so than could be accounted for by her ride. Indeed, she didn’t think her racing pulse or the breathlessness that was only now easing owed anything to her ride-they’d come into being because he’d held her too close and smiled at her like a leopard eyeing his next meal-and because she’d known precisely what he’d been thinking.

His grey eyes had kindled, sparking yet darkening, and his lips had curved just so… because he’d been thinking wicked thoughts. Thoughts of flesh pressed to naked flesh, of silk sheets sliding and shushing as bodies moved in an ancient rhythm upon them. The brazen images formed readily in her mind.

Blushing, she banished them and strode on down the corridor. Glancing around and seeing no one, she waved a hand before her face. She didn’t want to have to explain her blush to Ester.

The thought had her wondering where Ester was. Entering the central wing, she detoured to the kitchen. No Ester there. The staff had heard Ester call, but didn’t know where she’d gone. Francesca pushed through the door into the front hall.

The hall was empty. Her bootheels clacked on the tiles as she crossed to the stairs. She was halfway up the first flight when the door to her uncle’s study opened. Ester came out, saw her, and smiled. “There you are, dear.”

Francesca reversed direction. “I’m so sorry-it was such a fine day I just rode and rode and forgot the time. I heard you call and came running. Is anything wrong?”

“No, indeed.” A tall lady with a horsey face but the kindest of eyes, Ester smiled fondly as Francesca halted before her. Reaching out, Ester eased the frivolous riding cap from Francesca’s unruly locks. “Your uncle wishes to speak with you, but contrary to there being anything wrong, I suspect you’ll be very interested in what he has to say. I’ll take this”-Ester spied the riding gloves and crop Francesca held in one hand and took them-“and these, upstairs for you. Go along now-he’s waiting to tell you.”