by Jane Ashford
He went still. “You…shouldn’t be here,” he said, his voice suddenly thick.
She barely heard through the pulse drumming in her ears. A kiss now would far surpass the ones in the garden; she was sure of that. Her gaze traced the strong column of his neck down to the muscles of his chest.
“Are you listening to me?” He went to the door, then stopped at sounds of people in the corridor outside. “Everyone’s changing after the hunt. The halls are full of servants.”
As if this was a cue, there was a brisk knock on the door. The knob turned.
In an instant, Robert was beside her. “It’s Bailey,” he murmured in her ear. “I rang for him earlier.” The door opened. He pushed her behind it and blocked the panels from moving farther. “Ah, there you are,” he said.
“My lord,” replied an emotionless voice.
“You know, I believe I’ll lie down for a bit of a rest, Bailey. Freezing out there today.”
“Of course, my lord. Shall I bring tea? Or some hot broth, perhaps?”
“No, no. Just give me an hour or so. I’ll change later.”
“Very well, my lord. I’ll leave these neckcloths in the—”
“I’ll take them.”
“But, my lord.”
There was a rustling, as of cloth being tugged, then Robert said, “Plato, where are you going?”
Flora could see nothing but the door panels inches from her face.
“The animal is sitting at the end of the corridor, my lord. Staring.” The valet’s tone made his distaste for the dog very clear.
“Take him down to the kitchen,” Robert said. “Cook loves to cosset him.”
“We had established that the creature was not my responsibility” came the icy reply.
“He isn’t. Just leave him in the kitchen. Thank you, Bailey.” Robert shut the door. Flora could easily imagine the valet’s outrage.
Robert let out his breath. He had no key to the door’s lock. He’d have to trust Bailey to do as he’d asked, which he would. Robert turned to Flora. She had her arms wrapped around her body. “You’re still cold.” He threw the stack of neckcloths on a chair and fetched his dressing gown. “Here.” He went to put it around her.
His hands lingered on her shoulders. He couldn’t make himself remove them. It wasn’t only desire that throbbed in him. Seeing to her comfort was such an intimate gesture. Being married would be full of such small caresses, as well as passion, he realized. It would offer a thousand new sensations. The idea was as seductive as her lovely face and form.
Flora turned under his hands. She didn’t move away from him. She leaned in and raised her face to his. He could do nothing but kiss her.
Her arms slid around him. Her fingers left trails of heat on his skin, palpable through the thin cloth of his shirt. She pressed close, and he pulled her closer. They kissed for an eternity, paused, and kept on kissing. Before he knew what he was doing, he had her backed up against the bed.
“When you kiss me, I just…melt,” she whispered.
Robert would have said that he couldn’t be more aroused, but that did it.
She’d gotten her hands under his shirt. They slid across his back, down his sides, over the taut muscles of his belly. Robert shivered. Without consulting him, his arms lifted her onto the bed. She urged him to another kiss, her knees parting to let him move closer. When she relaxed as if to fall back on the coverlet, Robert held her upright. “Flora…this isn’t… I don’t want you to think that I—”
“I’m not thinking,” she murmured. “And it’s absolutely delightful.”
She pulled him down with her, and Robert’s scruples flamed to ash in a welter of tenderness and desire. He touched her the way he’d been dreaming of doing—forever, it seemed. Fingertips to silken skin, lips trailing kisses, he did everything he knew to make certain her pleasure was as incandescent as his. He took it as a triumph when she cried out in release and entered her with every bit of care and control he could muster. She hesitated only briefly. Then their bodies’ rhythm caught and meshed and mounted in tandem. Release took him by a storm.
Afterward, they lay tangled together with discarded clothing and the twisted coverlet while breath and pulses slowed. “Are you all right?” Robert murmured.
“It was my choice, and I’m happy—very happy—with it.” Flora smiled and kissed him. She stretched luxuriously. Her body wanted nothing more than to nestle in his arms for the rest of the day. She rested her head on his shoulder.
He smoothed her hair with gentle fingers, savored the sight of her at his side. “You never said what you were doing on my, er, doorstep.”
“I was searching Anthony Durand’s room. Lydia Fotheringay came in, so I had to sneak out onto the parapet.”
Robert went very still against her. “I cannot have heard that correctly.”
“I’ve discovered something, you see, which will—”
“Durand might have walked in on you!”
“I got away. I wonder if he caught Mrs. Fotheringay with her bag of keys.” That would not have been a happy meeting.
“What?”
“She came in to snoop. Also.” It was rather pitiable, Flora thought, remembering the older woman crouched over Durand’s wooden chest with her hoarded keys. “She’s made a poor choice of lovers.” The last word reverberated in Flora’s brain, in the very air of the room. It held vivid echoes of his kisses, the touch of his hands.
“But what the deuce were you doing?” Robert said.
“Looking for validation of a theory.”
Robert rose on one elbow and looked down into her face. “A theory. About Durand. Flora, you—”
“About his activities here at Salbridge,” she interrupted. “Mr. Wrentham told me something that gave me an idea.” Before he could speak again, Flora quickly explained her reasoning. Robert grasped the details at once. The combination of a fine mind and such a handsome form was all one could ask for in a man, she thought.
“It makes sense,” Robert said. “Durand would enjoy defying Salbridge in that underhanded way. And there are young men here who would revel in illicit card games.” They’d find it less appealing if they knew they were being systemically fleeced, he thought. He had no doubt Durand was cheating.
“I thought there might be evidence among his things,” Flora said. “It was only one idea. I have others.”
Robert suppressed a shudder at the pictures this conjured up. “If there’s anything to find, Durand hasn’t left it lying about. The man is clever, Flora. And dangerous.”
“I know,” she answered fiercely. “He must be stopped.”
She was obviously thinking of more than gambling. He didn’t want Flora anywhere near Durand, Robert thought. They could simply share her suspicions with Salbridge and let their host handle the matter. “We could go, you know,” he said. “Leave for London tomorrow. Get a special license and marry in Russell Square. Your mother would like that, wouldn’t she?”
Flora pulled a little away from him, her eyes wide and wary.
“But it’s not that simple,” Robert added.
She stared at him. “How do you know what I’m thinking?”
“Tell me why it isn’t.” He wanted to understand everything about her.
Flora let out a breath. After a moment, she said, “That’s what people do—walk away, look away. Retreat into their comfortable lives. And so no one stops men like Durand and Lord Royalton. No one stands up to them.” Her hands closed into fists. “When I set up my refuge for the street children, I was so proud at first. Smug, really, about sheltering and feeding them—which it is imperative to do, of course. But gradually I learned that physical comforts don’t erase what’s been done to many of them.” She shook her head.
Robert hated to see the sadness in her face.
“Telling their stories—and hearing
the injustices condemned—can help, a bit. So I listened. To such dreadful tales, full of helplessness and futility.”
She shivered. Robert drew her closer.
“But that’s not enough either. We must stop the villains before the harm has been done!”
Robert saw that it was no use saying this was just about a card game. Because in her mind, it wasn’t. She’d connected this incident to the past, and Durand now stood for much more. Deservedly, Robert supposed. The man obviously had few scruples. He’d admitted he was looking for opportunities to do the Greshams a bad turn. No, Robert didn’t want Durand out there either, ready to target any member of his family at any time. He had to be neutralized. “I can take care of this,” he said without thinking.
Flora sat up. “I am not tossing all my woes on you. Like some…damsel in distress.” She reached for her petticoat and held it to her chest. “I can take care of it myself.”
There was a final factor, Robert realized. A very delicate balance. Could they find their way to the sort of restorative experience Randolph had described? “But isn’t that the thing about love? That you don’t always have to?”
Flora’s pulse jumped at the easy, certain way he said love. She’d earned her father’s love through years of study. He’d despised laziness and shirking; he’d been quite cold when she’d failed to master all he asked. With her mother, it always felt as if the whole world trembled in the balance when Flora faltered. “You don’t feel that it’s weak to need help?” she said slowly.
Robert smiled up at her. It struck Flora, again, that they were in bed. Together. Oddly, this eased some of the tension that had begun to tighten her shoulders.
“Would you call my father weak?” he asked.
“The duke?” If Flora had been asked to name a person without weaknesses, she might well have chosen the Duke of Langford. She shook her head.
“Well, he has asked me for help.”
She tried to imagine the rather awe-inspiring figure she’d met in Oxford doing such a thing.
“A few years ago, this silly chit of a deb got the notion that Papa was her ‘destined mate.’ Didn’t matter that he was married. And that he adores Mama. Or that he gave her no encouragement. She was convinced he was going to throw his life out the window for her.”
“But he told her he wasn’t interested?” Flora suspected that Robert was using this story to lighten the mood. She found she didn’t mind.
“Oh yes. Nicely. And then firmly. And finally quite sharply. She ignored it all. Papa said she didn’t appear to hear his actual words when he talked to her. She went all dewy-eyed, and some kind of epic story seemed to run in her head instead. He was worried she’d put herself in a compromising position.”
“Not him?”
“Well, yes, but that wouldn’t be quite the same.”
“No.” Men, particularly noblemen, could brush through most scandals unscathed, Flora thought.
“She was increasingly rude to Mama as well, so Papa asked me for help.”
“Because you’re known for your social address,” Flora responded.
“Precisely.” He smiled at her again.
Without really noticing, Flora let her petticoat drop. “It sounds like a situation that would require more than polite bows and compliments.”
“Well, it did. I went to her younger sister—”
“Not her parents?” It seemed natural to lie down beside him once again.
“No, they were…rather a nightmare. Made one see where some of the girl’s problems came from. But the sister had…has a good head on her shoulders. Trouble was, she was still in the schoolroom.”
“You appealed to a schoolgirl?” Flora smiled. “How did you even get to her?”
“I had to lurk about a circulating library for several days.”
Flora laughed.
“Exactly. But I did it, and spoke to the sister, and got her to see the problem. She managed to wangle a trip to Harrowgate to visit their grandmother. Now there was an exceedingly sensible woman. Once the matter was explained to her, she set the chit straight. Found her a very suitable husband, too. They’re quite fond of each other.”
“How do you know?” Flora wondered.
“I made it my business to know. I wasn’t going to fob her off to a life of misery.”
Flora gazed at him with tender admiration, and not only for the merits his story revealed. She felt vastly better.
“Promised I wouldn’t spread that story,” Robert added. “So you mustn’t mention it.”
“I won’t.”
“The point is, we stand together. I’ve helped out my brothers as well. And they’ve done the same for me. Weakness doesn’t even come into it.”
Just a few months ago, she’d seen the Greshams as snobbish and trivial, Flora thought. It was disorienting to substitute this very different picture, and to see herself as part of it.
“So we’re in this together, eh?”
Flora nodded. “I’ll…do my best,” she said. Even as the words left her lips, she remembered her father’s characteristic response to this phrase. “Those who excel aren’t limited by some preconceived definition of their best.”
Robert pulled her into his arms. He held her as if he wanted to be a bulwark against every ill. Then he drew back, muttering, “Bailey will be back in a few minutes. Why didn’t I tell him two hours?”
Flora had to laugh, though she saw her frustration mirrored in his face. She picked up the petticoat and slipped off the bed to dress. It was a little unsettling to do so in front of him, even though he was busy pulling on his own clothes. She used his brush to tidy her hair, a curiously intimate act.
When she was ready, Robert checked the corridor. “All clear,” he murmured. Flora stepped out and hurried away, before she was seen in this part of the house.
Robert went back to the bed to straighten the covers. Her scent lingered in them, and he breathed it in. He loved his family. He’d imagined himself in love a time or two in his youth and enjoyed some tender connections with willing ladies later on. But he’d never felt anything like this. His love for Flora made his life feel larger.
Fifteen
Flora reached back to fasten her small string of pearls around her neck. She couldn’t get the clasp closed. It occurred to her that if Robert was here, he could do it for her. Although that might lead to taking off more than pearls. Which would make her late for dinner. Which wouldn’t do.
When Flora looked up into the mirror above the dressing table, she found that she was smiling a smug, secret smile. The memory of his fingers on her skin was delicious. The mere thought of his kisses made her sigh with longing. She’d taught Robert how to read cuneiform tablets, but he had shown her that the body had as much to offer as the mind. More perhaps. And she would have the chance to study this new subject thoroughly in years to come, because Robert had asked her to marry him. Tacitly. It had been more of an assumption than a proposal, but Flora didn’t mind. She wasn’t a stickler for social formalities. Or…perhaps she’d make him do it over in proper form. She imagined the grand Lord Robert Gresham down on one knee before her. Yes. She might tease him a little before she confirmed that she would marry him.
She would marry him! The knowledge sang in her veins. Their months of studying and sparring had come down to this. He hadn’t been dissembling last spring as he bent with her over her father’s lifework. He truly cared for her. She had the answer she’d come here to find. She loved him. It had taken quite a time to see it, but she surely did.
Flora’s pulse accelerated at the thought of being his wife. Together, they would explore the delights of desire, as conscientiously as she had cuneiform or Akkadian or any other arcane subject. And when they’d plumbed the depths of passion, they would also have the congruence of their minds. They’d always have something to say to each other. Not that they would always
agree.
Flora smiled at the thought. But the sparks that flew in a good argument could be as exciting as a caress. Robert was a partner to match her at every point. Flora lost herself in a dream of the future, until the sound of people passing outside the door recalled her. She needed to hurry, or she’d be late for dinner.
Flora was not a good house-party guest that evening. She barely made it downstairs in time to follow the others into the dining room. Despite occasional prodding from the young men on either side of her, she said very little during the meal. She couldn’t keep her mind on the food, or the filthy weather that had cut short the shooting that day, or the exciting plans that had been announced for Guy Fawkes Day next week. Her thoughts inevitably drifted off again, and she lost the thread of the conversation. She kept falling into a reverie, hugging the interlude with Robert to her in silent delight. She could almost see the appeal of an illicit love affair. There was a thrill to sitting among an oblivious crowd with a delicious secret.
Her distraction persisted when the ladies went through to the drawing room after dinner. Frances Reynolds commented on it more than once, and finally left her to talk with some of the other young ladies. Flora felt a touch of guilt. She was so happy, while Frances was dispirited about Mr. Wrentham’s snub and later departure. She vowed she’d find a way to help her younger friend. In London, next season, as Robert’s wife, Flora would be in a perfect position to do so. This idea sent Flora back into a lovely daydream, which lasted until Sir Liam Malloy sat down beside her. “Luck is with me for a change, to find you alone,” he said.
Flora gave him a smile and nod in greeting.
“This isn’t a very private setting, but on the other hand, no one is listening. And I really can’t wait any longer.”
“Sir Liam—” Flora began, afraid she knew what was coming.
“I had memorized several pretty speeches,” he interrupted. “But they started to sound more like the play than life. So I will be plain and direct. Miss Jennings, I admire and love you. Will you be my wife?”
Flora wanted to be both firm and kind. “I’m very sensible of the honor you do me, but I must refuse.”