by Darcy Burke
He’d completely cocked that up. What the hell was wrong with him?
You’re drunk.
Yes, but not too drunk to realize he’d just flirted with a woman he had no business flirting with. He stalked to his chamber and shut the door, this time careful not to slam it. He leaned back against the wood and closed his eyes.
He refused to be attracted to Sarah. He couldn’t be. It was simply that he’d been too long without a woman. He’d terminated his arrangement with Meggie after the Coltons had died.
Yes, not being with a woman was the problem. Tomorrow night, he would take Anthony into the village of Ware and they would find female companionship. It would do them both good.
And what of tonight and the inconvenient erection straining against his smallclothes?
Tonight, he would pray for oblivion.
The upstairs sitting room at Stag’s Court afforded a stunning view of the garden below. With a profusion of roses, pinks, and Sweet Williams, it was bright and beautiful, the perfect backdrop for Sarah to write letters to her friends who were at Fanny’s new home near St. Ives.
However after telling them about her first day at Stag’s Court—with probably too much information about Felix’s horrid aunt and uncle—she didn’t know what else to say. She didn’t want to talk about how she was feeling. Mostly because she didn’t know.
Rather, because she was feeling too much.
She was angry with Anthony for turning to the bottle yet again. And angry with Felix for joining him. No, she was angry with Felix for flirting with her, for reminding her of how he made her heart race and how she’d begun to think of their kisses and recall how much she’d enjoyed them.
She was also sad, of course, but there were moments of hope and brightness, that things wouldn’t feel so dark forever. She just wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do. Her maid, Dovey, had told her to take each day as a gift and to not think too much about it. That, Sarah had decided, was not as easy as it sounded. Perhaps that was the problem—she had too much time to think. She needed to do something but wasn’t sure what.
As she tried to come up with how to convey all that in a letter, she wished her friends were there in person. It would be so much easier to talk to them, to hear their voices.
“Sarah?”
She recognized the voice without turning and realized if he’d spoken in the closet at Darent Hall, she would have known him immediately. He had spoken, she recalled, but a short, single word that had barely permeated the fog of her shocking arousal. She had to stop thinking about it. Especially since she was annoyed with him.
Turning in the chair, she gave him a frosty look. “I’m writing a letter.”
“I see that. May I interrupt you? Please? I’ve come to beg your forgiveness.”
Surprise—and delight—bloomed in her chest, but she didn’t show him. She wanted him to suffer at least a little. “I see.” She repositioned the chair so that she was facing him.
He walked slowly into the room. Garbed in a dark blue coat and gray breeches, he looked as fashionable as any gentleman strolling along Bond Street, but then Felix had always been well-dressed. Sarah noticed these things, of course. Just as she’d noticed his state of undress last night.
She’d seen him in shirtsleeves before but had never been impacted by it. That had been before they’d kissed each other, however. Now she saw him—and his bare neck—in a wholly different light.
He stopped a few feet from her chair, his face pulled into a wince of embarrassment. “I’m afraid I was rather foxed last night.”
“And felixed, apparently.”
His eyes clouded with confusion for a moment, and then he laughed.
“You remember?” she asked.
“I wasn’t as sotted as you probably thought. I was, however, heavily felixed. Unavoidable, I’m afraid.” His lips curved up in a self-condemning smile. “I am who I am.”
She almost smiled but schooled herself not to. “You let Anthony get drunk again.”
He flinched and dipped his head in shame. “Yes, but I should like to blame my aunt and uncle, if I may.”
She would agree with doing that, but again, she wasn’t going to make this easy for him. Not when everything felt so difficult to her. “That’s a bit cowardly of you, isn’t it?”
He put his hand over his chest. “A direct hit. Your barbs have exceptional aim, Miss Colton.”
He was so good at livening every single moment. Too good.
“You shouldn’t have let him drink so much.”
“No, I shouldn’t have,” he said soberly. “And we certainly didn’t need to continue after dinner. Would it help to know that I think it was helpful for him? It wasn’t like before. We were just being—”
While he searched for words, she offered, “Stupid men?”
“Yes, that. Precisely. And I was even more stupid to behave as I did with you.”
“What way was that?” Had her voice risen?
He briefly narrowed one eye at her. “I think I tried—poorly—to flirt with you. But I stand by what I said. You did look beautiful last night.”
Her heart picked up speed, and she hoped he couldn’t see the tremor racing through her body. “You’ve never said things like that to me before.”
He frowned. “Surely I’ve commented on your appearance over the years.”
Surely he had. “Not in that way. And you told me not to frown. And you tried—” She looked away from him, from the unbearable pull she felt toward him.
“I tried to touch you,” he said softly. “Sarah, I was not myself. My aunt and uncle… They bring out the worst in me.”
She snapped her gaze back to his. “Touching me is the worst of you?”
He winced again, then wiped his hand across his brow. He tipped his head toward the floor. “That didn’t come out right at all. Hell. None of this is right. Not since Darent Hall.”
He lifted his eyes to hers, and they simply looked at each other for a long moment.
“We can say it,” she whispered, her voice sounding ragged. “Since we kissed.”
“I don’t want things to be different. You’re still my best friend’s sister. You’re family, now more than ever.”
She didn’t want things to be different either. She needed all the family she could keep. “We can forget the event ever happened.”
The edge of his mouth ticked up. “I thought I had—for a while there. But I think pretending it never happened is probably the route I shall have to take.”
He was telling her he couldn’t forget it. Well, neither could she. In fact, she feared they were to be the kisses by which she would measure all others. “I shall do the same.” As best she could. She exhaled with relief and perhaps with a tiny bit of something else. Regret, she realized.
“I’m glad we discussed it,” Felix said, straightening and smoothing his hand over the front of his coat. “I do hope you’ll forgive me—for all of it. I intend to nurse you and Anthony back to your gleeful selves.”
“Is that really possible?”
“Of course it is.” He was so matter-of-fact that she couldn’t help but believe him.
“I suppose it must be. You recovered after your father died.”
“Yes.” His tone was tentative. “But I suspect that was much different. I was very young, for one thing.”
“And?”
“And…” He shrugged. “You find other things to think about. Like shopping. Come, I’m taking you into Ware. I’m having the gig brought round. Fetch your maid and meet me out front.”
Her maid. It took her a moment to realize she ought to take her maid. Yes, it was an open vehicle and yes, she and Felix were as good as family, but for propriety’s sake, she ought to bring Dovey.
“I’ll just be a trice,” she said.
“Good.” He grinned at her and departed.
She picked up her half-finished letter and dashed to her chamber, where Dovey helped her change into a walking costume. Sarah hurried down
stairs and out into the bright afternoon, the brim of her hat shading her eyes from the sun.
Felix stood next to the gig, his hat pulled low on his brow at a cocky angle. She’d never acknowledged how handsome he was before.
And she certainly didn’t need to start doing so now.
He helped her into the front seat of the vehicle and then helped Dovey into the back. Ware was a short two-mile drive. With malthouses, coaching inns, and shopping aplenty, it was a busy town, particularly with the traffic on the River Lea, which ran straight through.
“We’ll visit Scott’s Grotto while you’re here,” Felix said.
“My parents took us there once,” Sarah said softly, remembering a day she hadn’t thought of in years. Or maybe she’d forgotten it altogether, but Felix’s mention of the grotto had resurrected the memory. “It was summer, and the tunnels were cool. They were beautiful—the shells and rock.”
“I spent many a summer day hiding in them,” Felix said. “Thankfully, Maria Scott has continued to allow people to visit. Her father built the grotto, if you didn’t know. People would come from London to see it—which was his intent.”
Sarah slid a glance at him as they drove into town. “I’m surprised you don’t build a grotto.”
“At Stag’s Court?” He shook his head. “I don’t have a chalk hill.”
“But if you had one, you would build a grotto?”
“Of course.” He flashed her a grin, and she was once again grateful for his sense of humor.
He took them past a series of coaching inns and malthouses before parking the gig in front of a shop. Sarah looked at the sign and then toward Felix, who was already bounding from the vehicle.
He came around to her side and offered her his hand.
“You brought me to a millinery shop?”
“Why not? I happen to know you like them.” He helped her down, then did the same for Dovey, but she waved him away. “I’ll wait here.”
“The gig will be fine,” Felix said. “This isn’t London.”
“It’s all right, my lord. My back is paining me a bit today.”
Sarah hadn’t known that. She looked up at her maid, who wasn’t even old enough to be her mother. “Did something happen?” Sarah asked.
Dovey winked at her. “Not at all. Just an old pain.” That Sarah had never heard of. Was Dovey trying to give her time alone with Felix? Sarah would need to tell her that wasn’t necessary, though it might not do any good. Dovey was as keen to see Sarah wed as her parents had been.
A sharp prick of loss stabbed into Sarah, and she worked to push it away. It lingered a moment, reminding her for the thousandth time that her mother would never see her wed. Did it matter anymore, then? Sarah had thought it had never mattered. And now she’d marry in a second if it meant she could have her parents back.
She took Felix’s arm as he guided her into the shop. It was small and cool after the heat of the early afternoon sun. Hats and ribbons and gloves filled the space, and Sarah looked about in mild interest.
Taking her hand from his arm, Sarah went to a display of poke bonnets. She fingered one, admiring the craftsmanship.
“Do you like that?” Felix asked, coming up beside her.
“It’s nice.”
“I’d be happy to buy it—or any other—for you.”
She gave him a reproving look. “You can’t buy me things. Anyway, I don’t buy hats.” Because she made them all herself. But she hadn’t wanted to since her parents had died.
“And why would you?” he said with a smile. “Perhaps you should purchase some supplies, then. Some ribbons? Some silk flowers?”
“I don’t need anything, thank you.” She went to look at gloves.
He followed her. “I was hoping you could show me how to make hats.”
“You were?” She wasn’t sure she believed that. “Why would you need to make a hat?”
He shrugged. “You never know. I might find myself somewhere with no headgear to speak of and find myself in desperate need.”
She cocked her hip and stared at him. “So you’d be without a hat but have all the materials and implements required to make one. Seems like that could happen.”
He snorted. “Your sarcasm is killing me.”
She turned, notching up her chin. “I learned from the best. That would be you and Anthony, in case you didn’t realize.”
“Oh, I realized,” he said, chuckling. “Let me get some supplies. The sooner you get back to making hats, the sooner you’ll feel like yourself.”
He could be right, but she wasn’t going to do it. Instead of telling him so, she strode from the shop.
He trailed her outside and touched her elbow. “Why did you leave?”
She turned to face him, giving in to her irritation. “I don’t want to make hats. And I don’t need to ‘get back’ to anything. My life is different now.”
He frowned, his brow creasing. “It doesn’t have to be. You can still open your shop in Vigo Lane. In fact, it might even be easier—”
“Just stop,” she snapped. “I am not opening a shop in Vigo Lane.” Her parents would have hated it, and she wasn’t going to dishonor their memory in that way.
He clasped her elbow and drew her to the side of the walkway. “Why deny that which would make you happy?”
“Making my parents proud will make me happy.”
“So now you want to marry,” he said flatly.
“I always wanted to marry.” She couldn’t help feeling—or sounding, apparently—defensive.
He didn’t appear convinced. “I believe you wanted to fall in love. Is that still a requirement?”
“It is…important. I’ll accept a husband with whom I can be happy. Love isn’t always necessary.” She was now completely parroting her mother. Her throat constricted.
“I want you to be sure you know what happiness is—for you.” He pressed his mouth into a determined line. “Come on, I’m taking you somewhere.”
She moved toward the gig. “Where?”
He helped her up. “It’s a surprise.”
She looked down at him from the seat. “I hope it’s not another millinery shop.” Maybe it was the Grotto.
“It’s not. We’re going back to the estate.” He circled the vehicle and climbed onto the seat beside her.
Not the Grotto, then.
As Felix took the reins, she was aware of his annoyance. Rather than upset her, it made her more resolute. She couldn’t live her life like he did—pursuing whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. He allowed someone else to run his estate and had no intention of providing an heir. He had no sense of duty whatsoever.
It was no wonder he couldn’t understand that she needed to satisfy her parents’ wishes. It was, to her, more important than she could have ever imagined.
Fielding had sent a lovely note and flowers after her parents had died. Perhaps he was still interested in courting her—he’d said as much at Darent Hall. Marrying him would mean traveling to India for an indeterminate amount of time, but there were worse things. And her parents would be so pleased to see her wed, even if he didn’t have a title. They’d be especially thrilled if he was awarded a position with the government. Yes, Fielding might do nicely.
She’d write to him as soon as possible.
Chapter 8
Felix drove back to Stag’s Court perhaps a trifle faster than he ought, slowing as he reached a lane that would deliver them to their destination. The irritation he’d felt toward Sarah was still there, but it wasn’t truly directed at her. She was grieving. She would come to her senses soon enough. He just hoped she didn’t make any rash decisions before then.
How could she, when she was here in the country away from potential suitors?
He relaxed a bit as he directed the gig along the lane. The house he was looking for came into sight as he rounded a bend.
“Where are we going?” Sarah asked again.
“Still a surprise,” Felix said.
“You are
building a grotto.”
He laughed in spite of his lingering annoyance. “No. But if you keep haranguing me about it, I might have to.”
“I am not haranguing.” When next she spoke, her pitch was elevated. “Felix, you must build a grotto. I should be devastated if you do not. Think of all the people who would come to see it, of all the parties and other events you could host inside.” She turned her head and pouted at him, batting her lashes. “I shall never speak to you again if you don’t build a grotto.”
He arched a brow at her, barely able to contain his smile. “Are you finished?”
“That is haranguing.”
“You are quite excellent at it. I thought you liked horrid novels, but perhaps you’ve been reading The Taming of the Shrew.”
She laughed, and he let the last of his irritation fade away.
Dovey leaned forward between them. “I did catch her reading that some time ago—perhaps in March.”
“Aha!” Felix turned the gig into the drive of the cottage and parked the vehicle. He jumped down and came around to help Sarah out. “Are you coming this time, Dovey?” he asked the maid.
“I’m not sure. I can’t imagine what we’re doing here.”
He held up his hand to her. “It’s worth your effort, I promise.”
“How can I refuse?” She allowed him to help her to the ground.
As they walked toward the house, a woman came out and quickly bobbed a curtsey to Felix. “Good afternoon, my lord. Did you tell Mr. Jenney you were coming?”
“I did not,” Felix said. “I’m afraid this is a surprise visit. I’ve come to see the puppies.”
Sarah snapped her head toward his. “Puppies?”
“Oh dear,” Dovey murmured.
Mrs. Jenney smiled. “Well then, come and have a look. Are you interested in having one, sir?” she asked.
“Not me, no.” He glanced toward Sarah. “But Miss Colton might be.”
She reached over and squeezed his arm. It was the type of touch he’d expected from her—somewhat impersonal and fleeting—before they’d kissed. He told himself to feel relieved that things were now back to normal between them.
