Page 46 of How To Tempt A Bodyguard

"I don't know. Anywhere with work."

Florence was quiet for a moment, thinking. Then she pulled out a calling card, Matthew noticed with surprise, and pressed it into the girl's hand along with gold coins. "There's a house in York. Mrs Agnes Preston. Show her this card. Tell her Florence sent you. She'll give you a position. Proper wages, safe quarters, honest work."

The girl stared at the card like it was made of gold. "Thank you, milady."

A whirlwind of thoughts swept through Matthew’s head as he watched the interaction.

"Can you get to York safely? Can you get escort?"

"I have a friend… Could she come with me?"

"Yes. Mrs Preston will look after you both. My driver will take you to your friend’s."

"Thank you, milady. Thank you."

Florence squeezed the girl's shoulder. "Cobb," she called to the man who was rolling a tabaco. She gave the driver instructions and watched as he hired a new horse and helped the girl up.

Once they disappeared around the corner, Florence turned.

Matthew was leaning against the alley wall, arms crossed, watching her.

Her eyes widened. Just for a second.

He said nothing. Just jerked his head towards the inn.

She followed.

The common room was busy enough to provide cover. Matthew steered her past the tables, up the narrow stairs, down the corridor to their room. He unlocked the door, checked inside, then stood aside to let her pass.

On the landing below, a man sat alone at a table near the window, nursing a pint. He was watching the door intently.

Matthew filed that away and closed the door behind them.

Florence stood in the centre of the room, hands clasped, waiting.

"You have questions," she said.

"A few." He leaned against the door. "Who are you? Really."

"You already know."

"Say it."

She held his gaze. "Madam Tansley."

The name settled between them. He'd known—had known since the alley, maybe longer—but hearing her say it was different.

Madam Tansley. The woman who ran a network of safe houses across England. The woman whose name was spoken in whispers by the desperate and the hunted. The woman he'd worked for, indirectly, for six years.

The woman who'd had his cock in her mouth this morning and asked if she was “acceptable”.

"What else?" he asked.

"What else what?"

"What else are you hiding? About the mission. About why we're really going to Scotland."

She was quiet for a moment then finally spoke. "The evidence in the trunks is meant for a magistrate in Edinburgh. A man I trust. He owes me a debt."