Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

F lora did not go to him. Not immediately.

First, she needed a plan. And far more courage than she currently possessed.

And at least a dash of recklessness.

So, she weathered the short sedan chair ride home as patiently as she could, all the while debating and discarding different means to get to King’s Circus.

She could not possibly go on foot in such weather, and certainly not in her evening clothes and slippers as thin as paper. And she would need to wake her last remaining groom in the stable to drive her. Although it wouldn’t be the most outrageous request anyone had ever made of young Davie—Maisie had once all but stolen a pony cart from under the boy’s nose—a trip for a potential tryst would be a first for Flora.

And to do any of this, she would have to get past Raines.

But if she did not go to him, or at least try, there was a very good chance that he would never be her lover in full. And that, she knew, she would regret until her dying day.

This was her chance. She would simply have to take Jack’s advice and brazen it out.

“Come in, come in, miss.” Raines greeted her at the door. “Out of this dirty weather, though at least it’s turned to snow. We’ll have a proper Christmastide.” She immediately unfastened Flora’s velvet evening cloak. “I hope you’ve had a pleasant evening?”

“I have not,” Flora averred. “It was most unsatisfactory. But I have plans to make a reversal,” she said as she headed up the stairs without waiting for the maid’s reaction. “If you’ll help me change into more suitable clothes, and fetch me a heavier cloak for this weather, and send word out to Davie in the stable to ready the small carriage.” She dove into her armoire to take out a warmer, more practical gown. “I would appreciate it.”

Raines stared at her. And at the gown she had chosen. “Where do you think you’re going in that , if I may ask, miss? At this time o’night?”

“Please don’t fuss,” Flora all but pleaded. “I know what I’m doing.” She had to go to him. She had to make sure he understood her regard.

She had to take this one small chance for happiness.

And if the encounter was to bring her unhappiness, better she know that as soon as possible, so she might get it over with. She could not be wondering about Jack Balfour and pining for him for years on end. It would never do.

“It doesn’t matter what I’m wearing.”

“As if,” Cora Raines said half under her breath. “I can see you’ve got your heart set on what your heart wants to be doing, and there’ll be no stopping you, so I’m not going to even try. But that gown may be practical for any old winter’s night, miss, but it’ll never do for bringing a gentleman up to snuff. Come you here and let me set you up proper.” The maid very quickly chose a seldom worn, but beautiful gown of dark green velvet, that was cut a great deal lower across the bodice, exposing a vast deal more of her bosom than Flora normally liked.

“Clocked stockings, very fine. Half stays,” Raines decreed as she turned about the room to find the listed items. “Less work coming off as well as on, and they’ll set you up nicely. And your best shift. You’ve got a lovely bosom if you’d only show it off. No sense in not doing you up proper.” She had Flora’s first ensemble off, and the nearly transparent lawn shift out and over Flora’s head before the latter could argue.

And why should she argue—Raines was undoubtedly right, though the thought of getting down to her shift with Jack Balfour made her giddy and edgy all at the same time.

“There,” Raines approved as she tugged the low bodice into place over the tight half-stays. “That’ll do you nicely. Now let me loosen up your coiffure a bit—ever so slightly, so you look just that trifle undone, if you know what I mean, miss. And even if you don’t, just trust your Raines. I know what I’m about. Got your sister that fine husband of hers despite her not caring a whit about what she threw on her back, now didn’t I?”

“Did you?” Flora had not been aware of any efforts Raines might have made to bring Archie and Maisie to book, as it were.

“Made sure she always had beautiful shifts under all those dowdy smocks and shapeless round gowns. Made sure those fine lawn shifts showed, just that nice little bit, to catch Mr. Archie’s eye, didn’t I?”

Flora was astonished to find that anyone other than herself had been working to further Maisie and Archie’s clandestine courtship. “I had no idea you were such an infernal genius, Raines. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, miss.” Raines took the compliment in her usual matter-of-fact way. “Now, let me pin this veil—don’t you think about arguing with me, miss. You’ll go veiled and hooded and as anonymous as a milkmaid if you know what’s good for you.”

“Yes, Raines.” Flora didn’t dare disagree—not when Raines was doing such a superb job.

“There’s a good lass. There.” The maid stood back to survey her handiwork. “Now, you go and give your fella a proper goodbye and do what you’ve got your heart set on doing. But don’t you think of waiting until the sun is up to come home. You get yourself back here before the dawn if you know what’s good for you.”

“I do know what’s good for me,” Flora swore. “And I will do just as you say, Raines.” She hugged the woman tight. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” the maid said as she shooed her charge toward the door. “Now off with you, before I change my mind.”

Flora went.

The address Lady Cairn had given her was on the backside of the King Street Circus, where the smaller mews houses faced a hayfield above the village of Stockbridge.

She had Davie, her last remaining groom, who now acted as coachman, leave her at the top of the street, so the sound of the carriage might not attract any attention. Cleaving to Raines’s warning, Flora made sure both her veil and her hood were well in place before she ventured down the length of the street, though the enveloping material did make it difficult to see—she had to lift the veil to be able to read the number twenty-six posted discreetly above his door.

But she let it down again to gather her courage in hand and take the brass knocker up before she let it fall.

The door was wrenched open immediately.

Jack was clearly not expecting her—or any visitors at this time of night—for he was clad for travel in his sea coat and boots when he answered the door with a single stubbed candlestick in his hand, scant illumination in the dim interior behind him.

“I hope I’m not intruding,” she began in a rush, before she changed her mind. “On second thought, I hope I am intruding, for I should very much like to come in.”

“Flora.” He stood as still and staring as an owl. “Thank God. I was just coming to you. But here you are instead. You astonish me.”

“No more than I do myself.” She shifted from one cold foot to the other. “But I hope I do not astonish you so much that you do not invite me in.”

“Yes, of course. By all means. Come, quickly now.” He stood back to let her in before he stuck his head back out the portal into the snow, looking up and down the mews row.

“I’m sorry,” she said. But the truth was, she was not sorry at all. “I had the carriage leave me off at the end of the row and drive on immediately,” she explained. “He’ll circle back to make sure I’ve gotten in but won’t linger.”

“Excellent. What a well-trained coachman you must have for midnight assignations.”

Flora was determined not to take offense. “Thank you, but as this is our first assignation, we were unsure of how to get on. So, I’m glad you approve of our precautions. We very much wanted to get them right.”

That finally brought a smile to his otherwise grim face. “You have, thank God. Well done, lass. I ought not be surprised by your keenness anymore. And I ought not look gift horses in the mouth.”

“No, you should not,” she agreed with some relief. “And although I am not, I hope you will agree, a horse, perhaps you may want to greet me by the mouth?”

“I do, lass. With pleasure.”

He drew her into his embrace and slanted his mouth across hers, taking her lower lip between his teeth to worry at without biting. To lure her into the promise of more.

“Oh, yes, please,” was her answer. “I knew I couldn’t let you go without some word, some last gesture between us.”

“My dearest Flora.” He hugged her closer. “I was just on my way to you to do the same. To beg your forgiveness for my earlier behavior and to.…just beg.”

“Jack.” It was the only thing she had to offer, the gift of his name—the only thing other than herself. And so, she offered that too. “I came to ask your forgiveness for not understanding—” She suddenly found her tongue tied up on the lie. “No. I came to try and make love to you.”

His smile dawned slowly but grew stronger with each passing moment. “Have you?” he queried with that delicious little half smile before he took her chin in his hand and turned up her mouth for a sweet, solemn kiss. “How charming of you.” He took hold of her hand, his fingers interlacing with hers before he raised it to his mouth for a kiss. “If that is so, then you had best come with me.”

He led her through a cold parlor where a number of sea trunks were stacked, ready for his imminent departure.

She had almost left it too late. Pride had almost robbed her of this pleasure.

Flora followed him up a narrow set of stairs to a spare but well-appointed bedroom, with a good armchair by the fire and a bed of no mean size, covered in well-laundered linens.

He had followed her gaze. “I may be poor,” he quipped, “but I have standards. I also have firewood, still, so let me draw you close enough to warm you through.”

“I rather hoped you might do that yourself,” she said rather baldly. Who knew how much time she had with him—an hour or two at most? His mail coach would likely leave for London at dawn. She had wasted precious time prevaricating over society’s strictures.

But he seemed to understand their urgency. “Then I will,” he said, tossing his sea coat aside without ceremony. “Most thoroughly. But it is a raw night, and your hands are like ice. I will attend to warming them once I’ve built up the fire.”

A glance at the basket next to the hearth revealed only a handful of logs left. Other than the bed, the room was laid nearly bare. She hated to think of him in such straits. “Please don’t use up the last of your wood.”

“I’ll be gone on the morrow,” he said reasonably while he laid the fuel on the low fire. “And I should far rather see you made warm in the perpetual winter of this city than leave the logs to crumble into dust waiting for me to return.”

“Will it really be that long before you come back?”

“Years, if I’m lucky.” He stood and returned his gaze to her. “Come, we must get you out of these wet things. Your toes must be as frozen as your fingers.”

He drew her to the armchair and knelt beside her to untie and draw off her half-boots, taking her stocking-clad feet between his hands to chafe and warm.

Flora had never been more glad of Raines’s thoughtful, practical preparations. Knowing she was clad in her finest gave her leave to think only about the way his hands kneading the soles of her feet made her feel—like a cat in a sunbeam, all hedonistic ease and delight. “That is…marvelous.”

“I’m glad you think so, for there are more marvels to come,” he said as he drew her stockings off and rose to hang them to dry on the fireplace screen.

Rather than wait for him to return to her, Flora rose with him, looped her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him, angling her mouth to his, offering him everything she was, body and soul.

She closed her eyes and let her lips find their own way, softly at first, learning the taste and feel of him, letting her passion grow of its own accord. Taking her own sweet time.

She kissed him gently, lightly, pressing little busses along the rough line of his jaw. Sipping him in until she was ready to drink her fill.

He opened his mouth to her, inviting her into taste and explore the clean winter taste of him, of whisky and rain. Her hands grasped at his linen shirt, holding him close and closer still so she could kiss him for as long as she pleased. Forever and a day.

“My divine Flora,” was all he said. And all he needed to say.

All the restlessness bottled up inside her was uncorked and turned into daring, decisive action.

She pressed what she hoped was a persuasive kiss to the sensitive slide of skin below his ear. “My darling captain, won’t you please make love to me?”