Rakefield gave a heavy sigh before departing.
Florence, exhausted from the argument, took a seat on the couch and hoped she’d made the right decision. Elipha, though she didn’t know it herself, deserved more. She deserved children and love and from the way she treated Mary and Lily, it was likely that she would make a good mother, most likely a better mother than many of the ton. She knew Elipha missed her child whenever she was near the girls. More than once, she’d heard Elipha choke with grief in the midst of a sentence. It was another reason she spent so much time at Aaron’s. She simply didn’t wish to see anyone else except for her cousin’s daughters.
Florence looked up when the door opened and rose at the sight of Rollo. He stood at the door looking his usual handsome self. His hair seemed slightly mussed, perhaps from the snow. He was staring at her and his black eyes had that glorious gem look.
He smiled as he closed the door behind him while looking her over before saying, “You’re wearing blue. It suits you.”
Florence didn’t think before crossing the room. She simply did and then threw her arms around him. He hugged her back just as quickly, giving her exactly what she needed. She drew comfort from his strength and scent, the feel of his woolen jacket against her cheek, the heat that poured from his neck.
She gasped as he picked her up and carried her to the couch, taking her down with him and sat her on his side, pressing her close to his own body. He was leaning over her, around her. One arm stretched behind her head while the other was placed before her. His chest was like a large wall, caving in, coming closer. Florence tried to move away, but his arms moved in to hold her securely.
“This isn’t wise.”
“Calm down,” he told her. “Tell me what happened.” His grip on her conveyed that he had no intentions of letting her go and when she looked into his eyes, the amount of tenderness she saw there was brutal to the last fragile threads of restraint that she’d placed around her heart in an effort to protect her sanity. This large, imposing, and powerful man was not hers and yet her senses were far too abused to put up much a fight.
Before she could stop herself, she simply rested her head on his shoulder and let out a deep sigh. “I think I just did something woefully terrible.”
Instantly, his arms went around her, pulling her closer, holding her as though she were something he truly cared for.
“Aaron told me you’d been meeting with a gentleman who’d been inquiring after Elipha.” He took a breath before asking, “Did he… touch you?”
She sat up and looked at him. “No, he hardly came near me at all, always keeping his distance.”
His brows had been pulled together, but as she spoke the tension left his body and he relaxed with a nod. “What happened?”
She frowned. “I sent him away because he’d been cruel to my lady. I didn’t dare let him go near Elipha. I wouldn’t change what I did if I had the chance again, but she’ll likely remove me from my position if she finds out. I overstepped. It’s wasn’t my right.”
“You obviously saw a threat and got rid of it. If anything, you deserve a raise.”
She scoffed. “I don’t think so. Not with Elipha.” She stared at him and shook her head. “I’ve told you too much. I shouldn’t be sharing these things with you.” She wished there was room to wonder why she’d told him so much, but she knew why. It was because of their ‘friendship’. They were building something that would hurt when it came time for them to go separate ways. She’d already warned herself of not thinking they’d be friends forever. She willingly took what he offered and when things became harder, when she could no longer hide her desire for him, she would walk away. She’d probably have to end her service with Elipha, which didn’t leave her many choices. There was always the chance that her drawing in Babbler could lead to something more, more work, more commissions. There was hope in that way of life.
Rollo grabbed her hand and his eyes softened right before his lips did. “You can tell me anything, Florence. I’ll never betray your trust. I swear it.”
She smiled. “And you can always do the same. I hope you realize that.” She touched his cheek with her free hand and laughed, enjoying the freedom she had with him. He was so near, so very there. It was their strange friendship that tied them together on the surface, but it was easy to tell that they shared a strong sexual connection. Though he’d forbidden her from kissing him again, he’d not said that he hadn’t enjoyed their kiss. Her smile brightened. “Thank you.”
He lifted a brow. “I’ve done nothing.” His hand was now playing with the one that he held, caressing her fingers and mapping out its lines. She did not have the hands of a lady. While for a time her fingers had been much more delicate, since she wasn’t made to clean as hard as other maids did, Scotland had changed that. She’d been the only servant for Elipha and that had been hard.
But for him to touch her with such care nearly made it hard for her to breathe. She had to clear her throat before she could speak. “Well, you may feel as though you’ve done nothing, but I’m very glad you’re someone I call friend.” She was. She truly and deeply was. Perhaps she couldn’t have the world, but she could have this for as long as that was.
He smiled lazily. “I don’t want you to worry about anything, Florence. If Elipha lets you go, which I doubt she will, we’ll protect you.”
There was that ‘we’ again. Was it the same ‘we’ that Aaron had been referring to?
“Who are we?” she asked.
“The brotherhood.”
She was surprised. “Why would the brotherhood care about me?”
He didn’t answer, and though she truly wished to get a response, his next statement threw her off completely. “I met your brother this morning.”
She panicked. “Did you tell him you knew me?”
He frowned, and his fingers stopped. “Yes, I did.”
Florence tried to take her hand back and to move away, but Rollo wouldn’t let her go.
“Why does that bother you?” he asked. “Are you ashamed of me?”
She stilled and stared at him in bewilderment. Part of her wanted to hit him over the head, though she wasn’t sure it would do him any good since she suspected that he’d lost his mind. “Ashamed of you? How could I ever?”
He leaned away and then stood, turning away. “You wouldn’t be the first.”
She stood and stared at his back, the wide span of his shoulders and his lean waist. His hair had grown since they’d first met, at least an inch longer. He was so devilishly handsome no matter the angle. He was also smart and witty. How anyone could be ashamed of him she didn’t understand. “Who is ashamed of you?” She nearly threatened to do them bodily harm once she found them, that was now tied her emotions were to this man. She knew then that their friendship would have to end soon. Hopefully, he would find love during the Season and she would be forgotten.
That thought didn’t sit well with her, but there was no denying its truth. “No one could be ashamed of you, Rollo.”
“Maybe not shame,” he said, without looking at her. “But obviously, something drives people away.”
“What people?”
He looked at her then, a terrible storm raging in his black eyes. She was surprised to not see lightning flash in them as his entire body tensed. She should have been afraid. Her feet should have moved to the door, but instead she moved forward and reached up to place her hands on his shoulders. “What people?”
“My parents,” he whispered.
She’d thought she’d misheard him so asked again. “What?”
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CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
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Sharing with her as he was now had not been a part of Rollo’s plan. He’d feared just how quickly she’d turn away from him as well, but when she’d said he was able to share anythin
g with her, he’d known he had to test the theory, to see if he could truly trust her before he gave her everything, before he turned his heart over to her hands with her full knowledge. He had to know, face his fears, and hope for the best.
He stared at her stunned expression and knew she’d heard him clearly. He took in her pale blue uniform once more and noticed how well it complemented her pale skin, making her look like a young maiden than the full, caring, and radiant woman he knew her to be. The woman he loved, who never stopped amazing him.
He could only hope that she would surprise him yet again. “My parents. My parents left me.”
“You mean when they went on holiday?” she frowned. “Did you want to go with them?”
“Yes, I mean, no.” He took a deep breath. “I mean, I did wish to go with them, but I was far too used to them leaving me behind to worry about them leaving me yet again.” He closed his eyes momentarily and looked at her again. “What I hadn’t planned on was for them to go on a never-ending holiday in which they’d never return to me.”
She gasped and covered her mouth. “You mean, your parents are still alive?”
“I don’t know,” he confessed. “But it’s possible. My father never wanted my mother’s money. Since a boy, he always managed to grow something from nothing. It was my mother he wanted. He loved her. Anything and everything else was disposable.”
“But not you.” She cupped his cheeks gently and met his eyes. “No one could ever leave you behind, Rollo. It’s not possible.” Her dark gold eyes sparked as though mad that he’d even considered it.
He smiled down at her. She’d left him without words once again. He covered one of her hands with his own. “You didn’t know my parents. I was always treated like nothing more than a footman, someone to dress up and leave standing in a corner.”
“Oh, Rollo. I’m so sorry.” She shook her head and looked at him again. “It sounds dreadful, but I still can’t believe that they would leave you behind.”
“Would you have?” he asked. Would she now? Would she ever?
Her eyes flashed again, their depths reflecting the strength of hardened bronze. “Never.”
It was all he needed to hear.
And because he could hold it no longer, he leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek.
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Florence felt the pressure of his mouth, felt the heat that poured from his body, and stiffened right before she melted into him.
And when his lips began to drift away, she turned her head and caught them with her own.
Immediately, the feelings she’d been holding back burst through her heart like a dam. Love, lust, and a need so possessive it was all-consuming swept through her body and anchored her to his mouth.
Or perhaps it was his hand that did it when he lifted it to bring her closer.
A fluttering took off in her heart at the realization that he wasn’t pulling away but dragging her closer and taking over where she’d begun. He ate from her mouth as though he owned every corner of it, using a bold tongue to part her lips, kissing her as though he knew her, knew what she liked and how to make her hotter.
But then, as though to combat the fierceness in which the kiss had begun, he ended slowly and sweetly. She clung to him, leaning up on her toes, not wanting it to end, and felt him smile against her lips before he spoke.
“You’re an enchanting woman, Florence.”
She returned his smile. She’d never been called enchanting before and wasn’t sure it was wise to believe him. So, they’d shared a kiss. It would mean nothing once the ton flooded into London. Perhaps she could add kissing into their ever-growing list of things that made their friendship different than all the others she’d ever had and probably would never have again. “You didn’t pull away this time,” she whispered as he dropped her feet to the ground.
He placed his hand behind her neck and stroked her cheek with his thumb. “I no longer have the need or will to resist you.”
She blushed, though his comment confused her slightly. Why had he needed to resist before? She was a maid and had made herself boldly available to him a month ago. Did he turn down all offers or just the ones that came from her? Did he do it for some sort of saintly benefit or was it something else?
Or someone else. Someone he was trying to stay faithful to.
She felt a touch of sickness settle in her stomach if that was the case. “Are you engaged?”
He seemed taken back by the question. “No. Why do you ask?”
“You’ve given no woman the intention that you wish to marry her?”
His eyes softened, and he stared at her for a moment before touching her nose. “Florence, there is no other woman.”
She fought a grin, though she knew it was ridiculous of her. No other woman, he’d said, as though she were important to him, as though he saw her as his own.
There was a knock on the door, and Florence went to answer it. A maid told her that Elipha was looking for her, and Florence recalled her reason for existence. She woke up, worked, ate, worked some more, and then went to bed. That was her life and the sight of the maid plunged her back into its reality.
And yet somewhere through her usual routine, Rollo had implemented himself, a form of pleasure and entertainment she’d not been prepared for.
She felt his presence behind her as the maid left. He turned her around and wrapped his arms around her. His face had returned to a look she recalled, the one he used when he had something important to say. The lines of his face became hard, his surprisingly soft mouth flattened, his eyes were blank of emotion.
“If Elipha gives you any trouble, which I doubt she will, but if so, you will come to me and I’ll make it right. I’ll not have you worrying over nothing.”
She placed her hands on his arms and met his eyes. “And what if I do come to you? What will you do for me?” She hoped he didn’t believe she’d easily become his mistress if she lost employment. Though the position of lady’s maid paid well, she could find other work. “I could manage what happens on my own.”
“I’ve no doubt that you could,” he told her. “But I want to help. It’s what friends are for.”
“And how would you help?”
He shrugged a heavy shoulder. “I don’t know. Perhaps I’d help you begin a career as a curator, something where you can enjoy your love of art. You have such a gift, Florence. It shouldn’t remain hidden.”
She smiled at his reply and every beat of her heart became whispered words of love and devotion. “I like painting,” she said because she couldn’t stop herself. Her pulse moved quicker and she waited for him to put two and two together, for him to realize that she’d been the one to draw his likeness and have it placed on the cover of Babbler.
“I’m not surprised.” He stared at her with an expression that Florence couldn’t read. He seemed at peace, and she thought it best to leave that image in her head for the rest of the day so that when she returned to her room that night, she could draw him and add it to her every growing collection of him.
“I better go.” She turned to the door.
He turned her back around and kissed her, sending heat shimmering in her veins once more before leaning away. “You should go to the bookstore around noon tomorrow. I’m sure the children would enjoy a day out.”
She was still dazed by the kiss and thus her eyes were closed. “Why would we go to the bookstore?” She moaned when his mouth caught hers again, his hands gripping her hips.
“Because, I will be there.” His voice was husky now, almost strained, his hold on the edge of painful and deep in pleasure.
“All right.” If he’d asked her to meet on the roof of St. Paul, she’d have met him there as well.
He let her go and took a few steps away.
Florence fled while she could, all the while asking herself what was happening between them. Were they still nothing more than friends?
Or was there something else?
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CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
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Rollo arrived early at the bookstore because his reasons for being there went further than simply needing a way to see Florence again. Rollo had done some research and discovered the publisher who owned the bookstore had once owned Babbler. Rollo thought there might be a way to discover the article’s writer that way… given the right incentives, of course.
If not, then he hoped to at least be pointed in the right direction. He thought it pointless to go straight to the source because he knew they’d tell him nothing. Babbler protected their writers like a hen to her chicks. He would rant and rave and perhaps, collaborating with his friends, close the paper down for good. That would get him nowhere, though, because like an infection, Babbler would one day show its ugly head once more with simply another name.
Tilman’s Publishing was located where the heart of London started to become Westminster, a very popular location for shops and those who wished to pursue them. Rollo was stopped on the sidewalk more than once by an admiring lady who had her own copy of Babbler. Some had simply ripped the cover off and would show him the folded sheet as through to prove their love. The adoration for something he’d had no hand in left him at a loss.
It had been different when the Men of Nashwood had been favored by the public last Season. Last year, his likeness had not been readily available to point him out. Now it was, and even though the magazine had printed a week ago, other papers had retold the event as though it merited repeating.
In the end, it only made him more determined to find out the bold woman or man who’d brought the public to his door.
Florence’s Stupendous Spinster’s Society Page 17