“I’ll not tolerate so much as an unkind word.” As was his way, the declaration was spoken in low matter-of-fact tones, but his eyes were as cold and hard as tempered steel.
Felicity had to swallow twice before she replied. “I… I am glad of your company today, Gareth. I think you’ve helped me a great deal.”
His gaze flicked down, spearing the grass between his feet. His hands laced together across his knees with a white-knuckled grip.
“The morning was so chaotic with Mrs. Winterton’s illness and all, I didn’t have the chance to thank you for finding my spectacles and watch,” she persisted.
“Was nothing,” he mumbled at the ground.
“It wasn’t nothing to me.” She laid her hand over his forearm to emphasize her point. “If they are lost, so am I. I hate not being able to see, but the lenses get so foggy in the glasshouse. You quite saved me from being blind for days whilst waiting on the optician. And this watch is a treasured gift from Mercy.” With her free hand, she fondled the brooch above her breast.
He brushed her words off with a shrug, but a crimson stain crept above his collar and spread across his entire face until his very ears tipped with it.
A man like Gareth Severand blushed? Had there ever been anything more endearing on this entire earth?
He grunted and shifted in his seat, pulling his arm from her grip. “Your suitor/cousin is returning.” He thrust his chin in that direction.
The bite in his voice really did make a blood connection with Bainbridge sound like some sort of perversion.
“He’s a distant cousin,” she found herself defending.
He merely made an indecipherable noise in the back of his throat.
Felicity stood, creating space between herself and Gareth. That distance felt cold. Something like abandonment.
How very odd.
“I do appreciate your patience, darling.” Bainbridge tucked her hand back into the crook of his arm and continued their stroll.
“Duncan?” Felicity’s heart kicked against her ribs and her stomach rolled, so she focused on the sound of the crunch beneath the heavy boots of the man behind them.
“Yes?”
“Do you want to marry me?”
He threw his head back and laughed merrily for so long, she wondered if she should take offense. “Generally, the proposal is the gentleman’s purview, but I do appreciate a lady with initiative.” He gave a few more chuckles. “You astonish me, Felicity Goode, as I thought you were more of a mouse than that. All right. You’ve talked me into it. I’ll marry you.”
She thought she heard a groan from behind her, which helped not at all.
Pressing her gloves to heated cheeks, she amended, “I wasn’t proposing. I mean— I thought you’d already… that is… I was asking if you desired the match. Or rather, why you desired it. If you do— that is. Desire it.”
He regarded her as if she’d grown horns and a tail.
She began to babble like a brook swelled in spring, overflowing the banks and spilling over. “I’m asking, I suppose, why you want to marry. More specifically, why you’d want to marry me. I do not know what I have to offer you of interest… Do you want children?” Was that it? Was he interested because of her youth?
This time, his laughter was shorter, tinged with a note of uneasiness. “I mean, I’m not opposed to children, if you insist. I’m almost certain I have a brat or two running around.”
She took in a sharp breath. Had he really just admitted that whilst discussing marriage with her?
He stopped in their tracks, turning to her and taking both her gloved hands in his own. “I’m sorry, darling, I’m endlessly wicked. How would you ever stand me?”
She didn’t know that she wanted to.
“Do you think you could love me?” she breathed.
His face softened and he brought the knuckles of each hand in for a kiss. “I already adore you, Felicity, you know that.”
She tightened her grip on his fingers, making his smile disappear. “I mean love me, Duncan? Truly? Affectionately… faithfully?”
He cleared his throat and surreptitiously looked around at the shimmering gaiety of the parading ton. Sincerity didn’t sit on his features with ease, but Felicity was certain this was the first time she was about to hear the truth pass his lips. “Felicity, an arrangement between us would be of mutual fondness and respect. I’d make you a countess, and upon our marriage, your father’s holdings would belong to me. If I’m honest, without them, I’ll be forced to sell off some land to keep up my estates.”
“You want me for the money?” She pulled her hands away.
“I’ll admit that’s part of it. But… due to recent events, I find myself in need of a wife, and I already enjoy you so much, I think we’d suit. You’d be free to live as you like. Take a lover or two. Travel the Continent. Et cetera. But I won’t lie to you and say that I won’t do the same. I know you were raised innocent by your tyrannical father, but it is the way of our class. We could get on, you and I?”
“I…” Felicity couldn’t think of a single word to say.
“I’ve distressed you,” he pouted. “I apologize, my dear.”
The apology sounded genuine, and Felicity found herself swallowing irritation, understanding, gratitude, and a myriad of other confounding emotions. “I merely… need some time to consider things, I suppose.”
“Of course.” He made a gesture of benevolence. “Here. We’ll dance tonight all of once, so no one makes any assumptions about us. I’m not in dire straits, darling, and I’ve plenty of heiresses to pick from should you not think we’ll get on. Either way, we should always remain friends and cousins.” He was all earnest eyes and candid charm.
“Of course. Always. Thank you for your honesty, Duncan. I am very fond of you. I think I shall return home now to prepare for this evening.”
“I look forward to our waltz.” He kissed her hand once more before bowing over it, something dark and melancholy passing over his features.
Suddenly, Felicity wanted to cry.
“Good afternoon.” She turned around and swept back through the park, keeping a firm tamp on her emotion until she was certain no one was watching.
“I’m not going to marry him,” she stated rigidly to her giant, silent shadow.
“Good,” came the clipped reply.
“I cannot be the only one of my sisters without fidelity. I am not built for that. I’d be miserable.”
“Bainbridge surprised me,” he remarked, surprising her in turn. “Not many men are so frank. Which makes me think he is either a good man, or he has a secret deeper than his apparent wickedness to hide. Something ruinous. Something lethal even.”
“Do you think so?”
“I’d bet my fortune on it.”
That gave her something to wonder over until the dreaded ball. “Well… Let’s do go home, Gareth, I need to bathe and—”
The man beside her tripped on absolutely nothing. With impressive reflexes and an extra step, he was able to prevent a fall or even much of a spectacle.
“Bloody rocks,” he muttered.
She said nothing, not wishing to embarrass him. Though her conversation with Bainbridge was troubling, she felt a bit lighter than before. How fortunate she was that Gareth had been here today, prompting her to ask the correct questions.
What a boon to have a forthright and honest man at her side. Looking out for her. Listening to her troubles. Offering support and wisdom. Giving her the confidence to act on her own.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have that always?
Chapter 6
Gabriel had assumed that once he was rid of his mask, he’d never wish to lay eyes upon it again.
It troubled him how much he wanted it now.
Even dressed in an impeccable evening suit, he could never hope to blend in.
Which meant he stood out, especially amongst the ton.
It was known he was a servant, of a sort, but not one that could be kept busy
and invisible, such as a footman or a maid. His job was to watch, and his gaze made people mindful of their behavior.
Exactly no one appreciated that feeling.
While some regarded him with caution, hostility, disgust, or outright fear, he found that easy to ignore. What puzzled him the most was the reactions of several women to his presence.
Curiosity.
He leaned against a wall adjacent to a sideboard laden with largely untouched canapés, doing his best to disappear into the wallpaper. He’d noted that many of the women in the grand ballroom seemed to fabricate reasons other than food to gracefully flit by him like a cadre of vibrant butterflies.
In fact, he’d retrieved more than a half dozen accidentally discarded handkerchiefs from the floor in front of him. Had held multiple drinks as one lady or other fixed a bunched hem or broken lace behind the fern to his left, exposing varying lengths of their ankles and calves. A matronly marchioness had quite lost her balance and fell into his arms in an apparent swoon. She’d somehow made it impossible to avoid the press of her abundant bosoms as he righted her, and had promised him her generous gratitude if he called upon her tomorrow after her husband had gone to the House of Lords.
Indeed, more than a handful of married ladies did their utmost to convince their husbands that they were in need of his particular personal protection just as much as any orphaned, bookish baron’s daughter. One of them had overtly gestured to his features and proportions as a deterrent from a husband’s jealousy. What would he have to worry about around such an ungainly brute?
Unsurprisingly, he received no offers of employment from any man in the room.
Not only did the attention make him feel freakish and uncomfortable, but it also made his job more difficult than it ought to be.
Felicity was the only woman who deserved his attention tonight. All others were nothing more than an irritation.
An irritation that was swiftly compounding by the stifling heat and closeness of the ballroom, the fiendishly relentless music, and the sheer number of men who’d held Felicity Goode in their arms that evening.
In Gabriel’s imagination, he’d already broken seven arms and gouged out numerous eyes.
This was hell.
Lucifer himself was taking his due earlier than expected, by making him watch her smile up at elegant and well-mannered men of her class.
And wondering if he would be the man to win her.
As promised, she and Lord Bainbridge had shared a sedate dance, and the man had been nothing but solicitous and polite.
He’d relinquished her company to a squat, red-faced hedgehog of a man upon whom she bestowed a benevolent smile, and even struck up a lively chat.
All the while, others laughed behind their gloves and their fans.
At her. At her partner.
Several lordlings lingered around the food, gazing at her like wolves circling a wide-eyed fawn. They grinned their sharp-toothed grins as they guessed who would next come up on her card. They bragged about saving her from having to kiss a toad like Lord Kessinger. About dazzling her with their pedigrees and their family estates.
All the while, Gabriel yearned to tear them all open. Sternum to throat.
He stood at the ready, waiting for them to give him a reason.
Just one.
After an eternity, the waltz ended, and the benighted Mr. Kessinger escorted her from the dance floor, looking for all the world as if he’d gained two inches in height.
Gabriel knew how the man felt.
A smile from her was akin to a kiss from the sun or God’s very own forgiveness.
And tonight, she was every inch a goddess.
Champagne silk threaded with some sort of glimmering magic was certainly not secured upon her body by the hoaxes they had the nerve to call sleeves. Gauzy fabric with the substance of a whisper draped from her shoulders, leaving her flesh all but bare from her jaw to the edge of the ivory gloves that crested above her elbow.
Her bodice, if one could call it that, revealed more than it covered, as various contraptions beneath foisted her breasts higher than they had any right to be. Offering up each delectable mound like an apple of Eve, tempting any unsuspecting man to have a taste. The skirt, while not tight or formfitting, gave the illusion of clinging to her hips in what he’d gleaned from ladies’ gossip, was the new— and some said, indecent— fashion.
He couldn’t disagree. When she walked, the outline of her thighs appeared beneath the skirts, before the flowing fabric belled out to swirl around her knees and feet like a gossamer mist.
When Gabriel had removed her cape upon their arrival, it’d taken all his willpower not to wrap her back up in it, toss her over his shoulder, and conduct her out of the sight of anyone.
Anyone, but himself.
As she approached, Gabriel noted that beneath her tranquil demeanor were the barest hints of strain. A small pinch between her brow, a whitening at the corner of her lips, and a shadow beneath her eyes that contrasted with skin three shades paler than usual.
Even so, she turned to Lord Kessinger, who ignored Gabriel, and sank into a graceful curtsy. “Thank you for a most enjoyable dance, my lord,” she proffered, enduring the kiss he hovered above her knuckles before retreating to Gabriel’s side.
With a grateful, if brittle, smile, she accepted the glass of punch Gabriel had procured for her, and stifled a yawn behind her glove.
“You should drink,” he prompted when, instead of sipping the punch, she surveyed the ballroom much as he had been doing the entire night.
“What?” she asked distractedly.
He gestured to her cup. “You’ll overheat if you don’t drink.”
“Oh, how thoughtful of you.” She took several long sips from the crystal glass, pressing a glove to a sheen at her hairline. “What do you think of Lord Kessinger, Mr. Severand?”
Now that they were in public, he was Mr. Severand once more.
“I don’t think of him.”
She gave a wry smile from behind the lip of her glass. “You’re being cheeky,” she accused.
Affronted, he lifted his chin. “I’ve never been cheeky in my life.”
A soft sound of amusement escaped her. “That, I do believe of you. But, pray tell me, what is your impression of him?”
He hadn’t meant to amuse her. In fact, it irked him that he had. “Why do you ask my opinion? I’m not the one contemplating marriage.”
“I ask because you read people, I think. Like I read books. You predict their motivations. Like with Bainbridge, for example, you knew what a scallywag he was before he admitted it himself.”
Her praise did serve as a slight balm to his foul temper. “Scallywag?” he echoed, tugging at his noose of a necktie.
“Isn’t that a delicious word?” she breathed. “I finished The Gilded Sea, but because of it I am now obsessed with buccaneers and privateers, so I’m reading about this monstrous pirate king who is often called things like scallywag, picaroon, or coxswain.”
He bit his lip, vowing to forget that last word from her lips.
“Another romantic adventure?” he posited.
“Yes, except this time, he falls for a mermaid.”
His lip curled of its own volition. “Sounds…”
“Fantastical and exciting?” she offered.
“I was going to say fragrant,” he muttered. “I’m no great lover of fish.”
She tilted her head back and laughed, a sound of mild yet unbridled mirth.
The world stood still to hear it.
“I was wondering why you barely touched your stew last night,” she teased. “Cook must be so offended.”
“Not as offended as my nose.”
“Stop, you.” She nudged him with another chuckle, indulging in more punch. “Well, there is something we have in common, as I am no great lover of fish, either. I have, however, reassessed my opinion on scallywags. I find this pirate king so very compelling. He’s all scarred and heavily tattooed and he says th
e most wicked things. I’m surprised they allow it in the bookshops.”
Gabriel’s mouth flooded as he considered what wicked words might put such a rapturous look upon her face. “Pirates make notoriously terrible husbands,” he reminded her.
As did smugglers, he reminded himself.
“Well, certainly, if we’re being practical. But he is a man with a creed and a big heart. Besides, he redeems himself in the end.”
He slanted a dubious look down at her. “You can’t know that; you’re not done with the book.”
“All romances end like that.”
“Why read them if you know the ending?”
She turned to look up at him, her expression both playful and profound. “Because one likes to watch the journey unfold. We all know how life ends, don’t we? But we don’t live it to hurry toward death. It’s the matter in the middle that’s the most important. Besides, I know romance might not be the most respected subject, but there are times when one needs to know that at least in one story, everything ends as it should… happily.”
Humbled by such wisdom wrapped in a package of guileless youth, Gabriel could only gape at her for a protracted moment.
“Don’t marry Kessinger.” The words spilled from his mouth before he could call them back.
“Why would you say that?” Her eyes searched his, a strange, liquid hope in their azure depths.
“He’s not… well, just look at him.” He turned to where the man had taken up a card game in the next room over. The odious man blew his nose at that unfortunate moment, then looked into the handkerchief before stowing it away.
They each winced.
“He can’t help how he looks,” she defended the man, though her fingers were pressed to her throat in a gesture of aversion. “And it’s not so bad as all that. I thought he had kind eyes, and we shared the most diverting conversation. He’s a true gentleman, they say. No vices or villainy. He’s studious and methodical and I found him indulgent and interesting.”
“Be that as it may, a woman as handsome as you should take a handsome husband.”
Her lashes swept down over cheeks tinged with peach. “You think I’m handsome?”
Tempting Fate Page 8
