Page 56 of How To Tempt A Bodyguard

She'd never dreamed this version of him would still exist.

She wanted this, she realised suddenly. She wanted to see him laugh like this every day.

Every day?

The thought left her dizzy.

Chapter fifteen

The Difficult Conversation

Florence

After supper, Jack and Matthew retreated to the small yard behind the cottage, tankards in hand, voices low. Florence helped Nell clear the table while the children were bundled off to bed with promises of more somersaults tomorrow.

"You don't have to do that," Nell said as Florence stacked plates. "You're a guest, and you must be exhausted."

"I'd rather be useful."

Nell studied her for a moment, then nodded. "There's a basin in the scullery. I'll wash, you dry."

They worked in companionable silence for a few minutes. The sounds of the men's conversation drifted through the open window, snatches of laughter, names Florence didn't recognise, the comfortable rhythm of shared history.

"How long have you known him?" Nell asked finally. "Matthew."

"Not long." Florence picked up a wet plate and dried it carefully. "A few weeks."

"And you're married already?"

The question was gentle, but Florence heard the edge beneath it. Nell wasn't stupid. She'd noticed something. Perhaps something in Florence's manner that didn't fit.

"We’d corresponded for years. When we finally met, we just knew. It might have been hasty," Florence admitted, "but it was right."

"Hmm." Nell handed her another plate. "He's a good man, Matthew. The best I've known, except for my Jack. But he's had a hard life. The kind that leaves marks."

"I know."

"Do you?" Nell's hands stilled in the basin. "I don't mean the scars you can see. I mean the ones underneath. The ones that make a man flinch when he shouldn’t or go cold when he ought to be warm."

Florence thought about the way he sometimes woke with his hand already reaching for a weapon. The distance that crept into his eyes when he thought she wasn't watching.

"I think I understand," she said, her voice soft.

Nell was quiet for a moment. Then she dried her hands on her apron and turned to face Florence fully.

"Can I ask you something, Love? And I hope you won't take offence."

"Of course."

Nell's eyes dropped to Florence's arms, to the place where her sleeve had ridden up while she worked, exposing the edge of a bruise. Then to her throat, where another mark peeked above her collar. Then to her face, searching.

"Those marks on you," Nell said carefully. "Did he…"

Florence understood.

"No." She shook her head quickly. "God, no. Matthew would never…"

"You're certain? Because if you're in trouble, if you need help…"