Florence inhaled sharply. ‘What?’
‘According to someone, the whole scene in the Wadlows’ library was staged to get Leo out of an engagement with their daughter. Several people assured me they’d known all along.’
‘George, what on earth are you talking about?’ Cassie lifted her head again.
‘It would appear that somebody besides you has been spreading counter rumours, my dear.’ George smirked. ‘Can’t think who.’
‘Quite.’ Leo turned his head to look out of the window, acutely aware of Florence’s gaze on his face as he smiled.
Chapter Twelve
He should go to bed, Leo told himself as he stood at his bedroom window, watching dawn rise over the city. A gibbous moon was still high in the sky, which was itself a magnificent swirl of orange and purple. He ought to feel tired. He’d suffered through an entire night with theton, at a ball of all places. He ought to be closing his eyes with relief that it was finally over. Instead he felt strangely energised, as if, unbelievably, he’d actually enjoyed himself.
Strange asthatwas, he was aware of an undercurrent of some other emotion too, one that had reared its head the moment Florence had told him about the Wadlows’ land agent,Mr Archer. The very name made him grit his teeth. Which was ridiculous. She hadn’t sounded remotely regretful about the man. On the contrary, she’d taken exception to his poetry and rejected his proposal. Still, just the idea that somebody else had written a poem for her made him feel irrationally…jealous? Yes, definitely jealous.
It didn’t help that she’d been wearing her locket again tonight. Now that he thought of it, aside from during her convalescence, he’d never seen her without it. Now he couldn’t help but wonder whose portrait was inside.
He glanced over his shoulder at the door that separated their two bedchambers. Would Florence be asleep already? Probably. It must have been an hour since their return from the ball. Bynow one of Cassie’s maids would have removed all the pins from her hair, then helped her out of her gown and into a nightdress. Imagining it stirred his blood, making him feel even less like sleeping.Hewanted to be the one to strip away her clothes, to unfasten her stays and roll down each stocking. Then he wanted to gather her to him, beneath him, on top of him. His breeches were straining almost painfully tightly just thinking about it.
He turned back to the window, focusing his attention on the garden in the middle of the square. Maybe he ought to go down there. The cold morning air might do something to quell the desire now raging inside him. Damn it, he should have asked Cassie to put him in a different room, one on the other side of the house, because the idea that his wife was so close, on just the other side of a wall, lying in bed, crying out… Wait… He whipped his head round… Crying out?
He snapped his brows together, wondering if he was imagining things. But there it was again, a faint cry, as though she was in pain.
He didn’t hesitate any longer, flinging the door open, crossing her room in three strides, and wrenching the bed-curtains apart to find her writhing on the bed, thrashing from side to side, a sheen of sweat on her forehead as she muttered words he couldn’t understand.
‘Florence?’ He bent over, putting his hands on her shoulders to steady her. ‘Wake up!’
‘What?’ She pushed back against him, before opening her eyes and giving a startled jolt. ‘Leo?’
‘Yes. You were having a bad dream.’ He pulled his hands away quickly, in case his presence there frightened her even more. ‘You were crying out. I was worried.’
‘Oh.’ She pushed herself up onto her elbows, panting heavily, her face a mask of distress. ‘I’m sorry for waking you.’
‘You didn’t.’ He made a conscious effort not to look to at her breasts, heaving beneath her nightgown. ‘And even if you had, it doesn’t matter. We all have nightmares sometimes.’
‘Really?’ She gave a ragged laugh. ‘You?’
‘Yes. Why wouldn’t I?’
‘I don’t know.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t know why I said that. You just always seem so confident, I suppose.’
‘Appearances can be deceptive.’ He gestured at the edge of the bed. ‘May I sit? Or would you rather be alone?’
‘No.’ She shifted sideways to give him some room. ‘Some company would be nice, if you don’t mind?’
‘Not at all. It might be a good idea to talk about your dream. Was it a memory perhaps?’
‘Perhaps.’ Her face took on a far-off expression as he sat down beside her. ‘I was in a forest, or at least there were trees. Lots of them.’ She gulped. ‘I think I was lost.’
‘That would make sense. You were found in the woods close to the village.’
‘I was?’ She sagged back against the headboard. ‘It never occurred to me to ask.’
‘I should have told you. Anything else?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
She shuddered and he felt a pang in his chest, fighting the urge to wrap his arms around her. It had nothing to do with desire now, only comfort. Slowly, he reached for her hand, brushing his thumb lightly against her wrist where her pulse was still thumping.
