Emory stretched his neck as the carriage rolled down the road.
Henry, sitting beside him, frowned at him. "Where did you sleep last night?"
Florence choked on Mrs. Fitzwilliam's cookie and coughed beside Lucy.
"Did you spend the night in the tree house?" Henry asked. When Emory did not reply, he turned to Florence. "Did you?"
Florence cleared her throat.
"No," Emory answered, a brow arched at Florence. "She did not."
"Yes. She was in her bed this morning," Lucy said. "But what time did you get back? I waited for you."
Florence coughed a few more times.
"I'd like to know the answer, too," Emory said, eyes narrowed.
She smiled at Henry and Lucy. "I did not check." She could feel Emory's dark gaze from across the carriage.
"You also did not check if you left someone behind," Emory said through his teeth.
"I forgot," she said, taking the opportunity to taunt. "How does it feel to be forgotten?" His lips pursed, and she laughed. "Cookies?" she offered, giving him a cheeky smile.
His jaw twitched as he reached for a cookie. She chuckled, turning to the window. Then her heart hammered, the fear slowly creeping in.
When she arrived in Coulway months ago with Lucy, she didn't want to stay near the ports too long. And when Henry's men told them they were taking them to Birchfield, she readily agreed because it meant staying far from reach.
Now, here she was coming back. With no husband, and with her brother's ship just weeks away.
***
They arrived in Winfield with a welcome. Simon St. Vincent introduced himself again to both Florence and Lucy.
"You're not really a doctor, are you?" she asked.
"And you're not just the cousin, are you?" he asked back.
She smiled, turning to the woman standing beside him.
"My daughter, Ellise Dior, Duchess of Calbridge."
Florence suddenly felt smaller in front of the tall woman. Even more so as she looked down at her with her stoic hazel eyes, gauging her from head to foot before giving a small curtsy. "Welcome to Winfield, Your Highness."
Florence was too much in awe to give a spoken reply. The woman was in breeches, a white shirt, and a long, dark coat. She was one of Florence's imaginary heroines in the flesh.
A movement from the corner of her eye pulled her attention from the duchess. A little girl sashayed into the room with a large muffin in hand, her cheeks puffing as she chewed. Then she grinned, crumbs at the corner of her lips.
"And my daughter, Marion," Ellise said, never taking her eyes off Florence.
"Hello," Florence greeted, bending low.
"Do you have more of those muffins for the princess, darling?" the duchess asked.
Marion nodded and reached for Florence's hand.
Florence smiled and turned to Emory, who gave her a curt nod. Apparently, he had matters to discuss with the duchess that were not for her ears.
Lucy joined them, and as they walked away, led by Marion, she looked over her shoulder. Emory was already talking with the duchess, who then led him into another long corridor, Henry and St. Vincent close behind.
"Do you want to see dead rats?" Marion asked them.
"N-No," Lucy said at the same time Florence asked, "Where?"
The girl stopped and blinked at them. "Muffin first or rats first?"
"Muffin," Lucy said.
Marion turned to Florence.
"I suppose you want to show us the rats first," she said with a nervous chuckle.
Marion just smiled and turned.
As they followed, Lucy whispered, "Are we getting muffins or rats?"
"I have no idea."
***
"Seven from Belcourt, and seven from the Circus," Ellise reported in an impassive tone as Emory sat with his leg crossed over the other, chin resting on a finger. She stopped, looking even more disinterested than he was. "I know you're quite upset that we're taking the convention here, but it's the only way to keep you safe."
"By drawing attention to the only place I don't want anyone else to know about?"
Ellise sighed. "The palace is not completely safe yet. Your other estates are also being checked. If you wish, we can ask Belcourt to accommodate us."
"They will not allow it." He said, straightening in his seat. "You're leaving me no choice."
"We'll be discussing important security issues, and Fairborne will provide a more detailed report on the men we captured."
He froze. "Captured?"
She nodded. "Yes. And you must know not all of them are French."
"Sutherlander?"
"One."
His jaw clenched.
"Is Birchfield ready to accept the Clover?"
"There's no one there apart from a few chickens and a dead one," he retorted wryly, uncrossing his legs. "And the villa for the Princess?"
"We acquired one near Battleborough Gardens. Two Belles live near the area, and the villa next door is now filled with Soldiers."
"How far is it from Dury Lane?"
"A few blocks. Why?"
"The princess might want to shop for new dresses."
"We can send a modiste—"
"You are not to let anyone else enter that villa. Florence enjoys walks."
"I don't think it's safe."
"That or we increase the chance of her sneaking out. Just have eyes on her wherever she goes. Walking eases her restlessness."
"Very well."
"Are there other villas across the street?"
"Yes."
"Get one and assign Royal Watchers."
"It shall be done."
He looked at Ellise and said, "She will also need a few friends."
The woman frowned. "I'm not the friendly sort."
"But you're one of the few I can trust with my betrothed. And you also have friendly friends."
Ellise scoffed. "Betrothed. So the rumor is true."
He rolled his eyes. "Where did you hear that from?"
"My brother doesn't miss a gossip." Ellise squared her shoulders and looked down at him. "I'll try my best with the Grand Princess. However, if she demands for better company, I will employ help."
Emory nodded, satisfied. He had always liked Ellise. Straightforward and reliable. And she did not care who he was. "As long as she's safe."
"I'm not done with my report," she said when he got up.
"I'll get them from Fairborne. You can rest now, Duchess. You have a long day tomorrow."
Henry followed him outside. "If they're not all French, Emory, it means your enemies have found allies."
"Or they found only those they can pay," he said, popping his head into the drawing room.
"Where are you going?" Henry asked when he proceeded to the dining room.
"Where's Florence?"
His cousin sighed. "Of course."
"I thought they were getting muffins?"
"They should be upstairs in my brother's old room," Ellise said, walking past them. "Marion loves to entertain there."
They followed the duchess up the stairs, down a hall, and before they even reached the last door, they heard Florence and Lucy scream. Emory reached the door first, his heart leaping out of his chest as he sent the door slamming against the wall.
He came to a sudden halt, his alarm replaced by confusion at the scene. When she saw him, Florence flew across the room and hid behind him, clutching his shirt. Lucy was in one corner, back pressed to the wall, eyes wide with horror.
Henry appeared beside him, and the duchess, looking indifferent, sashayed into the room. "Marion, darling, please put that down."
"Put it away!" Florence cried as Marion faced her mother with a pure, innocent look on her face. In her arms was a large jar and inside was a hand.
"But I wanted to show them. Look. It has six fingers!" She took a step toward Florence.
As Florence cried out in alarm, Emory pulled her completely behind him, where she buried her face in his back. Emory smiled at the girl. "I'm afraid the princess is not as brave as you are, my lady." Behind them, Henry was chuckling.
"Don't laugh!" Florence hissed at him.
"You're done here," the duchess' stern voice said, grabbing the jar from her daughter. Placing it on the top shelf, she added, "What did your father tell you about this room?"
Marion sighed with disappointment. "I can't bring friends here."
"Exactly."
Marion pouted. "But this is not his room. It's Uncle Ollie's room and Uncle Ollie said I can—"
"I want a muffin!" Lucy piped in, clearly still shaken. She strutted to the door, avoiding all the jars and instruments inside with one eye closed.
The duchess took her daughter's hand and guided her out the door. "Share your muffins with Lady Lucy, darling."
"I want to see the jars," Henry said, grinning at Marion, who immediately lit up with excitement.
Her mother sighed. "Very well." Turning to Lucy and peering at Florence, who was still clutching Emory's shirt, she said, "Would you like to join me for tea?"
"Yes!" they replied.
As they walked back downstairs behind the duchess and Lucy, Emory smiled down at Florence. "You should meet the Uncle Ollie," he said under his breath, taking her hand from his arm.
"I don't think I want to."
Leaning down, he whispered in her ear, "He has a wider collection in Coulway. I'll arrange a tour."
She shoved him aside, and he chuckled, pulling her back beside him.
After tea with the St. Vincents, Emory went for a walk with Florence and Lucy by the shore. Henry and Marion later joined them. The breeze was chilly, but nothing they couldn't handle.
He stopped when Florence bent down and removed her boots. "It's freezing, Lori."
"I know." She grinned up at him.
Shaking his head, he waited, staring after Henry and Lucy, while Marion ran up ahead. "You always do what you want, anyway."
"Is that a bad thing?" she asked, straightening to full height.
He took her boots from her hand and continued walking. "In life and death moments, it is."
"You don't do it often, do you?"
He looked down at her, the color of sunset on her face and hair. "No."
"You cannot or you won't?"
"I cannot." The corner of his mouth curled when she lopped an arm around his, because the movement seemed natural. This woman would always surprise him in such ways. Sometimes she'd wait until he could read her thoughts, other times she would just do it on her own.
"Because you're king?"
"Because an entire nation is at stake."
The gentle waves and the distant conversation of their cousins were the only sounds for a while as Florence fell quiet. "Maybe you just need to recognize the right moments," she said after a while.
He grinned. "Like the right moment to leave me sleeping in a tree house?"
Her laughter was contagious. "Yes."
"Maybe you should teach me how to be spontaneous."
"Maybe. But you should be warned."
"Of what?"
She scrunched her nose. "It can be quite addicting."
***
They were soon running out of time in Winfield. Florence would have loved to stay longer. The sea offered a different scenery, and she liked the St. Vincents more than she anticipated. The duchess was odd, but so was her father. Marion was also weird in her own little quirky way, and having heard a lot about the Uncle Ollie, she wanted to meet the man, too.
After supper, Lucy finally got her muffin from Marion. Henry played a game of cards with Emory and Simon, while the duchess disappeared to prepare for tomorrow's journey.
Florence went up to her room while everyone was busy. She checked her belongings, making sure their papers were complete. If they ever had to leave Coulway, everything had to be on hand.
A knock came at her door. She quickly covered her documents and closed the trunk. She blinked and smiled at Emory. "Yes?"
He was wearing a coat, and from it he pulled out a bottle of wine. Florence grinned, opening the door wider. After closing it carefully behind her, she wrapped a shawl over her shoulders and joined him outside on the balcony. Leaning on the top rail of the balustrade, she looked ahead at the darkness of the ocean. The breeze was still, the waves barely moving.
"It feels like we're back in the tree house," she said. "Only this time we're on our feet."
He drank straight from the bottle before passing it to her.
She smiled. "Is this your idea of being spontaneous?"
"I'm not sure. I'm not the teacher."
She took a gulp and swallowed, feeling the hot liquid spread across her chest. He took it from her and set it aside. "Don't drink too much. You have a long day tomorrow."
She let out a long sigh. "You always have to remind me."
He turned, facing her, elbow resting on the rail. His eyes were placid as he said, "Please refrain from doing something crazy."
It was getting annoying. All these warnings made her feel like he only saw her as a child. "I'll try."
There was a brief pause. "And you'll wait."
For whom? You? For a wedding? Or for my trip back home? She couldn't voice the questions because she didn't want to sound desperate. They had already talked about this, so she just shrugged.
"I'll be in Coulway as soon as it is possible."
She smiled tightly. "Of course."
He scanned her face. "Your response is making me uneasy."
Good. "How so?"
He sighed. "Never mind. Here." He pulled out a book from his coat. She frowned as she opened the first page. His shadow loomed over her as he stepped closer. "It's a drawing book." She smiled as she flipped through the blank pages. "Maybe you can create a new story in Sutherland."
"It will take a long time to finish a story."
When she looked up, he had already taken another step, and his hands cupped her face. "You can take as long as you want," he whispered before bending lower to kiss her. Gently at first, then testily, gauging her response. And when she moved her lips, he let out a breath that sounded like relief.
"Okay," she mumbled, smiling into his kiss.
Pulling back just far enough to look into her eyes, Emory whispered, "Wait for me in Coulway. Then be my queen."
Florence stiffened, the warmth in her chest ready to explode. She blinked a few times, words too slow to form in her head.
"I don't understand blink language, Lori." With a small frown, he asked, "Are you deliberately teasing me by your silence?"
"You just made me speechless—"
This time, his hand went behind her nape and he pulled her closer. The kiss was different, too. He was not trying to be gentle. In fact, she thought he was punishing her. His hands gripped her waist as he turned her around, guiding her against the opposite wall.
His hands squeezed her waist as his mouth caught hers again. She moaned as his tongue slipped through and the kiss changed into something far more thrilling. Powerful. Alarming.
Her senses were in turmoil, rushing and hurdling and quivering that she could barely keep up. She ran her fingers through his hair, caught his tresses in a grip as he deepened the kiss, his weight pressing her into the wall.
After almost an eternity, he reluctantly leaned his head back and ran a finger across her swollen lips. He tucked her hair behind her ear. The fire in his eyes sent tingles down her fingertips.
"Tell me you'll wait," he whispered.
She let out a dramatic sigh. "Very well."
"And you will not meet a gentleman or—"
"I should warn you that they come and flock wherever I am. I won't be able to help it—" She received another punishing kiss for that.
"You'll have more guards around you, then." He squeezed her waist in warning while she laughed. "Princess or Lorraine Paulet or whatever you'll call yourself out there, remember you're betrothed. I'd hate to go home to fight off suitors."
Florence laughed, overjoyed. "Fret not. I'd rather be queen."
He scoffed before breaking into a smile, leaning down for another kiss.
This must be what it must feel like—to have the pieces fall into place, Florence thought. It was almost magical.
"Was it hard? Deciding to marry me?" she couldn't help but ask.
"Surprisingly, no, considering this is my first time." He kissed the tip of her nose. "You will not make me regret it, will you?"
Her heart sank at his question, and her eyes filled with tears. "I hope the same."
He chuckled, wiping the tear off her cheek. "Why are you crying?"
Guilt.
She shook her head. "Nothing," she lied, wrapping her arms around his neck.
"You're shaking," he said, smoothing her hair. He planted a kiss on her shoulder and murmured, "Don't cry."
But she did cry. She should feel nothing but relief. She finally got what she came here for. Because now, all she could think of was that she had more to fear.