by Deborah Hale
“Oh, dear heart,” he sighed. “No wonder you rebel against any bid to dictate your actions.”
His unexpected insight struck Felicity speechless. There was something exhilarating about being understood so well. Something frightening, too.
“No wonder you refuse to give up control in the smallest aspect of your life,” Thorn murmured. “Even if it meant undertaking an uncomfortable journey to recover your errant nephew, when I’d have willingly gone in your stead.”
Though she longed to surrender to his tender siege, Felicity could not. The man was too damned perceptive for his own good—or hers. What other secrets might he ferret out if he tried? And how could she be certain he would never use his dangerous knowledge of her vulnerabilities against her?
Thorn seemed too lost in his new realizations to recognize the shift in her emotions.
“No wonder you’ve been content with transient love affairs,” he whispered, as if thinking aloud, “rather than submit to the tyranny of a husband.”
“How dare you, Thorn Greenwood?” She struggled out of his arms, her eyes stinging furiously. “How dare you presume to judge me or pity me?”
“But, my dear, I didn’t mean…”
He looked so hurt and bewildered, it was everything Felicity could do to keep from hurling herself back into his stalwart arms in the absurd hope that he would fix everything that had gone wrong in her life. Another part resented him for tearing aside the rose-colored curtain of her self-delusions to expose all that was wrong with it.
“Oh, save your earnest speeches!” She grabbed her gown and stockings from where they lolled wantonly around the bedpost. “Transient love affairs can be almost as tiresome as marriage when they carry on for too long. And lovers can be quite as tyrannical as husbands when they refuse to keep a permissible distance.”
“See here.” Thorn pulled himself up from the pillows. “I was only trying to say that I understand and that I care about you. Is that so wrong?”
Felicity dove behind a dressing screen in the far corner of the room.
“Did I ever ask to be understood?” she cried, more to stop Thorn from filling her ears with further simple, heartfelt declarations of his feelings than anything else.
“Did I ever ask…” An unuttered sob caught in her throat. “Did I ever ask you to care about me?”
Spying an ewer full of water in the washstand, she poured it into the basin. Perhaps the running water would drown out Thorn’s reply. It might well have, for she heard nothing more from the direction of the bed.
She wet a wash cloth in the cold water and began to scour the subtle musk of their lovemeking from her body. Despite the rosy glow of the dying fire, her skin took on a bluish-white cast as it rose in gooseflesh.
Felicity welcomed the bracing chill. Perhaps it would cool her delirious fever of desire and bring her to her proper senses.
As she reached for her gown, she glanced up to find Thorn standing beside the screen, naked as Adam. At the sight of his tall, lean frame, a hot blush seared through her body, undoing whatever good her cold scrubbing might have done.
Though her gaze was inclined to linger on his splen-did body, Felicity forced it upward, half afraid, half eager to confront the furious outrage she expected to see on his face.
What she found instead she could not fathom. Was it calm, icy wrath? Mute anguish? Bitter disappointment? Or a little of all three, as well as something else that affected her far more than she wanted it to.
He did not shame her by gawking at her naked body. Instead he stared deep into her eyes, asking a wordless question she could not understand and seeking an answer Felicity knew she must not give him.
“I told you once before, we cannot choose who will care for us.” He didn’t sound angry…exactly. Just very certain. “I’m not asking anything of you, Felicity, and I will never take anything from you. But you cannot dictate to my heart…any more than I can.”
He had every right to rage at her, Felicity acknowledged as a bilious tide of shame rose within her. Every right to withdraw the priceless gift she must pretend to spurn. Everyone else in her life had turned away from her when she could not do or be what they wanted.
Why should Thorn Greenwood be any different?
Because he was different, whispered her heart. Because he did not give or show love easily. But once given, his affections would be as constant as the earth—fallow in some seasons, but always ready to bloom afresh.
At that moment, she wanted nothing more than to step into his arms and claim what he offered her.
Except, perhaps, to vomit her guts out.
The nausea that suddenly gripped Felicity made all her previous spells of illness seem like robust health by comparison. Not daring to speak, in case more than words should spew out of her, she wriggled into her gown and pushed past Thorn.
Out the door of their chamber. Up the corridor and down a flight of stairs. Through a back door.
It was too dark outside for her to make out more than vague shapes and shadows, but Felicity knew she must be near the stables. The reek of horse muck slammed into her, and she began to retch, surge after bilious surge, until it seemed impossible there could be anything but a gaping void left inside her.
A void as empty as her life had been before Thorn Greenwood had begun to fill it in his quiet way.
Perhaps, thought Felicity, as she huddled shivering in the dark, she needed to reconsider her plans for the future—plans in which there had been no place for a man, least of all the father of her unborn child.
First, though, she must put some distance between them, so she could think things through clearly and come to a decision without any influence from others. There was so much at stake, after all. Not only her own well-being, but her child’s. She could not afford to have her judgment thrown awry by the squall of contradictory feelings Thorn set brewing within.
Nor could she risk his discovering about the baby and insisting he wed her out of duty. If anything could blight the constancy of his feelings for her, that would.
She deserved better. So did her child. So did Thorn.
For all their sakes, she must retrieve Oliver, then go into seclusion for a time to reflect and assess her choices. If, in the end, she resolved to gamble her heart on Thorn Greenwood, she would know where to find him.
Hearing soft, rapid footsteps approaching, she had only enough time to scramble to her feet before Thorn barreled out the door.
“Felicity?” He clasped her tight and planted his feet wide to keep them both from falling. “What are you doing out here? Why did you run off like that?”
Quickly, before he smelled the sour scent of vomit, she pushed him back inside. “What are you doing out in these clothes? They’re still damp.”
He chuckled. “I thought it preferable to risk a chill than to court scandal by strolling the corridors naked.” His tone turned serious again. “Do come back and get warm. Dress yourself properly. I won’t make a nuisance of myself, I promise. I’ll vacate the room if that’s what you’d like.”
“Thorn, I—”
As she searched for words to justify her recent contrary behavior, Felicity heard more footsteps. Outside, this time and accompanied by a soft murmur of voices.
Voices she recognized.
“Mr. Hixon, Ned, is that you?” she inquired as the door swung open.
A startled oath. “Lord-a-mercy, ma’am, you gave me a turn,” whispered her driver. “Have you been waiting up for us? Here now, is that Mr. Greenwood on his feet again?”
Felicity countered his questions with a pressing one of her own. “Have you found Miss Greenwood and Mr. Armitage? Where are they lodging? We must go at once.”
After a disquieting hesitation, Mr. Hixon heaved a weary sigh, “We’ve been to every inn in Gloucester, ma’am.”
“Twice,” added Ned in a plaintive voice.
Her driver scarcely needed to add, “There’s no sign of them, ma’am.”
Felicity had already
guessed.
Now what would she do?
Chapter Eleven
“They aren’t here?” Felicity repeated in a dazed murmur. She swayed toward Thorn, who caught her around the waist and held her secure.
As a dutiful brother charged with protecting his sister from her own ill-considered impulses, Thorn knew he should be distressed by the news that Ivy and Oliver were nowhere in Gloucester.
Instead, as he stood in the dimly lit corridor of the inn, conferring in hushed tones with Felicity and her servants, Thorn struggled to mask his delight at the prospect of continuing their journey together. Once they recovered his sister and her nephew, Thorn knew Lady Lyte would disappear from his life as quickly and completely as she had entered it.
At the moment he couldn’t figure how to reconcile duty to his family with the untenable passion that had taken root in his heart. And if he did manage to un-twist that riddle, he questioned his ability to win Felicity for something more than a passing clandestine liaison. The only things he knew for certain were that he must try on both counts and that he must stick close to her if he hoped to succeed in either.
Felicity’s driver cleared his throat. Thorn sensed the man was about to deliver more bad news to his mistress.
“The last place we inquired, ma’am…”
“For the second time,” the young footman added, in case there should be any question of their diligence.
The driver continued as though he hadn’t noticed the interruption, “At the main posting inn, ma’am, one of the hostlers told us a lady and gentleman had arrived around suppertime and hired a fresh coach to replace one that was in a bad way.”
“Did this hostler say which way they were headed?” Felicity asked. Thorn could feel her shivering.
“No, ma’am, just that they went off again as soon as the coach was hitched. He said the young gentleman gave it a good looking over before they left.”
“Where can they have gone?” Felicity whispered to herself. “What will I do now?”
She needed him.
The notion swept through Thorn with a strange vital energy, driving chills, aches, fatigue and doubts before it. “We can’t do anything for a few hours. So let’s make certain we put that time to good use.”
He addressed Felicity’s servants, “Go catch a little sleep while you can, both of you. Thank you for your efforts tonight. You did well.”
The men hesitated, perhaps expecting their mistress to countermand his orders.
But she did not.
As the pair shuffled down the corridor toward the small room that had been hired for them, Thorn called softly, “And thank you for saving my life, today, with your bravery and quick action.”
“Glad we were on hand to help, sir.” The coachman lapsed into a deep yawn. “Good night, sir. Good night, ma’am.”
Felicity did not stir or speak as her servants’ footsteps retreated down the darkened corridor.
Once Thorn heard a door open and shut in the distance, he nudged her toward the stairs. “Come back to bed, now.”
“To sleep, this time,” he added, to forestall any protest. “And to lay our plans for tomorrow.”
Felicity made no reply, though perhaps she nodded. In any event, she did not resist when Thorn took off his coat and wrapped it around her. Without another word, they fumbled their way up the unlit stairs and back to their room.
While Thorn built up the fire and set his clothes back in front of it to finish drying, Felicity retired behind the dressing screen, emerging a short while later in a nightdress with her dark hair plaited into a single braid.
She cast a wary look toward the bed, where Thorn lay with the covers drawn up to his chest.
He patted the empty space beside him on the mattress. “Come along, now. On my honor as a gentleman, I’ll leave you be.”
With halting steps, she approached, as though something propelled her forward, while something else tried to hold her back. This subdued silence wasn’t anything like her usual temperament. Though Thorn preferred it to a stormy clash of wills in which he was too weary to engage, Felicity’s sudden change of manner made him uneasy.
“Much as I might fancy enjoying your favors again, I’m afraid you have done me for the night, my dear.” Thorn pulled a droll face at his own expense, which Felicity rewarded with the barest flicker of a smile as she climbed into bed with him.
Tugging the sheet and blankets up over her, he tried not to flinch when her icy feet came in contact with his leg. “All I’m good for at the moment is to wrap you in my arms until you’re warm again.”
A spark of her usual spirit returned. “Don’t under-value such a worthwhile service.”
She turned her back to him, but when Thorn nestled against her, she did not object or pull away.
By rights he should offer to continue their pursuit of Ivy and Oliver on his own, Thorn reflected as he rested his cheek against Felicity’s hair. Now that she’d got a taste of the discomforts of the journey, she might be inclined to accept. Especially since it now appeared likely they would have to chase the evasive young pair every mile of the way to Gretna Green.
For perhaps the first time in his life, Thorn could not bring himself to pursue the responsible course of action. The situation alarmed and exhilarated him in equal measure.
Felicity told herself not to enjoy the novelty of sleeping in Thorn’s arms, nor the comforting prospect of waking there. But it was no use.
She wasn’t accustomed to denying herself—quite the contrary. Perhaps money couldn’t buy happiness, but it could purchase independence and pleasure. Until recently, she’d been content with those.
“I suppose we ought to decide how to proceed next.” The mellow murmur of Thorn’s voice sounded in her ear, almost as close as her own thoughts.
The absurd but disturbing fancy that he might over-hear all the bewildering questions abuzz in her mind sharpened Felicity’s tone. “I confess I’m at a loss. If I didn’t know better, I’d think those two young fools were deliberately leading us a goose chase.”
Perhaps she should simply wash her hands of Oliver Armitage. Leave him a bit of money, but otherwise cut him out of her life when she disappeared to raise her baby. The young man was no blood relation to her, after all.
Thorn heaved a sigh, followed by a low chuckle. “That will be my sister’s influence, no doubt. I can’t recall a time when Ivy ever did what anyone expected of her. By now your poor nephew is probably hoping someone will intervene to save him from having to marry the little minx. He seems the sort of young fellow who was probably a nurse maid’s dream—regular and methodical in his habits straight from the cradle.”
“You may be right.” Though Felicity tried to stifle it, a little smile, more brooding than amused, played at the corners of her mouth. “It’s difficult for me to picture Oliver as an infant. Even when I first met him, as a schoolboy, he seemed far too solemn and seasoned for his young years.”
Somehow the quiet, neglected child had slowly worked his way into one of the empty corners of her heart. A place that might have remained sealed against a jollier, more exuberant lad. She could not expel him now, no matter how much trouble he might cause her.
“I remember Percy bringing Oliver to Trentwell on the first school holiday after we were married.” She could picture it so vividly. “I could tell the poor little fellow was happy to be there, though he didn’t seem very well acquainted with the feeling. As if he liked it…but didn’t trust it.”
“So, young Armitage was…your husband’s nephew?”
Felicity nodded. “Percy’s sister’s child. His parents had sent the boy home to school from India. Then his father was killed in some beastly colonial war and his mother perished in a shipwreck on the voyage back to England.”
“I had no idea,” said Thorn. “Poor little chap. My brother-in-law, Merritt Temple, was in a similar case when I first met him at school. Little money. No family. I invited him to spend summers with us at Barnhill because he ha
d nowhere else to go.”
The offhand mention of his kindness to an unfortunate schoolmate convinced Felicity that Thorn would have taken a more tangible interest in Oliver’s welfare than the boy’s uncle ever had.
“My mother-in-law didn’t pay Oliver much mind.” That was one of the first things that had drawn Felicity to the studious little fellow. “Some nonsense about Percy’s sister marrying against her wishes. I don’t think the boy’s father had any fortune to speak of.”
She shook her head. “There was no pleasing that woman. Oliver’s father didn’t have enough money to suit her, while I had too much…or perhaps the wrong sort.”
“It sounds as though she’d have got on well with my father.” Though Thorn tried to affect a tone of jest, Felicity detected an edge of indignation in his voice.
“Poor Merritt fell in love with my sister Rosemary during those summers at Barnhill. When my father paid enough heed to realize what was happening, he persuaded my sister to rebuff Merritt’s attentions, even though it was obvious she cared a great deal for him.”
Rosemary must be like her brother, Felicity decided, too dutiful to refuse.
Thorn’s tone sharpened. “At the time, I thought Father was only trying to look out for my sister’s future happiness. Later I began to suspect he had ambitions of her snaring a wealthy husband who could rescue him from his debts.”
“How did it all work out in the end?” Without thinking what she was doing, Felicity turned toward Thorn. “You called this fellow your brother-in-law.”
Thorn gathered her into his arms. “You might say Fate gave Merritt and Rosemary a second chance, which they were wise enough to seize…with a gentle nudge from Ivy and me.”
He smothered a yawn. “It has been one of the greatest joys of my life to see my sister so happy again.”
It couldn’t have been easy for Rosemary Greenwood and her husband to find their way back to one another, Felicity reflected as she savored the tender strength of Thorn’s embrace, and wondered why the happiness of two strangers mattered so much to her.
A proud young man who’d been spurned by his first love and a woman who must have doubted his willingness to forgive her. Yet they had come together again in a happy ending…or a happy beginning.
