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He and Lady Valencourt were privy to the entire odd tale, ghosts and all. Charles felt he owed them nothing less than that, and they were eccentrics with their own unusual pasts.
The duchess, in fact, was Florence’s most adamant supporter. He believed that she must have seen a little of herself reflected in Florence’s independence and impulsivity. It was she who demanded he propose—because he would not stop mentioning Florence, not because he had ruined her.
He’d left his life in London. Managing a merchant’s warehouse was not simple and Nigel welcomed his help. Mr. Maclean had stepped back due to his health, so it was down to the two brothers to keep things operating as they always had.
He let his thoughts fall into the background of his mind as he kissed the side of Florence’s throat. Soon enough, she made small noises of pleasure.
“Ah, you think you can distractme.” She tried to sound bored, which was endearing, but he knew her too well. The longer he kissed and nipped, the more she arched into him.
“I just want to show my wife affection as we discuss the upcoming festivities.”
“I see. Well, I think Josephine will have all the meals sorted by day’s end.”
“That is very efficient of her.” But Charles cared little about their cook’s planning, which was no doubt meticulous. He was intent upon Florence’s legs, which had fallen open under the dress. With a groan of desire, he skimmed his right hand under the fabric while keeping them both settled with the crook of his left arm.
They were both moving rather insistently. It didn’t much matter that they were predominately clothed. The precedent was already set that they didn’t need to be disrobed to please each other.
And as a valet, Charles understood how the fall front of one’s trousers might become stained on the inside. It was sometimes one of the things he’d looked after for the present duke’s lecherous brother.
When Florence helped him stainhis,it was far more fun.
She gasped when he grazed his fingers where she most wanted them. Still, she tried to speak. “Nigel should arrive the day after tomorrow.”
“Did he say when in his letter?”
“N-no.”
“He’s usually so…” Charles paused as she shifted against him. He gathered his wits. “Specific.”
“I know. But he did say that…”
“Are you still trying to have this conversation inthiscontext?”
Florence began to tremble. “I didn’t just come upstairs for… debauchery.”
“No, I know,” he said. “But seeing as youarehere…”
The next ten minutes were lush with pleasure and fraught with tension– the door was not closed. Thankfully, they kept only Josephine and two footmen. The likelihood of being discovered was low.
When Florence regained her ability to speak, she said, “To think none of this ever would have happened if I hadn’t hidden away here.” She was limp against him.
He brushed his lips against her skin, the nape of her neck. “Let us not dwell on the thought.”
It had taken a little time after their first momentous, strange Christmas for them to court properly. Butthiswas exactly how Charles wished to spend every turn of the year for the rest of his days.
“We won’t,” said Florence. She peered around at him. “I’d like to shut the door, if I still have the power to walk, and return your favor.”
Then she kissed the smile from his face.
