Trajan sighed. “No after-dinner drinks for you tonight, either. I need you sober for tomorrow.”
“What’s happening tomorrow?” Andrew asked, squinting as he looked at Trajan. “Gad, the sun’s so bright.”
Trajan rolled his eyes. The sun had disappeared behind a fat cloud, buteverythinghurt one’s head when one had a bad hangover. “I’ll tell you once we’re home.”
He helped the ladies into the ducal carriage and climbed in after them, settling in the seat opposite theirs. But as the carriage rolled away, Florence shifted places and settled beside him, resting her head on his shoulder.
He glanced at her, somewhat surprised.
“Thank you for a lovely day.”
He gave her cheek a light caress. “Productive and lovely.”
She nodded.
Hermia said nothing, for she was tired and soon drifted off to sleep.
Trajan did not know whether she was faking, but he did not mind riding in silence with Florence curled up beside him.
He took her hand in his and kept hold of it as they rode back to Gull Hall, the gentle sway of the carriage lulling even him to close his eyes.
But the gentle rocking did not put him to sleep because his mind was too much awhirl. Too many concerns still occupied his thoughts.
But yes, it had been a lovely day. And it felt quite nice that the woman he was growing to love was nestled by his side. He put his arm around her to hold her close as she seemed to drift off.
This was too perfect.
Something had to go wrong, didn’t it?
Chapter Twelve
Florence’s heart wasin her throat as the Weymouth carriage, led by a team of matched bays, wound its way over the two hills separating Gull Hall from Frampton Court the following afternoon. Of course, one could cut that time in half by walking through the woods between the two properties, as she had done when encountering Trajan the other day. But she and Hermia were dressed for afternoon tea. Their silk gowns and dainty slippers were completely impractical if one had to make a run for it.
Never mind that Hermia was not able to run anywhere, since her sprinting gazelle days were long past. For several years now, it had been a task to get her down a flight of stairs.
Or had this been a charade on her part too?
Trajan rode in the carriage with them, having insisted on personally delivering them to the Frampton residence on this rather gray day. The rain had held off, so the roads were conveniently dry.
“You really did not have to accompany us,” Florence muttered. “It might put Lord Frampton even more on edge.”
“More on edge?” he grumbled, for this plan did not sit well with him at all. “I doubt that is possible. The man is so tightly wound, he’s about to pop a spring.”
“As are you,” Florence observed.
“Can you blame me? I must be losing my mind to allow you to do this dangerous thing, not to mention actuallyabettingyou.”
“Because you are caring and wonderful,” she said.
He cast her a stern look. “Gad, Florence. Do not compliment me, for it will only rile me.”
“All right.”
He sighed. “It cannot hurt to remind him I am a duke.”
“You like beingtheduke, don’t you?” she remarked, noting the way his chest puffed up at the mere mention of his rank.
He shook his head. “It isn’t the title I enjoy but the power one can wield with it. I find it most convenient, especially in this situation. I want Frampton to know that I will kill him if he dares touch a hair on your head.”
