Page 19 of Crash Landing
Trajan knew his presence had everything to do with Florence.
He spent the next few minutes pacing in the entry hall of the elegant inn, his mind fixed on how to protect his fake betrothed when she insisted on diving into danger. She seemed to have completely shrugged off their earlier close call in his woods.
“We are ready,” Florence said, gaining his attention as she escorted her aunt down the stairs with loving attendance. Behind them were the innkeeper and several of his helpers, who lugged their trunks.
Trajan oversaw the trunks’ loading onto his carriage, and then assisted the ladies into their seats. He settled on the bench opposite theirs, trying to keep from fuming over Florence’s ill-conceived plan to get into the Frampton residence.
Florence blushed in response to his angry gaze.
Her aunt, blissfully unaware of what was going on between himand Florence, began to chatter. “What a lovely coach this is,” she said in a merry, singsong twitter, “such soft leather and exquisitely sprung. One can hardly feel the bumps in the road.”
“Unfortunately, it will get bumpier as we ride out of Weymouth,” Trajan replied. “But I hope you will not find the ride too uncomfortable.”
“Oh, dear boy. I know I shall hardly feel the jolts. Nor shall my niece, I’m sure. She must be floating on air now that you have declared your love for each other. How exciting for you both. Florence, why don’t you sit beside your handsome betrothed?”
“I am fine right here, Aunt Hermia. He would only squash me, because his shoulders are quite broad.”
Hermia grinned. “Yes, I’ve noticed.”
Florence sighed.
Trajan engaged her aunt in small talk for much of the ride, since he could not pursue any logical conversation with Florence while he wanted to throttle her.
Why was she insisting on rushing into danger? She had been genuinely frightened this morning when almost caught by Frampton, so why continue her perilous assignment?
Her bird of an aunt was finely dressed and wore expensive jewelry, he noted, so the reason could not be about Florence’s requiring money. Even the ugly brown gown Florence had on was finely made and must have cost a goodly sum.
Florence herself sat silently as his carriage clattered through the countryside, her nose pasted to the window while she contemplated how best to evade his questions.
How was he to keep her safe?
Well, he would insist on their working it out this very night. Her aunt was going to retire early, no doubt. He and Florence could talk then.
In truth, he simply wanted to lay down the law and insist on herkeeping away from the Frampton residence.
No discussion. His edict set forth. After all, he was the duke, and she had to obey his commands.
But she wouldn’t.
He glanced at her as she continued to stare out the window. It galled him to think her mind was awhirl, contriving ways to defy him.
But gad, she was softly nibbling her fleshy lower lip as she devised her schemes.
She had the prettiest lips. Plump and perfect.
He wanted to kiss her again. Yes, he ached to kiss her even while furious with her.
He also had to figure out how to protect her. Despite his threats to do so, he was not going to lock her away. Which meant she was going to give him the slip at some point, because she was too clever for her own good.
The thought of her lying hurt in Frampton’s clutches tore him up inside. “Florence…”
“Fascinating view,” she muttered, continuing to stare out the window.
He gave up trying to gain her attention and instead remained in conversation with her aunt.
But there came a moment when Florence thought he was not looking at her, when she lowered her mask and allowed her feelings to show. He saw it then, a surprisingly raw and open desolation.
The lonely fear. The vulnerability.
