Francie flopped back on the bed. Well, that was frustrating. He'd not listened to her. She needed something to wear and a comb if she was ever going to leave this room. Although. She turned over and drew his pillow to her, inhaling deeply. This would always be the first bed they'd shared. Of course, they'd shared a floor first, but it had been burned up. She hugged the pillow closer. Everything was gone. She'd tried so hard after Mama died. Mama had pleaded with her not to wear black. That mourning never helped the dead or the living. So instead Francie had put her energy into the shop. She'd wanted to make Mama proud. Now everything they'd had was gone.

By the time Reggie returned to their room she'd been openly weeping into his pillow for awhile. She turned her head away from the light of the hall, and once he'd closed the door she put her own pillow on his side of the bed.

"You're still awake?" His voice was soft.

"Yes."

Apparently even that single word alerted him. "What's wrong?"

She turned over on her side away from him. "Nothing."

He pulled his boots off and they thumped on the braided rug. "I don't believe you."

"So?"

"Bloody hell, Francie, I'm trying to be an honorable man. Please don't make me come over there and kiss it out of you."

She thought for a moment. "What if I want you to kiss it out of me?"

He groaned. It grew muffled at the end so she imagined he covered his face with his hands. "I retract calling you an angel. You are the devil incarnate."

"I pity the woman who marries you. You're going to be one of those long-suffering husbands, aren't you?"

She turned over to look at him again and could just make out the white of his shirt in the gloom. His arms moved, she thought to cross. "And I pity the man who marries you. You will be an intractable wife."

"It's a blessing we know each other so well. I can warn off all comers who might find themselves otherwise entranced by your good looks and passable charm."

He laughed. "Passable charm?"

She sat up, enjoying their jest. "I'll admit that I may not have seen you at your best. Shot, bored, and sleeping on floors. Hmm. If you added a bottle of rye to that it would be quite the sad tale."

"I have a bottle of whiskey, thank you very much, and that makes me sound both sophisticated and dashing."

"You are quite the rogue," she agreed affably. "Drinking contraband on the floor of a dress shop. No, wait, that still sounds sad."

He laughed, his arms relaxing down by his sides. "I'm glad the fire didn't blunt your wicked tongue."

"I used your sharpener on it right before we left."

It seemed she could be bold and wicked, but she couldn't force her tongue to tell the truth. That she loved him.

They both subsided into silence, with him still standing near the door and her sitting in the bed. Once it had been quiet so long she felt awkward she said, "Come to bed."

"Can't."

"Why not?"

He sighed. "Being honorable."

"But I made your pillow all wet and snotty," she said, holding it out.

"You were crying?" He pushed away from the wall and she smiled. Lud, but he was easy for her to lure.

"Well," she said. "This morning the shop I grew up in burned down, last week someone threatened to put my cousins in a brothel, and not three months ago my mother died." Despite her bravado her voice cracked a bit at the end.

He walked to her side of the bed and pulled her into a hug. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be an ogre."

She enjoyed his warmth and berated herself for not being brave. Tell him you love him, you foolish girl. What if he manages to be honorable all the way back to Irish Island without you?

Instead she asked, "So we're going to London?"

"It seems wise. You have family there. We can find out what Harry and your cousins are up to."

"I can introduce you to cousin Jack."

"I thought we'd agreed to call her Lady Jack."

She smiled into his shirt. "All right, we'll call her Lady Jack."

 

***

 

As much as he was sorry her shop burned, Reggie felt like at last he had something to do. He procured a dress for Francie from Mrs. Sparks. Left his address with the constable and postmaster. Sent another letter to Jeremy and one to his mother. Rented a carriage and four. By mid-morning he was sitting across from her as the carriage bumped over the road leading out of Cleadon. He watched her face for signs of grief at leaving her home of many years, but she seemed to be watching the passing scenery with curiosity rather than distress. It was, to his eyes, a sparse and chilly land. He wouldn't even choose it among all the places he'd seen in England, much less from around the world.

She had her hands clasped tightly in the lap and wondered if she was cold again. It was tempting to sit next to her and warm her fingers with his own. But where would that lead? There was entirely too much privacy in a carriage. Then she tucked her fingers the sleeves of her pelisse and that decided him. He crossed the small space separating them and sat on her bench with a sigh, tugging her hands into his own. At least now he could stretch out his legs and put his booted feet on the bench across from him.

"Did I seem so miserable?" she asked.

"I assumed that next you would be shivering. Do you hold chilly rocks while I'm not looking?"

She shook her head, smiling.

"Well, hopefully London will be warmer." His thumb rubbed circles on her palm under the edge of her fingerless gloves. This pair were knit in a pale rose wool. Far too provincial for London. He would need to take her shopping soon after their arrival. The last thing he needed was his mother meeting her dressed as she was now. The cast off dress from Mrs. Sparks daughter was too loose at the waist and too tight at the bosom. Francie's pelisse had seen better days, with wearing at the cuffs.

"I've never been to London," she said quietly. "Is it warm?"

He laughed. "Not really. But there is so much to do, and so many to do it with, that it seems to be."

She nodded as though that made sense to her. "I went to Newcastle when I was younger. There was more energy there than in Cleadon, if that makes sense."

"Exactly," he agreed. He crossed one booted foot over the other. "What do you look forward to seeing most in London?"

"I don't know. What is there to see?"

"Well, everything. Gardens, museums, the Thames."

"You can pick," she said. He loved that she assumed they would be exploring together. "It will be your last visit to the city before you return to Bermuda for some time."

That was precisely the truth, wasn't it? And he needed to figure out how to take a part of England with the name Francie Walters with him. "I hadn't thought about that. I guess we'll be seeing everything!"

She laughed. "You won't be able to choose?"

"Why choose when you can have everything you want?"

She turned her head away to look out the window again. "Can you heve everything you want?"

He squeezed her hands. "I know it's been difficult, Francie, but I want you to be happy. Let me show you London. We will eat ices at Gunters and ride through the park in the fashionable hour. You can see wonders from around the world in the museum and the fireworks at Vauxhall Gardens."

That caught her attention and she turned back to him. "Fireworks?"

He rested his arm behind her shoulders and leaned toward her. "It means going to Vauxhall. A girl could lose her reputation there if she's alone with an unsavory man."

She smiled so wide her cheeks dimpled. "Are you an unsavory man?"

"I could be. For you."

Blast, but his intention of staying away from her was sinking like a ship with a breeched hull. She pulled him close for a kiss and he couldn't find any resistance in himself. And he used to think he was so bloody honorable.