Page 27 of The Lady Who Left (The Flower Sisters #4)

A rchie leaned over his desk and skimmed his fingers up her arm, teasing the hem of her sleeve. “You’ll speak first, and remember to address the judge as my lord .”

Marigold brushed his hand aside. “It’s impossible to focus while you’re touching me.”

“It’s impossible not to touch you. Besides, you’re ready.” He bent close, hoping to catch a kiss, but she leaned away, sliding off the edge of the desk where she’d been sitting, blowing a kiss in his direction as she settled in the chair opposite and out of reach.

Archie wondered how he survived in his office without Marigold in it. She’d been there all morning practicing her testimony, as she had been every day for the past week, although they hadn’t succumbed to pleasure again since he’d brought her to completion in the same room.

Yet .

Marigold’s nerves were frayed, and no matter how often he urged her to trust him, he understood her tension and felt no small part of the same himself.

But her impact on his office and in his life was inarguable. Her soft scent—like a summer meadow—hung in the air after she left. She’d left a handkerchief behind the day before, and he kept it in his pocket like a talisman. He realized he was becoming too attached to her, but the pressure of the case and his desire for her had wound themselves together into a knot so impenetrable he stood no chance of unwinding it.

His body craved a release from the strain. He wanted her back on the desk, but this time naked as he wrung pleasure from her, slowly and inexorably, until she was dripping and desperate for him—

“You’re being awfully cocksure about our chances.” She shifted in her seat, and he imagined she was aching for him. Unsurprisingly, Marigold demonstrated far more restraint in her desires, although he hadn’t missed her slow perusal of his body when he’d shed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves.

He raised one brow. “Cocksure, eh?”

A blush erupted on her fair cheeks, and she cleared her throat. “I stand by it.”

The eyebrow dropped. “Of course. Shall we go again?”

“I don’t want to st-stutter.” She scrunched up her face in displeasure and picked at her fingernail. “I hate this part. You’re certain you can’t speak for me?”

He nodded, then walked around his desk to kneel at her feet. He’d spend the rest of his lifetime there if she’d let him. “You know I can’t. But we’ll practice until you’re ready.”

She cupped his cheek, kissed him once, but resisted when he tried to tangle his tongue with hers.

“Again.” Marigold cleared her throat. “My lord, I am seeking to end my marriage to the Marquess of Croydon.”

They practiced until she had her wording down, but anxiety plucked at Archie’s gut. Her testimony may be smooth, but he knew Croydon’s barrister would seek to rattle her, bring out the emotions that only heightened her stutter.

He hadn’t told her about the fear keeping him awake at night. He was certain the marquess would argue she was insane in order to prevent his own humiliation in the public eye, and if she stuttered on the stand or looked at all emotional, her husband would use it as evidence against her mental stability. A judge would much rather declare a woman to be of unsound mind and commit her to an asylum than confront a powerful peer of the realm, meaning Archie’s case would have to be unimpeachable.

Meaning he needed to stop touching her and focus.

He stood, hating to end their time together, but he had to catch the noon train if he was to make his appointments that afternoon. “I think you’re ready, and I need to get to London.”

She hissed out her breath. “I hate that you’re going there.”

He tugged her to her feet and let her soft body fall against him. She nuzzled against his chest. “I’m meeting with Dr. Brunner again, and I want to convince Pearl to testify— ”

“Call her Agnes.” Marigold’s voice was muffled against his waistcoat. “And she’s looking for a new p-protector, so keep your wits about you.”

“She won’t steal me away.” He tipped her chin up. “I’m yours, remember?”

Her cheeks flushed. “But you can’t t-tell her that.”

He wanted to scream from the rooftops how he felt for her, but to what avail? She was leaving for America as soon as the case was over, and he could never follow, not with his mother and sisters to care for. But a small voice in his mind asked what would happen if he gave it all up, started over somewhere else. With Marigold at his side, nothing would be impossible.

But she’d never suggested he accompany her to America. In fact, the day before, while he’d been preparing the letters to be entered into evidence, she’d chatted with Jasper for over an hour about living in Boston or New York.

Their time was rapidly running out, and he’d begun to question what it was she wanted from him. A few nights of pleasure before she fled England? Or was there something more? He wanted to believe the latter, but without her reassurance, his self-doubt crept in, its insidious tethers latching onto him and scratching at his tender flesh. He was the son of a failed farmer, a struggling barrister who could hardly keep a roof over his mother’s head. What use would she have for him in her new, liberated life?

Archie walked her from his office and onto the street, grateful Jasper was out for the day and wouldn’t give him a guilt-inducing look. He knew his assistant disapproved of their liaising, clearing his throat loudly whenever he entered the room and intentionally leaving the door open.

The overcast sky threatened rain, the air thick with humidity. “I’ll be back late tonight,” he said as he hailed a hack. He lowered his voice. “Will you come by?”

She flattened her lips, the flush crawling up her neck above the frilly lace collar of her dress. “I can’t. Not with the boys. Someone will notice.”

Who will notice? He wanted to interrogate her like he was in court. Her odd housekeeper wouldn’t object. But her sons… Would they understand if their mother was carrying on with another man? Would they judge her poorly for it?

Would they judge him ?

He had been slow to admit to himself how much he enjoyed teaching Matthew and Reggie to play rugby, sharing something of himself with them. And the chess game afterward only confirmed what he suspected: Reggie did not need his mother to speak for him, nor did he want it. Could Archie convince him to testify on his mother’s behalf?

But Marigold had been insistent from the start, and he wouldn’t violate her trust. Putting her children in the public eye would be unforgivable.

A hack pulled up to the curb and stopped. After handing the driver coins and giving the address on St. Helen’s Square, Archie lingered over her hand as she stepped into the carriage. “I have a match in Leeds this Saturday. Will you come, bring the boys? ”

Her lips parted. “Are you certain that’s a good idea? What if someone sees me with you?”

He leaned closer, watched the pink climb across her cheeks beneath the dusting of amber freckles. “No one is seeing us now.”

“Archie!”

He spun, nearly toppling into the street. “Florence!” he gasped as his sister marched forward. “What are you doing here?”

She came to a stop in a sweep of navy serge skirts and gave Marigold a once-over. “I could ask the same of you.”

Marigold’s eyes widened. “I should go, the d-driver—”

“You don’t need to go, Lady Croydon.” Florence’s smile was nothing short of delighted. “Please stay and chat.”

“That won’t be necessary, Flo,” Archie said, then leaned closer to Marigold. “Think about the match, yeah?”

She nodded, biting her lower lip. “I will,” she whispered, then looked at his sister, who could not have been more delighted at this discovery. “A p-pleasure to see you, Mrs. McAuley.”

Archie helped her into the hack and watched until it turned the corner, then turned to face Florence. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“Come along, brother,” she said, linking her arm with his. “You’re going to tell me why I shouldn’t assume you’re having a clandestine affair with—”

“Hush!” he hissed, dragging her down the street towards the medieval structures marking the entrance to the Shambles. “Besides making my life a living hell, why are you here?”

She stopped outside Betsy’s Tea Shop. “Mum fell. ”

The ground beneath Archie’s feet shifted, and he was momentarily grateful for his sister’s grip on his arm, although she would have been able to do nothing to prevent him from collapsing. “When? Is she hurt? How could this have happened?”

“She’s fine.” Florence patted his forearm in reassurance. “She slipped on the stairs yesterday morning. Some bruises on her knees and arms, but nothing serious.”

He needed to sit down, lie down, or run all the way to the farm without stopping to breathe. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She rolled her eyes and dragged him into the tea shop, settling into the closest available table with a quick wave to the proprietress. “I’m telling you now. That’s what this is.”

His palms were damp. “You should have telegrammed me immediately, I could have—”

“What, called for a doctor? Samantha did that. She handled the whole situation beautifully, for the record.”

“I could have been there with her.” A gaping emptiness opened up in his chest at the thought of his sisters and mother, alone in the house and afraid.

Florence waved his comment away. “You would have done nothing but hover and bump into things. But I wanted you to know.” She sucked air in through her teeth. “It’s time to consider selling the farm.”

Archie pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. “I know,” he managed, as he let his palms fall on the table. “I’ve been trying to come up with the money for months to buy her and the girls someplace decent. ”

“We all have, but everything in Rotherham is wildly expensive.”

“I know that. Hell, why do you think I took this wild divorce case?” He ignored how she raised one sardonic brow. “The payout will be massive.”

“Is she paying you?”

He winced. “If I win, I might bring in more cases and more funds—”

“ If you win,” she interrupted. “If you bring in more cases and funds. None of this will help Mum any time soon.”

Fuck . And he’d been imagining running away with Marigold, starting a new life somewhere else, when he should have been focusing on the responsibilities he already had right here in Yorkshire.

“I’m sorry, Flo. I haven’t been paying enough attention to Mum, or to you and the other girls.”

Her brow furrowed. “First, I’m not a girl and haven’t been one for ages. Second, I’m not here to make you feel guilty. I only want to know your plan.”

“My plan?” He chuckled darkly and shook his head. “When have I ever had a plan?”

“Fine. What are you doing next?”

Hell, did he ever know? Had he bothered to look beyond what would happen at the hearing next week, aside from fantasizing about an impossible future with Marigold and her boys? Ridiculous .

“If I win, I’m joining Chapin and Baines again.” Saying it out loud made a lead weight form low in his belly .

Her nose wrinkled as she looked at him askance. “You are? You hated it there.”

“I’d be doing different work than before. Making more money.” Probably. Hopefully. Could he trust Nathan, or was he just selling something improbable to get Archie back? “And what would it matter if I make enough to get Mum into a better situation?”

“You’d be unhappy.” She enunciated each syllable like his hearing was poor. “No one wants that.”

“My happiness isn’t an issue.”

“It should be. And we’ve gone off track again.”

“As usual.”

Florence scowled. “Would you let me finish a thought?” She sighed. “Mother and the girls can move in with me until you’re able to buy something better.” She held up one finger when Archie opened his mouth to protest. “It’s not ideal, but it’s an option, and we—”

“Absolutely not! You don’t have the space or the time.”

“And neither do you!”

They stared at each other for a long moment before the corner of Florence’s lips twitched. “We forgot to order tea.”

Archie laughed despite himself. “We did.”

“Do you want some?”

“Always, and some scones. But is this conversation over?”

Her smile was wicked. “For today. Just think about helping me sell it, but we don’t have to decide now.”

“Good.”

“But Archie, whatever you do, don’t forget what you want. ”

He scoffed, looked out the window towards St. Helen’s Square. “What I want is impossible.”