Page 27 of Crash Landing
“And your clothes too, Your Grace.”
He nodded absently. “Yes, I’ll go up and change now. But first, Edgar and I will search Lady Florence’s room to make certain her chamber is safe.”
“Is that really necessary?” Florence asked.
“Perhaps not, but why take any chances?” He motioned for one of the footmen, the reliable Edgar, to follow him, and then turned to Florence, casting her a pained glance. “We’ll walk you upstairs, but I want you to wait in the hall until we are done checking your room.”
“All right.” She appeared more worried than angry now. With good reason, for the fact that someone brandishing a pistol had been lurking outside the library window had to be as alarming to her as it was to him.
“Do you want one of the maids to remain in the room with you tonight?” he asked as they walked upstairs.
“No, I’ll manage on my own. I doubt the man will dare return tonight.”
Trajan nodded. “Edgar, do you think you can stay awake and take night watch? I’ll have Timmons assign three of you to the task for the next few nights. Who on the staff would you recommend to join you in patrol duty?”
“Herbert and Alvin, Your Grace. We often go hunting together. They can handle weapons and know how to listen for anything out of the ordinary.”
“Fine, let Timmons know I want you three put on night rotation.”
He and Edgar quickly searched Florence’s bedchamber and found it clear. Of course, Trajan did not think anyone had managed to get into the house and hide in her chamber. But one could not be too careful when dealing with Frampton and his ruffians.
For good measure, he conducted a thorough search of the house, checking it from top to bottom to make certain the doors and windows were secure.
Florence had changed into her nightclothes by the time he returned upstairs. He noticed she had her door open, no doubt hoping to hear him as he marched down the hall. He considered stopping in to bid her a good night, but had just decided against it when she came scurrying out. “Trajan, is all well?”
He cast her a wry smile. “Yes, all secure. You’re safe here, other than from me. I’m sorry I squashed you earlier.”
She gave a light laugh. “You only meant to protect me. I’m not angry now that I understand the reason. In fact, thank you. It was yet another brave and protective thing you did for me. I’m not used to such chivalrous treatment.”
He frowned. Wouldn’t her family do the same for her?
Perhaps not, if the hesitation when speaking of her brother or her parents earlier were any indication. But digging deeper into her family relations was something better left for tomorrow. She was tired, he could tell by the slight droop of her usually bright and sparkling eyes.
He was tired, too. He could not imagine what tomorrow would bring for them, but knew he had better be well rested for whatever might transpire. “Good night, Florence.”
“Good night, Trajan. I am sorry to be so much trouble for you.”
“You’re all right. I am not complaining. Get some rest.”
She shook her head and walked back into her room, shutting the door behind her.
He went into his own, tossed off his soiled clothes, and placed them in the hall for his valet to collect in the morning before collapsing naked onto his bed.
He’d jokingly said life would never be dull with Florence, but this was perhaps a little too much excitement for one day.
Good grief, had it only been a day? It felt like fifty. What wouldtomorrow bring?
More chaos, he suspected, because Frampton wanted Florence out of the way, and Florence, being Florence, had no intention of cooperating with that fiend. She wanted those letters.
How was he to keep her safe, especially if she persisted in her assignment?
He fell asleep contemplating the problem.
Sometimes, by sleeping on a matter, one could come up with a solution. Unfortunately, he had a blistering headache and still no answers come morning.
His valet was fussing about his bedchamber and had drawn the drapes aside by the time Trajan roused. He heard the quietbongof the large clock in the hallway as it rang the eight o’clock hour. “Is that right, Reed?” he muttered, rubbing his temples as he sat up, certain he must have counted wrong.
“Yes, eight o’clock, Your Grace.”
