* * *
Oh god, oh god, thought
Florence
, the refrain uncontrollable. She had to pull Nitwit up before she
reached the house, so shattered were her nerves. She straightened her hair as well as she could, securing
it with what pins she could find among the strands. Her lips burned from Edward's kisses, her breasts from his touch. Indeed, her whole body seemed to vibrate with the pleasure he had shown her. And
when she'd touched him— His blood had drummed beneath his skin. His organ had lengthened and swelled. And he'd pressed its silken head against her flesh as if it would die without a home.
She cupped the place he'd put his mouth. Her pussy, he'd called it. It was still warm, still pulsing and liquid, as if pleasure were a sound that could echo down the years.
Oh, God, what had she done? Certainly nothing a respectable fiancee should do.
The thought chilled her. Was she wrong to marry Freddie when she had these feelings for his brother
and not for him? But Freddie didn't seem to want a wife who had those feelings. No matter what
Edward said about them being normal, surely Freddie was a better guide to what a gentlewoman
ought to be?
Overcome by confusion, she clutched her hands before her mouth. Her body and, yes, her heart had
felt righter with Edward than they ever had before.
Which didn't mean she ought to listen to them.
Edward didn't offer her safety or affection or anything like a future. Edward only offered heartache.
Even if, by some miracle, he were to think of her as a wife, he couldn't be what she needed in a husband, what she'd known she needed since the time she'd found her big, jovial father weeping over a pair of her mother's gloves.
Freddie was what she needed: Freddie's friendship, Freddie's quiet, steady love. He would never break her heart; would never leave her bereft of all that made life worthwhile. And she could be what he needed. She knew she could.
She only had to push these feelings for his brother from her soul.
CHAPTER 11
"You're treating her
like a nun," Edward said.
Propped against a mound of pillows in his bed, Freddie was trying to scratch beneath his bandages with
a billiard cue. On the table beside him two novels lay open, along with a deck of playing cards, a decanter of port, a half-written letter, and a slowly bruising bowl of fruit. Edward recognized the signs of boredom but was not inclined to sympathize. Bored or not, Freddie had responsibilities. Edward intended to see that he upheld them.
If some of his anger was self-directed, that did not lessen Freddie's obligation.
Seemingly unimpressed by Edward's outrage, Freddie squinted at his sibling. "Did
Florence
tell you she felt like a nun?"
"Never mind what she told me. It's got to stop."
Freddie set down the stick. "Does it, now?"
"Yes, damn it!"
"You know, Edward"—Freddie cocked his head— "'when you get angry, there's a big blue vein that
ticks at the side of your neck."
Edward swore,
then
shoved his hands into his pockets. He could feel the vein ticking himself.
"You need to take this seriously, Freddie.
Florence
is a grown woman.
Healthy.
Affectionate.
With all
that implies. She has a right to be treated with
a certain
warmth."
"If I understand what you mean by
'a certain
warmth,' I'd rather not."
Edward blinked. "You'd rather not."
Freddie swung his legs over the side of his bed, grimacing when the injured limb took a moment to settle comfortably. "I'd rather not push
Florence
into a physical relationship. I want her to be able to back out
of this wedding if she changes her mind."
Edward was so overcome with objections he pressed his fist to the furrow above his brows. If Freddie didn't do something about
Florence
, Edward doubted he'd survive the summer with his sanity intact. Seeing her was too painful: knowing she had needs Freddie wasn't satisfying, needs Edward would be
all too happy to satisfy himself. At least once they were married, his oversight would not be necessary.
He could leave the newlyweds to themselves.
He was still shaking his head when Freddie hobbled over to take his arm. "I can't force her. It wouldn't
be fair."
"Nobody's talking about force.
Florence
is fond of you, as I assume you are of her. She doesn't disgust you, does she?"
Freddie looked away. "Of course she doesn't."
"Are you reluctant because you think she'll make you miserable?"
"No one could think that."
"Then do it, Freddie. Treat her like a woman. You have to face it someday. You'd like children,
wouldn't you?"
"You know I would." Freddie's voice was rough. He drew a ragged breath and let it out.
"Very well.
I'll do it. I'll treat her... warmly. But I won't compromise her virtue. You mustn't ask that."
"I don't," Edward said, his stomach tightening in contradiction to his relief. This was good. Freddie
was agreeing. "Just stop treating her like a brother."
"I shall be a perfect Casanova." Freddie's face twisted. He turned his back. "You can leave now.
You've made your point—though I doubt it's what you really want."
This last was muttered so far beneath Freddie's breath Edward wasn't certain he'd heard. Doubt stopped him at the door. "Of course it's what I want. Your happiness is important to me."
"And hers?"
"And hers," Edward agreed, forcing a lightness he did not feel.
Freddie said nothing to that, simply stood in a shaft of sun, balanced on his one sound leg. A breeze fluttered his shirt around his broad rower's back. Despite his injury, he looked strong: a graceful young man in his prime. His head, however, was bowed in defeat.
Edward gritted his teeth. This arrangement was best for all of them. He could not allow himself to doubt it. Whatever value he personally put on the pleasures of the flesh, by most people's standards, Freddie would make the better husband. Without even straining, Edward could name half a dozen women who'd jump at the chance to marry him, no matter that he was the younger son. Attentive, amusing, even-tempered, were it not for the unfortunate propensities of his past, Freddie would be a paragon.
Once he gave
Florence
's charms a chance to act on him, Edward was certain those other needs would fade. Freddie had no reason to act defeated; this match was the saving of all their dreams.
All their dreams but his.
The thought slipped past his defenses like a thief. Sternly, grimly, he paid it no mind. The earl of Greystowe could not afford to be chasing dreams.
* * *
Freddie invited her
to dine in the orangery, saying they were due a nice evening alone.
Florence
was
both glad and anxious at the prospect. She welcomed the chance to prove she could put her feelings
for Edward behind her, but her guilt interfered with her intention to focus on her betrothed. She'd never done anything as terrible as what she'd done with Edward in the ruins, much less tried to keep it a secret. Her father always said a marriage could not be founded on a lie, but he'd also said one should consider how deeply a truth would wound. If Freddie knew this particular truth, would it shatter his love for his brother? And if it did, what would that do to Edward? Did Freddie have to be told if she promised in her heart it would never happen again?
She could not sort out the right of it, no matter how she tried, and Freddie's arrival did not help. Considering his stated purpose, his mood was decidedly odd. He sniped at Nigel as the steward wheeled him into the small conservatory. The argument was nothing new, but the genuine edge to his anger was. As always, Nigel bore it stoically, wishing
Florence
a pleasant evening as he withdrew. "Freddie—"
Florence
began to chide. Freddie grimaced,
then
swatted the air in front of his face as if that would disperse his temper. "I know. I'm a beast. But from now on, I'll behave."
"You always behave with me."
"At least there's that. Ah, sweetheart. Let's forget how we've begun and try to enjoy the night." He surveyed the cloth-covered table that sat among the fruiting trees. A trio of candles scattered light off
the crystal and plate, while a centerpiece of deep pink peonies added their perfume to the citrus-scented air. Freddie touched a waxen petal. "How prettily Mrs. Forster has arranged this. We shall dine as if we lived in the land of faerie."
"It was Lizzie,"
Florence
said.
"My maid.
I'm afraid she has a romantic streak."
Freddie smiled.
"Nothing wrong with romance.
I could do with more of it myself."
But the meal was not romantic at all. Silence reigned over the lobster bisque and stretched through the pigeon pie. Freddie rallied over the lemon sorbet, sharing as amusing anecdote about a friend who accidentally locked himself in his father's icehouse.
"He was a good fellow," he finished with a wistful sigh.
"Had his second child last year."
Florence
patted his hand. "You'll be a good father." Her claim seemed to disturb him. He rubbed a spot between his brows. Behind him, the orangery's glass was a mist-sheened mirror. Darkness had fallen while they ate.
The night hummed with insects, as nights must have hummed since the dawn of time.
Florence
had the sudden, strange sensation that she and Freddie were alone in
all the
world. She could not hear the life of Greystowe from where she sat: the hiss of the gaslights, the servants' footsteps going to and fro. Only
the crickets kept them company.
Their imaginary solitude weighed on her with a portent she did not understand.
Would she feel this way when they were married? Would she be lonely then, too? Disconcerted, she watched Freddie and his reflection turn a silver spoon through the remains of his melted ice.
"You look tired," she said. "Shall I call Nigel to wheel you back to your room?"
"No!" he said, more sharply than she'd expected. He seemed to hear the sharpness, too, and regret it. "Forgive me,
Florence
. I didn't mean for our dinner to turn out like this. I meant—" He made a face in which she could decipher only frustration. "I meant something quite different, but it seems I cannot do what I intended."
He wrapped his hands around the edge of the table, fingers on the top,
thumbs
on the bottom. The
pose was that of a man bracing for trouble, and
Florence
found herself bracing, too.
"
Florence
," he began. "I've been thinking about yesterday.
About our kiss."
Dread fluttered in her breast. Was he angry? Would he berate her for what she'd done?
"I know I shouldn't have been so forward," she said to the napkin in her lap. "I promise it won't happen again."
Freddie touched the side of her lowered head. "Don't
apologize. What you did wasn't wrong. Not for
a couple who care about each other, who are engaged."
"Then what have I done to upset you?" She did not plan for the question to be a cry, but it came out
as it would. "If you'd only tell me, I would stop."
"Oh,
Florence
."
He cupped her chin to press a gentle kiss to her trembling lips. "You are too good, my dear. That's why I have to tell you this."