Page 72 of A Sense of Fate
‘What are they doing?’
‘I’d prefer not to offend your sensibilities until I’m sure.’ He gently stroked the curve of her face. ‘Be patient for one more day.’
‘All right, if you insist.’
‘Good heavens, she didn’t put up a fight and is willing to do as she’s told! I must be hallucinating.’
Flora gently punched his arm. ‘Behave!’
‘With you dressed like that, sitting on the edge of my bed?’ A teasing smile played about his lips. ‘There’s little chance of that, I’m afraid.’
Flora shook her head, sending her hair cascading over her shoulders. ‘Papa will be disgraced. The bishop will dismiss him and the entire family will share in his downfall.’
‘Not you and Melanie, my love. I shall make sure of that.’
‘Give me time, Archie. This is all happening too fast.’
‘You have all the time in the world, my love. Lie beside me and help me sleep.’
He expected her to protest, but she surprised him as she so often could by pulling back the cover and lying next to him on his uninjured side, resting the side of her face on his chest. He slipped an arm around her shoulders and held her close, wanting to pinch himself to ensure that he wasn’t imagining a situation that he had conjured up a thousand times in his mind.
Her fingers slid beneath the shirt that he was still wearing and explored the contours of his chest. Archie inhaled sharply but didn’t try to prevent her from indulging her curiosity. He felt frightened by the intensity of his feelings for this most unique of females who had become so very dear to him. He had never lain with a virgin before and would remain on his best possible behaviour now, he silently vowed. When the time came, it would be because she had agreed to become his wife.
Nothing less than that would do.
The fingers of his free hand ran slowly over the curve of her hip and down her shapely leg, but he resisted the urge to slip that hand beneath her night attire. If he did that then his control, such as it was, would unravel. She was slowly killing him, yet this was the sort of death he would welcome.
She sighed and snuggled closer. Her fingers curled into his chest as she mumbled incoherently, fighting sleep. Archie ought to have been outraged to discover that his attentions made her feel drowsy. Instead, he glanced down at her features, at the line of freckles decorating her nose, and kissed the top of her head.
‘Sleep, little one,’ he said. ‘You’ve had a terrible day. I will wake you long before dawn.’
‘Don’t care if you don’t,’ she mumbled, wriggling into a more comfortable position as her breathing slowed and her eyes fluttered to a close. ‘So tired...’
Archie drifted off to sleep himself. When he woke, his injured leg was stiff and painful, the bed beside him was empty and he might have imagined he’d sensed Flora’s presence in it, but for one long strand of russet hair she had left on the pillow. Pawson was in the room. He pulled the curtains back to reveal yet more sleet beating against the window glass.
‘Morning. How do you feel?’
‘Never better,’ Archie replied, wincing as he forced himself into a sitting position. ‘Go back to the hall, get me some clean clothes and send a message to the bishop, asking him to attend me at the Hall this afternoon. Then have Conrad brought up there later this morning. I don’t have the strength to go to the gaol.’
‘Right. I’ll bring you up some breakfast before I go, unless you would prefer someone else to serve it,’ he added with a suggestive smile.
Archie would, but he didn’t trust himself to be alone with Flora again until he’d dealt with the day’s necessary but unpleasant business. It hadn’t escaped his notice that she’d failed to give him an answer to his proposal. No doubt she was taken up with doubts about her suitability still, given her father’s imminent fall from grace. He suspected, cynically, that the church wouldn’t want to reveal Latimer’s activities and that he would be quietly steered into some distant ecclesiastical backwater. And that would suit Archie’s purpose very well.
Pawson delivered his breakfast and Archie, sharp set, did it justice. But it was Flora who came in as he finished, bringing more cold cloths, insisting upon attending to his leg, and not meeting his eye.
‘Sit up, Archie,’ she said, after the cloths had done their work. ‘Let’s see how much weight you can bear on it.’
Pawson had left his silver-handled stick in the room and she handed it to him. Archie sensed her desire to keep her thoughts to herself and made no mention of the previous night as he slowly, with her help and leaning heavily on his stick, forced himself to his feet.
‘Damn it…’ He winced as he waited for the pain to subside and then let out a long breath. ‘Thank you, Flora,’ he managed to say. ‘It will be all right.’
‘Mr Pawson is back, so I’ll leave you to get dressed. I know you have things to do today. I will call at the Hall tomorrow morning and we will talk then.’
She stood on her toes, placed a chaste kiss on his brow and left the room without another word.
With Pawson’s help, Archie managed to wash and dress, then hobbled down the stairs. There was no sign of Flora or her sister, and it was Beatrice and Polly who stood in the doorway, watching as Pawson helped Archie into the waiting conveyance.
He endured the short journey back to Felsham Hall, mulling over how best to conduct the interview with Conrad; how much leeway to offer him in return for the absolute truth. He was no nearer deciding when that individual, scruffy and surly and nursing a heavily bandaged wrist, was shown into his library by Pawson.
