Page 106 of Crash Landing
He blew out the candles and fell asleep soon afterward, too.
Trajan awoke a few hours later when a sudden chill replaced the cozy warmth at his side. He blinked, for it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the predawn light, and soon made out the shape of Florence as she searched for something within the rumpled folds of their bedcovers.
Sheeepedas he put a hand on her sweetly rounded rump, and turned to him while at the same time drawing the sheet up to cover herself. “I did not mean to wake you. I was searching for my nightgown.”
“Are you cold, love?”
“No, I was comfortable against your heat. But…I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to stay.”
“You were going to leave me?”
“No, just be prepared if you wanted me gone.”
“I don’t want you gone,” he said, drawing her back to his side and taking her in his arms, the sheet still tucked around her. “Not ever. I thought you understood that we are to share a bed.”
She nodded. “Well, we discussed yourtakingme to bed. I wasn’t quite clear on the specifics afterward.”
He kissed her softly on the lips. “Specifically, I wish to wake to your lovely face each morning and fall asleep to your smiles and kisses each night. Workable for you?”
“Yes.” She curled up against him and purred.
They made love again by the early light of dawn.
Florence fell asleep once more and remained contentedly sleeping even when his valet knocked at his door.
Trajan rose from the bed, groped about the covers and found his banyan, then made certain Florence was safely covered before he allowed Higgins in. He took the freshly pressed clothes and polished boots from his valet’s hands. “Come back in an hour. Knock first. My wife might still be in here.”
The man’s face turned crimson.
Yes, they were going to have to figure out a better schedule. It was bad enough the man knew Florence was naked beneath the covers. He might pass out if he ever caught a glimpse of her leg or—egads—her breast.
Trajan would have to pound on the man’s heart to revive him. He’d also have to kill him.
Higgins had been his granduncle’s valet. But Trajan could not bring himself to discharge Higgins, so he’d kept him on in London and Reed, his own valet, on at Gull Hall.
Now that he was married and meant to share a bedchamber with his wife, they needed to figure out a workable routine here and in Weymouth.
“Yes, Your Grace. One hour, knock first,” Higgins repeated, and quickly backed out of his bedchamber.
Florence stirred shortly afterward. Trajan helped her don her nightgown and robe, doing more to undress her than assist because she had a truly gorgeous body and he could not get enough of her. He wanted to toss her back on the bed and claim her for a third time.
But they had a lot to accomplish today, and they would never get anything done if they did not get moving now.
The first item on his list was the matter of her clothes. Much of her wardrobe was at her parents’ townhouse, but little of it would be suitable for a married duchess. Fiona had given him the name of her modiste yesterday, and generously mentioned that Florence could borrow any clothes she needed from her in the meanwhile. But Trajan wanted his wife to have her own things, for he could easily afford the best.
Visiting her parents was on his list, as well.
He wanted to understand their behavior toward their daughter. Why did the mother treat Florence as though she did not exist? Was it some odd family custom to ignore the girls and adore the sons? Did that practice not die out along with medieval fiefdoms? And girls were useful to give away in marriage to form alliances.
But her family was more intent on disowning her or fobbing her off on the wastrel son of a friend rather than matching her in any useful alliance.
He had also considered that Hermia might be her real mother, that Florence was adopted by her parents to protect Hermia from ruination, especially if she bore a child out of wedlock.
But Hermia was forthright and spoke her mind. She would have said something to Florence by now. Nor did Trajan get the feeling thatHermia was a mother looking after her secret child.
Instinct told him that Hermia was exactly who she claimed to be, a loving maiden aunt.
He told Florence what he wanted to do and why.
