Chapter Four
Trajan had meant it when he said Florence was his now to protect.
But did she have to make it so difficult for him to fulfill that vow? “What were you thinking, inviting Lady Frampton to tea with you and your aunt? And now she will have to return the invitation and invite you into her home.”
Florence did not appear in the least remorseful, which riled him all the more.
“You have just answered your own question,” she said, sounding as blithe as a summer breeze. “How else was I to get into the Frampton house without raising suspicion?”
He raked a hand through his hair. “Without… Dear heaven, Florence. The man has put a big, fat target on your back. And you think to just stroll into his home without a care?”
“I will be with my aunt. I’m sure Lady Frampton will invite both of us.”
He rolled his eyes, for she was just too much. Too stubborn. Too reckless. Too achingly beautiful, and this upset him most. How could he possibly be attracted to Florence when all she had done since their unexpected meeting in the woods today was give him fits?
“Oh, yes. Perfect,” he shot back. “That frail, old woman is just the one to defend you. I can see how her little bird fists can bring a man down with a single blow.”
“I have no intention of snooping around while I am there.”
“Do you think I am a witless fool? You are going to give Lady Frampton a tour of my home when you have her over to tea at Gull Hall, so that she will be forced to give you a tour of her home when you visit her at Frampton Court.”
Florence blushed. “Is this not what any polite hostess would do?”
He heard footsteps down the hall and expected one of the inn’s maids would walk in at any moment. “Gad, how did your family survive you all these years? We’ll finish this discussion back at Gull Hall.”
He strode out, almost knocking over the poor maid in his irritation. After mumbling an apology, he stormed downstairs.
But he was loath to return to the dining room, since Frampton and his cohorts would no doubt be watching him like a pack of vultures waiting to swoop in for the kill. Yet he did not want to wait for Florence and her aunt by his carriage and risk missing Frampton’s next move…assuming he had one.
What was he doing here?
Trajan knew his presence had everything to do with Florence.
He spent the next few minutes pacing in the entry hall of the elegant inn, his mind fixed on how to protect his fake betrothed when she insisted on diving into danger. She seemed to have completely shrugged off their earlier close call in his woods.
“We are ready,” Florence said, gaining his attention as she escorted her aunt down the stairs with loving attendance. Behind them were the innkeeper and several of his helpers, who lugged their trunks.
Trajan oversaw the trunks’ loading onto his carriage, and then assisted the ladies into their seats. He settled on the bench opposite theirs, trying to keep from fuming over Florence’s ill-conceived plan to get into the Frampton residence.
Florence blushed in response to his angry gaze.
Her aunt, blissfully unaware of what was going on between him and Florence, began to chatter. “What a lovely coach this is,” she said in a merry, singsong twitter, “such soft leather and exquisitely sprung. One can hardly feel the bumps in the road.”
“Unfortunately, it will get bumpier as we ride out of Weymouth,” Trajan replied. “But I hope you will not find the ride too uncomfortable.”
“Oh, dear boy. I know I shall hardly feel the jolts. Nor shall my niece, I’m sure. She must be floating on air now that you have declared your love for each other. How exciting for you both. Florence, why don’t you sit beside your handsome betrothed?”
“I am fine right here, Aunt Hermia. He would only squash me, because his shoulders are quite broad.”
Hermia grinned. “Yes, I’ve noticed.”
Florence sighed.
Trajan engaged her aunt in small talk for much of the ride, since he could not pursue any logical conversation with Florence while he wanted to throttle her.
Why was she insisting on rushing into danger? She had been genuinely frightened this morning when almost caught by Frampton, so why continue her perilous assignment?
Her bird of an aunt was finely dressed and wore expensive jewelry, he noted, so the reason could not be about Florence’s requiring money. Even the ugly brown gown Florence had on was finely made and must have cost a goodly sum.
Florence herself sat silently as his carriage clattered through the countryside, her nose pasted to the window while she contemplated how best to evade his questions.
How was he to keep her safe?
Well, he would insist on their working it out this very night. Her aunt was going to retire early, no doubt. He and Florence could talk then.
In truth, he simply wanted to lay down the law and insist on her keeping away from the Frampton residence.
No discussion. His edict set forth. After all, he was the duke, and she had to obey his commands.
But she wouldn’t.
He glanced at her as she continued to stare out the window. It galled him to think her mind was awhirl, contriving ways to defy him.
But gad, she was softly nibbling her fleshy lower lip as she devised her schemes.
She had the prettiest lips. Plump and perfect.
He wanted to kiss her again. Yes, he ached to kiss her even while furious with her.
He also had to figure out how to protect her. Despite his threats to do so, he was not going to lock her away. Which meant she was going to give him the slip at some point, because she was too clever for her own good.
The thought of her lying hurt in Frampton’s clutches tore him up inside. “Florence…”
“Fascinating view,” she muttered, continuing to stare out the window.
He gave up trying to gain her attention and instead remained in conversation with her aunt.
But there came a moment when Florence thought he was not looking at her, when she lowered her mask and allowed her feelings to show. He saw it then, a surprisingly raw and open desolation.
The lonely fear. The vulnerability.
But she quickly restored her mask of defiance and covered up these feelings when she realized he was watching her.
Timmons was standing on the front steps in wait for them, along with several footmen, when their carriage drew up in the courtyard.
The excursion to Weymouth had taken much longer than anticipated because Hermia moved so slowly, but they still managed to arrive in daylight, the hour nearing eight o’clock in the evening.
Trajan realized Florence and her aunt had to be hungry by now.
Florence especially, since she had not eaten anything but a few cakes earlier on his terrace.
He was also famished, for he had not eaten since then either.
Timmons, capable as ever, came to the rescue. “Mrs. Palmer has supper warming for you. Shall I have it served in the dining room in fifteen minutes?”
Trajan helped Florence’s aunt down from the carriage. “Is fifteen minutes enough for you, Miss Newton? There is no need for us to change into more formal attire, for meals here are quite casual. Most nights, I dine alone.”
“Oh, dear boy. How sad for you.”
“It is all right, for I usually prefer solitude to the crush of fancy parties.”
He next assisted Florence in stepping down, and felt an unexpected jolt of heat the moment his hand touched hers.
She felt it too. Her eyes widened and her plush little mouth formed a perfect O for just that instant.
Curious.
His blood seemed to heat whenever he touched Florence. It had been happening all day. To be truthful, the same had happened last year, too.
Were his feelings something real?
Well, it was too soon to tell. However, was this not better than pining for Eden? Come to think of it, his thoughts had not been much on Eden since meeting Florence last year.
Was this mere coincidence?
“Is fifteen minutes long enough for you, Florence?”
She was still staring up at him with her mouth adorably rounded. “What?”
“Fifteen minutes to prepare yourself before coming down to supper. Stay dressed as you are, no need to change,” he said, repeating what he had just told her aunt, who had already been escorted inside by Timmons.
“Oh, yes. Perfect.”
“Good. I’ll show you to your room, since Timmons must have already handed your aunt over to my housekeeper, Mrs. Albright, the most efficient person you shall ever meet.
She will have taken your aunt upstairs by now.
Mrs. Palmer is my cook, and she is also excellent at her job.
” He tucked Florence’s arm in his and escorted her inside the house.
“I’ll introduce you to the rest of my staff tomorrow.
We’ll spend a quiet evening tonight. I’ve given you and your aunt adjoining rooms, quite apart from mine. ”
“For the sake of propriety?”
He nodded. “But I vow I shall nail shut your windows and door if you dare take a step out of this house tonight.”
“Understood,” she replied, batting her eyelashes and smiling at him.
Gad, she was irritating.
But he cast her a polite smile in return. “I’ll give you a tour of the house tomorrow, all except my bedchamber, since that is my bastion. My sanctuary. No one trespasses there.”
“Why would you show me your bedchamber?” She stopped suddenly and frowned up at him. “I have no intention of joining you in your bed, if this is what you are suggesting.”
He cleared his throat. “Um, how did you get that meaning out of my words? Did I not just say I do not allow others in there and will not show you this one room? However, since you seem to be keen on—”
She gasped. “I am no such thing.”
“Florence, you raised it, and obviously misconstrued my words because you were thinking of doing exactly that.”
“Exactly what?”
“Joining me in my bed.”
She gasped again.
“If you are that eager for it,” he said, casting her a devilish grin, “then I will make the exception for you and show you my sanctuary. To be clear, you are welcome in my bed whenever you feel ready.”