Reunited With His Long-Lost Cinderella. Laura Martin

      It sounded wonderful. Eight days to be free, to do whatever she wanted. After that she would have to accept her fate, but for just a little while she could pretend her life was on a different track. He held out his hand to seal the bargain and tentatively Francesca placed her fingers in his.

      ‘When do we start?’ she asked, trying to ignore the warmth of his hand on hers. Neither of them was wearing gloves despite the icy temperatures and it was the first time she’d felt his skin against hers. His fingers were a little rough, probably from the years of physical work, and his hand engulfed hers completely.

      ‘Tomorrow.’

      Tomorrow was as good a day as any. She had to remember she only had a few more weeks of freedom anyway. In six weeks her year of mourning finished and then she didn’t doubt her father would waste any time in arranging her marriage. She would likely be Lady Huntley within three months with no opportunity to go running after her childhood friend.

      ‘Tomorrow,’ she agreed.

      Only then did he release her hand, placing it softly back in her lap. He was a man of contradictions. Physically powerful but gentle in his touch. Gone through so much suffering, but outwardly charming and jovial. And an ex-convict who could blend in at society events. He was a confusing man to be around.

      ‘Until tomorrow,’ he said, leaning over. For a moment she thought he was going to kiss her. She felt her lips part in anticipation and her heart begin hammering in her chest, but then he reached for the catch on the door, threw it open and hopped down.

      ‘How did you know it was me in here?’ she asked as he went to shut the door. ‘When you came out of the boxing club?’

      She didn’t think he’d caught sight of her in the darkness of the interior.

      ‘Who else would be following me?’ he asked. ‘I barely know anyone else in London.’

      With a smile and a wink he spun on his heel, striding off down the street. As she watched him go Francesca thought she even heard him whistling a jaunty tune. Trying not to think too much about what she’d just agreed to, she leaned out and instructed the coachman to take her home. Really she should be feeling dread and regret at her agreement to his proposal—no respectable lady would agree to it—but as she searched her emotions she could only find excited anticipation.