Page 48 of Dare it all for Love

“Good gracious,” Grace exclaimed.

Florence swallowed, her hand going involuntarily to her throat. “On what evidence?”

Mrs Simmons frowned, considering this. “That I don’t remember. I do remember she was with child at the time. They held her until the babe was born, and then hanged the poor woman.”

Florence reached for Grace’s hand as her friend made a sound of distress. “How horrid.”

Mrs Simmons’ expression was pinched. “Men interfering in women’s business,” she said tightly, shaking her head. “Always causes trouble. She was ill used. Her family struggled ever after that, what with the shame and trying to raise the babe. Her sister took the child on. If not for the St Clair family, I don’t know what would have become of them.”

“The family worked for the St Clairs,” Florence said, perking up at this information.

“Yes. Still do, to my knowledge. I don’t remember hearing that they’d moved on. Now the sister was a Harding, I’m sure, but didn’t she have a daughter? My memory isn’t what it was, sadly.” Mrs Simmons closed her eyes, puzzling out the thread of the family tree. “Oh, it’s on the tip of my tongue. Perhaps if you made another pot of tea, Miss Knight, while I think on it.”

“Of course,” Florence said, leaping up obligingly.

Anything if it helped the lady get her a name to question.

Henry strode down the path in the direction he’d been given for Mrs Simmons. Apparently, Florence had left the kitchens some time ago to speak to the St Clairs’ old nanny. The path dipped and then rose again and, on reaching the top, Henry saw her walking back to the house with her friend Miss Weston. The two of them were chattering animatedly and Henry felt his heart give a most uncharacteristic lurch in the vicinity of his heart. How the devil had this happened, and with such ease. He had believed love was something that only his friends would live with, that he’d had his chance and lost it. How wrong he had been. It was hopeless to deny it any longer, he was in way over his head. So be it. If this was his last chance at happiness, and he very much suspected it was, then he was going to hold onto it until his last breath.

This time he would not let anything go wrong. Not that he regretted losing Lily, that had been for the best. He knew that now, even if it meant there were scars to bear. This time it was different. He was not perfect, and he knew Florence could do better, but no one on earth would try harder than he would to be everything she needed, to make her happy. He knew how precious this feeling was, and how devastating it was to lose it.

He watched her as she followed the path towards him. Everything about Florence seemed to thrum with energy, she was so alive, so vital, and so very crucial to his future happiness. Henry could not lose her. He would not survive such a loss a second time. So, he must put a stop to this madness before she got herself into trouble.

“Henry!” she exclaimed, her expression one of such pleasure in seeing him, he felt quite winded.

“It’s supposed to be Mr Stanhope,” he said under his breath, hating that he sounded so old and fussy, but he didn’t want gossip about them circulating before he’d spoken to Gabriel.

Florence rolled her eyes at him. “Grace is my friend, Henry, she knows about us.”

Miss Weston blushed and avoided his eye. “Yes, well, I shall walk ahead. Good day, Mr Stanhope.”

“Miss Weston,” Henry said, giving her a polite bow before turning back to Florence. “Who else have you told?”

Florence shrugged, clearly unconcerned. “Not many people, but everyone seems to know, anyway. Apparently, I look at you like a lovesick puppy.” She looked adorably disgruntled by this description and Henry was torn between pleasure at knowing she could not hide her feelings and wishing she’d try a bit harder to avoid getting him murdered.

“Yes,” he murmured, unwinding a bit and unable to stop himself from teasing her. “I’ve noticed that too.”

“Oh! You have not.” She glared at him, looking so outraged Henry could not resist.

“There, you’re doing it now.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “You, sir, are confused. That was most certainly not adoration.”

Henry glanced around to see Grace was just about to walk around the corner and out of sight before grasping Florence’s waist and pulling her into his arms. “And what about now?” he murmured.

Her lovely face coloured a little, her eyes growing dark as she slid her hands up over his shoulders. “Kiss me, and I’ll show you just how much I love you,” she dared him.

Desire hit Henry so hard it was difficult to breathe. He ought not, not out here in the open, but damnation…. She reached up, clasping his neck and tugging his head down to hers. It was madness, he ought not, not before he’d spoken to Gabriel.

“Kiss me, Henry,” she murmured, brushing her lips over his.

“Not here,” he managed, though it was hard to speak.

His heart was beating too hard, thundering in his ears. Had he ever felt like this before? Even with Lily, had there been this desperate, maddening desire? If there had, he could no longer remember it.

“Yes, here, now. I want you to kiss me. I think of you all the time, Henry, I cannot sleep for thinking of you.”

“You think of me at night?” His voice was rough now, husky with need as he imagined her, alone in her bed, thinking of him. Oh, hell. Henry. No. Behave. This was bad. Very bad.