Page 57 of My Fair Lord

Desire raked nails down Ned’s belly. His hands, still spread, closed into fists and he shoved them into his pockets.

“Very much so, but I’m also a man of honour and I intend to remain one. I am concerned about this sudden decision. The cocktail must have affected your sense of restraint.”

She raised her head and stared at him with defiance. Her pupils were enlarged, turning her eyes into polished black orbs.

“Well, what if it has?” she cried. “Maybe I should drink them every day.”

“Shhh!” Ned drew her inside the room fully and shut the door. It was the wrong thing to do but the alternative was putting her out in the passageway and risking her being seen or heard.

“I want to know why the widow would marry four times,” she said in a loud whisper. “I want to feel some excitement.”

She clasped her hands to her chest. Ned could almost hear the heart beating beneath her ribs but realised it was his own, the pulse pounding through his ears. The urgent need wasn’t only there, but also in his belly and groin and the sight of Florence’s bosom lifted by her hands did nothing to diminish it.

Her eyes grew even wider if that was possible and she turned them on him in appeal. “I may never be kissed by someone I like and who likes me. I want a memory to console myself with if I don’t get it in my marriage.”

Ned folded his arms across his body. “I can’t imagine your future husband would be happy knowing you’ve asked me this. Even less if I actually obliged.”

She pouted. “I don’t care about my future husband. And nor should you.”

Their eyes met and Ned saw desire staring back at him. Naked and honest, it cut through his endurance, and he could feel himself beginning to fold.

“I thought you intended never to marry,” he said, clutching at anything to divert her attention from demanding a kiss. “You disapprove of it.”

She made a scoffing sound, turned away, and walked to his desk. Ned had a glimmer of hope that he’d succeeded in putting her off, but she turned back with a pencil in her hand, pointing it at him and gesticulating as if he was a schoolboy and she the teacher.

“I disapprove of being used as a commodity. Men don’t have that pressure,” she said smugly.

“Is that what you think?” Despite himself, Ned couldn’t stop the retort bursting out. Why did she always assume she was right?

“Well, isn’t it?” Florence rolled her eyes. “That’s a man’s answer. You can choose who you ask. All we can do is hope you will or pray that you won’t choose us.”

Ouch!

“Do you assume that all the viscounts and dukes you are so keen to avoid marrying are desperate to marry you?” Ned snapped.

“Oh!” She blinked and her lips turned down. “Well, there’s no need to insult me.”

Great steaming bull’s turds! Hearing the insult as she would have, Ned winced inwardly, unable to believe the blunder he’d just made.

“I don’t mean that at all!” He walked to her. “Imagine being the owner of property that has been in your family for centuries. That has tenants and trade relying on you for their survival. Imagine you have tried everything you can, short of selling off the furniture, to keep it going but the taxes are increasing and the farms don’t produce what they used to. Then a wealthy American upstart appears with his gaudily-dressed, outspoken daughter and offers you the girl along with enough money to secure the land and safeguard the welfare of your tenants for at least the next sixty or seventy years.”

He stopped for breath, wondering where the words had come from.

“How much obligation do you think you would feel under? How many marriages do you think have been thrust upon sons by their fathers?”

Florence had listened to the tirade open mouthed. The spots high upon her cheeks began to pulse pink, which Ned knew from experience meant she was offended. There was a delicate balance between diverting her attention and causing her to be upset.

“Gaudy and outspoken? Is that really what you think of me? The waistcoat you were wearing when we first met was the most horrible item I’ve ever seen in all my days! I hope you burned it before leaving Liverpool.”

Ned burst out laughing. He hadn’t drunk his entire cocktail, but he was feeling exhilarated and a little light-headed.

“What is so funny?” Florence demanded.

“You,” Ned said, trying his best to keep a sober expression. “You’re so wonderful when you are indignant.”

“Oh go back to your own cabin and … and … oh, I don’t know! Practise using a mustard ladle or something!”

This only served to send Ned into further spasms of laughter. “This is my cabin.”