A Taste of Seduction (An Unlikely Husband) Read Online Free

eyes.
    “Perhaps,” Bernard said in a quiet voice.
    They made no sense. “Would someone please tell me what you are talking about? And why all the ‘perhaps’?” She smiled at Uncle Bernard. “I feel as though we’re hypothesizing on a new method of germination.”
    Her uncle moved toward her, his tall figure bent like a sapling swaying in the wind, his bony shoulders stooped. He smelled of tobacco and a hint of peppermint and when he smiled from beneath his thick mustache and beard, his eyes brimmed with affection.
    “My Francie,” he said, taking her hands in his. “You always were a smart one.”
    “Tell me, Uncle Bernard. Tell me what you and Aunt Eleanor are talking about.” She interlocked her fingers with his and whispered, “Please?”
    Her uncle’s gaze drifted past her, no doubt meeting Aunt Eleanor’s for a brief second, before he turned back to Francie. “We fear we can no longer keep you safe here.” His gray eyes misted. “It’s only a matter of time before the scoundrel increases his efforts over you. And, perhaps one day, he’ll tire of the game and pursue you in earnest.” He drew in a deep breath and added, “Whether you’re willing or not.”
    “I would never welcome that man’s attentions,” Francie spat out. There it was again. The very word that man warned her about using. Never .
    “He might feel differently on the subject.” Her uncle shrugged. “We have very little defense against a duke’s son.”
    What a strange discussion, peppered with subtle overtones only Uncle Bernard and Aunt Eleanor understood.
    “But we know someone who does,” he continued. “Your father.”
    Father? She stumbled backwards but caught herself. “My father is dead. Why would you say such a thing?” Her father died in a hunting accident years ago. They’d both told her so.
    He cleared his throat. “No, Francie. Your father is not dead.”
    His words made no sense. She spun around and looked at her aunt. Tears streamed down the older woman’s pale face, falling from her chin onto her ample bosom. “Aunt Eleanor? He’s dead,” she said with great conviction, and then, “Isn’t he?”
    A sob escaped her aunt’s lips. “No, child,” she whispered. “He’s very much alive.”
    Francie couldn’t get air to her lungs. It felt like the time George toppled her over in play, all one hundred and ninety pounds of him landing on her belly.
    “We’ve wanted to tell you for a long time,” Uncle Bernard said from behind her, placing his long fingers on her shoulders. “We thought we were protecting you, but now there’s a greater harm threatening you and your father might well be the only one who can help.”
    Father. She couldn’t get past the word. She considered Uncle Bernard her father. He had raised her. And all these years another man held the title, yet he’d never sought out his daughter.
    “I fail to see how this man can help us.” Francie swiped at her cheek, surprised to feel wetness. “If he hasn’t contacted me in eighteen years, I doubt he’ll be interested in ‘helping’ me now.”
    Aunt Eleanor buried her face in her lace handkerchief.
    “He doesn’t know about you.”
    “Doesn’t know?”
    “He has no idea he has a child.” Uncle Bernard nodded to Aunt Eleanor, who disappeared into the couple’s bedroom, returning moments later with a small object.
    “Here, child,” she said, holding the object out to Francie. “This belonged to your mother.”
    Francie reached for a tarnished and scratched half -piece of locket, turned it over in her palm, and brought it nearer. Her gaze narrowed, then widened, as she stared at the tiny picture nestled inside. The man’s laughing blue eyes, her eyes , stared back at her, and fiery curls, her curls , framed his handsome face. Uncle Bernard drew her into his embrace, speaking in soft, soothing tones. She was colder than a frozen pond in the dead of winter, and not even her uncle’s jacket or the steady beat of his heart