What a Lady Wants

by Victoria Alexander

  “I can’t,” he said without thinking and realized it was true. “I can’t leave you this way.”

  “And what way would you leave me?” Her eyes glistened but her voice was harsh. “In a crowded ballroom? On a garden path? After a private dance together?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Go, Nigel, please. Just go.”

  He started toward the balcony, then stopped. “This is farewell then?”

  “So it appears.”

  “May I…” He knew it was a mistake but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. “May I kiss you?”

  “Why?” The word sounded as though it had been ripped from her soul.

  “Because I shall miss you.” His voice held a quiet calm he didn’t quite feel. He stared into her eyes, and a heavy weight settled in the pit of his stomach, as if he were doing something terribly, irrevocably wrong. “Because in spite of my aversion to marriage, in spite of my refusal to take advantage of you, I shall miss those few moments when I held you in my arms.”

  She stared at him for a long moment, and he realized he would never lose himself in those eyes again. “Very well then.” She stepped to him and raised her face to his. “Kiss me, Nigel. And remember it well.”

  “Felicity,” he said softly and bent his lips to hers in a kiss gentle and sweet. A kiss of farewell. Desire surged through him, made all the more powerful by denial. In spite of his best intentions, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tighter against him. The heat of her body through the thin fabric of her gown spread through him and flamed his passion, warmed his soul. How could he be such a fool? A small moan sounded deep in her throat, and she responded hungrily to his kiss. If he didn’t let her go now, it would be too late. He’d never let her go. He’d take her to her bed and that would be that. And wouldn’t it be glorious. Her free hand wrapped around his neck and her mouth opened to his. Dimly he realized her other hand still held the pistol.

  The moment the thought occurred to him, the gun slipped from her grasp.

  Nine

  What a father really wants is a man who will make his daughter happy. Or, barring that, a daughter who is a good shot.

  William, the Earl of Dunbury

  The instant the shot rang out Felicity realized how very bad the situation would look to a casual observer. The next thing she thought was that one really couldn’t fight fate.

  Still, there was a chance the shot would go unnoticed. It hadn’t sounded all that loud, scarcely more than a pop. Unfortunately, the bullet hit a large jardinière she’d always been exceptionally fond of, which shattered with an impressive explosion she would never have imagined. Even so, it was still possible no one heard, but Nigel jumped away from her as if he had been shot or she were the one who had just exploded, tripped over the telescope, lost his balance, and staggered backward uncontrollably. She reached out to grab for him but was too late. He smashed through the French doors, his momentum carrying him across the small balcony and over the edge. Felicity stared in horror and did the only thing a young woman could do if she saw the love of her life more than likely fall to his death. She opened her mouth and screamed.

  The next moment her bedroom door slammed open and her father rushed into the room, her mother a scant step behind.

  “What in the name of all that’s holy is going on here?” With one glance her father took in the pistol on the floor, the shattered jardinière, and the broken balcony door. His eyes widened. “Felicity?”

  “It’s Nigel, Father.” Felicity flew to the balcony and peered over the edge. “Nigel? Can you hear me? Are you all right?”

  “Nigel?” Her father’s voice rose and he moved to her side. “Who in the name of all that’s holy is Nigel?”

  “I have no idea,” her mother said, hurrying to Felicity’s other side. “Is he alive?”

  “Nigel Cavendish, Father. And I do hope he’s alive.” Felicity leaned over the balustrade but it was entirely too dark to see a thing. “Nigel?”

  “Nigel Cavendish?” Father’s voice rose. “The Nigel Cavendish?”

  “I suspect so.” A speculative note sounded in her mother’s voice. “That answers one question.”

  “It answers nothing,” Father snapped. “Nigel Cavendish!” He said Nigel’s name as if it left a nasty taste in his mouth.

  “Yes, Father, Nigel Cavendish,” Felicity said sharply. “The Nigel Cavendish, and he might well be breathing his last at this very moment!” A moan sounded from below, and Felicity breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank the heavens, he is alive.”

  “Nigel Cavendish,” her father muttered.

  “I’ll send someone to help him at once.” Her mother turned and started across the room. “I daresay no one is asleep at this point anyway.”

  “Nigel?” Fear squeezed her heart. Even if he was alive, he might be seriously hurt. “Do say something. Anything.”

  Nigel’s faint voice sounded from below. “There are thorns in this bush.”

  “The bushes! Yes of course, I had forgotten about the bushes. Thank God. Nigel,” she called. “Did the bushes break your fall?”

  “I would be surprised if they didn’t break something.” Nigel groaned. “But no, I don’t think I’m seriously injured, however I could use some assistance. I seem to be trapped. The thorns, you know.”

  “The thorns are the least of your worries, Mr. Cavendish.” Father’s angry voice echoed in the night.

  Nigel paused, then his voice drifted up to them. “Lord Dunbury, I presume?”

  “Apparently that’s not all you presume,” Father said in a hard voice. Felicity winced. She had rarely heard that tone from her father. On those few occasion when she had, her mild, unassuming father was a force to be reckoned with.

  “Poor Nigel,” she murmured. Not only did he probably have any number of bruises and scrapes to deal with; he had her father to face as well. She noted movement on the ground and realized help had arrived. She had to go to him, to see for herself how badly he was hurt. Felicity straightened, turned away from the balustrade, and stepped into her room.

  Her father blocked her way. “I assume there is a rational explanation for all of this.”

  She nodded firmly. “Absolutely.”

  He chose his words with care. “You can explain his presence in your room in the middle of the night—”

  “It’s dawn now,” she said helpfully.

  “Which begs the question of how long he has been in your room,” Father said sharply. “Only a fool would sneak into a lady’s bedchamber this close to dawn.”

  “He wasn’t thinking clearly,” she murmured.

  Father stared at her for a long moment. “I never expected behavior like this from you, Felicity. I never imagined you would become involved with a man of Cavendish’s reputation. I thought you had a good head on your shoulders.”

  “I do.” She huffed. “Keep in mind, Father, I didn’t climb into his room. And you should know he was not invited.”

  “Oh, that’s a different story altogether then. This becomes nothing more than a social faux pas. No more significant than if he had arrived at a ball he did not receive an invitation for.” Sarcasm rang in his voice. “Why, we can simply forget the entire incident ever happened.”

  “Could we?” she asked hopefully.

  “No, we most definitely cannot!” He glared at her. “A man, especially a man of Cavendish’s reputation, found in a young woman’s room in the dead of night—”

  “He wasn’t actually found in my room—”

  Father clenched his jaw. “Let me rephrase that then. A man found in the bushes beneath a young woman’s balcony because he has fallen off the balcony—”

  “That is more accurate,” she said under her breath.

  “—must be held accountable. There is a penalty to be paid for such misadventure.”

  She sniffed. “I would prefer not to think of myself as a penalty.” She wrinkled her nose. “So you are saying we can’t forget all about this then?”

&n
bsp; “Absolutely not!” He stared at her as if she had lost her mind. “Are you mad? Every servant in the house is no doubt awake by now. By morning, every servant in every house in the neighborhood will know about this. By afternoon, it will be all over town. A man falling from a woman’s balcony after a shot is heard is the sort of thing gossips dream about. Add a midget and a monkey and it would be the stuff legends are made of!”

  She drew her brows together in confusion. “A midget and a monkey?”

  “It’s not significant.” He waved off the question, and once again she realized there was far more to her quiet, sedate parents than she had ever dreamed. “Felicity.” He forced a note of calm to his voice. “Your reputation will be in shreds. Any remaining hope of a decent match for you will vanish. Your future will be destroyed.”

  “Am I, well, ruined then?” She held her breath.

  “I don’t know,” he snapped. “Are you?”

  “Of course not,” she said indignantly. “Not in the true definition of the word anyway. Nothing of real significance happened.”

  “That’s something to be grateful for, I suppose, although in this world it scarcely matters. Appearance is every bit as devastating as the act itself.” He considered her for a moment. “Before we go any further I should ask you if you have feelings for this man.”

  She met her father’s gaze firmly. “Yes, Father, I do.”

  “I see. That’s that then.” Father started toward the door. “I shall speak with Mr. Cavendish at once and hope he is not too injured for an immediate wedding.”

  “I’m coming with you.” She snatched her robe from the foot of her bed, shrugged into it, and started after him.

  “That’s not entirely proper in situations like this.” Father cast her a stern glance. “Matters of this nature are best handled by men.”

  “That’s utter nonsense, and furthermore, I don’t care.” She raised her chin. “It is my life, after all, and I should have a say in it.”

  “As you wish.” The slightest hint of a smile touched her father’s lips. “Does Mr. Cavendish have any idea what he’s in for?”

  Felicity glanced at the pistol on the floor, the broken pottery, and the shattered door, and thought of the thorns in the bushes below the balcony. “By now, I fear he might have some idea.”

  “Fear is the pertinent word.” Father sighed. “Come along then. Let’s see to your young man.”

  “Oh, he’s not really my young man.” She trailed behind him.

  Father snorted. “He is now.”

  It was, all things considered, a surprisingly cordial affair. If one could call the sunrise meeting of an earl whose daughter’s reputation was about to be destroyed with the son of a viscount who had brought about said destruction cordial. Still, no fisticuffs were thrown, no voices were raised, and not another shot was fired. Father was firm, Mother was calm, Nigel was respectful and polite and never once mentioned how he was not ready for marriage. Felicity, however, kept her hands firmly clenched in her lap in an effort to ease the butterflies that had taken up residency in her stomach.

  It was decided that it would be best to move as quickly as possible in hopes of stifling the spread of gossip. Not that there was any real chance of that. As Father had said, this story was entirely too juicy to ignore. They agreed that Nigel would speak to his family at once, and as soon as a special license could be arranged, Felicity and Nigel would be wed here at home. Father had muttered they should have the ceremony in the garden beneath the balcony but Mother had pointed out that would call attention to the circumstances. Nigel and Felicity would be man and wife within days.

  All in all, it was polite and mercifully brief. When everything that needed to be said had been said, Felicity’s parents left the soon-to-be-wed couple alone, pointedly leaving the door to the parlor open a crack.

  “Well, that wasn’t nearly as awkward as I feared it might be,” Felicity murmured. “I had always imagined, in a situation like this, Father would shoot the man involved or at the very least, thrash—”

  “You said you would never force me to marry you.” Nigel turned an icy glare on her. “Never, you said. I remember that distinctly.”

  “I don’t believe I ever said never,” she murmured.

  “It was implied!” Anger rang in his voice.

  “Well, I’m not forcing you to marry me.”

  “Your father is.” He fairly spat the words.

  “He is not. Circumstances are,” she said firmly

  “You dropped that pistol on purpose knowing full well it would go off!”

  “I did not.” Indignation swept through her. “It slipped from my hand through no fault of my own. Indeed, what made it slip from my hand was your doing.”

  “You let me kiss you,” he snapped.

  “You asked to kiss me!” She shook her head. “You can’t blame me for this. It was your fault entirely.”

  He gasped. “My fault? Who dropped the pistol?”

  “Who climbed into whose window? Who wagered a painting he didn’t own? Who tried to get whom to leave London?” Her own anger rose. “Who climbed over whose garden wall in the first place?”

  “Who dropped the bloody gun?”

  “I wished I’d shot you with it instead!”

  “That might well have been better!” He drew a deep breath. “Perhaps you never said never but you did say you had no intention of forcing me into marriage. Can you deny that?”

  “No, I don’t deny that. I’m quite certain I said something very much like it.”

  “But you didn’t mean it.”

  “Of course I meant it. If you recall, not more than an hour ago I was giving you up entirely. Vowing never to see you again. Kissing you farewell!”

  “Hah!”

  She ignored him. “But I never said—and here never is completely accurate—that I wouldn’t expect you to marry me if I were ruined!”

  He scoffed. “You’re scarcely ruined.”

  “How ruined do I have to be?” She planted her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Would you be less angry, less indignant about all this if you had actually climbed into my bed? If you had made love to me until—how did you phrase it? Ah yes.” She grit her teeth. “Until I am too exhausted to stand. Would you feel better if you had had your way with me?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Yes!”

  “Well then you should have taken the opportunity when it presented itself!”

  “I was being honorable,” he said in a lofty manner. “I was thinking of you.”

  “You were thinking of avoiding precisely the situation we now find ourselves caught in.” She folded her arms over her chest and paced the room. “I have no desire to marry a man who doesn’t want me, but now there is no choice. My reputation will be destroyed. You well know how servants talk and how quickly a story like this will spread.” She shook her head. “Within a few hours all of London will know that the infamous Mr. Cavendish was discovered leaving Lady Felicity Melville’s bedroom.” She narrowed her gaze. “And shots were fired.”

  “One shot.”

  “By the time the gossips finish, it will be cannon fire!”

  “I don’t know why you’re so upset. You get exactly what you wanted. You get to marry me.”

  She stopped and stared at him. “Oh, lucky, lucky me!” She heaved a frustrated sigh. “I didn’t want you to have to marry me. I wanted you to choose to marry me. It’s a different thing entirely.”

  He blew a resigned breath. “You do understand that it’s not you specifically that I’m opposed to. It’s marriage in general.”

  “Oh, well, that makes all the difference in the world, doesn’t it?”

  “I actually like you,” he muttered.

  “Again, lucky me!” Her gaze met his, and she stared at him for a long moment. At last she sighed. “This is not what I wanted.”

  “Regardless, this is what you, what we, will have.” He shrugged. “There is nothing to be done about it.”

  “Nigel.�
� She raised her chin and squared her shoulders. “You don’t have to marry me.”

  “Of course I do.” He scoffed. “Regardless of what did or did not happen between us, your reputation is destroyed and I am to blame. In spite of my past, I do consider myself an honorable man. Therefore there is no choice but to marry. I am not happy with the circumstances but”—he spread his hands in a helpless gesture—“there you have it.”

  “What if I refuse?” she said quietly. “What if I decide I would rather live the rest of my days alone than with a man who does not wish to marry me?”

  “Don’t.” His voice was grim.

  His gaze met hers, and she saw nothing in his eyes save anger and resignation. Her heart sank.

  “We probably will not speak again until the ceremony,” he said, his tone polite and cool. “Until then.” He nodded curtly and headed for the door.

  “Nigel.” She started toward him.

  “Yes?” He glanced back at her.

  “I…” She wanted him to take her in his arms. To tell her, somehow, all would be well between them. That they would be happy. But the words would not come. “Take care.”

  He nodded again and left the room.

  Felicity sank onto the nearest sofa and buried her face in her hands. Dear Lord, how had things gone so horribly wrong? She was about to marry the man she loved, the man she was fated to spend the rest of her days with, and she’d never felt so wretched in her life. He claimed to like her but the look in his eye belied that. How could she enter marriage with a man who did not wish to be wed?

  She’d believe they were fated to be together. And surely it was fate that had set recent events in motion. But what if her destiny was not to spend the rest of her days happily with the man she loved, but rather to live a miserable existence with a man who resented her very presence? How long would it be before Nigel’s resentment turned to dislike and finally hate? How long until she grew to despise him as well?

  “Dear heart.” Her mother sat down beside her and wrapped her arm around her daughter. Felicity hadn’t even noticed her return. “It’s really not as bad as all that.”