Beyond Innocence (23 page)

Finally, on the seventh day,
Florence
got it. Nitwit snorted and pranced as if
Florence
had performed a miracle. Truth be told, she felt as if she had. How easy this was! How right! It was just the way her
body had
been wanting
to go all along.

Then Merry let her put her foot into the stirrup.

The security
Florence
felt astounded her—and she had yet to use her hands. Merry was a genius. Even
a canter didn't shake her. Oh, her heart was pounding, but her seat was as steady as a rock. When they tried a gallop,
Florence
thought her soul had taken wing. The
rhythm of the gait made the most of
Merry's lessons and Nitwit, bless
her, flew over the ground as if her legs were pistons and her hooves
set on tracks. For the first time in her life,
Florence
knew what people meant by horse and rider being one. Nitwit might not be as light on her feet as Buttercup, or as even-tempered, but she was strong and fast and as sure as a mountain goat.

"What a goer!" Merry exclaimed and
Florence
was proud for her mount's sake, too.

As luck would have it, Edward was the first person to meet them coming out of the stable.
Florence
was too elated to mind her manners. "I did it!" she said, grabbing his hands and bouncing up and down.
"I galloped on Nitwit without the reins."

Edward smiled at her. His grip was firm. It even swung a little. "I saw," he said. "That was very brave.
I suppose next you'll
be wanting
to join the circus."

<>
The warmth in his eyes made her shy. "Not the circus. Not me."
<>
"She's a trooper," Merry put in. "A mouse with the heart of a lion."

Her words seemed to remind Edward that he was holding
Florence
's hands. He dropped them as if
they burned and turned to Merry. "You've done a good job, Miss Vance. My stablemaster has been singing your praises."

"She's a wonderful teacher,"
Florence
agreed, too exhilarated to be jealous. "I never believed I could
ride a horse like that."

"A girl can ride anything she puts her mind to," Merry said, her eyes laughing suggestively at Edward's. "That's what we're built for."

Even
Florence
could not fail to catch that double meaning. Edward's lips thinned wryly as he shook his finger. "Your father would wash your mouth, Miss Vance."

"It's Merry," she said, but he was already walking off. Her sigh as she watched him go spoke volumes. "Lord above. Did you ever see such a pair of shoulders?"

Florence
looked at them, then at Merry. Merry's hand was pressed to her bosom and her gaze was
soft with yearning. Knowledge dawned with a sinking of her stomach. Merry hadn't come to Greystowe because she liked
Flo
rence
, or because she liked teaching, or even because she was still too young to
take the Season seriously. All those things might be true, but Merry had come to Greystowe because
its earl made her swoon.

When Merry looked back at her, her awareness must have shown. Her teacher smiled, crookedly, ruefully.
Florence
's heart squeezed with sympathy. Merry might not know it but, in this, they were
two of a kind.

"The first time I saw him at Tattersall's," Merry confessed, "my toes curled in my boots. If only I were bold enough, I think I could have him. I'm not too terribly ugly. And he does think I'm funny. Men
have been known to fall for less."

Florence
supposed they had. She drew breath to assure the girl she wasn't ugly,
then
thought better of it. "Maybe you should be careful. You are young, and he is a grown man."

Merry made a sound halfway between a gurgle and a moan. To
Florence
's dismay, she knew precisely what it meant. Edward was more than a grown man. Edward was the epitome of all that was male and
,
as such, he called to the most primitive urges a woman had. A man like Edward made a woman want to forget everything: promises, propriety, even common sense. But perhaps she ought to be glad he had the same effect on Merry. Perhaps
Florence
's feelings were nothing to be concerned over.
A natural human temptation.
Vicar's daughter or no,
Florence
had always known she was human.

"I hope you don't think I'm awful," Merry said, her hand on
Florence
's arm. "My friends in
London
say silly things or scoff. You, at least, know how I feel. After all, you and Freddie must have stolen a few kisses. Freddie's a handsome young man in his prime." Confidence recovering, she wagged her
strawberry brows.
"A man with needs,
Florence
.
A man who's practically chained to his bed.
Believe
me,
were I in your place and Edward in Freddie's, I know what sort of nursemaid I'd be."

Her words painted a picture
Florence
could not thrust away. She saw Edward wrapped in chains, his chest as bare as a marble statue.
And her hand.
She saw her own hand reaching for the secrets she'd
been too timid to explore.
That thickness, that shifting, swelling shape ... Her body clenched, low and tight.
She was liquid inside, and hot. But she couldn't let Merry guess how she felt. She couldn't let
Merry think what she was planning was appropriate. She eased her arm from Merry's hold.

"Freddie is a perfect gentleman," she said in her most repressive schoolteacher tone. "Freddie would
never do anything to compromise a lady's honor."

"Of course not," Merry said, obviously unconvinced.

And
Florence
knew nothing she'd said had sunk in.

* * *

She watched them
together after that; watched how easy Edward was with Merry, how he laughed at
her jokes, how his eyes sparked when they debated the merits of various equine traits. Merry would
not back down when she thought she was right. Merry would rise out of her seat and pound the table.

And Edward didn't seem to mind.

Was Merry right? Did Edward merely need a push? He didn't act like a besotted man. At least, not the besotted men she knew. But Edward was a creature apart, so perhaps he felt more than he showed.

She watched to see if he touched her, measured his smiles,
compared his stares to those he'd shared
with
her. They weren't the same. They weren't hot and riveting and as sharp as a whetted blade. She could see the difference and she was dreadfully wrong to care. She even watched his hidden flesh to
see if it grew large when he and Merry were together. He caught her at it once and gave her the strangest look. Her face had burned like flame.
Other things, too.
Other things she didn't have names for caught
fire between her legs.

She told herself Edward's amours were not her concern.

She told herself if only she knew the truth about his feelings for Merry, she could face them.

But the truth was the last thing she could face. The truth
was pressing up inside her, dark and restless,
as if Pandora's
box
were striving to open itself. At her wit's end, she sat on the lid and shut her eyes.
She did not know how close the secret was to breaking free.

* * *

Florence
convinced the
housekeeper to let her take Freddie's lunch tray. She'd allowed Nigel to
shoulder too much of her intended's care. That was going to change. She couldn't do everything, but
she could fluff pillows. She could smooth brows and banish boredom. She could let Freddie know she would never, ever neglect him.

With that resolve,
Florence
shifted the tray to her hip and rapped lightly on his door.

"You do
not
want to do this," she heard Nigel saying sharply through the wood. When he opened the door a moment later, his face was flushed. He and Freddie must have been fighting again. She'd come just in time, she decided. The poor man must be desperate for a break.

"Sweetheart!"
Freddie exclaimed. He had a pillow on his lap and his hair was mussed as if he'd been running his fingers through it. As always, he put on his best face for her. His smile was brilliant.
"Your timing is perfect. My warden here was about to thrash me."

"I'll leave you two alone," Nigel said, sounding as stiff as the earl.

Florence
clucked at Freddie as soon as the steward was gone. "You shouldn't bait him."

Freddie helped her slide the tray over his lap. "Bait him?"

"I know it's hard on you being shut up like this, but it's hard on him, too. Mr. West wasn't trained to be
a nursemaid. Now and then you could squabble with me instead— if only to give the poor man a rest."

Freddie blinked as if he hadn't understood a word.
Florence
uncovered the beef and barley stew Cook had made to keep his strength up. She knew better than to believe his innocent air. "I know you two
were arguing. Mr. West's face was as red as a beet when he opened the door."

For some reason, this made Freddie red, too. He toyed with his fork. "Ah, um, that. We were, um, arguing the merits of a Bath chair. I say I'm ready to go out in one. He says I'm not.
Hence our contretemps."

Florence
offered him a napkin to tuck into his shirt. His embarrassment spoke well for his conscience,
but she couldn't drop the matter yet. It wouldn't be fair to Mr. West. "I'm sure Mr. Jenkyns can decide
if you're ready to be wheeled around."

"Of course," he said.
"Of course."

He lifted a bite of stew,
then
set it down. His gaze met hers. His arm rose and, with almost alarming tenderness, he cupped her cheek. He murmured her name, his fingertips stroking the edge of her hair.
All her affection for him came rushing back. With relief, she knew she did love him. She might not
yearn for him as she yearned for Edward, but she loved him in a good, steady way.
A way that would last.
She smiled at him and covered his hand with her own.

"You're the dearest woman I know," he said.
"Even when you're scolding me."

His tone was oddly wistful.

"I've made you sad," she said, "and I don't even know how."

He shook his head. His hand dropped, its warmth fading quickly from her skin. "I'm only sad for you,
Florence
, for agreeing to marry a ridiculous creature like me."

"You're not ridiculous.
Merely a bad invalid.
My father was the same. But I shall pay more attention
to you now, and make sure your spirits do not sink."

"If only everything were sinking," he said, with a laugh she did not understand.

"I'm sure Mr. West would help cheer you up if you would let him."

He laughed again, a brief, sharp sound. "Mr. West disapproves of too much 'help.'
Considers it a
betrayal of the family trust.
In which belief he is perfectly correct."