Chapter Three #2
“How stupid of me,” he muttered as though struck by a sudden thought. “Gad, how could I have overlooked this? Florence, how did you get here? You could not have walked the entire distance from your inn lodgings to my home.”
“I hired a carriage and driver to bring me out here.”
“And where is the hired hack now? Why did you not tell me you had someone with you? What if Frampton’s ruffians got to him?”
“They didn’t.” She pinched her lips together. “The bounder took my fare and then refused to wait for me. Can you believe it? He barreled off, laughing at me.”
“Yes, because you are a na?ve little dove.”
“I am nothing of the sort. Is there no honor among thieves?”
He arched an eyebrow. “Apparently not, which is a lesson for you to learn. You may be clever, but you are not street clever.”
“And you are?”
“Who, me?” He shook his head. “No. However, I know my skills and limitations, and I try never to underestimate my opposition.”
“Am I your opposition?”
“No, Florence,” he said with surprising gentleness. “You are mine to protect.”
That sounded wonderfully apish. Her heart did little flips, for when had anyone ever felt this way about her?
She cast him a soft smile.
He let out a breath. “And I shall protect you for the duration of our ruse.”
She almost wished their hastily cobbled-together betrothal might last longer, but it was never going to happen.
Trajan might appear comfortable with her, and may even have liked their kiss, but he would never love her.
Everyone knew his heart belonged to the Duchess of Lynton, the former Lady Eden Darrow.
Florence had met her last year and liked her very much.
She was charming and lovely—and also deeply in love with her husband, the Duke of Lynton, who came with three adventurous children and a meddling mother, all of whom adored Eden.
For Trajan, becoming the Duke of Weymouth must have been a reprieve from his unrelenting heartbreak, since it allowed him to be tossed into the hard work necessary to maintain the ducal properties in their proper grandeur and bring the failing ones up to snuff.
But the work was merely a distraction. His heart was still broken because Eden had chosen to love another. Of course, her husband was an excellent man.
However, were Florence in her position, she would have chosen Trajan without question. The kiss they’d shared still lingered on her lips.
Did it linger on his, too? It truly was a wonderful kiss.
However, she dared not make anything of it. He had kissed her because he needed to rescue her, not because he liked her and meant to share a little of his heart.
Besides, weren’t hot, lingering kisses the sort of thing handsome rakes mastered early on in their lives?
Even if he thought her above the string of ladies he’d kissed and forgotten, where would it lead? Certainly not to something meaningful and lasting.
Anyway, she was totally wrong for him. He needed a gentle, nurturing woman who could bring him solace and distract him from his unrequited love for Eden.
Yes, this was the sort of wife he needed. A healer. A comforting companion. They ought to have opened a betting book at White’s to wager on who was the lady most likely to provide him those comforts of a happy home.
That fortunate lady would be the one he’d marry, not some icy ton diamond or an unlovable bird watcher whose hem caught on tree branches.
Florence knew his choice could never be her. She cared passionately about many things, but often ruffled feathers instead of soothing them. Simply put, she was more likely to irritate and disrupt rather than provide a welcoming home.
Her mother took every opportunity to tell her so.
It was not long before they arrived at the Weymouth Inn, her charming seaside lodgings these past few days. The inn was quite elegant, ranking high among the finer establishments catering to the upper classes on holiday.
The innkeeper, a portly gentleman with an amiable countenance, hurried toward them as they entered.
“Lady Florence! Thank goodness you have been safely returned to us. Your aunt was worried sick about you. What happened? You left early this morning and neglected to have a picnic lunch packed for yourself.”
“Do forgive me for worrying you, Mr. Goring. I was out walking longer than planned. But as you can see, I have been returned without incident by His Grace,” she said, then hastily introduced Trajan as the Duke of Weymouth.
The innkeeper’s attention now turned to Trajan, his expression one of all due deference.
The introduction might not have been necessary, since the man had obviously recognized the Duke of Weymouth’s crest emblazoned on his carriage that was still standing in front of the inn, its black steel frame gleaming in all its impressive splendor.
“Your Grace, it is an honor to have you with us. May I offer you refreshments?”
“Not at this time. Lady Florence and I are in a bit of a hurry. She’ll need assistance to gather her belongings and those of her aunt. They shall be returning to Gull Hall with me. Where might we find her aunt?”
“Miss Newton is taking tea in the dining room, but…” The man appeared perplexed, no doubt because he feared she was about to cancel the balance of her reservation and then refuse to pay for those canceled days.
Well, that could be straightened out later.
He would never be so crass as to raise the matter in front of the duke, would he?
However, Trajan seemed aware of the man’s concerns. “Have the rooms for Lady Florence and Miss Newton been paid in full?”
“No, Your Grace. Only a deposit. I would not—”
“I know this sudden change in plans has inconvenienced you. Charge the balance to my account and submit the bill to my man of affairs.”
The innkeeper released a breath. “Thank you, Your Grace. That is most generous and appreciated.”
Florence eyed Trajan, not altogether pleased he had done this. “You really did not—”
He placed his hand over hers. “We are betrothed now, Florence. It is only right that I take responsibility for my future wife.”
She wanted to kick him.
Truly, she did.
The innkeeper was practically floating on air as he led them to the dining room, where her aunt was seated on her own, enjoying the view of Weymouth’s harbor and the boats sailing in and out.
She had just chosen one of the miniature cakes set on the table before her, but put it aside and smiled as they approached.
“Miss Newton,” the innkeeper said excitedly when her aunt turned toward them, “your niece has been safely returned. And you shall never guess her news!”
Florence adored her Aunt Hermia, who resembled a little bird and twittered like one, especially whenever she got excited. She also happened to belong to the Lower Bramble Ladies’ Ornithological Society and was one of its founding members.
“Florence, thank goodness! I had grown so worried!” Aunt Hermia’s chirps of delight resounded through the dining hall, and now all the diners had their eyes trained on them.
Trajan gallantly bowed over her hand and introduced himself. “I hope our good news will not come as a complete surprise to you, for your niece has had my heart since we first met last year…and now she has accepted to become my wife.”
Florence really needed to give this man a swift kick to his backside. Was it necessary for all of Weymouth to know they were engaged to be married?
This also meant everyone would be gossiping and condescending toward her when their betrothal was called off.
Her aunt, of course, regarded them both in utter confusion. “Florence, why did you never tell me about this charming gentleman?”
“Oh, you know I am quite shy about such things. Although I am certain I went on and on about him. I always hoped, but never dreamed, he had feelings for me.”
Trajan looked ready to burst into laughter.
She cast him an admonishing look before turning back to her aunt. “Surely you must recall our speaking of him a time or two.”
Or never.
Her aunt twittered and chirped again. “Oh, but of course you have. Please forgive my scattered brain, Your Grace. My dear Florence has spoken often of you with greatest affection. How kind and handsome you are, just as she described you. It is delightful to finally meet the man who has stolen her heart. But you must forgive me, for my mind has been like a sieve of late. What joy! What exquisite happiness you have given my niece. I can see how she looks upon you with the eyes of love. And now, you will give her parents endless delight when they learn you have proposed to her.”
Trajan cast her a gentle and patient smile as she twittered and cooed over him at length.
“I look forward to having you at Gull Hall as my guest,” he said, finally managing to get a word in when Hermia paused to take breath into her lungs. “Florence has been quite eager to have me meet her family. And rest assured, I look upon her with as much love as she looks upon me.”
He turned to Florence and cast her a wicked grin.
She smirked back at him.
“Yes, I think Florence and I knew our feelings from the start,” he continued. “But we dared not believe our good fortune, and did not wish to rush our courtship.”
“Florence has always been romantically inclined, even as a little girl. She was determined to make a love match for herself, refusing to accept anything less,” Hermia said. “And look at how sweetly she is smiling at you. You have her enraptured. How deeply she must love you!”
Gad, would this humiliation never end? Florence’s parents would be thrilled because of the advantageous connection they would have to the new Duke of Weymouth, not for any happiness he might give her.
And Trajan was now grinning from ear to ear, impossibly smug because her aunt insisted she was gazing at him with the eyes of love.
Utterly ridiculous.