“He’s adamant that you understand that.” Charles’s gentle, serious gaze remained fixed on her face. “My dear, I would not urge you to accept unless you felt comfortable with the arrangement, but I would be failing in my duty as your guardian if I didn’t tell you that while Chillingworth’s approach may appear cold, it is honest. Many men feel the same, but would cloak their offers in more fanciful guise thinking to win your romantic heart.”

Francesca gestured dismissively.

Charles smiled. “I know you’re not a flighty girl who would have your head turned by false protestations. Indeed, I know you well enough to be sure you would see through any disguise. Chillingworth is not the sort of man to employ one-that’s not his style. He’s of the first rank-his estates, as I’ve told you, are extensive. His offer is more than generous.” Charles paused. “Is there anything more you’d like to know-any questions at all?”

Francesca had dozens, but they were not the sort her uncle could answer. Her suitor himself would have to explain. He was not the sort of man to countenance a bloodless, unemotional union. He had fire and passion in his veins, just as she had.

So what was this all about?

Then the truth dawned. “He spoke with you this afternoon while I was out riding?” When Charles nodded, she asked, “He’s never seen me, has he? I can’t recall meeting him before.”

“I don’t believe he’s seen you…” Charles frowned. “Did you meet him?”

“On my way from the stables. He was… leaving.”

“Well, then.” Charles straightened, perceptibly brightening. “So…” His gaze had moved beyond Francesca; now he brought it back to her face. They had talked and talked; it was almost time for dinner. “He’ll be back tomorrow morning to hear your answer. What should I tell him?”