Authors: Claudy Conn
ALL LIFE HAD forever changed for Felicia Easton.
She soaked in the tub that had been prepared for her early the next morning and marveled at her audacious behavior the night before. She had left Ashton as he slept, although that had not been easy. He had held her tightly to himself, and while she had not wanted to leave the warmth of his embrace, she knew she had no choice but to do so.
Sleep was elusive as she relived their lovemaking.
Gazing out the small window at the new morning she wondered what challenges she would now face. Did he love her? He had been wildly possessive and hungrily attentive to every need—to both their needs—and she had found heaven.
Sweet life
—why were women denied such pleasures with censure if they were discovered?
She had taken her life into her own hands just as she had always done. She had with the flash of a single, irreversible decision made in the heat of a desire, in the space of a moment, changed her life’s course. She knew now that her days and nights, her mind, her body, her needs, had become riveted to a man who meant the world to her—and perhaps that was not wise.
No regrets. One should never have regrets, even if a decision proved ill. Regretting anything was a waste of time. One simply had to move forward.
Their union had been magical. He had been gentle and tender, and yet he had swept her into another universe with an erotic handling of her body, with uncontrollable touching, and with primal need and passion. She would never know such passion from any other living person—of that she was sure, because she had given so much more than her body. Her heart, her spirit, her mind’s focus were all centered in him.
He was her one
. She had known it when she had crept into his room and seduced him. It wasn’t the other way around—no, how could it be, when she was the one that had gone to him and nearly demanded his attentions.
Would he now think her a loose woman, not fit for anything but a bed? Would he? She must not allow him to think so, and, somehow, she did not think him the sort that would believe such a thing. She had been a maid, after all.
He on the other hand was so many things—just the sort of things she had never thought would attract her. He was a rogue of a man, very experienced, and she was sure with a list of ladies he had made love to over the years.
Was she just one more
?
Wanting to mean more to him was not enough. Hoping to be so much more to him, still, not enough. She had taken this course to infuse herself in his mind, and then … well, now he was infused in hers.
He had laughingly told her she had the air of a duchess.
She had smiled and told him, “Nonsense, Ashton.”
“Ashton? Why do you persist in avoiding the use of my given name?” He frowned down at her.
She smiled, “Glen, then, but my airs are my own and have nothing to do with royalty.”
“No, you don’t understand, my dear heart. You have all the best traits … beauty, character, conviction. You may not have been born a duchess, and yet, you are one all the same.”
Did he believe that, or was it the affection of the moment?
She had laughed it off and told him, “Well, being a duchess is not something I think I would like. In fact, the formality of the entire thing would leave me quite blue-deviled.”
His eyes had gone dark for a long moment as he seemed to be considering an answer, but he said only, “No, we cannot have you blue-deviled, ever, but you know, your sentiments are what make you perfect for such a title.”
Perfect? He had repeated this to her over and over during the course of their lovemaking, but she wasn’t—was she?
No,
she was a liar.
She still had not told him the entire truth. She still had not even told her him her real surname. What would he think of her? Oh, she would have to confess the whole … soon. Very soon, but for now, for this moment, with the hot water soothing her loins and allowing her to drift into the memory of their night, well, that was all she wanted to think about.
* * *
Lady Daphne was not enjoying the lovely morning or the promise of a ‘new day’.
She pushed her breakfast away with some disgust, for she had just sustained another visit from young Scott’s father. The squire had been in a terrible mood, she was at a loss as to what to do next, and the hour was not even ten o’clock yet.
He had ranted and raved and told her this problem had to be dealt with but offered no clue as to how they should handle it. He said if he didn’t know it was a bad idea, he would send off the Bow Street Runners to find and return the wayward children home.
Bow Street Runners, indeed!
She had snorted at such a suggestion and advised him that nothing could produce a scandal more than such action.
It was time, she believed, to send for her dear Freddy. He would know what to do. He always took things in stride and handled them to perfection. It was, however, entirely possible that he would tell her to wash her hands of the miserable affair. Not their problem to worry about, after all, and if he did tell her that, he would have a very good point. She had better not write him, for he might just take her home, and for all her irritation she was loathe to allow a scandal to attach itself to her despicable brother.
What, then?
Drat her brother and her loyalty to him, and damn the love she felt for him.
Drat, drat, and double drat!
It was at this auspicious moment that the Easton butler arrived with a silver salver upon which rested a note.
He bent and apologized, saying, “My lady, I am very sorry, but it appears that this arrived for you yesterday and was somehow set aside.”
She thanked him and took the sealed envelope. She saw her brother’s handwriting at once and asked, “How was it waylaid?”
“The new day girl. I was in the back helping with Cook, and the flighty thing forgot to tell me that it had arrived.”
“Very well, but do speak to her about this lapse.”
“Indeed, m’lady. I already have.”
She smiled and after watching his retreat returned with a sigh to her brother’s missive and read:
Dearest Daffy, best of all females,
Ha
, she thought, and continued to read.
I am delayed. Perhaps you should return to London, for I have a notion that if I keep you kicking your heels at Easton with a countrified green girl, you and your Freddy will have my head!
Forgive me. Tell the child I shall try and fetch her before the end of the month and mean to make it up to her with a grand London season.
Yours,
Glen
“Well!” said his enraged sister out loud. “This is too much. Best of all females, am I? This is intolerable. How dare he put the poor Easton child off like that, for he doesn’t know she has run off, does he?”
She sighed and answered herself under her breath, “What to do?”
Well, she couldn’t very well hobble back to London to advise him that his ward had run away with a local squire’s son. It also made no sense to stay on here either.
What she needed to do was find her brother and drag him about by his ears until he took charge of this awful situation.
She would run him to earth, yes, she would. But how? Where the devil was he?
In this mood, she rose from the table to hunt out the butler and find out where the letter had come from. Ha! Did Glen think she could not track him down? She had been doing so for years and had the knack of it. Yes, by faith! She would track him down and have at him.
AS FELICIA GAZED across at Glen Ashton, she could not help but remember their night and wanted nothing more than to find safety in the fold of his arms.
He had invited her on a morning ride, and she had accepted with a joy that had permeated every fiber of her being, but now she was worried. He looked …
troubled.
He had helped her into her saddle and had whispered her name as though reciting a quiet benediction.
As they rode, he laughed at the anecdote she had recited to set herself at ease, and she dimpled at his response, for he had announced that she was a ‘rough and tumble’ miss but that he liked her just as she was. She smiled and answered him, “Yes, I suppose I have always been that—rough and tumble. It is so much more fun than being prim and proper and doing what is expected simply because it is expected.”
“Ah, no doubt those Godwin ladies have infected you with their modern writings?”
“Godwin? I have not read their works, but now you have intrigued me, I shall,” she said and laughed. “No, my infection is self-inflicted. I do not see at all why women must do this or do that and not be allowed to do so much. It makes no sense to me, especially since those rules are put in place by men.”
He laughed and said quietly, “You are a treasure.”
She beamed to herself, for just then she was somewhere in a ‘make-believe world’, and reality, for the time, need not concern her.
They trotted along for a time, both apparently pleased to be out for a ride and both pleased with one another, although when Felicia glanced at his profile she saw immediately that something was on his mind.
Should she ask? No. She would wait, and as she made this decision he reached over, touched her gloved fingers with his own, and said, “You know, all I can think of, Felicia, is stopping our horses, and pulling you off yours and—”
“Ah,” she said, stopping him. “But there is the ‘but’ in there, for I hear it clearly.” She was a bold-faced woman to speak thusly with him, but straight talking was so much better than going around in circles.
He laughed. “Of course there is a ‘but’. Do you think that is what I want for you?”
“What do you
want for me
?” she bantered. “Or have you already set me aside with just the one night?” There, she had put it to him. She felt the blush burn her cheeks, but it was the question uppermost in her mind. Out in the open. Now she would know.
He frowned darkly at her. “I don’t like to hear you speak like that.”
“Do you not?” was all she could muster in a voice she scarcely recognized as her own. Was that her heart starting to crackle with worry?
“Temptress, do not make me thrash my principles and pull you off your horse and do everything I am yearning to do with you here and now,” he answered, and his voice sounded harsh to her delicate ears.
“Principles?” She eyed him and said no more.
“It was wrong of me to seduce you last night … you didn’t understand the fire you were playing with—the sort of burn that awaits such games.”
“Burned—I think I am not yet. I have been quite thoroughly singed and by my own actions, though. Yours were quite … welcome, and I do not mind the aftermath of my actions,” she said quietly.
He rounded on her. “Flip!
You are an innocent, and I am a cad.”
She laughed. “Not yet, you are not.”
He shook his head and said, “I wanted to take you on this ride to tell you what happened last night cannot happen again. It was most wrong of me to take advantage of your … attraction to me and when you are so very vulnerable. You were in a terrible situation. I came along and rescued you and Scott—and in your mind, you, well, you have fixated on me. That is not what I want. You think me some sort of hero, and I am not worthy of one hair on your head.”
She hung her head. Was he just being kind? Breaking it to her gently that she did not suit him? He was a hero, and that was what he would do. He had thoroughly and completely wiped away all joy in their morning. “I see,” she said softly.
“No, you do not, but from here on out, I mean that you shall,” he said in something of a passion.
She eyed him then, for her spirit was indomitable. She was not the sort to cave and give up. She said, “
Are you afraid of me?
”
“I am afraid that any honor I ever thought I had is being blown into the wind because of you,” he answered softly.
“Take heed, sir, for this is the truth
. I went to you
—and not because I was
vulnerable
,” she said, her chin up.
“I am never vulnerable.
”
“Are you not?” he said doubtfully. “Good girl.”
Good girl? She almost rounded on him and wagged her finger. This was not how she imagined their ride would be.
They proceeded for only a short jaunt before he said they should get back before anyone remarked upon their absence.
She said nothing to this, and a glance at his profile told her that he was certainly still troubled. Her instinct told her he wanted to say more—that it was on the tip of his tongue—but he was holding off.
What? What did he want to say?
Felicia considered this notion, and her brain developed yet another road to pursue.
Oh, yes, she had seen more than lust in his dear, warm, silver eyes last night, and now, again, she saw that same warm light. All she needed to do was to get him to look inward and see it as well.
* * *
Scott had leaned into Felicia and asked if dinner could be served in his room.
“Why, dearest … are you not feeling well?”
“To be honest, I don’t want to fuss but feel a bit unsteady on my feet,” he answered.
Thus it was that dinner was served within the cozy confines of his bedroom on a small round table that had been set up near the slowly burning fire in the grate.
Scott was, Felicia noted, in spite of his fatigue, in good spirits, and dismissed his mild complaint as his color and smile were both, she thought, quite normal.
She and Scott were left alone for a bit, and he frowned at her and said, “I know, Felicia, that you think I have no ready understanding when it comes to er … people’s emotions, but it isn’t true, you know. For example, I know that you are not feeling quite the thing yourself.”
“Nonsense.” She tried to laugh this off. “Whatever are you talking about? I feel just fine. And I never said you did not have an understanding. What I said was that men in general do not always perceive what is right before their eyes … when it comes to women.”
“Well, that may be true,” he said, chewing over this. Then he laughed. “Still, something is off with you. I have known you too long not to know that.”
“What makes you say so?”
“For one thing, it is in your eyes, Flip, especially when you happen to be looking at Ashton. I know you like him—”
“Stop.” She pointed a finger at him.
“No, I won’t stop. Why should I? You never do. I tell you what … he has been looking grim all day as well. Have you two had a row? I tell you what, it would be too bad if you have upset him. Damned good man.” He shook his head. “It isn’t that, though, is it?”
“We have not had a row. Absurd boy. What has gotten into your head?”
There was nothing more to be said at that moment, as Ashton had arrived, a glass of something in his hand, which he sipped as he entered the room. Behind him were two serving girls, who went ahead and set the table.
Conversation between the three was lively, and Scott’s concerns were set aside until Scott pushed away his food, frowned towards Ashton, who suddenly seemed absorbed in his own thoughts, turned a narrowed eye to Felicia, and said loudly, “Well, well, Flip, ol’ girl. I know what we need to liven up the evening. What say you to a game of cards?”
Felicia eyed him and smiled before turning to Ashton. “No, I don’t think so, but perhaps you and Mr. Ashton?”
“Mr. Ashton?” retorted the gentleman in question with a touch of impatience. “I thought we had settled on Glen?”
She inclined her head and her lashes fluttered. She saw Scott watching them intently as though trying to piece together a puzzle that had him baffled.
Scott tried again. “Come on now, surely you cannot deny us a little game of cards, Flip—that isn’t like you.”
Once again she eyed Scott and was struck by the worry in his eyes. “Oh, how selfish of me. Of course, if that is what you really want. Cards, it is.” She put on a brave face and said, “I will be but a moment and fetch them, but I tell you so that you will listen, Scott, I shall not play cribbage!” So saying she laughed and went off.
Scott watched her leave and looked at Ashton to say, “Don’t know what has come over Flip. She is never one to pout, and I’d swear that was what she has been doing all day.”
“Has she been?” returned Ashton, his bright eyes suddenly glinting.
Scott was surprised Ashton rose from the table and told him, “I shall go and help her find a deck of cards then.”
* * *
Felicia had been sent off by a chambermaid to look in the private morning parlor for a deck of playing cards. As she bent to go through some odds and ends in a sideboard table drawer, she felt a sudden shiver scurry up her spine.
She spun around with a startled motion to find Ashton there, standing near, so very near.
“Faith!” You did make me jump,” she exclaimed and felt the heat rush through her body. What an astounding effect he always had on her. It was as though he breathed life into her, as though everything around her faded and all there that existed was him.
“Did I startle you? I am sorry for it. That was not the end I had in mind.” His voice was low, husky, and full of a meaning that made her tremble deep inside.
He held her shoulders, and she closed her eyes. His touch sent bolts of desire through her—oh, yes, she was most certainly a wanton woman for this one man.
“Ah, Felicia …” he said in a tone so quiet she wasn’t sure she had actually heard him; however, it didn’t matter. The next thing she knew he had swept her into his arms as though he could not live another moment without her in them.
She shouldn’t allow this, she told herself. Now was the time to keep herself aloof, but, oh, she wanted his kisses and more, so much more.
“I am a cad, but I can’t seem to keep my hands off you,” he whispered into her ear. “All through dinner … you looked so dejected …
I felt a blackguard
… and still, all I wanted to do was reach over and taste your tongue.”
“Why, sir—why me?” she said in the smallest voice.
“Because you are the only one that drives me mad with wanting. I have … a need for you I cannot explain to myself. You are the most desirable woman I have ever encountered!” he answered as though the words were wrenched from him against his will.
“I must tell you, sir, you are driving me mad as well. You
confuse me
… you accept me and then push me away and then take hold once again.”
“Find the cards!” he snapped as he stepped back from her. It was as though her words had scalded him.
“Where are you going?” she said softly.
“Upstairs—where Scott’s presence shall deter my devil soul,” he said irritably.
“Ah,” she answered and smiled to herself.
She watched him walk out of the parlor, and all the blue-devils she had been experiencing vanished. Everything about this man touched a chord in her, and she was sure he felt the same. He just had to see it. A man of his years and experience who said—and she believed him when he said—he had never felt this way before her had to feel more than lust.
You don’t stand a chance
, said her inner voice.
He is a London Corinthian with far more beautiful women chasing him—and never having caught him—than you can even count. What makes you think,
you,
countrified green girl, will end with anything but a broken heart?
This question did not corral Felicia’s spirits. Instead, this thought made her smile to herself. Scott had told her often she was irrepressible, and here was the truth to the word. She would win this wonderful man’s heart—and hush that naysaying voice in her head!