Beyond Innocence (34 page)

Edward was prince and dragon both, but she had just the spell to soothe him. Inside her pocket, coiled like a nesting mouse, were four quilted velvet ties. She could hardly wait to see how Edward liked them; how they'd look twining his strong, masculine wrists.

The door to his office was open a crack. A golden glow spilled out, lamplight rather than gas. Body humming with excitement, she peeped inside. She smiled. Edward was sound asleep, stretched on a leather
sofa,
his long legs propped and crossed on the brass-studded end. One hand rested on his chest while the other dangled limply to the floor. Last night must have tired him. She considered leaving him to rest, but temptation had her in its grip. That dangling arm was perfectly positioned. If she snuck in now, she could tie him the same way he'd tied her.

To her dismay, he was a much lighter sleeper than she was. He snorted and bolted up before she'd finished the first wrist. He looked at where she'd bound it to the sofa's central leg. "What the hell do
you think you're doing?"

Florence
trembled. This was not the reaction she'd expected. "I'm s-sorry. Did I make a mistake? Is
this something a woman shouldn't do?"

"It's certainly something no woman should do to me." She backed away, leaving him to wrench the tie loose. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have woken you. You're in a bad mood."

"There's nothing wrong with my mood!" He glared at her until her cheeks felt boiled,
then
blew out his breath. "Look,
Florence
, I'm sorry for growling at you, but you seem to have misunderstood what happened last night."

"Misunderstood?" she
said,
the word small and cracked.

"I'm not saying it's your fault. I take full responsibility. You're inexperienced and I, well, I needed a woman. I'm aware that's no excuse. It's just the way life is." He spread his hands, a clearer denial of responsibility than his words.
Florence
watched the gesture with a sense of unreality. He seemed to
mean what he was saying. His tone was quite businesslike. "The important thing is," he continued coolly, 'Tve spoken to Freddie. As I suspected, he didn't mean to give the impression that he'd lost interest in marrying you. On the contrary, he's fully prepared to go through with the wedding."

To go through with it,
Florence
thought. There's a flattering construction. But Edward wasn't done.

"I'm leaving tomorrow," he said. "I have business at the mill. I trust you and Freddie will use this time
to sort matters out between you. By the time I get back, I expect you'll have forgotten all about, well, everything." Lowering his brows, he gave her his steeliest look. "What happened last night must never happen again."

The finger he shook in her face broke through her shock.

"Then what," she said, thrusting out her hand in accusation, "did you mean by giving me this?"

He stared at his father's ring as if he'd never laid eyes on it before. "Where did you get that?"

"You left it on my pillow."

"Why would I do that? Hell." He scrubbed his face with both hands. "It must have fallen off during the night. It does that when I get cold."

"Then I marvel it ever stays on."

The scrubbing stopped. He peered at her between his fingers,
then
dropped his hands. He looked so weary she wanted to call back her words. How could he be so cruel, yet look as if he were the one
whose heart was breaking?

Stupid
Florence
, she thought, feeling as weary as he
looked.
Stupid, gullible
Florence
.
She squared her shoulders and clenched her hands. "You're telling me last night meant nothing to you.
Nothing at all."

He hung his hands over his knees, his fingers limp, his shoulders bowed by an invisible weight.
"I enjoyed what we did," he said, "but it meant no more than that."

She stared at his face, trying to find the mark of evil, the sign she should have read. All she found was what she'd grown to love: the proud, sharp nose, the scowling brows, the eyes like a summer sky.

"You didn't deserve to enjoy it," she said, her voice shaking with anger. "Men like you don't deserve to enjoy anything."

He dropped his gaze but did not speak; did not try to explain or beg forgiveness or say any of the things she was praying with all her might to hear. It's a mistake, she wanted to cry. You love me. I know you do. She watched a vein tick unevenly in his neck.

And then she turned away.

* * *

Florence
trod the
second floor corridor like a sleepwalker, blind to the fading portraits, deaf to the quiet passage of a maid. She'd wanted so badly to believe Edward loved her she'd convinced
herself
it was true. Catherine Exeter was right. Women were easy to lead astray. With the slightest encouragement,
they stuck their necks in the bridle and handed the men they loved a whip.

Lord. Her steps faltered as she pressed her jumping heart. What was she going to do now?

Part of her, the weak part, wanted to throw herself on Freddie's mercy. Marry me, the weak part whimpered. Keep me safe.

But no matter what Edward said, she knew Freddie didn't want her for his wife. She'd seen it in his eyes. She'd read it in his kiss. No doubt, he'd said he did want her because Edward was too forceful to defy.

She knew from experience how difficult opposing him could be.

Continuing her journey, she dragged her fingers along the smooth curry-gold wall. She'd have to speak to Freddie. She wasn't sure what she ought to tell him. That his brother had compromised her virtue, then treated her like something he'd stepped in at the stable? Freddie looked up to his brother. It didn't seem fair to undermine his love. But she had to tell him something to explain why she couldn't spend another minute in this house.

Lost in thought, her hand skimmed the gleaming mahogany rail that marked the turn of the grand
stairway towards the ground .floor. She descended the first tread. Would Freddie take her back to Keswick?
London
was out of the question. Even if
Florence
could have faced it, she couldn't afford to return. Aunt Hypatia certainly didn't owe her more support. Plus, she doubted even the duchess could repair the damage a broken engagement would do to her reputation.

It was all too much to decide. She would put it to Freddie as delicately as she could. He was clever.
And he did care for her. Perhaps he would see some solution she could not.

Her panic eased as she drew closer to his rooms. The thought of being held with affection, if only for a while, was a ray of sunshine in a storm. She quickened her step, hurrying through the billiard room to
the family's private wing. She rapped lightly on his door,
then
opened it, too impatient to wait for his acknowledgment.

At first she didn't understand what she was seeing. Oh, she knew the two tall figures by the window were kissing. Their mouths were plastered together, after all, and their hands gripped each others' backsides. One of the figure's shirts had all three buttons undone, with the ensuing V fallen over his shoulder. The cloth hung to his elbow, baring a strong upper arm and a beautifully muscled wedge of back. Her brain took a moment to admit that the back belonged to Freddie, and an even longer one to identify his partner as Nigel West.

Edward's steward was moaning into Freddie's mouth as if he'd rather die than stop. And Freddie was kissing him back with all the hunger he'd claimed he couldn't feel. She saw tongues and teeth. She saw whitened knuckles and sweat-streaked necks. They were grinding their hips together like cats in heat. From what she glimpsed between those hips, both were thoroughly aroused.

She gasped for air as if a huge hand had been holding her underwater and had just then let her up. At
the sound, the two men sprang guiltily apart. Freddie hissed out a curse. Nigel went white.

"
Florence
," Freddie said, raking back his wildly tousled hair.

Florence
couldn't meet his eyes. He looked just like Edward had after she'd taken him in her mouth,
lust pouring off him in waves. Her mind turned in a stupefied circle.
Freddie and Nigel.
Nigel and
Freddie.
It was too extraordinary to comprehend.

"Forgive me," she said, beginning to retreat. "I should have waited until you answered my knock."

Freddie and Nigel exchanged glances. "Knock?" Freddie said. "We didn't hear— Hell. Don't go,
Florence
. We need to talk. Please."

The sharpness of the plea stopped her. She pressed her hands together beneath her breast, as if she
could by that means protect herself from further wounds. "I don't know what there is to say, except
that now I think I understand why you don't want to marry me."

"You couldn't understand. Not all of it." With a growl of annoyance that reminded her painfully of his brother, Freddie tugged his shirt back over his shoulder. "Damn Edward and his tidy little plans."

"Edward?" Her heart stalled. "What does Edward have to do with this?"

Freddie lowered himself to the edge of his bed, his legs stretched gingerly out, his face filled with
a compassion
so deep it scared her. "Come in,
Florence
. I'll tell you everything."

"I should go," said Nigel.

Freddie nodded at him and in that nod
lay
a secret history. For one odd moment, despite everything that had passed,
Florence
experienced a pang of envy. These two shared a bond no one else could know.

"Don't do anything," Freddie said.

"No," Nigel agreed, his voice calm but heavy. "I won't do anything until I speak to you again." His step hesitated in front of
Florence
,
then
stopped. "I can't say how sorry I am about all this, Miss Fairleigh. Neither of us meant to— well, let's just say I'm aware that what I did was a profound betrayal of your trust. If there's anything I can do to help, anything at all, I would gladly make the attempt."

He might as well have been speaking Sanskrit. Seeming to realize this, he continued to the door.
Florence
watched him go, her brain refusing to do anything but spin. She watched his long elegant legs, the proud set of his shoulders and head. It was a small head, beautifully shaped beneath its clipped silvering hair. The hand with which he closed the door had graceful, tapered fingers. When it disappeared, she turned back to Freddie.

"He is a man, isn't he?" she asked, more confused than she'd been in her life.

Freddie
laughed,
a dry brush of sound. "Yes, he's a man. If he weren't, I wouldn't have been kissing
him that way."

"You only like to kiss men?"

Freddie's smile was sad. He brushed back a lock that had fallen from her chignon. "I didn't mind kissing you, sweetheart, but I'm afraid it's true. I only really like kissing men.
Born that way, as far as I know."

"But how could you know?"

He shrugged. "Edward thinks
Eton
did it to me.
Blames himself for sending me.
There's a tradition there of older boys bullying the younger.
Making them personal servants.
Giving them forty whacks for imaginary infractions.
Part of the servitude sometimes involves more intimate favors."

"Kissing," she said, trying to face it.

Freddie held her gaze.
"More than kissing.
Boys learn to take their pleasures young, and some don't
mind who offers a helping hand. A few, like me, like a male hand best. The first time a boy asked me to do him, I felt as if a pair of blinders had fallen from my eyes. Suddenly what I'd wanted all along was clear."