The Wedding Challenge. Candace Camp

him. Her pulse was racing, and her knees were a little wobbly. She wondered what he had felt, if desire had raced through him just then, or if it had been only on her side.

      It did not take them long to reach the elegant house in which Francesca lived, and Callie’s heart sank a little as they approached it. She forced a smile as she stopped at the foot of the steps before Francesca’s door.

      “We are here,” she told him and extended her hand politely. “Thank you for escorting me. I hope I have not taken you too far out of your way.”

      “It was a pleasure,” he assured her, taking her hand. But instead of bowing over it, he simply stood, holding it and looking down into her face. “But you must promise me not to do anything so dangerous again. You must send me a note if you plan any more midnight rambles. I promise I will come with you. To keep you safe.”

      “I assure you, I will be quite careful in the future. I will not need you.”

      “Are you sure?” He raised an eyebrow teasingly; then, with a swiftness that surprised her, he wrapped his other arm around her and pulled her to him, bending his head to kiss her.

      Bromwell’s kiss was everything she remembered, and more. His teeth were hard against her mouth, his tongue soft as it insinuated itself between her lips. He tasted a little of port and more of dark, beckoning hunger. Callie felt her knees sag, and she flung her arm around his neck, holding on, as she kissed him back.

      His hand let go of hers and went to her back, sliding down along her cloak to the soft curve of her buttocks. His palm glided over the fleshy mound, fingertips digging in a little and lifting her up and into him. She felt the hard ridge of his desire against her softer flesh, and she was both startled and intrigued—even more so when she felt the wet heat of her own response blossoming between her legs.

      She made a soft, eager noise, and heard the groan of his response. He lifted his head and stared down at her for a long moment, his eyes bright, a faint surprise mingling with desire on his face.

      “No,” he murmured. “I think I have it wrong—’tis you who are dangerous.” He took a breath and released it, letting her go as he stepped back. “I will bid you adieu, my lady.” He removed himself another step, then flashed a grin at her as he said, “We will meet again. I promise it.”

      With that he turned and walked away, though Callie noticed that he paused in the shadow of a tree two doors down and turned back to watch her. It warmed her to realize that he was waiting to see that she got safely inside, while at the same time protecting her reputation by not appearing with her. Hiding a smile, she trotted up the few steps to Francesca’s door. Taking a breath to calm her racing heart, she reached up and knocked.

      Silence followed her knock, and for the first time it occurred to her that Francesca might not be at home. She could, indeed, still be at Aunt Odelia’s party. After all, clearly Lord Bromwell had just been walking home. Or, of course, everyone in the house could already be asleep.

      She reminded herself that eventually someone would hear the knock and answer the door, even if the household was abed. Francesca’s butler would recognize her and let her in, however odd he might find her appearance on their doorstep at this hour.

      Still, she was relieved when the door opened after a moment to reveal a slightly disheveled footman. At first he opened the door only a few inches; at the sight of only a young woman on the doorstep, his eyebrows flew up and he pulled the door wider.

      “Miss?” he asked, looking bewildered.

      “Lady Calandra Lilles,” Callie told him, putting on her most dignified face.

      He appeared a trifle dubious, but at that moment Francesca’s butler appeared behind him, nightcap on and wrapped in a dressing gown. “My lady!” he exclaimed, then said sharply to the footman, “Step back, Cooper, and let her ladyship in.”

      “I am sorry to appear at such a late hour, Fenton,” Callie told the butler as she stepped inside.

      “Oh, my lady, do not even think such a thing,” Fenton replied. “You are always welcome in this house. Cooper will show you to the yellow sitting room while I inform Lady Haughston that you are here.”

      With a bow for her and a sharp nod to the footman, the butler bustled off up the stairs. Callie followed the footman into the small sitting room down the hall. It was not the grandest of the receiving rooms, but she knew that the small room was Francesca’s favorite, its windows facing the tiny side garden and open to the morning sunlight. Also, because of its size, it was still rather warm from the banked coals of the evening fire.

      Callie went to the fireplace to take advantage of its lingering warmth. Only a few moments passed before Francesca hurried into the room, tying the sash of her brocade dressing gown as she came. Her long blond hair tumbled down her back, and her pretty porcelain face was marred with a worried frown.

      “Callie? What happened?” she asked, striding forward, hands outstretched. “Is something the matter?”

      “Oh! No!” Callie answered, abashed. “I am so sorry—I did not think. I did not mean to alarm you. There is nothing wrong.”

      Relief washed over Francesca’s face. “Thank heaven! I thought—well, I am not sure what I thought.” Her face pinkened a little, and she let out a deprecatory chuckle. “I am sorry. You must think me foolish.”

      “Oh, no,” Callie hastened to reassure her. “Indeed, it is I who is foolish. I should not have come here at this hour. ’Tis only natural to assume that there is something wrong. I apologize for alarming you.”

      Francesca airily waved her apology away. “Come, sit down. Would you like some tea?”

      “No, I have already put your household in enough of a stir,” Callie answered. “I am fine.”

      She sat down on the edge of a chair, and Francesca took the end of the love seat at right angles to her, looking at her with a concerned air.

      “Are you really?” Francesca asked astutely. “I take it there is not an emergency, but…” She looked around speakingly. “Did you come here alone?”

      Callie nodded. “Yes. I know it was not the safest thing to do, but I just—I could not stay in that house a moment longer!”

      Francesca looked startled. “Lilles House?”

      Callie nodded. “I am sorry to burst in on you at this hour. You must wish me at the devil, but I did not know where else to turn.”

      “But of course you can come to me,” Francesca told her, reaching out to take her hand. “And do not worry about the hour. I had not retired, anyway. I was just brushing out my hair. And there is nothing Fenton loves like a little excitement. I shouldn’t wonder if he will come in here in a few minutes with tea and cakes.”

      “You are very kind.” Callie smiled, then added, a little shyly, “You know, I have always thought of you as, well, almost a sister.”

      Francesca’s face softened, and she squeezed the younger woman’s hand. “Why, thank you, dear. I am touched. I have often felt the same way about you.”

      “Once,” Callie told her somewhat ruefully, “I actually thought that you were going to become my sister. I cannot remember why, precisely, but I thought so for some weeks—until Sinclair set me straight, of course. I was very young.”

      A silence fell on them. Callie knew that Francesca was puzzled but politely waiting for her to explain her appearance after midnight.

      Callie sighed. “I am sorry. Now that I am here, I’m not sure what to say.” She paused, then went on, “The fact is, Sinclair and I had a terrific row this evening.”

      Francesca’s eyes opened wide. “You and Rochford? Why, what happened? I thought that the two of you got along so well.”

      “We do, generally,” Callie allowed. “But tonight…” She stopped, reluctant to air her family disagreements, even to someone she