Page 57 of How To Tempt A Bodyguard

"I'm certain." Florence pulled back her sleeve, revealing the full extent of the bruising. "These aren't from him. They're from... before. Men who wanted to hurt me. Matthew has kept me safe."

Nell studied her face. Likely searching for the lie.

"Thank God." The words came out on an exhale, and Nell pressed a hand to her chest. "I'm sorry. I had to ask. When I saw... I've known women in bad situations. I couldn't not ask."

"I understand." Florence swallowed past the tightness in her throat. "I would have asked too."

"He'd never raise a hand to a woman. I've known that since the day I met him." Nell shook her head. "But you hear stories, don't you? Men who seem kind until they're not. I had to be sure."

"Thank you for asking. So many would have avoided the difficult conversation."

"Women like us," Nell picked up another plate and resumed washing, "we know how to have difficult conversations. Surviving it makes us braver, not weaker."

Florence smiled, nodding. "Yes, and thank goodness for that. If women don’t look out for each other, who would?"

"Not men. They’re as dense as marble." Nell glanced at her. "I’m surprised he brought a wife. We all thought he’d live alone forever, you know? Never let his eyes wander. Focused as a blade, that one." She shook her head disbelievingly. "I never thought I’d see the day when Matthew Collins would go all soft when looking at a woman."

Florence felt heat rise to her face. Her heart stuttered at Nell’s words but then the doubt crept in.

He'd never described their joining as anything but fucking. Never talked about what happened when they reached Scotland, whether he'd stay or disappear back to London, his job complete.

She'd caught him watching her sometimes, his expression unreadable. Nell said his eyes went soft, but Florence wasn't sure she'd ever seen it herself. In the dark, in the heat of passion, yes. But in daylight? In the quiet moments?

He held her. He protected her. He made her body sing.

But he'd never said he loved her. And she was too afraid to ask.

The irony wasn't lost on her. She'd faced down magistrates and madams, stared into the eyes of men who could ruin her and never flinched. She'd built a network of safe houses on nothing but nerve and the fury of women with nowhere else to turn.

But this, this quiet terror of wanting, made a coward of her.

She could ask him. She could confess that she felt proud of all he'd overcome, all he'd built from nothing. That she felt tenderness watching him sleep, his face unguarded for once. That she sometimes forgot their marriage was a lie.

And when she remembered, the hollow ache of it frightened her more than Carrick ever had.

Frightened of the day it would end.

Later, Florence found Matthew alone in the yard. Jack had gone inside, and the night had grown cool and quiet.

Matthew stood with his back to her, looking up at the stars scattered across the sky. She came up beside him and slipped her hand into his.

"You have good friends," she said.

"I have a few." His fingers laced through hers. "They're the only family I've got."

"Nell thought you were hurting me."

He went rigid. "What?"

"She saw my bruises. The ones from the carriage accident. From before." Florence squeezed his hand. "She pulled me aside to make sure I wasn't in danger."

Matthew turned to face her. His expression was unreadable in the darkness. "What did you tell her?"

"The truth. That you'd never hurt me. That you're the reason I'm safe."

He was quiet. Then he pulled her into his arms, holding her. His hand cradled the back of her head.

"I would never," he said against her hair. "Florence. I would never."