Bridgerton Collection, Volume 2 - Julia Quinn Page 0,391

beg your pardon?”

She bit back a smile. “Nothing.”

The sun, which had been obscured behind a thin layer of cloud, suddenly popped into the open. Eloise shaded her eyes with her hand as she sat back. “Good heavens,” she remarked. “I think Oliver just sat on Miles.”

Francesca laughed, and then, before she even knew what she was about, stood. “Do you think they’ll let me play?”

Eloise looked at her as if she’d gone mad, which, Francesca thought with a shrug, perhaps she had.

Eloise looked at Francesca, and then at the boys, and then back at Francesca. And then she stood. “If you do it, I’ll do it.”

“You can’t do it,” Francesca said. “You’re pregnant.”

“Barely,” Eloise said with a scoff. “Besides, Oliver wouldn’t dare sit on me.” She held out her arm. “Shall we?”

“I believe we shall.” Francesca linked her arm through her sister’s, and together they ran down the hill, shouting like banshees and loving every minute of it.

“I heard you made quite a scene this afternoon,” Michael said, perching on the edge of the bed.

Francesca did not move. Not even an eyelid. “I’m exhausted” was all she said.

He took in the dusty hem of her dress. “And dirty, too.”

“Too tired to wash.”

“Anthony said that Miles said that he was quite impressed. Apparently you throw quite well for a girl.”

“It would have been brilliant,” she replied, “had I been informed that I wasn’t meant to use my hands.”

He chuckled. “What game, exactly, were you playing?”

“I have no idea.” She let out an exhausted little moan. “Would you rub my feet?”

He pushed himself farther onto the bed and slid her dress up to mid-calf. Her feet were filthy. “Good Lord,” he exclaimed. “Did you go barefoot?”

“I couldn’t very well play in my slippers.”

“How did Eloise fare?”

“She, apparently, throws like a boy.”

“I thought you weren’t meant to use your hands.”

At that, she pushed herself indignantly up on her elbows. “I know. It depended on what end of the field one was at. Whoever heard of such a thing.”

He took her foot in his hands, making a mental note to wash them later—his hands that was, she could take care of her own feet. “I had no idea you were so competitive,” he remarked.

“It runs in the family,” she mumbled. “No, no, there. Yes, right there. Harder. Oooooohhhh . . .”

“Why do I feel as if I heard this before,” he mused, “except that I was having much more fun?”

“Just be quiet and keep rubbing my feet.”

“At your service, Your Majesty,” he murmured, smiling when she realized she was perfectly content to be referred to as such. After a minute or two of silence, save for the occasional moan from Francesca, he asked, “How much longer do you wish to stay?”

“Are you eager to return home?”

“I do have matters to attend to,” he replied, “but nothing that cannot wait. I’m rather enjoying your family, actually.”

She quirked a brow—and a smile. “Actually?”

“Indeed. Although it was a bit daunting when your sister beat me at the shooting match.”

“She beats everyone. She always has. Shoot with Gregory next time. He can’t hit a tree.”

Michael moved on to the other foot. Francesca looked so happy and relaxed. Not just now, but at the supper table, and in the drawing room, and when she was chasing her nieces and nephews, and even at night, when he was making love to her in their huge four-poster bed. He was ready to go home, back to Kilmartin, which was ancient and drafty but indelibly theirs. But he’d happily remain here forever, if it meant Francesca would always look like this.

“I think you’re right,” she said.

“Of course,” he replied, “but about what, exactly?”

“It’s time to go home.”

“I didn’t say that it was. I merely inquired as to your intentions.”

“You didn’t have to say it,” she said.

“If you want to stay—”

She shook her head. “I don’t. I want to go home. Our home.” With a stiff groan, she sat up all the way, curling her legs beneath her. “This has been lovely, and I have had such a wonderful time, but I miss Kilmartin.”

“Are you certain?”

“I miss you.”

He lifted his brows. “I’m right here.”

She smiled and leaned forward. “I miss having you to myself.”

“You need only say the word, my lady. Anytime, anywhere. I’ll whisk you off and let you have your way with me.”

She chuckled. “Perhaps right now.”

He thought that was an excellent idea, but chivalry forced him to say, “I thought you were sore.”

“Not that sore. Not if you do all