A Dangerous Proposal (Bow Street Brides Book 2) Page 6

  Not wanting to let Felicity get too far ahead, Felix extended his stride and caught up with her just as she and the kittens reached the far edge of the Serpentine.

  The glittering blue lake was crowded today, filled with a hodge-podge of small sailboats, rowboats, and pond yachts being pulled along on strings. No one swam in the water – despite the hint of spring in the air the ice had only thawed a few weeks ago – but the shoreline was filled with an assortment of men, women, and children, a few of which had taken off their shoes, rolled up their stockings, and were tentatively dipping their toes in the water.

  “Going to go for a swim, Miss Atwood”

  Holding fast to her children’s hands, Felicity turned all three of them around to face him.

  “Mr. Spencer,” she sighed, and the exasperation in her voice had him swallowing back a grin. “Here I thought we had lost you. Thank heavens you are still with us. I simply do not know what we would have done if you had gone away and never, ever come back.”

  Her sarcasm did not discourage him in the slightest. Felix had always liked a good challenge, and he was enjoying this one immensely. For all her attempts at dissuasion Felicity might as well have been waving a red flag in front of a bull.

  “You’ll have to try harder than that to lose the likes of me, love.”

  “More’s the pity,” she murmured under her breath.

  Felix just grinned.

  “Have you ever raced a pond yacht, Mr. Spencer?” Unaware of the rising tension between the two adults, Henry gazed longingly over his shoulder to where half a dozen boys were running alongside miniature replicas of sailing vessels complete with masts and rigging. The small yachts cut effortlessly through the water, their white sails billowing in the breeze as they raced towards the finish line: a tree branch that extended over the lake, its budding green leaves just touching the water.

  “Have I,” Felix scoffed. “Lad, you’re looking at the Ponding Champion of 1787.” He didn’t see any reason to mention that the common man’s version of Ponding and the aristocrat’s version of Ponding were two entirely different things. Far as he was concerned a boat was a boat. Who cared if it was made out of old wood and newspaper or glossy mahogany and hemp? Just as long as it floated.

  “You were the Ponding Champion of 1787,” Felicity said dubiously.

  “Aye, that I was. Even have a trophy to prove it.” The fib floated off his tongue with the effortless grace of someone who was adept at telling half-truths. The fact of the matter was that he did have a trophy. Of sorts. No need to reveal it was made of battered tin and frayed ribbon and had been given to him by his own mother. Not when Henry was looking at him as if he’d hung the sun in the sky with one hand and the moon with the other.

  “Really?” The boy’s eyes widened to the size of two copper pennies. “I have a Cricket Sloop. Fastest one you’ve ever seen!” His face abruptly dropped, bottom lip puckering out as his fair brows pulled together. “I mean I used to have one,” he muttered, peering up at his mother who gently squeezed his shoulder.

  “We’ll get you another, darling. And we shall come here every day to race it.” Even though Felicity smiled, Felix could see evidence of the strain she was trying to hide in the thin lines stretching out from the corners of her eyes. He couldn’t say he was surprised. Given the complexity and cost of materials, Ponding was a very expensive hobby. Far too expensive for the likes of a single mother with two hungry mouths to feed.

  Once again he cursed Ashburn for being a heartless bastard. It was one thing for the viscount to leave his wife, but what the devil had he gained by disowning his children? They’d done nothing wrong. The least he could have done was given Henry his damned toy boat before he tossed the boy aside like a bucket of scraps.

  “Come to think of it,” he said, rubbing his chin, “I might still have my sloop. She’s a bit smaller than your Cricket, but give her the open water and a fair breeze and there’s nothing that can catch her. You wouldn’t be interested in testing her out, would you lad? We’d probably have to polish her up, but with some spit and shine–”

  “Yes!” Henry waved his arms up and down with all the enthusiasm of a young bird trying to take flight. “Yes, yes, yes!”

  Felix chuckled. “Best ask your mother, lad.”

  “Mum, can I? Can I, Mum? Please?”

  “Mr. Spencer,” Felicity ground out between her teeth, “a word. Henry, watch your sister. Closely,” she warned with a wag of her finger before she wrapped her hand around Felix’s wrist and pulled him off the path towards a long row of summer lilacs that were just beginning to bloom.

  “Dragging me off so ye can have your way with me?” he asked hopefully.

  “Hardly.” When they were out of earshot of the children she released his arm and whirled to face him. Delicate pink buds surrounded her head; a perfect foil to the fire flashing in her eyes. “I wanted to warn you against making promises you have no intention of keeping. It is one thing to play games with me, Mr. Spencer, but you are not to do the same with Henry and Anne. They are not pawns to be used at will. They are children. Innocent children who have already been through enough. Do I make myself clear?”

  Anger clashed against anger as the tight leash Felix kept on his temper loosened ever-so-slightly. Having been raised by a man whose moods were as dangerous and unpredictable as the tides, he’d vowed to himself at a young age that he would never become his father. No matter the provocation he would not hurt those closest to him. But eyes the color of burnished wheat were not the only thing Cornelius Spencer had given his son and at Felicity’s words Felix felt the all-too familiar burn and bite of his temper as it swelled dangerously close to the surface.

  Had she accused him of lying he wouldn’t have batted an eye. Had she accused him of any number of sins he would have happily admitted his guilt and then committed them all over again. He wasn’t a saintly man, nor would he ever pretend to be one. But there were some things even he wouldn’t do, and Felicity’s implication that he was using her children as pawns was an insult to what little honor he did possess.

  “Is that what ye think I’ve been doing?” he growled. “Playing games with ye?”

  “That is exactly what I think you are doing.”

  “Well ye couldn’t be more wrong. I might not be a good man, but I’m a sure sight better than that.”

  Felicity bit her lip, gaze dropping down to her long, shapely fingers encased in soft leather gloves. Her fingers curled into themselves, the tips pressing against the curve of her palms before she expelled a deep breath and flattened her hands along the sides of her skirt. “Then what are you after, Mr. Spencer?” Those violet eyes peeked up at him beneath a sweep of ebony lashes. “What do you want?”

  “You.” If they were alone he would have pinned her against the sweet smelling lilacs and kissed her breathless. Instead he restrained himself to a scorching stare that left no doubt as to the wicked thoughts dancing inside his head. “I’m after you, love, and I mean to have ye. But I won’t be using the little ankle-biters to do it. When ye come to me – and ye will come to me – it’ll be because ye can’t spend another living moment outside my arms.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t really have a pond yacht, do you?”

  “Never did,” he said cheerfully. “At least not the sort ye would recognize. But I’ll get one, and I’ll see to it Henry beats all those young pups so badly they whimper home with their tail between their legs.”

  “But – but why?” she asked in bewilderment. “You’ve only just met him today. He doesn’t mean anything to you. We don’t mean anything to you.”

  Felix could have told her it was because he saw a bit of himself in the boy. He could have mentioned his own childhood and the pain he’d suffered at the hands of his father. He could have said she filled something inside of him that he hadn’t even known was empty. But he wasn’t a man in the habit of laying his soul bare, and so he just said, “Because I wanted to.”

  A left caught i
n her hair when he crowded her back against the sweet-smelling lilacs. Her gazed darted to the side. “Mr. Spencer, people are–”

  “Hang ‘em.” He caught her wrist, his hand skimming up her arm until he felt the frantic beat of her pulse. She might have been able to hide what she was feeling behind an ivory wall of quiet stoicism, but the rapid pounding of her heart was not so easily disguised. “Who cares what they think? Let the prissy bounders stare all they want.”

  She looked at him as if he’d suddenly sprouted a second head before she snatched her arm away. “I do, Mr. Spencer. I care. Which is why I cannot have you doing – well, whatever it is you are doing!”

  “I’m protecting ye.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I do not need protection from you or any other man, thank you very much.”

  Felix knew what pride looked like, and Felicity was so filled with it she was close to bursting. Having lost nearly everything but the dress on her back he supposed her dignity was the one thing she had left. And he wasn’t about to take it away from her.

  “Courtin’ ye, then.”

  “Court-courting me?” An incredulous laugh spilled from her lips. “Oh Mr. Spencer! You cannot be serious.”

  Felix scowled at her reaction. And then he scowled at his own scowl. Buggerin’ hell in a whore’s handbasket, he cursed silently as realization dawned. Devil take him, he really was being serious. And if that wasn’t a swift kick in the arse he didn’t know what was.

  “What if I am?” he said.

  Felicity’s laughter stopped abruptly. “About – about courting me?”

  “Aye.”

  “You cannot be,” she said, looking flabbergasted at the very idea. “Stealing kisses, showing up unannounced, and following me around Hyde Park after I distinctly asked you to leave does not a courtship make.”

  “Then what does?” he demanded.

  She shook her head. “I – I don’t know.”

  “If ye know what a courtship isn’t, then ye have to know what it is.”

  “I have not been courted in a very long time. I do not remember.”

  “Ashburn courted ye.” It wasn’t a question, but rather a statement. One that immediately caused Felicity’s gaze to shutter.

  “Yes,” she said in a clipped tone that made it clear the subject of her husband was not one she cared to discuss. “He did. I really must get back to the children. I think it best if you allow me to go now, Mr. Spencer. Without following.”

  This time when she tried to squeeze between his hard chest and the lilac bush he let her pass.

  But he had no intention of letting her go.

  Chapter Six

  Scarlett came to call on Felicity the next morning. She entered with all the force of a small, blonde-haired whirlwind and did not hesitate to make her opinion on Felicity’s new living quarters immediately known.

  “You cannot stay in this hovel,” she said bluntly. “I will not allow it.”

  In the midst of braiding Anne’s hair, Felicity glanced up at her friend and managed a tight-lipped smile. Growing up on neighboring estates, the two women had been the closest of confidants. Until the morning Scarlett returned early from her morning ride and caught Felicity descending her staircase…with her husband half-dressed at the top of it.

  Felicity still did not know why she hadn’t told Scarlett the truth right there and then. That she’d come to return a bracelet she’d borrowed the evening before and Rodger had – well, he had done what Rodger always did. Taken advantage of those weaker than himself in the most despicable way possible.

  As she’d stood frozen on the middle of the stairs and watched Scarlett’s gaze dart between her closest friend and her husband, Felicity had been unable to find her voice. By the time she did it was too late. Scarlett’s love had turned to hate and it was easier – far, far easier – to let her think the worst than to admit what had really happened. Because even though Rodger had taken her against her will, she had not said no. She had not told him to stop. She had not done anything except lay beneath him with her eyes squeezed shut praying for it to end. And didn’t that make some of the fault her own? Didn’t that mean she deserved to have Scarlett look at her with absolute contempt and revulsion? Eight years later and she still did not know what the right answer was. It certainly hadn’t been a bitter feud with no end in sight. Which was why, after Rodger’s unexpected death, she’d told Scarlett the truth.

  Their broken friendship was not back to where it had been. Felicity doubted it ever would be. But it was growing stronger every day. Strong enough for Scarlett to give her unvarnished opinion...and for Felicity to refute it.

  “It may not be much to look at right now, but after it’s cleaned up a bit I think it will be quite cheerful. Try not to wiggle, darling” she told Anne as her daughter began to kick her legs, a sure sign her patience was beginning to dwindle. “I am almost finished.”

  “Cleaned up a bit?” Scarlett dragged her fingertip along the windowsill and held it up for inspection. “My glove is black.”

  “All right,” Felicity admitted, “perhaps it will take more than a bit. But the roof doesn’t leak and the floorboards are sturdy and there’s a fireplace.”

  Scarlett looked positively horrified. “You cannot mean to stay here until winter.”

  “And where else would you have us go?” Fishing in her pocket for a cheerful blue hair ribbon, she neatly tied off Anne’s soft brown curls with a large bow and patted her shoulder. “All done, darling. Why don’t you see what your brother is building?” She’d sent Henry into the bedroom over an hour ago and hadn’t heard a peep since. He enjoyed building things almost as much as Anne enjoyed knocking them down. They were a pair, the two of them. Sometimes she wondered how she was going to do it. How she was going to raise them while maintaining her own sanity. How she was going to be both a mother and a father. Then Henry would smile at her, or Anne would laugh, and all of her worries and her doubts and her fears faded away.

  “They’re getting awfully big, aren’t they?” Scarlett remarked as Anne bounced away.

  Felicity blew a tendril of hair out of her eyes and stretched her arms above her head. Transitioning from a feather-stuffed mattress to a straw pallet was much more difficult than she’d anticipated. The children hadn’t seemed to mind, but her muscles had certainly noticed the difference. Particularly after she’d tossed and turned more than half the night, unable to close her eyes without thinking about Felix.

  “Every day I wake up and they seem to have grown two inches overnight.” Her mother had once told her that while the days were often long with children, the years were short. To both her joy and regret, truer words had never been spoken. “I am afraid Henry will soon be taller than I am.”

  “In which case he’ll no longer fit through the door. Filly, what are you doing here? You know you have a room ready and waiting. Our new house is more than large enough.”

  “For me, perhaps, but for two loud, boisterous children?” She shook her head. “You and Owen deserve some time to yourselves. I wouldn’t want to be a burden.”

  “Do not be ridiculous,” Scarlett scoffed. “You would not be a burden at all. Especially not after everything I–” She managed to stop herself short, but the words she hadn’t spoken still hung in the air between them nevertheless.

  “You do not owe me anything,” Felicity said firmly. It was a conversation they’d had before and one she had no intention of having again. As far as she was concerned they were starting anew and she did not want the foundation of their friendship to be built on doubt and debt.

  “But I do.” Scarlett worried her bottom lip between her teeth as shame and guilt flashed across her heart-shaped countenance in equal measure. “All that has happened to you is my fault.”

  Now it was Felicity’s turn to scoff. “How absurd. I do not blame you for any of it.” The floorboards creaked beneath her feet as she crossed the small room and clasped her friend’s hands in her own. “Let the past be the past. I have.”r />
  “Only because you are a far better person than me.”

  “I will not argue about that.”

  The two women grinned at each other and for a moment – one short, blissful moment – it was as it had been before everything went horribly wrong.

  Before Scarlett spurned her childhood love for a man who never loved her.

  Before Rodger took something that was never his to take.

  Before Ezra left her for his mistress.

  And where was I? Felicity couldn’t help but wonder. Where was I when all of this was happening? Standing idly by. Being a perfect friend, a perfect lady, a perfect wife. Well, no longer.

  Releasing Scarlett’s hands, she went to the window and peered out through the dirty glass, mindful not to touch the ledge. In Grosvenor Square her view had been comprised of cherry blossoms and wrought iron fences and meticulously tended gardens. Now, if she squinted and tilted her head at just the right angle, she could catch a glimpse of a tiny patch of daffodils sprouting up amidst the drab and the dreary. “If you truly want to help me, then you will ask Owen to tell Mr. Spencer to leave me alone.”

  “Who?”

  “Mr. Spencer.” She turned her back on the daffodils. “Mr. Felix Spencer. He’s a Runner. The one who stole your jewelry and kissed me,” she said in exasperation when Scarlett continued to look mystified.

  “Oh that Mr. Spencer. You know come to think of it, he never did return my emerald hair comb.”

  Somehow Felicity was not surprised. “He came here yesterday.”

  “He came here?” Scarlett’s gray eyes widened. “Whatever for?”

  To kiss me again.

  “He wouldn’t say, other than some nonsense about protecting me.” Her brow creased with suspicion as a sudden thought occurred. “You and Owen did not send him, did you? Because I was very clear that I do not need looking after.”

  “Of course not,” Scarlett said, looking vaguely insulted that Felicity would even dare suggest such a thing. “You know me. I never do anything I’m told not to.”