Chapter 5 #2
George nodded simply. “And yet I am not alone in that, and I am sure I will suffer again – and experience great joy. Losing one’s first love is almost a prerequisite of life, is it not?”
Florence laughed, and his body stiffened at the sound. “I would say so. The poets would have us believe such a notion.”
“And yet my life would be a perfect example of how this can extend even beyond the usual pain.” George had no idea why he said that; it just seemed to pour out of him, coming from a place in his soul that he rarely travelled in.
She was looking at him curiously now. “Usual pain?”
He smiled bitterly. “Titles are not everything, Florence. My mother died suddenly in a fire, and of my three brothers, only one still speaks to me. A rupture between siblings is a terrible thing, and when you are the innocent party let to suffer the punishment, you start to feel more alone than one could possibly imagine.”
“I . . . I am so sorry.” And she meant it, too; he could see in Florence’s eyes that she felt his pain, understood it somehow. “You do not think it is possible, nel futuro, to reconcile with your brothers?”
George considered for a moment. “Tom and Harry are, perhaps, a little older now. They could be a little wiser. They may understand now that no one was to blame for the fire, that it was a terrible accident.”
She shifted a little where she sat, and surveyed him thoughtfully. After a full minute, Florence said, “I think they are suffering just as much as you are. Lonely people are often close to other lonely people, that is what I find. You may discover they are just as ready to be a family again.”
Delving into his heart’s secrets was not something George had expected to do that evening, and it was all the more disconcerting when he was affixed with those large eyes, that voice that seemed to melt his voice whenever he came to speak.
“One day,” he managed. “Perhaps.” If only he could keep his thoughts on more socially acceptable topics: all he could wonder at now was just what that delicate gown was hiding, and how much resistance it would put up if he attempted to rip it from her shoulders.
Florence smiled wistfully. “Well, I am glad you have survived such a trying time. As for me, the only family that I have ever known was in Italy, and as I am here, I do not think that I will embark on a ship this night,” Florence said, and George’s wild imaginations were brought to a hasty conclusion.
“I am completely lost, anyway, and I do not think I would be able to find my way back in the dark. I will have to wait for morning.”
George coughed, trying to remove the thought of Florence arched underneath him in pleasure. “We cannot be that lost; we did not run for long, and I will, of course, accompany you back to the docks when it is safe to do so.”
A giggle escaped her, and George unconsciously returned the smile. “What is so amusing?”
Florence smiled joyfully. “You must admit, it is rather ridiculous. I am lost with a Lord!”
His deep laugh joined hers. “It is an unusual circumstance, I will admit – but if I was going to be punched, chased by an angry mob, and barricaded inside a small and dingy room, I would not want to do it with anyone else.”
His words surprised him: they had risen, unbidden, and escaped him before he was able to put any censoring thought into them. Completely truthful, they made Florence laugh all the more, her shoulders shaking and her bosom rising in a way that made his stomach lurch again.
“That is remarkably comforting,” she said quietly, still smiling. “You are very unlike most men, Lord George.”
“George, please.”
“George, then.” Florence smiled at him. Her blue gown, torn along the skirts and ripped by one shoulder, revealed soft skin glistening in the firelight.
George swallowed. This was not the time to lose his head; Florence had made her opinion perfectly clear.
“It is so strange,” said Florence, musingly. “It is almost like we have known each other for quite some time, do not you think? We have discussed topics I never seem to get to with my own acquaintances.”
George nodded. “How many friends actually speak like this; for hours at a time? No, it is usually five minutes before a card game, or ten minutes between a dance.”
Was her breathing faster, or was it just his wild imagination, trying to take him back to that heady moment.
“I feel as though I have known you for years, George,” she said, her tongue tripping over his name. “As though we have shared stories for decades, as though you know all of my most intimate secrets.”
“I suppose that, to some extent, you do,” he admitted. “No one else knows why I came to the dockyards tonight, and I doubt whether many of your acquaintances here know any details about your mother.”
She shivered, and George’s heart beat faster. Everything about her was attracting him to her, and she did not even know it. It was to be sweet torture then, staying in this cage of a room with her for hours on end, unable to touch, unable to taste –
“Thank you,” said Florence as she shivered once more. “I like you, my lord, though you may find it strange to hear that. You are a good man.”
Her eyes flickered down to him as she leaned forwards slightly on the chair. “And a handsome man, I will admit. Though of course, you already know that.”
If she had not spoken this way, George surely would not have acted. If those words had not left her lips, those pink and welcoming lips, then surely he would have been able to restrain himself.
But she did speak, and those words of honesty, tinged with desire, were enough to drive him over a cliff face he had known he was dancing too close to the edge.
Gathering up his discarded greatcoat in one hand, George moved forward onto his knees before her.
“You are cold,” he said in a low voice, brimming with passion. “Here.”
In a swift movement, he swung the greatcoat around her shoulders, and then clasped her hands in his own.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her eyes staring deeply into his own.
George hesitated for a moment. Once he stepped over this line, he would know; he would feel her reaction, she would not need to spell it out in words. Either he was welcome, or . . .
“No,” she said quietly.