But what he had discovered about her was that Florence had an allure about her that didn’t only call to him but some of the other men as well. He’d been ready to take on Julius, and William’s comment in the library had not surprised him, but Aaron was one he’d not been prepared for.
“Don’t lie and say you don’t know what I’m talking about.”
Aaron’s lips twitched, and he stuck his hands in his pockets. “That is not what I was going to say. What I meant was that I was unprepared.”
“Unprepared?” Rollo asked him.
His friend smiled. “She is lovely. I like hearing her talk.” His cheeks warmed, a look Rollo had never seen on Aaron before. Aaron did not become besotted with women. Aaron had two emotions, hot rage and cool rage. Loss had made an anger burn deep within him that the others were always having to restrain. He’d been doing so well during the beginning of the Season, considering everything that had been going on, but close to the end, he’d snapped. He’d been witness to one of Helsby’s encounters with Sophia and had been forced to threaten the man with bodily harm if he ever came near Sophia again. Then Sophia was kidnapped. Now that Helsby was dead, the subject seemed to set Aaron off, which was why he’d ensured the conversation end in the carriage.
But now, there seemed to be little anger in Aaron. The Earl of Jeanshire had calmed after only hours in Florence’s sweet company.
Rollo stilled and pointed a finger at him. “You’re not to go after her. Swear it to me.”
Aaron lifted his hands. “How could I go after her when you are bound to not? That would be unfair. I’ll not be unfair to you. I’ll not go after her.”
Rollo settled, though something still nagged at him. He narrowed his eyes but was distracted when Florence came into the room. She gasped, clutching the same brown book from the other night to her chest. “Oh, I beg your pardon.” She slipped out just as quickly as she’d come.
Rollo went after her. “I’m only going to apologize for my behavior earlier.”
“Of course,” Aaron said with humor as he left.
Rollo went down the hall and caught sight of Florence’s skirts as she moved into the sitting room and closed the door behind her. He’d just closed the door behind him when she jumped up from her chair.
“I’ll take my leave,” she said.
He didn’t move from the door. “No, I wanted to speak to you. I wanted to apologize.”
“There’s no need, sir.” She looked at the floor, taking on the demeanor of a maid once more. He didn’t like it, especially now that he’d seen her stand up to him and his friends. He wanted the real her and not the one draped in servant black.
From the moment he’d seen her, Rollo had known what sort of woman was inside her. He’d called truth when he’d said she’d be dangerous if she were anything more than a maid. He’d seen open compassion and kindness light her eyes, and they were emotions capable of tugging at the hearts of the Men of Nashwood. All the women they chose were that way. It was as though women who let their inner lights shine had been managing to take their breaths one at a time.
Rollo was sure he had some feelings where Florence was concerned but the biggest of them was lust. At the moment, and for the next month, he would block that emotion. Right now, he needed her to see his sincerity.
Though she couldn’t see it if she didn’t meet his eyes, and he’d never know if he reached her if she didn’t look at him.
And that mattered greatly to him.
“Look at me.”
* * *
Florence opened her eyes, lifted her head, and stared into Rollo’s eyes, the dark gems surrounded by thick lashes. It was only noon and a shadow had already formed on his hard jaw. She marveled at how quickly his beard grew. Perhaps it was the reason he didn’t bother with cutting the hair on his head in the fashionable way. He wore it pulled back at the moment and his expression was tender.
She looked down again and stiffened when he crossed to her.
“Look at me, Florence.” His hand touched her chin, and he gently lifted her face toward his. The soft look on his face made her heart leap, made her want to look at the floor again, if only in this man’s presence.
His next words seemed to be spoken at the end of her thoughts. “In the company of others, you may look wherever suits you and your station, but when we are alone, I want your eyes.”
“It is indecent for a maid to look her betters in the eye,” she decided to say, to remind him of just who she was and who he was. “Even now, it would be better for me to blend into the curtains than to look at you this way, to stand so close.”
“You could never blend into anything,” he told her promptly. “You couldn’t even blend into a crowd.”
Her lips twitched. “Perhaps a crowd of mourners.” She was referring to her clothes.
He laughed, his white teeth flashing, his eyes dancing with the purity of the joy of the moment.
She was stunned into silence and didn’t know if it was simply his nearness or the fragrance of his cologne and the sounds of that deep beautiful melody that poured from his lips, but she knew she wanted it all at that moment. Before she could think better of it, she leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his.
The heat she recalled from the other night poured into her veins and settled in her core. She wanted him. She didn’t wish to deny it anymore. Even if it was only for a few moments or simply during their time in Gretna Green, she wanted him.
His arms went around her, and she barely managed to place her book on the table at her side before he deepened the kiss. He grabbed the back of her head, cradling her as his other hand spread down her back and rested on her bottom.
Her vision blurred, and she swayed closer, wanting more. “Dear God.” Was this what he felt when he touched her? Overcome with a heat that seemed to blaze like a fire that would eat at her very flesh if she didn’t find a way to put it out?
Abruptly, he broke the kiss and took a step away from her.
She reached out and grabbed hold of a high wingback chair, placing herself behind it. Not in a way that indicated she wished him to stay away, but as if she could hide her shame from him. What had she done?
She knew what she’d done; she’d simply assumed he’d not reject her. He’d wanted her, hadn’t he? She’d been willing, but now she regretted it. “I’m sorry.”
“No.” He was still stunned, simply staring at her. Then he gave her his broad back and moved a few paces away.
She watched him in fascination and thought every side of him beautiful. He turned back to her, and his face lacked expression.
“I should be the one to apologize. I should never have touched you the way I did.”
She tightened her hold on the couch as pain shot through her chest. He was finally seeing her for who she was and regretted lowering himself. She’d been too bold, acting like a common courtesan. She was neither that nor the woman he wished to marry. She shouldn’t have kissed him. “It’s not your fault. You came here to apologize. I took advantage of you.”
He crossed to her, coming to stand by the chair, and placed his hands over hers. She would have looked where his hand was if she wasn’t shocked by the humor in his eyes. “No, Florence. You did not take advantage of me. I wanted you to kiss me. You did exactly what I wanted you to do.”
She let the words play in her mind over and over again, but they didn’t make sense. “What you do mean? How?”
He smiled sheepishly. “Proximity, for one. I’d already crossed barriers last night and again a few moments ago, making it easier for you to do the same, to think it less forbidden.”
She stared at him and truly saw him for who he was, just as he’d been the moment they met. He was one of the Men of Nashwood. No matter how he may flirt with her, Elipha’s words rang true; he was not for her. Not ever. Just a dream.
Even now, where they touched, once the moment was over, it would be as it never was, a memory for her to ponder years from now but little less. She’d met on
e of the most coveted men in London. He’d be a fascinating story for her friends— if they believed her, but she could never expect that story to turn into a fairytale. “How many times have you done this?”
“Done what?”
“Wooed a maid, made her willing?” she asked because she needed to know, needed him to crush her dreams and leave her bare and ready for a man who would be more than just an illusion. She wanted her obsession with him to die where they stood. “How many maids have you bedded?”
He watched her with caution. “I don’t believe a gentleman should answer that question.”
“Believe me, sir. I won’t faint.” She tried to steal back her hand, but his fingers closed around hers until they were a strong grip.
“I want us to be friends, Florence.”
She laughed. “Friends? Why?” She was confused. She’d have readily thought his offer for friendship stemmed from him wanting her in his bed but since he’d already apologized for touching her inappropriately, she was sure that wasn’t the reason. So, what did he want from her? “I’m a servant.”
“And you’re helping my friend during one of the most trying times of his life. That makes us friends.”
“No, it simply makes me a servant to your friend.” She tried to take her hand back again.
He wouldn’t let her go. “What would be the harm in having me for a friend?” His eyes held hers without the hint of humor.
She stared at him and still nothing made sense. “What reason can you give that would make me believe you actually wish to be my friend?”
“You’re kind, funny, and speak the truth.” He smiled. “Why wouldn’t I want you for a friend?”
She tilted her head and glared as she tried to see herself as friends with the man before her. “I don’t know, Mr. Kerry. It seems odd.”
He shook his head. “There’s nothing odd about it. You’d fit in lovely with our group.”
“Group?” Her blood ran cold, and her stomach turned. He meant for her to befriend the entire group? “I can’t.”
“You can.” He leaned toward her. “We already like you. All of us. The men and the women.”
She blinked. “Really? But I’ve only seen them occasionally.”
“And on those occasions, you’ve been very helpful. Those are the kind of friends we like.”
Florence was lost. He didn’t wish to have sex with her, yet wished to call her friend. He said everyone liked her, which she doubted very much, but without seeing the harm in it, she really didn’t see why she couldn’t claim them to be friends… if only to get her hand back. “Very well, Mr. Kerry. We’re friends.”
“Excellent, and there will be no more Mr. Kerry. We’re friends now, Florence. You can call me Rollo.”
She smiled tightly and pushed the name past her lips. “Rollo, would you be so kind as to give me back my hand?”
He released her instantly. The glimmer of gold caught her eye, and she looked down at his hand. The ring on his glove caught her attention and she gasped.
She grabbed his hand and leaned toward it. “A scarab ring.” She smiled at him. “Who made it for you?” She felt him stiffen under her hold.
“No one made it for me. It was my father’s. I found it in his belongings from one of his trips.” He calmed and then smiled. “It was turning green and rusting. I had it restored before placing it on my finger.”
Florence’s heart rocked in her chest, and she looked back at the ring before looking at him again. “Fool.”
His eyes widened. “I beg your pardon.”
“Fool,” she said again. “You’ve ruined it.” She let out a sigh of pain before looking at the ring again and yes, she could see that it was much older than Rollo probably believed it to be. It was clear that its maker had used ancient tools to form the heliographs. The English had started to take an interest in all things Egyptian over a decade ago in 1799, when the Rosetta Stone was found, a stone that could decipher ancient Egyptian.
“Your father went to Egypt?” she asked.
He was staring at her intensely. “I don’t know. I was told the ring was Greek.“
She shook her head. “No, it’s not.” She was sure of what she saw. Her brother was a curator and had been the one to not only teach her how to speak but had allowed her access to his many books on many subjects. She’d learned to enjoy art and history, though for a woman that did her little good, but she was an excellent lady’s maid. On more than one occasion, she’d aided Elipha in conversations at parties, though always keeping in mind not to seem too knowledgeable.
She looked at the ring again, amazed at what she was seeing. Her brother would faint if he ever saw it.
He took his hand back, and she was about to shout when he presented her with a coin. “Do you know what this is?”
She took the old coin and turned it over. “Bronze.” Then she stared at it and laughed. “It’s Egyptian and Greek. It’s a Ptolemy II coin. He was king of Egypt nearly fifteen hundred years ago.” She handed the coin back to him. “It’s a common collectors’ item. It won’t fetch you as much as the ring.”
His face had been like that of stone since she’d begun speaking and was still that way.
She frowned. “What’s wrong? I know I’m right.”
“You are,” he bit out and then looked down at the ring before closing his hand. “Could someone have collected this ring while in Greece?”
She frowned and shrugged. “I don’t know. Anything is possible.” She tried to give him a smile. “Just imagine. It’s here in Scotland right now.” When he didn’t join her smile, it wavered. She wasn’t sure what she’d done wrong, but the emotions that poured from him made the situation awkward. The maid in her wished to make it better… though perhaps it was also the woman in her who didn’t wish to see this man’s pain. “Can I get you something?”
He shook his head. “No, I must go.” He left without another word, and Florence was left staring at the door.
Slowly, she moved and sunk into the chair. Unsure of what to do, she reached for her book and busied herself with drawing. It would be another few hours before dinner, and Florence had time on her hands.
* * *
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CHAPTER ELEVEN
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Alice released Maura as they slipped into the bedchamber that they shared with Lorena then fell into a chair and covered her face. “Maura, I don’t know what to do.”
Maura’s skirts brushed her own as she neared, and she took Alice’s hands and peeled them away from her face before she knelt in front of Alice. “Alice, you’ve nothing to worry about. He loves you and knows why you’re waiting.” Maura always gave perfect advice, and her soothing voice usually made everything better no matter what she said, but this time it wouldn’t work. Alice was frustrated and confused.
It had been two days since Sophia fell prey to Morris and since then, Alice and had made sure to go nowhere alone, sure that if it were between her and Lorena, she would be the next to fall.
Yet as it happened, she’d not seen Calvin for days, at least not outside of meals. When they ate, he made his intentions very clear, warmth seeming to radiate from his hazel eyes, but so far, he’d yet to try and lure her into a private conversation or catch her in a corner. He’d done nothing more than look at her longingly when they were in a room full of others, not even attempting to touch her outside of escorting her to dinner.
If not for the brushing of smoldering gazes, she was ready to believe that Calvin had given up on her. It was unlike him to be so… calm. Patient even. Calvin was the sort of man who never stopped until he had what he wanted. They’d met at her father’s gentlemen’s club and though it had taken him years to act on his attraction for her, Alice had quickly learned that Calvin did everything like he played a hand of cards, willing to break rules and become almost savage in an effort to
win. Years of cheating hadn’t got him blackballed from the club only because of who he was, Calvin Lockwood, a man who came from a family with great wealth and land. What had gotten him blackballed from Wilkins’ had been their first kiss. Unknown to Alice, she’d been promised to one of her childhood friends who was a banker’s son, but once Calvin staked his claim, there was nothing anyone could do to change it.
Yet they’d held off their wedding because Alice wanted her father present. Before she became Alice Lockwood, she wanted her father to give her away. “Perhaps we could simply have a second ceremony. My father could give me away then.” She smiled tightly at Maura as tears filled her eyes.
Maura’s own eyes began to lightly water. She seemed to naturally feel everything everyone else was feeling, her face serene and sweet. “Perhaps,” she said, not truly giving Alice an answer.
She frowned. “Maura, you’re usually very good at this.”
Maura laughed with glittering blue eyes. “I’m very good with people who are honest with themselves.”
Alice stilled, and her heart jumped. She wondered if Maura could feel her pulse racing where their fingers touched. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Maura tilted her blond head and narrowed her eyes slightly. “Alice, we both know why you truly wait.”
Florence’s Stupendous Spinster’s Society (The Spinster’s Society) (A Regency Romance Book) Page 8
