Chapter Three
Florence quietly contemplated her situation while seated in a shady spot on the terrace of Trajan’s grand house.
Trajan. She liked his given name and had easily stopped thinking of him as Aubrey.
He was now Trajan, named after one of the greatest Roman emperors, known for his intelligence and military prowess.
His betrothal scheme had saved her from Frampton, and she would not deny that she had been in a heap of trouble until Trajan’s kiss had rescued her. But undoing their betrothal would come with its own perils. Her already-tenuous relation with her parents might never be mended after this.
They would never forgive her for rejecting this perfect duke. Or any duke, for that matter. They would cut her off completely upon learning the extent of his wealth and power.
That he was also handsome and kind did not help. Even she would have thought herself deranged to walk away from their betrothal.
Well, her family had cut her off from their affection years ago. More recently, they had cut her off from her allowance, too. What else could they do to her?
She had never held their love, so there was nothing left to lose beyond the hope of repairing a relationship that had always been damaged and dangled on a very thin thread.
She stared across the lovely view of Trajan’s private cove, admiring its crystal-blue waters.
Trajan had kissed her on the beach in that cove.
She dared not tell him just how much she would treasure their kiss.
Unaware of her turmoil, he sat back comfortably in his chair and grinned. “Nice, isn’t it?”
Yes, it was.
“And can you believe the size of this house, Florence?”
His smile held such pride that she could not resist smiling back at him. “It is quite impressive, and also beautifully decorated. Surprisingly tasteful and welcoming, considering its enormity.”
She could manage a house of this importance, for her schooling had trained her for this very thing.
It saddened her to know she would never become duchess of this grand home. Trajan could not possibly be serious about their betrothal.
“Can you see yourself here?” he asked, his voice quite gentle as he spoke.
She did not bother to respond.
Did he often rescue young ladies with a remarkable kiss? He needed to stop believing this pretense before he said something that could not be taken back.
Well, had he not said too much already?
She did not blame him, for she had gone along with his every word and made no effort to contradict him. However, they needed to coordinate their lies in order to keep others from catching on to their farce.
He noticed she had finished her lemonade. “Would you care for more, Florence?
Then he smiled and added “dearest” because he found the idea of their betrothal quite amusing. He was only thinking in the moment and not further down the road, when this lark would come to its inevitable end.
Ugh.
He should not be milking every last drop from this situation. It would serve him right if she held him to his word and he was forced to marry her.
But this was a card she could hold in reserve and threaten to play if he insisted on interfering with her mission.
Yes, she fully understood that spying on Frampton from a treetop was no longer a viable plan. She also understood that she would be shot if ever she were caught sneaking into his residence in the middle of the night.
She would have to come up with another less dangerous idea.
In the meanwhile, she had no choice but to go along with this betrothal nonsense.
Well, it wasn’t really nonsense. It was nice to pretend she had snared England’s prize bachelor, and it had nothing to do with his being a rich duke. She liked him because he was intelligent, witty, and wonderfully protective.
It did not hurt that he was also strikingly handsome.
But was it not odd that he appeared so comfortable with the idea of marriage? Perhaps his Silver Duke friends were not off the mark when deciding to open their betting book on him.
However, he did not kiss like a man ready to be domesticated. That kiss had been exquisitely wild and untamed. She had yet to stop tingling from it.
“Florence,” he said as they sat in their cushioned chairs and enjoyed the shade of a floral arbor, “you are turning moon-eyed. Thinking of our kiss again?”
“I am doing no such thing,” she replied, sounding like a petulant child.
“I might believe you if your face were not in flames again,” he teased, certain he had caught her in a guilty pleasure…which he had.
However, she was never going to admit it to him. “You are a most irritating fellow. Did you know that, Weymouth?”
“Ah, you are peeved with me. I prefer that you call me Trajan. We are lovebirds, after all. You like me and hope I will kiss you again.”
“Gad, you are irritating. Need I remind you it is hot outdoors?”
“Ah, yes. Weather hot. Temperature hot.”
Florence nodded. “Exactly.”
“Liar.” He leaned so temptingly close that she caught the fresh scent of sandalwood on his skin. “You find me hot and are desperately trying to figure out what to do about it.”
“Your conceit is unmatched, Weymouth.”
He shook his head and sighed. “Still peeved.”
“Since you have brought up the matter of our so-called attraction to each other, yes. What in the name of heaven were you thinking? You should have come up with something other than a love match betrothal.”
Or that insanely delicious kiss.
He shrugged. “I thought it was a brilliant idea at the time. And I am still liking it. Need I remind you, the kiss and our betrothal served their purpose in keeping you alive. You thought so, too. A scorching kiss and the benefit of my protection, all in one. No one is going to touch you now that you are my soon-to-be duchess. They will have to face my wrath if they dare try. I am a bloody duke, and a powerful one at that.”
“Do you think this will stop Frampton?”
“Yes, assuming you behave. He knows one word from me would crush his ambitious rise to the top.”
Florence waited until Timmons had brought out cakes to go along with the lemonade, set them on the table, and then retreated into the house before she responded.
“Oh, so you think he is afraid of you? Do not get too caught up in the power afforded to a duke. If he were to shoot you, you would still bleed like the rest of us.”
“How sweet of you to worry about me. If you really care, then just stop whatever it is that you are doing. Frampton will leave you alone so long as you leave him alone.”
“What if he doesn’t?”
“Then he is a fool and I will see him destroyed.”
Florence wished the matter were that simple. “Do not mistake him for a fool. Will you promise me that you will always keep your guard up around him?”
“Me? I am not the one who fell out of a tree while spying on him,” he said, reaching over to give her hand a light squeeze. “But I plan to exercise extreme care around him. So must you.”
She nodded. “I will. You mustn’t worry about me. I am experienced when it comes to these delicate investigations and can take care of myself.”
“That is utter rot.” He drank the last of his lemonade, finishing it in two easy gulps, and then set the glass down on the table with a thunk.
“Had I not come upon you first, he would have found you and strangled you with the cord of your own binoculars, then left you for dead in my woodlands for one of my workers to find. And that’s another thing. ”
“What other thing?”
He leaned forward again, close enough so that their lips almost touched.
He really had to stop doing that, because his mouth was incredibly tempting and she would never stop tingling if he insisted on ravaging her senses like this.
“You are a friend and former schoolmate of Jocelyn, Duchess of Camborne, which means you come from a family of means. That finishing school for young ladies was an elite institution whose curriculum was designed to teach sweet young things like you to become wives to England’s aristocratic hierarchy.
Yet here you are taking work from your friends and acquaintances. ”
“And your point?”
“Why are you doing this? And what do your parents have to say about it?”
“Assuming they knew, they would disapprove…just as they have disapproved of everything I have ever done in my life.”
The remark obviously surprised him.
Did he think her family adored her?
Florence managed to shift the conversation, avoiding his questions for now. But she knew by his daunting stare as they rode to Weymouth together in his magnificent ducal carriage a short while later that he had no intention of letting the matter drop.
She cleared her throat. “Lovely view.”
He arched an eyebrow, refusing to engage her in idle chatter.
Instead, he studied her as a predator might study his prey, all the while seated on the nicely cushioned leather bench opposite hers.
It was slightly disconcerting the way his gaze raked over her, so she stared out the window and pretended to take in the passing countryside.
It would take them an hour or more to reach the seaport town and its namesake Weymouth Inn, where she had taken rooms with her aunt.
She estimated it would take another hour to get her and her aunt packed and checked out of the inn.
They had each brought one trunk and several smaller bags, not needing dozens and dozens of gowns as one might for a house party or other social occasion.
She had brought along eight gowns for the various occasions, and her aunt had brought along an equal number for herself. But Hermia was one to move slowly and could not be rushed.
It would take another hour or more to ride back to Gull Hall, and hopefully they would reach Trajan’s residence well before nightfall, a task easily accomplished if they kept to a moderately efficient schedule.
She turned from viewing the scenery to glance at him. He was no longer staring at her in predatory fashion but regarding her oddly.
“What’s wrong?”