The evening air was cool against her skin, raising goose bumps and dousing her desire. She buttoned her spencer with a businesslike mien and looked around for the other ladies. Although there was another carriage in the packed dirt courtyard with a pair of older women slipping out, the Graylocke family was nowhere to be seen.
“Where did the ladies go?” Felicia asked the driver, laying a hand on his arm.
He was a portly man with stiff, bristle-like sideburns. Although he was far from a callow youth, her touch raised color in his cheeks. “They went to warm themselves inside, Miss. If you’ll forgive my boldness, you should do the same. Don’t want to be catching a chill.”
The warmth of the day had flattened into a brisk autumn chill. The temperature seemed to plummet along with the light of the sun the longer she stood out in the courtyard. The grand, four-story edifice overlooking the courtyard loomed, a large shadow. Light pooled from a lantern hung beside the door. More streamed from the two-story stable to the left.
Felicia took a step toward the inn before she realized that Gideon still hadn’t emerged from the carriage. Had she given him an apoplexy? With a smirk, she turned to rouse him, just as he emerged into the open air.
He looked in no better a mood now than he had in the carriage, so she spun on her heel without a word and strode for the inn. His long-legged stride carried him to meet her before she reached the door. He offered his arm to her.
She battled a smile. “Do I look incapable of walking on my own, my lord?”
He gritted his teeth with such force, the sound was nearly audible. “Will you let me act the gentleman, please?” His voice was tight. The light next to the door didn’t quite reach far enough to illuminate his expression.
“Would you offer your arm to your business partner had he been male?”
“No, of course not.”
She lifted her chin. “Then I will thank you to treat me no differently.”
He grumbled under his breath but clasped his hands behind his back.
She preceded him into the inn. At first, the light from the fire in the hearth was blinding. The fire chuckled, spitting sparks as a log shifted. The sparks landed harmlessly on a floor worn smooth by time and use. The tables, although rough-hewn and pockmarked from mishaps, were clean and polished. Patrons filled the common room nearly halfway. Evelyn, Lucy, and Charlie stood at the dark wood bar, speaking to a portly man with a thick mustache who was presumably the owner. Next to them, the lofty pair of older ladies from the other carriage waited. The taller woman, with steely gray hair and a tightly buttoned spencer that tickled the bottom of her chin, adjusted her glasses and clasped her hands primly in front of her thin form. Her shorter, curvier friend exclaimed, leaning forward, “But that can’t be!”
As Felicia approached with Gideon behind her, the innkeeper nodded. “I’m afraid so, madam. These fine ladies have commandeered the other four rooms available.”
“We are old women,” said the taller lady, her voice pinched. “Surely you wouldn’t have us reduced.”
The dowager drew herself up. Although she’d acted serene and approachable to Felicia, at the moment, she looked every inch the duchess. “Mrs. Biddleford, surely you aren’t suggesting that I, the former Duchess of Tenwick, share a bed? My daughter is already sharing with her friend, and you can’t expect Miss Albright to share with my son.”
Gideon made a choking sound. Felicia’s smile wavered, but she pinned it in place.
The stork-like Mrs. Biddleford to whom the ladies spoke made a face. “Indeed not, Lady Graylocke.”
Her companion sighed. As her shoulders drooped forward, her low-cut bodice gaped over the top of her large breasts. “I suppose we’ll be sharing a room, Theodosia.”
As she turned, noticing Felicia and Gideon standing a mere foot away, her expression turned from haggard to interested. “Though I don’t know why Miss Albright would protest sharing a room with a well-formed man like Lord Gideon. I certainly wouldn’t mind.”
Felicia choked down her laughter as Gideon clamped his palms over her shoulder, maneuvering her squarely between him and the sprightly lady. Since Felicia was nearly a foot and a half shorter than Gideon, the position didn’t save him from being ogled. She bit into her bottom lip hard. The perfume must still have an effect. At least she wasn’t the only woman to react to Gideon’s attractive form. In fact, she might even be one of the few able to contain herself.
Mrs. Biddleford, only a couple inches shorter than Gideon, somehow managed to look down her nose at him in a saucy way. “I don’t believe he’s offering, Hester. Not very gentlemanly, if you ask me.”
Gideon’s hands tightened as he made a strangled sound. Apparently he’d lost his voice. Felicia bit hard into her cheek to keep from laughing at the poor man.
Taking pity on him, she said, “If our rooms are ready, perhaps someone would be so kind as to direct us? I’d like to freshen up before dinner.”
“Dinner,” the short Hester exclaimed. “What a fabulous idea! Let’s take it together in one of the private rooms. What do you say?”
Although Felicia expected Evelyn to act coldly toward the old women after the blatant ogling of her son, she was as composed as ever as she said, “A grand idea, Miss Maize. Shall we meet in half an hour?”
“No,” Gideon said, his voice strained. Given his nearness to Felicia and the low pitch of his protest, she doubted anyone else heard.
“Splendid,” Mrs. Biddleford said. She linked arms with her companion, Miss Maize, and drew her aside as the owner slipped around the corner of the counter to show them to their rooms.
Although Felicia had suggested they retire, she hung back to allow the other ladies to pass before she stepped forward. Gideon still gripped her like a shield between himself and the older women. With a smirk, Felicia glanced over her shoulder as she pulled free.
“Do you mean to tell me that you don’t enjoy the attentions of older women?”
His cheeks turned a pronounced shade of pink. “I prefer not to entertain women older than my mother.”
She grinned. “It’s good to know that you have standards.”
When he shifted on his feet, uncomfortable, she took pity on him and patted his arm. “It’s the perfume,” she informed.
He scoffed. “That, I doubt very much.”
Turning to follow the procession of women, she tucked away a smile. He judged the perfume based on the smell, not realizing it worked like an aphrodisiac on females. For now, she chose not to enlighten him.
It was more fun this way.
8
Judging by the strained look on Gideon’s face, he was in agony. Were it not for Gideon’s obvious discomfort, Felicia would be in misery as well. The private dining room was much smaller than she’d anticipated; with seven people, the table was crammed. Felicia pressed against Gideon’s right side, able to feel every shift of his arm as he applied himself to the mutton on his plate. On his other side, Miss Maize pressed just as close to him, despite the fact that she sat on the corner and could spare the room. From time to time, her hand disappeared beneath the table and Gideon’s body stiffened before he attended to the problem. Felicia found it hard not to laugh.
“Business partners,” Mrs. Biddleford said in disgust. No wonder she was so thin. she’d hardly touched the food on her plate as she’d led the conversation through a merry chase of topics. Ending, unfortunately for Felicia, on the subject of her visit to Tenwick Abbey.
Miss Maize shook her head. Her coif was a bit unsecure and wobbled toward Gideon. Alarm crossed his face as he shifted toward Felicia, as though he feared it might fall off.
“Back in my day,” Miss Maize said, stabbing her mutton violently, “if a woman wanted to attract a man, she found a way into his bed, not into his orangery.”
Gideon turned as red as the wine in his cup. He took a healthy gulp and wiggled his index finger beneath his cravat to loosen it.
Felicia’s hands knotted in her napkin. In as glib a tone a
s she could manage, she said, “I’m afraid your imagination is running wild. We’ll be conducting a few experiments on a plant discovered in South America called brugmansia.” Seeing as the plant wasn’t well-circulated, only a botanist or chemist might be able to connect it with her essays on the potential serum it might create, and only then a select few. With a bland smile, she continued, “Have you heard of the plant? Most delightful specimen. It is a shrub or a small tree with alternate leaves along the stem. The stems, you see, usually grow about so large—” Felicia widened the space between her hands, though she wasn’t particularly interested in maintaining accuracy, only in turning the topic of conversation.
That, she accomplished handily. Mrs. Biddleford cleared her throat, interrupting. “It sounds like quite the fascinating project.”
For a moment, blissful silence fell as they ate. Antonia was above in the room Lucy and Charlie shared, so there was no one to interrupt. As Felicia loosened her death grip on her napkin, Gideon’s hand found hers and squeezed, a gesture of gratitude. He didn’t look at her as he lifted his wine glass to his lips at the same time. Felicia’s skin burned from his hot touch. Her gloves proved little barrier. To hide her reaction, she speared one of the green beans on the edge of her plate.
Her fork was halfway to her mouth when Mrs. Biddleford regained the use of her tongue.
“A beautiful woman like you is wasted on business. It is your duty to marry and raise children.”
Felicia didn’t see what her appearance had to do with her life choices. Not to mention that they sat at the table with a spinster much longer in the tooth than Felicia. Did Mrs. Biddleford mean to imply that she did not find her own companion comely enough to have ensnared a man? From the old woman’s composed countenance, Felicia couldn’t tell.
Slowly, she lowered her fork to her plate once more. She held the utensil in a punishing grip. Luckily, her white gloves prevented the busybody from seeing her white-knuckled grasp. Somehow, she managed to keep her voice even when she answered. “I am also gifted with a quick mind. It is my duty to put it to good use.” Venom laced her words despite her attempt to hide it. She hadn’t taken well to people demanding she marry when she was seventeen, and she didn’t take well to the intrusion now, either.
“Well then, the answer is clear.” The older lady arched her thin eyebrows. “You must marry a man who will help you perform that duty.” She glanced pointedly at Gideon.
Although she enjoyed seeing him squirm, when her future was involved in the discussion, her enjoyment soured.
Leaning forward, Miss Maize added, “Even better if he has enough money to ensure your time won’t be spent chasing after the children to the exclusion of all else.” She waggled her eyebrows.
Felicia’s stomach swished, threatening to turn itself inside out. She didn’t want to contemplate such a future, with Gideon or with anyone else. She’d long ago resigned herself to the fact that she wouldn’t have children. It was the price she had to pay in order to maintain her independence. Seeing as she barely kept herself from starving some winters, she couldn’t stomach bringing a child into the life she led.
Pushing the morose thoughts from her head, Felicia wadded her napkin and set it on the table. “If you’ll forgive me, it’s been a long day of travel. I fear I must rest before we begin again tomorrow.”
She expected the others to agree with her—for Gideon to agree, at the very least—but she was disappointed. Instead, Lucy said with dismay, “You’re retiring so soon? The night is young! We’ve barely had the chance to speak.”
She offered Lucy a slim smile. “I imagine we’ll have plenty of time to speak at Tenwick Abbey, never you fear.”
As Lucy opened her mouth again, the dowager laid a hand on her arm. To Felicia, she said, “Goodnight, dear. Sleep well.”
“Thank you.” Felicia nearly curtsied before she recalled that the dowager didn’t care for such formality. Instead, she inclined her head. “I wish you the same.”
She spared the slimmest glance for Gideon before she turned toward the door. Apprehension lined his face and lingered in his green eyes, dark with the light from the sharp-smelling oil lamp that lit the room. Turning away, Felicia nearly collided with a buxom blonde serving girl. She apologized quickly and stepped aside for the woman to pass.
The woman, a few years older than Felicia at her guess, sashayed straight to Gideon and bent so low over his arm to collect Felicia’s plate that her breasts brushed his shoulder. Biting her cheek to contain her mirth, Felicia hurried from the room. The woman attracted to him this time was certainly younger than his mother. Perhaps her advances would be more agreeable to him.
Judging by the alarm edging his expression when she’d left, he wasn’t the least bit happy to have another admirer.
The inn was worn and plain, from the walls to the floorboards, but a sense of security underlined the simple abode. It had stood long before Felicia had been born and would likely remain until long after she was dead. She mounted the smooth steps to the second floor, where her room resided. With every step, the clamor from the common room faded along with the tension between her shoulders. She had work to do, but for tonight, she could relax and sleep.
In her room—a square space devoured by the bed, a dressing screen, a small desk wedged into one corner, and a pedestal and basin of water—she loosened the enclosures to her placket-front dress and slipped out of it. She draped the material over the desk, trying not to look at the other, closed door in the room. As she dipped her handkerchief into the lukewarm basin of sweet-smelling water and dabbed along her hairline and neck, her gaze remained locked on that plain wooden door. The adjoining door to Gideon’s room, as she’d discovered earlier.
She’d also learned that it had no lock.
He is a gentleman, or he fancies himself one. Felicia didn’t for a second believe that he would enter her chambers, invited or otherwise. He’d made that clear in his gallant attempt to take her arm earlier. But would she be able to resist the lure of entering his chambers?
She brushed the thought aside like an errant lock of hair. Of course she would. Her reaction to him was purely chemical, aided by the pheromones in the perfume. When not in close proximity, her head was clear of temptation.
Finished washing away the sweat of the day, she opened her reticule and found the small comb she’d brought with her. One by one, she pulled the pins free from her hair and arranged them neatly on the desk next to her dress. She combed out her hair with slow strokes, counting to one hundred.
Around sixty strokes, she heard movement in the other room. Gideon must have returned.
At seventy-nine strokes, more movement. Gideon cried out. “What the devil?” His voice was high and sharp with alarm.
Felicia didn’t think twice. She barreled through the connecting door armed with the sharp teeth of her comb. Her heart pounded in her throat as she searched the room for danger.
The room was identical to hers, with two exceptions—first, the buxom blond serving girl reclined on the bed with her skirts yanked up over her knees and her bodice yanked down to display her naked breasts. The second was Gideon clad only in his trousers, bare from the waist up. He pressed his back against the door to the hall, as far from her as he could possibly get, an expression close to panic on his face.
“What in bloody Hell are you doing in my room?”
Gideon rubbed his hand across his mouth. Although he’d changed out of his travel clothes for dinner, he hadn’t shaved. The dark shadow of his stubble looked even thicker next to his suddenly waxen skin. It covered his jaw and the upper part of his throat, fading into smooth-looking skin a shade paler than his face and hands. His shoulders and chest looked even wider without the constraint of his jacket. Dark hair on his chest narrowed to an arrow disappearing below the waistband of his breeches. He was so consumed in staring, mouth agape, at the woman on the bed that he didn’t appear to notice Felicia’s entrance, nor recall his nudity. The rest of his clothes were discarde
d next to the desk.
Felicia was no prude, but apparently, Gideon was. He stared at the maid in his bed with what looked to be bald horror. Didn’t he get propositioned on a regular basis? Aside from being handsome in a heady, absent-minded, brilliant mind kind of way, he was also the son of a duke. That in itself ought to attract a few giggling debutantes or lonely widows.
Laughter bubbled up in Felicia’s throat before she tamped it down. Tears streamed from her eyes as she clasped the door frame for support. The comb bit into her palm. Blindly, she tossed it behind her into her room. It clattered to the floor.
The serving maid shifted on the bed, jiggling her breasts as she said, “Don’t be shy. I don’t mind if she joins us.”
At the alarm that flashed across his face, Felicia roared with laughter. He lunged for his jacket and tossed it onto the bed. “Cover yourself, madam.”
Her lips plumping in a pout, the woman used his jacket as a screen while she tugged her bodice into place once more.
Gideon rounded on Felicia. He angled himself so he didn’t take his attention off the woman on the bed while he did so. “This is no laughing matter.”
“It is.” She wiped at the moisture on her cheeks. “The look on your face—” She pressed her bare hand tight to her mouth to keep from breaking into guffaws again.
He glared at her, but the color rose in his cheeks. “I’d thank you to get out.”
The blonde swung her legs over the side of the bed, making the mattress sway a bit on its ropes. His jacket slipped to the floor by her feet. “You heard him, luv. Leave us be.”
Felicia bit hard into her lower lip to keep from laughing aloud. When she had herself under control, she managed to say, “I believe he was talking to you, love.”
“I most certainly was. Get out.” He stepped aside, providing quick access to the door.
Tempting The Rival (Scandals and Spies Book 3) Page 7
