A Dangerous

Proposal

- Bow Street Brides, Book 2 -

Jillian Eaton

A DISGRACED LADY…
Felicity Atwood’s life was a debutante’s dream. She had a wealthy husband, two beautiful children, and an elegant townhouse in Grosvenor Square. Everything was perfect…until her husband publicly left her for his mistress and her dream turned into a nightmare. Now she’s divorced, destitute, and bordering on desperate. 

A CHARMING THIEF…
Felix Spencer has never met a piece of jewelry he couldn’t steal or a pretty woman he couldn’t charm…until Felicity. A cunning thief turned Bow Street Runner, he’s exactly the sort of man she has been taught to avoid at all costs. But try as she might she cannot forget the kiss he stole from her…or the way she feels when she’s wrapped in his arms. 

A DANGEROUS PROPOSAL…
Determined to possess the dark-haired beauty, Felix sets out to prove himself worthy of her love only to quickly discover Felicity’s heart is the one thing he cannot steal. Having been hurt by men twice before, she doesn’t trust the charming rake any further than she can throw him. But when she finds herself witness to a terrible crime, Felix is the only one she can turn to. Somehow she must find the courage to trust him with her heart…or risk losing her life.

PRAISE FOR A DANGEROUS SEDUCTION

"Divine!" - Sheena at Smexy Books

"A well done, sexy, emotional historical romance that I very much enjoyed. Highly recommend." - Mandi at Smexy Books

"This was a really good read." - Book Obsessed

"...such an enjoyable read that I'm looking forward to the next book in the series." - Fiction Vixen

"Entirely entertaining!" - Coffee & Wine Book Blog

"Second chance romances get me every time and 'A Dangerous Seduction' delivers well. What a fun read!" - The Reading Cafe 

"...as soon as I started reading I was hooked. If you are a fan of historical romance you need to check out this book." - All Things Bookaholic

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

© 2017 by Jillian Eaton

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Table of Contents

PRAISE FOR A DANGEROUS SEDUCTION

A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

Prologue I

Prologue II

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Epilogue

BOW STREET BRIDES

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

Dear Readers,

Divorce, while technically legal in the Regency Era, was almost unheard of and very difficult to achieve. For the sake of fiction I’ve both sped up the process and glossed over a few of the finer details, but wanted to make a point of including them here.

There were many steps to getting a divorce. It was a long, messy, expensive, and VERY scandalous affair, which was why most couples chose to simply live apart from one another. Divorce required legal action in not one, but three courts.

First the aggrieved party (the husband) had to have a reason for the divorce. In most cases, it was adultery. The husband would then proceed with a criminal conversation (more commonly known as a crimcon) trial where he brought his wife’s lover up on charges of trespassing (after all, a wife was the legal property of her husband). If the lover was found guilty, he would more likely than not be made to pay damages. Sometimes these damages were very high. Once that happened the husband was able to proceed with a legal separation which required a second trial. This was very similar to the crimcon, except this time the wife was present. If she was found guilty of adultery, the husband would then petition Parliament to pass a bill legally declaring the marriage dissolved. Then and only then would divorce be granted.

As you can see, this was no simple affair. And it was also very public. By the end the wife’s reputation would have been completely ruined, and the husband’s would have also likely been damaged.

I hope you can forgive me for not including all of these details (that would have been a book in and of itself!) and I sincerely hope you enjoy the time you’re about to spend with Felix and Felicity.

Warmest Regards,

Jillian

Prologue I

Eight Years Ago

Grosvenor Square, London

As glittering debutantes danced below him, Felix Spencer pursued a different sort of glitter in the private bedchamber of Lady Dunmore, the newly married wife of Lord Dunmore, Earl of He Didn’t Give a Shite.

Their names and titles were of little importance to Felix. It did not matter to him who they were. It mattered what they had. And if the glimpse he’d caught of Lady Dunmore riding through Hyde Park two days ago was any indication, they had quite a bit.

She had been weighed down by so many jewels it was a small miracle she’d managed to stay on her horse. The poor woman was one more necklace away from ending up face-down in the dirt. All things considered, he was about to do her a favor.

“There ye go,” he murmured when the tumbler on the lock he’d been picking fell into place with a satisfying click. If there was a better sound in the entire world, he’d yet to hear it. Even a wench’s scream of pleasure did not compare. Although depending on the wench in question, it did come rather close.

He slowly opened the lid to Lady Dunmore’s jewelry box and let out a long, low whistle of appreciation when he saw the treasures she had hidden inside. Picking up a diamond choker set on a green velvet ribbon, he held it above his head, admiring its elegant beauty as silver moonlight reflected off each individual facet. Some said diamonds were cold, but for Felix they had always held the most heat.

He slipped the choker into the inside pocket of his coat where it was quickly joined by an emerald bracelet, sapphire earrings cut in the shape of a tear, two rings, and a ruby brooch the size of his bloody fist. There was more. There was so much more. But never let it be said he was a greedy bastard. He may not have given what he stole to the poor – bollocks on that – but he never took from those who could not afford it. 

When he was satisfied by the weight of his pockets, Felix exited the manor the same way he’d entered it.

Through the front door.

No one gave him so much as a second glance as he cut through the thick swath of ladies and lords in their fancy ball gowns and showy tailcoats. Servants were beneath their notice, and in his navy blue livery jacket and powdered wig he looked just like all the other poor blokes forced to stand at attention and serve watered down champagne to self-entitled nabobs.

He was nearly free of the ballroom when his gaze was inexplicably drawn to a delicate brunette standing beside her mother. They were at least fifteen paces apart from one another with half a dozen bodies between them, but even from a distance Felix could tell she was a beauty.

There was an elegance in the way she held herself. A soft, graceful poise that set her apart from every other young woman in the room. And unlike the other debutantes who had their noses stuck up so high in the air it was a wonder they could see where they were going, she looked nervous. Endearingly so.

For a moment he considered going to her. But even if his pockets weren’t filled with a small fortune in stolen jewels, he was a commoner and she was a lady. Worse yet, he was a commoner dressed as a footman.

The truth of it was there were some things even he couldn’t take, no matter how appealing they might have been. So with an amiable shrug he put the brunette out of his mind and set off on his way, content with his night’s work.

Little did Felix know that their paths would one day cross again…and when they did he would not walk away with a shrug, but with a kiss.

“Something you must always remember my dear,” Mrs. Atwood murmured as she stood beside her daughter in the crowded ballroom, “is that a woman is not defined by who she is, but rather who she marries.”

Felicity absorbed her mother’s advice with a stiff nod while she watched a couple swirl past, the soles of their shoes clicking in perfect unison on the tiled marble. The woman danced with an effortless grace, the lace hem of her rose colored gown barely sweeping the floor. The man’s movements were more precise and rigid, but no less impressive as the valse required perfection in every step. Without it pandemonium was certain to ensue which was one of the reasons Felicity had not yet ventured onto the dance floor.

There was a very big difference between practicing the waltz at home in the sturdy arms of her tutor and performing it in front of two hundred of her peers. While she was not prone to stumbling or losing her rhythm – she was, in fact, quite graceful – she still found the idea of being twirled about by a complete stranger rather daunting. 

What if she tripped and fell flat on her face? Worse yet, what if she caused her partner to trip? She would be humiliated and her first season would end before it ever really had a chance to begin! If only Scarlett were here. Her dearest friend would know what to do. Scarlett always knew what to do.  But having just recently become a bride she was away on her honeymoon and not due to return for at least another month, leaving Felicity completely on her own.

Worrying her bottom lip between her teeth as a dog might a bone, she lifted her dance card and glanced down at the signatures she’d gathered upon her arrival. The first three lines were blank – traffic had been very cumbersome – but the fourth belonged to one Lord Ezra Whitten, Viscount of Ashburn. She vaguely recalled him as a tall, thin man with dark hair and dark eyes. Of all the names on her card his was the most promising. Not only because he was a viscount, but because he was the closest to her in age.

With only a small dowry and no one in her family of significant note or importance, Felicity knew she could not afford to be picky. But she did prefer her husband not be confused for her father or, worse yet, her grandfather. She shuddered ever-so-slightly at the thought and earned herself both a glance of mild reproof and a warning squeeze on her forearm.

“Young ladies do not fidget,” Mrs. Atwood said with quiet firmness. “Chin up, my dear. And do try not to look as though you are a small animal standing before the jaws of a lion. While men enjoy shyness to some degree, they do not want a wife who swoons at the drop of a hat.”

“I am not going to swoon,” Felicity protested. At least, she did not think she was going to swoon. Having never done so before she had no idea what the symptoms were. Was a pounding heart one of them? Pressing a gloved hand over her chest she felt an alarmingly fast bump, bump, bump beneath her fingertips, like an urgent fist knocking against a door.

Oh dear.

Her cheeks paled as she imagined slowly collapsing amidst a swirl of muslin and lace with everyone looking on. Now that would be humiliating and not something easily lived down.

Scarlett would certainly never let her forget it, and neither would the ton. She would become The Girl Who Fainted, and the moniker would follow her around until the ends of her days, proceeding every room she entered and every word she spoke.

“Of course you are not going to swoon.” Mrs. Atwood spoke very matter-of-factly, as if stating something out loud made it true. “That would be terribly unseemly. Unless,” she said, thoughtfully tapping her finger against the end of her chin, “you were to swoon at the feet of a duke, in which case it may go in our favor as he would be required to attend you.” Her eyes brightened. “Do you see any dukes about?”

“Mother.” Felicity regarded the petite brunette standing beside her with equal parts affection and exasperation. Were it not for the threads of gray in Mrs. Atwood’s hair or the lines that creased the corners of her eyes when she smiled, they might have been sisters. Both of them shared the same willowy stature, sleek hair dark as a mink’s coat, and violet eyes. Felicity’s were tip-tilted at the corners like a cat, adding a hint of exotic beauty to her English rose complexion.

“What?” Mrs. Atwood blinked. “Oh, do not look at me like that. It would not be the first time a young woman threw herself at a duke, nor would it be the last. How do you think Lady Evelyn managed to get a proposal out of the Duke of Willowbrook?”

“He fell in love with her?” Felicity ventured.

“Oh, my dear, darling girl.” Mrs. Atwood’s tittering laugh drew the attention of two wallflowers. The taller of the two briefly met Felicity’s gaze before they both ducked back behind a large potted fern. “No one marries for love.”

“You and Father did.”

“Well yes, that is true.” She pursed her lips. “Although given that it was an arranged marriage we could have just as likely despised one another. You never know with those things. Thank heavens they’ve fallen out of favor.”

It was nearly impossible for Felicity to imagine her parents at odds. She had never witnessed an unkind word spoken between them. On the contrary, they often acted more like newlyweds than a couple that had just celebrated their twentieth wedding anniversary. Their affection for one another was rather embarrassing – especially when they touched each other’s hands in public – but Felicity appreciated the fact that their marriage was unique. It may have begun as an arrangement, but over time it had blossomed into something so much more. Something she wanted for herself one day. Unfortunately, given the dismal state of her dance card, things were not looking very promising.

“Miss Atwood?”

Felicity visibly startled at the sound of her name and glanced to her left where she discovered Lord Ezra Whitten, Viscount of Ashburn, gazing down at her in wordless expectation.

The viscount had long sideburns and a narrow face. In fact, everything about him was quite narrow, from his jaw to his shoulders to his very stance. As a result his clothes were a tad ill-fitting, not that Felicity paid any mind to such things. She preferred to look to the heart of a person to find out who they were, not the cut of their waistcoat or the fabric of their trousers.

“Y-yes?” Mortified to have stuttered, she gulped in a mouthful of air, straightened her spine, and tried again. “Yes, my lord?”

The tiniest hint of a smile broke the severe line of his mouth. “I believe I have the next dance? If Mrs. Atwood has no objections, that is.” His gaze slid to Felicity’s mother who immediately shook her head.

“None at all, Lord Ashburn. None at all.”

But Felicity hesitated when he held out his arm. “Is the next dance a valse, by any chance?”

“Cotillion, I believe.”

Her shoulders visibly relaxed. “Excellent.”

Ashburn led her onto the dance floor. As the music swelled they stepped seamlessly into a circle comprised of three other couples. Despite her fear of falling flat on her face, Felicity moved flawlessly through the dance, switching partners with the airy grace of a winged fairy. When the cotillion ended as it had begun – in a circle – everyone bowed or curtsied. Her cheeks flushed a dull pink, Felicity turned towards Ashburn with a breathless smile.

“You dance very well, my lord.”

“As do you.” His own smile was much more reserved, but Felicity felt a thrill of pleasure at having managed to extract it, for she had a feeling Lord Ashburn was not a jovial man by nature. When he asked if she would care to take a turn about the room her pleasure deepened, as did the color in her cheeks.

“Yes, I would enjoy that very much.”

Ashburn dutifully held out his arm and she slipped her own through it, fingers resting lightly on the sleeve of his black tailcoat. It was the closest she had ever been to a man who was not a familial relation and butterflies swarmed her belly, their wings beating with equal parts excitement and nervousness.

She wanted to ask Lord Ashburn a hundred questions, but the rules of polite society dictated she wait for him to speak, and as Felicity was nothing if not polite she kept her lips pressed firmly together while he escorted her past a long line of glass doors that led out to a stone terrace. One of the doors had been propped open and a welcome breeze fanned across Felicity’s face as they walked by, bringing with it the scent of earthy soil, moonlight, and perfume.

It wasn’t until they had nearly completed their circuit that Lord Ashburn finally spoke, leading Felicity to wonder if he’d been summoning his courage or if he was merely a man of few words. Either way, she rather liked that he did not need to fill the silence between them with random prattle about the weather or hunting or whatever it was men liked to talk about when they had nothing to say.

“Is this your first London Season, Miss Atwood?” He kept his attention focused forward but she caught the dark sweep of his pupils as he glanced in her direction. Did he find her pleasing to look at? She hoped so. While Lord Ashburn was not as dashing nor as handsome as Scarlett’s husband Lord Sherwood, he had a quiet, pensive way about him that brought to mind a scholar or a poet. She liked that he wasn’t a foppish dandy like some of the other men circling the room. Men who were quick with a flowery compliment or an entertaining joke but were keenly lacking in depth and substance.   

“It is.” Her teeth sank into her bottom lip – a nervous habit no tutor had yet to quell – as she peeked up at him beneath her lashes. “Am I so very obvious?”

“Not at all.” A frown tugged at the corners of Ashburn’s mouth. “You… you conduct yourself quiet well, Miss Atwood. I would not have been surprised to learn this was your sixth season.” Immediately realizing his error, he hastened to correct himself. “Not to say you would ever need so many seasons as that to find a husband. I am sure any man in here would welcome your hand in marriage.”

Felicity bit back a smile. “That is the wish for every debutante, is it not?”

“One can only assume. Although I am convinced some attend merely for the dancing and the chance to sneak champagne while their chaperone is looking the other way. If I may be so bold…to which category would you place yourself in, Miss Atwood?”

“The former,” she said without hesitation. “To dance and socialize and sip champagne is all well and good, but I imagine it would grow wearisome after a time. I would much rather be at home with my husband.”

He stopped suddenly, so suddenly that had she not been holding on to his arm she surely would have stumbled, and turned to face her. To their right couples were beginning to flock into the middle of the floor, signaling the fifth dance was about to begin. Felicity paid them no mind. How could she, when Lord Ashburn was looking at her with such earnest intention in his deep, dark eyes?

“This is my third season, Miss Atwood. I have taken many turns about the room with many different women but I have never…that is to say I have not…”

“Felt like this before?” she breathed.

Ashburn’s face flushed a dull, mottled red. “Indeed. You are the rarest kind of woman, Miss Atwood. The kind who is as beautiful on the inside as she is on the out. It was never my intention to be so forward, but I fear if I do not say something now I will lose my chance and be burdened with the heavy weight of regret for the rest of my days. Might I have your permission to call on you tomorrow afternoon?”  

“Yes.” It was a marvelous example of considerable self-restraint that Felicity did not shout the word to the rooftops. The butterflies in her belly flew up and began to spin round and round as if caught by a wild gale. “Yes, you have my permission, Lord Ashburn.”

He did not smile. Not quite. But there was an unmistakable warmth in the hard lines of his countenance that had not been there when he’d first asked her to dance. Crossing his arm in front of his body, he bent forward into a rigid bow. “I dare look forward to the day you might call me Ezra, Miss Atwood.”

Felicity angled one dainty foot in front of the other and sank into a deep curtsy. “As do I, Lord Ashburn. As do I.”

Exactly four months later, with the blessing of Mr. and Mrs. Atwood, Lord Ashburn asked for their daughter’s hand in marriage. Six months after their engagement was announced – they’d wanted to wait until spring – Felicity and Ezra were wed. Two years into their marriage they welcomed a son they named Henry for Ezra’s grandfather. When Henry was four they became parents again, this time to a chubby-cheeked baby girl they called Anne.

And then, precisely one week before Anne turned two years of age, Ezra went to his wife and coldly informed her they were getting a divorce.  

Prologue II

Eight Months Ago

Sherwood Country Estate

(excerpted from A Dangerous Seduction)

“Anne, please put that down. Henry, do not climb on that! Oh for heaven’s sake,” Felicity cried in exasperation as she leapt forward and caught a vase just as it began to topple off the bookshelf her six-year-old son was dangling from. “Outside,” she ordered, pointing at the door. “Nanny will get you dressed.”

Anne’s little mouth fell open. “But–”

“No,” Felicity said with a firm shake of her head. “No ‘buts’ or ‘ands’ or ‘ifs’. You are going outside, and that is final.”

Henry snickered. “You said butts!”

“There are two different kinds of – never mind. Darcy, can you please be a dear and take the children? Hats and cloaks, I think. It is still a bit chilly and I do not want them to catch a cold.”

“But o’course, me lady.” Her Irish accent rolling off her tongue, Felicity’s nanny hurried forward and clapped her hands to get the children’s attention. Darcy may have been a young woman of only sixteen with a spattering of freckles that made her appear even younger, but she had a way with children that went well beyond her years. “Come along, Master Henry and Lady Anne. Give your blessed mother some peace and quiet.”

‘Thank you’ Felicity mouthed as her two little hellions were led away. She waited in the parlor until she heard the front door close and then it was a mad dash up the stairs and into her bedchamber for, as Darcy had so eloquently put it, some blessed peace and quiet.

Felicity loved her children. There was nothing in the world more important, and without them she did not know how she would have gotten through her very public and very humiliating divorce. But there were times – like this morning – when she wanted to wring their beautiful little necks.

Crossing to her writing desk, she sat down in a large velvet chair and picked up her goose feather quill. Tapping it thoughtfully against the side of her cheek for a few moments before dipping it in the inkwell, she crafted a short letter to her mother letting her know that things were ‘going splendidly’ and there was ‘no cause for concern’ and that she would visit ‘very, very soon’.

All lies, of course.

Things were not going splendidly and there was a great cause for concern and she wouldn’t be visiting anytime in the near future, but she saw no reason to worry her mother.

Finishing the letter with her customary signature, she blew across the paper to dry the ink before folding it into a neat square and tucking the square inside an envelope. When a quick search of her desk did not turn up a wax seal she went to look for one in Scarlett’s room.

With her thoughts on other things and her head bowed, she did not immediately see the man crouching in front of the dresser. Since his back was to her and the sound of her steps were muffled by the thick rug he did not see her either. In fact, neither one of them saw the other until they were practically right on top of each other.

“Oh! I am terribly sorry,” Felicity exclaimed. “I did not realize Lady Sherwood’s bedchamber was still being cleaned… You’re not a servant!” By the time she realized the stranger staring up at her with the most arresting pair of amber eyes she’d ever seen was not, in fact, a member of the staff it was too late. With uncanny speed he had a hand over her mouth and an arm wrapped around her narrow ribcage before she could so much as utter a scream.

“Easy love,” he murmured, his breath tickling her ear as he held her snug against his chest. “No one has to get hurt. Ye weren’t about to yell for help, were ye?”

Tears gathered in the corners of Felicity’s eyes as she shook her head from side to side.

“That’s what I thought. So here’s what we’re going to do, love. Are ye listening?”

She nodded.

“That’s a bright lass. Now I’m going to slowly remove my hand and then you’re going to go sit on that chair in the corner. Do ye see it? Good,” he purred when she nodded again. “You’re not going to scream or try to run or cause a fuss. Are ye love?”

“No,” Felicity gasped when he loosened the hand covering her mouth. “I’ll be quiet. I promise. But my children –”

“Are outside with their nanny. Go on, then.” He gave her a not-so-gentle push and she stumbled forward, catching herself on one of the bedposts. For a second she considered making a run for the door. It was so temptingly close. Only a few feet at most. But the stranger must have been able to read her mind because his eyes suddenly narrowed and he pointed directly at the chair. “Sit,” he said, commanding her as if she were a dog. “Now.”

With her heartbeat thrumming in her ears Felicity hurried to do as he asked, not wanting to incite his anger. Drying her tears with the cuff of her spencer jacket, she forced herself to take several deep, even breaths. Falling into hysteria wouldn’t help her children. For their sake – and her own – she needed to keep a calm, level head. Who knew when they might return inside, or what this horrible man would do to them if they did?

To look at him one would not immediately think he was horrible. He was of medium height and build with brown hair that held just the tiniest curl and long sideburns that extended all the way down to a narrow chin. There was nothing very distinguishing about his features, save a bulge in his nose that hinted at violence and those vivid eyes that were the color of warm gold. But then Felicity knew better than most that men had a way of hiding their deepest, darkest selves behind a charming smile and a charismatic demeanor.

As she watched him move from Scarlett’s dresser to her large jewelry box, she was reminded of a fox. Sly, cunning, and sleekly handsome.

Bold as you please he pried open the lid and began sifting through the dozens of glittering necklaces, bracelets, and earrings, all of which were worth a considerable fortune.

Scarlett was going to be so angry.

“You’re a thief then,” she said.

“I used to be,” he replied cheerfully even as he picked up an emerald hair comb, whistled under his breath, and tucked it into the pocket of his jacket. “Now I am more of a… connoisseur of fine things.”

“That is the same thing as a thief!” “Is it?” His head canted to the side as he thought it over before he shrugged and lifted up a long string of pearls. “I suppose it is.” Biting down lightly on one of the pearls he shook his head and dropped them onto the floor where they coiled around his boot like an ivory snake. “I never take anything from people who cannot afford to lose it.”

“That does not make it right.”

“Ah,” he said, lifting a finger. “But does it make it completely wrong?”

“Yes!” she cried indignantly. “Yes, it does.”

“Well, to each their own I suppose.” A gold ring followed the emerald hair comb into his pocket before his eyebrows shot up. “What have we here?” Digging to the bottom of the jewelry box he closed his fist around something and pulled it out. Holding his hand flat, he uncurled his fingers one at a time to reveal a large sapphire earring surrounded by tiny diamonds.

“Do ye recognize this?” he asked. 

Felicity gave the earring only the most cursory of glances before she turned her head to the side and looked deliberately at the far wall. “I am not helping you.”

He approached her with slow, catlike strides. Taking her chin between his thumb and pointer finger he steadily applied pressure until she had no choice but to look up. When she finally met his hard amber gaze she sucked in a startled breath, stunned by the transformation that had taken place.

Gone was the affable rake with the charming grin. In his place stood a cold-eyed criminal with a stare so fierce it sent chills racing down her spine.

“I’ll ask ye one more time, love.” His silky voice slid across her skin like fingertips, lifting the downy hairs on the nape of her neck as she shuddered with fear. “Have ye seen this earring before?”

“I – I am not certain.” Tears sprang to her eyes. “Why does it matter? Don’t!” she gasped when he suddenly reached for her face, but instead of striking her he used his thumb to catch a tear trembling on the edge of her lash.

“Don’t cry,” he said gruffly as his gaze inexplicably softened. “I’m not going to hurt ye.”

“Why – why would I believe a thief?”

“Because I’m no’ a thief.” And just like that his cocky grin was back. “I’m a connoisseur of fine things.” He released his grip on her chin and gave a rueful shake of his head. “I always did have a soft spot for the pretty ones and you’re prettier than most. What’s your name, love?”

“F-Felicity Atwood,” she whispered. After the divorce she had decided to return to her maiden name, wanting no link to exist between herself and Ezra aside from their children. Children he no longer claimed as his own even though little Anne, with her dark hair and big hazel eyes, was his spitting image.

“Is there a Mr. Atwood I should be concerned about?” The wicked gleam in his eyes caused Felicity’s breath to catch yet again, although this time it was for an entirely different reason. When he looked at her like that she felt warm all over, as if she’d suddenly stepped into a pool of sunlight. Which did not make any sense give her present set of circumstances. She should have felt terrified, not tingly! And part of her was still very much afraid, but there was another part that was intrigued by the thief with the golden eyes and the devilish grin and the soft spot in his heart for a woman’s tears. 

“No,” she murmured, forcing herself to look away from his intoxicating gaze. Surely she had enough problems without adding a criminal to the mix. No matter how handsome and charismatic he may have been. “I am not married.” 

At least not any longer.

“Then it is truly a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” As if they were meeting in a fancy ballroom instead of a bedroom he had no right to be in, the thief bent at the waist in an exaggerated bow complete with an arm flourish. “I’m Felix. Felix Spencer. Now I have to ask you again, love – have you seen this before?” Going back to the dresser he picked up the sapphire earring and held it up.

“Yes,” she admitted after a pause. “Yes I have.” 

Scarlett had worn the earring when she’d married Rodger. It was the first – and the only – time Felicity had ever seen it aside from today.

“Then ye are certain this earring belongs to Lady Sherwood?” Tossing the earring high in the air he caught it with an easy flick of his wrist.

“Yes, of course.” She gave him a pointed look. “That is her jewelry box you are rifling through.”

“So it is,” he said with a sly grin. “When was the last time ye saw her wear it?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Just answer the question love.” He rolled the earring across his knuckles. “When did ye last see Lady Sherwood with this fancy bit of blue dangling from her ear?”

Felicity folded her hands neatly in her lap. “I am not answering your question until you answer mine. What is so special about that particular earring? Why do you want to know when Scarlett wore it?” Her eyes narrowed. “This would not have anything to do with Captain Steel, would it?”

Though she hadn’t done it on purpose, Felicity had overhead enough bits and pieces of Scarlett and Owen’s conversation in the parlor to know that Rodger’s death was being investigated as a murder…and Owen considered Scarlett to be a suspect.

“Are you a Runner as well?” she pressed. “What do you want with Scarlett? She hasn’t done anything, you know.”

“It’s not what I want.” Felix slipped the earring into his pocket. “It’s what he wants.”

“You mean Captain Steel? That is who you are referring to, is it not?”

“I am sure I don’t have any idea what ye are talking about, love.” They both froze when the sound of voices rose up from the foyer. “Time to leave.”

Finally, thought Felicity as she breathed a quiet sigh of relief. But when Felix went to the window and threw it open her relief quickly turned to alarm. “You cannot go out that way!” she gasped, jumping up out of her chair. “We are on the second floor! You’ll kill yourself.”

Felix’s teeth flashed in a wicked grin as he looked back at her over his shoulder. “Worried about me, love?”

“No. Yes. No.” Flustered, she wrung her hands together. “There is – there is a beautiful patch of azaleas outside that window and I don’t want you to ruin them.”

“Best give me a kiss for good luck then.”

“What?” Her cheeks paled. “No! That isn’t–”

But before she could finish her protest Felix had yanked her against his body and pressed his mouth to hers in a kiss that made her see stars.

It only lasted a few seconds. Three at the most. Yet when it was finished Felicity felt as if she’d been kissed for hours. Stumbling back a step she pressed a finger to her lips and watched dazedly as Felix climbed up onto the windowsill, perching on the narrow ledge with the balance of a cat.

“Until next time, love.”

“Wait!” she cried.

But with a wink and an arrogant tilt of his chin he disappeared.

Her heart in her throat Felicity ran across the room, terrified of what she would see when she looked down. Summoning her courage – and bracing herself for the worse – she peered out the window.

The azaleas were untouched…and Felix was gone.

Chapter One

Present Day - April, 1816

East End, London

(a very unfortunate place to be)

Felicity stared at the crooked wooden door and bit back a sob. Were she alone she might have sank to her knees, buried her head in her hands, and dissolved into tears. She could feel them stinging the corners of her eyelids like angry little hornets. But she was not alone.

Her children were with her, their small hands buried in the heavy folds of her skirt. She could feel them looking up at her. Waiting for what she would do. What she would say.

If she cried they would cry as well and then they would all be huddled on the sad little stoop crying together which absolutely would not do. For one thing it would attract unwanted attention, something which Felicity was trying very hard to avoid. Especially in this part of London with its narrow alleys and clustered tenements that housed all sorts of rabble and riffraff. For another she feared if she began crying she would not be able to stop. So she lifted her chin, plastered a smile on her face, and forced a lilting enthusiasm into her voice as she opened – or rather shoved – the door to their new home. A rather generous word to describe what awaited them.

“Look children!” she sang. “Isn’t it lovely?”

Even at six years of age Henry had the ability to look dubious. “It smells.”

Yes, Felicity thought silently as she ushered her children inside before firmly closing and locking the door behind them. It certainly does.

The rented flat, consisting of only two rooms, was old and dirty and stank like seawater left out to warm in the sun. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust including the meager collection of furniture which consisted of two chairs, a wobbly table, and one bed. There was a fireplace but it was backed up with soot. The floorboards creaked unmercifully. And what were those tiny brown pellets on the windowsill?

Oh heavens.

Was that – was that rat excrement?

“Do not touch anything,” she said sharply, grasping Anne’s hand just as her fingers were about to plunge into a pile of heaven only knew what.

“I don’t like it here.” Ever defiant, Henry pulled his hat off and threw it on the floor. “I want to go back to Aunt Scarlett’s!”

So did Felicity. Unfortunately, the country manor where they had been living since Ezra had unceremoniously thrown all three of them out on their ear was no longer in Scarlett’s possession. After Lord Sherwood’s will had been settled the estate had gone to some distant cousin who had a family of his own and no desire to provide for a woman and two young children tainted by scandal.

Scarlett had, of course, invited them to live with her and Owen, but Felicity had politely declined. Not only did Scarlett and Owen deserve time to themselves after a tumultuous courtship that had involved murder, treachery, and a deranged maid, but nearly half a year’s worth of charity had left a bitter taste in Felicity’s mouth. A person could only take so much before they began to feel like a burden and she did not want to be beholden to anyone.

Not to her oldest and dearest friend, who had just been through so much. Not to her mother, who was still desperately mourning her husband five years after his death. And certainly not to the man who had put her in this predicament to begin with. A man who was no doubt, at this very moment, enjoying his tea over a light breakfast of toast and poached eggs while his wife sat across from him in the very same chair Felicity had once called her own. Thus she and the children found themselves taking up residence in a dirty, dingy flat far from the fashionable townhome in Grosvenor Square where she had become a wife, a mother, and, ultimately, a social pariah.

Divorce in England, while legal, was almost unheard of. It was far better for all parties involved to simply live apart and conduct completely separate lives. The wife in the country with the children, the husband in town with his mistress. That was the way it had been done since… well, since forever. But Ezra – selfish, unfeeling bastard that he was – had wanted to marry his mistress. Since he’d already been married – to Felicity – that had posed a bit of a problem. One he had solved by divorcing her, disowning their children, and going on about his life as if she and Henry and sweet little Anne had never existed.

She’d had no say in it. None at all. And now she was completely ruined, her reputation in tatters and her life all but destroyed, while Ezra had escaped with only a proverbial rap on his knuckles. The unfairness and injustice of it all angered her beyond reason, but there was nothing she could do. Nothing but keep her chin up, keep her darling children close, and keep putting one foot in front of the other.

“Henry, please pick up your hat.”

A belligerent gleam in his bright green eyes, Henry folded his arms and stomped his foot. “You said not to touch anything.”

“I did not mean – very well. Leave it if that is what you want to do.” Too weary to argue, Felicity pinched the bridge of her and drew a deep breath as she prayed for patience. In addition to losing her husband and her home, she’d also been forced to give up her beloved nanny. At times like these it was Darcy she missed most of all.

The young, energetic Irish girl had had a wonderful way with the children, especially Henry. But nannies could not work for free and Darcy had been forced to find another family when Felicity had been unable to continue paying her.

“Shall we have a treat and then unpack our belongings?” Rummaging inside her reticule, she pulled out two sugar sticks.

“Yum!” Anne said enthusiastically as she plucked one stick out of her mother’s hand and immediately popped it into her mouth. Sucking vigorously she wandered over to the window, leaving a pitter-patter of dusty footprints in her wake.

“Here you are, Henry.” Felicity knelt down and coaxed her son forward with a smile. “Don’t you want it? I thought these were your favorite.”

But her son, who was far more observant than her daughter, noted the lines of strain creasing the corners of Felicity’s mouth and shook his head. “I don’t want a stupid old sugar stick. I want Father and Aunt Scarlett and Nanny!”

“Of course you do. Of course.” There was anger in Henry’s face, but there was uncertainty there as well, and it was the uncertainty and the fear and the sadness that Felicity appealed to when she opened her arms. After a moment’s hesitation he ran into them and burrowed his face in the crook of her shoulder, clinging to her neck with all the strength his small body could muster.

“There now.” Her heart ached when she felt him tremble. And it cracked wide open when she heard him sniffle. “There now,” she repeated softly, stroking his back with loving hands. “There now, my darling boy. It will be all right. We will see Aunt Scarlett tomorrow, and we will plan an outing with Nanny as soon as we can. I promise.”

“I’m sorry, Mama.”

“There is nothing to be sorry for.”

Anne toddled over, what remained of her sugar stick firmly lodged in her cheek, and wiggled between them. “Pawk?” she said brightly, tugging on Felicity’s sleeve. “Howsies? Pawk?”

“That is a splendid idea.” Felicity kissed both of their brows before she stood up. “We shall have to walk there, but it shouldn’t be very far. Do you remember what I told you?”

“Stay close,” Henry said solemnly.

“Stay cwose,” Anne echoed.

“And?”

“Do not talk to strangers.”

She skimmed her hand across Henry’s head, fingers sliding through the golden locks that were so very different from Ezra’s dark hair. “Very good. We will–”

A brisk knock sounded at the door. Immediately Felicity gathered her children close and then pushed them behind her. She was not expecting anyone. With the exception of Scarlett, no one even knew where they were.

“Hewo?” Anne trilled, her mother’s warning not to talk to strangers already blissfully forgotten. She began to jump up and down, waving her half-eaten sugar stick in excitement. “Hewo! Hewo!”

“Henry, take your sister into the other room and close the door,” Felicity directed tersely. For once her son did not argue but rather grabbed Anne by the arm and pulled her into the bedroom. Felicity took a deep breath, her hand sliding into her reticule and emerging with a small, sharp knife.

She was not a fighter. She never had been. But if it meant defending her children she would battle the devil himself until he stole her last breath…or she stole his.

“Who is it?” she demanded, her voice solid and strong despite the erratic racing of her pulse. Were she in her townhouse in Grosvenor Square she wouldn’t have thought anything of an unexpected visitor. The footman would have ushered them in to the parlor where they would have dined on tea and scones while they waited for her to arrive. But here, tucked away amidst the desperate and the downtrodden, there were no footmen or parlors or scones to be had. There was only herself, and her children, and whoever waited for them on the other side of the door.

The old brass knob began to turn. There was a soft, subtle click as the lock was picked. Knowing she would only have the element of surprise for a few scarce seconds, Felicity gathered her courage, raised the knife, and sprang forward. She caught a glimpse of startled amber eyes before her wrist was caught in a vice-like grip and her only weapon went clattering to the floor. She cried out as she was spun around and pinned up against a man’s chest.

A very hard, very familiar chest.

“Felix Spencer,” she choked the name out as the thief-turned-Bow-Street-Runner loosened his hold. Stumbling forward, she caught herself on the back of a chair and whirled to face him, violet eyes flashing with anger and indignation. “What are you doing here?”

He lifted a tawny brow. “Isn’t it obvious, love? I’ve come to rescue ye.”

Chapter Two

“I do not need rescuing.” Tilting her chin, Felicity glared up at Felix. The Runner grinned down at her, a handsome rogue with golden eyes, wavy hair several shades lighter than her own, and a devilish grin that had no doubt been the downfall of more than one respectable lady. He had the leanly muscled body of a thoroughbred, but the gleam of sly cunning in those warm amber eyes was all fox.

Pesky creatures, foxes.

They were beautiful to look at when they were trotting across an open field, but no one wanted to find a fox in their henhouse.

Nor in their rented flat, Felicity thought silently.

“What are you doing here, Mr. Spencer?” Of all the people that could have showed up on her doorstep, he was the one she least wanted to see.

Try as she might, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the kiss he had stolen from her. Or the small, insignificant, not-even-worth-mentioning fact that she had kissed him back.

It may have only been for a few seconds, but those few seconds had been playing in her mind on an endless loop for the past eight months. It certainly hadn’t helped matters that she’d seen him again at Scarlett and Owen’s wedding. He hadn’t kissed her, but the arresting way he’d stared at her across the room had been far more intimate than any swift brush of the lips.

Rather like he was looking at her right now.

His possessive gaze made her feel hot and breathless, as if it were the middle of summer instead of the beginning of spring and she was stuck in a parlor without any open windows. She started to fan a hand in front of her face, caught herself, and swiftly tucked her arms behind her back instead, fingers knotting tightly together. “I do not recall requiring the services of a Runner.”

“I’m here off the books, such as it were.” Kneeling, Felix picked up the knife she’d dropped. Weak morning sunlight reflected off the small silver blade as he tossed it from one hand to the other. “What were you going to do with this sewing needle? Pare an apple?”

“It is perfectly sharp, thank you very much, and I would like it back.”

“You’re going to hurt yourself with it.”

“I am going to hurt you if you do not leave this very minute.” Felicity blinked, taken aback at her own words. She was not a confrontational person. In fact, she couldn’t recall a single time where she’d ever stood up to anyone, let alone threatened them with violence. When Ezra had informed her he was beginning divorce proceedings she hadn’t even raised her voice. Which, in hindsight, was something she very much regretted. If only she could go back to that morning…

The day Ezra told her they would be divorcing had begun as any other. She had gotten dressed in her bedchamber listening to the happy chatter of her children in the nursery across the hall. As soon as her green muslin dress was buttoned and her dark hair was swept up in a tidy chignon she went right into the nursery, just like she always did.

Henry was too busy building one of his beloved wooden towers to even glance up in her direction when she walked in, but Anne’s face lit up like the sweetest of candles when she saw her mother. With a squeal of delight she toddled across the sun washed room as fast as her little legs could carry her.

“Mama! Here you are! I found you,” she trilled excitedly. “Up, up, up!”

Felicity scooped her daughter up into her arms and nuzzled her sweet cheeks as she carried her over to Henry so they could both admire his tower.

“And what is it we are building today?” she asked, moving Anne to her hip.

“A fort.” His mouth puckered in studious concentration, Henry carefully stacked his blocks around six tin soldiers. “The French are invading again.”

“Not again,” she said gravely. “Best secure your defenses and draw the bridge up quickly.”

Henry tilted his head back. “I am, Mum. They won’t get my soldiers this time!”

“That’s what I like to hear.” Setting Anne down, she leaned forward, sweeping back his soft golden curls so she could press her lips to his forehead. “Keep at it, darling. You’re doing a marvelous job. The French have no idea what they are up against.” Her attention switched to Darcy who was throwing toys into a bin. “I was thinking a walk through the park this afternoon if it does not rain. Can you see to it the children are ready and dressed at half past eleven?”

“But o’course, me lady.” The nanny’s heavy Irish brogue rolled pleasantly off her tongue. She sat back on her heels. “Will his lordship be accompanying us?”

“If he is not too busy with his other obligations, I am certain Lord Ashburn would love nothing more than to join his family.” Her bright smile did not fool Darcy in the least, but then it wasn’t for her. Henry and Anne were still blissfully unaware of how disinterested their father was in them and she fully intended to keep it that way for as long as possible. “I will be certain to ask him at breakfast. Speaking of which, I should leave. Ezra does not like it when I dawdle. Be good for Nanny,” she instructed the children. “I will see you soon.”

“Bye Mum,” Henry said distractedly.

Anne waved both hands in the air. “Bye!” she called cheerfully. “Bye, bye!”

Ezra was already waiting for her in the dining room. He was standing beside his chair at the head of the table, one hand resting on top of it while the other was held stiffly behind his back. He looked annoyed, but as his perpetual expression was always one of annoyance Felicity thought nothing of it.

There were times that she wished her husband possessed a better sense of humor – or any sense, for that matter – but she’d known who he was when she agreed to marry him, hadn’t she? And aside from a few threads of gray in his hair he had not changed in the past eight years.

But she was beginning to fear she had.

“You are three minutes late,” he remarked when she entered the room and took her seat at the far end of the table. She’d always thought it a bit foolish to sit so far apart when it was only the two of them, but Ezra was nothing if not a stickler for propriety.

“I was with the children. Henry is building yet another fort. It’s the French this time, I am afraid. They are attacking full bore.”

“How fascinating,” Ezra said in such a way that suggested he did not find it fascinating at all.  

“Yes. Quite.” Dropping her gaze to the table so she wouldn’t have to see how tedious Ezra found it to discuss their children, she busied her hands with straightening her already straight silverware. “It appears as though Anne grew another two inches overnight. She will need new shoes soon, as well as a few dresses. I thought tomorrow I would take her to Madame Dilliard’s if you wanted to do something with Henry.” 

“No.”

“Come now Ezra,” she coaxed, glancing up at him with a soft smile. “Henry has been talking for weeks how he would like to try sailing his pond yacht. Heaven knows I haven’t the faintest idea how to do it, but you–”

“You misunderstand,” her husband said flatly. “No, I am not going to spend another second of my time with that boy and no, you will not be purchasing Anne so much as a single stocking. Unless you are prepared to do so with your own money which I find rather doubtful as you haven’t any.” 

Felicity’s smile froze. “I am terribly sorry. What did you say?”

Without another word Ezra pulled out his chair and sat down. Unfolding his napkin, he took his time spreading it over his lap before he met her stunned gaze across the ridiculously long table and said, “I see no point in repeating myself. It is obvious you heard me or you would not be looking at me like that. We are getting a divorce and I am disowning the children.”

He spoke so calmly, so normally, that several seconds passed before the enormity of what he’d said managed to sink in. When it did – when she realized what he was proposing – Felicity jumped out of her chair as though it had suddenly caught fire.

“You – you cannot be serious,” she sputtered.

Ezra merely lifted a brow. “Have you ever known me not to be serious?”

“But I am your wife. And they – they are your children.”

“Well at least one of them is,” he said coldly. “Although even that remains in question.”

Felicity stumbled back as though she’d been dealt a physical blow. The ground shifted beneath her feet, forcing her to grab the back of her chair or risk falling to her knees. “You said we would never have to discuss it again,” she whispered. “You said it was over. You said–”

“I know what I said.” He no longer looked annoyed. He looked vaguely pitying, which was a thousand times worse. “However, I regret to say I have fallen in love with someone else. Someone who is far more suitable.”

“Far more suitable than the woman you are already married to?” Felicity gripped the chair so hard her knuckles were leeched of all color. “Ezra, please–”

“I find this discussion distasteful. I do not want a divorce any more than you. The scandal it will cause…” His mouth curled. “Unfortunately, you have left me with no other choice.”

“I’ve left–”

“Enough.” The word reverberated around the dining room like a gunshot. “I am going to Parliament this afternoon to petition for a divorce. There will be a short trial, which you will be required to attend.”

“On what grounds?” she said softly, more to herself than to him.

“Speak up. You know I detest it when you mutter.”

“I asked on what grounds.” She lifted her chin. “On what grounds could you possibly be requesting a divorce?” 

Ezra’s stare was as cold and unflinching as the act he was committing. “Adultery, Felicity. You will brought up on charges of adultery.”   

To this very day Felicity hated herself for making it so easy for Ezra. Even in the midst of the trial when she had been forced to sit before a roomful of men she did not know and listen to her character being torn asunder she had been a dutiful wife.

She had not argued. She had not cried. She had not even whispered so much as a word of protest. And what had her good behavior gotten her? What had being a dutiful wife gotten her?

A reputation destroyed by scandal and a dirty two room flat in a square of London she never would have dared walk through before the divorce, let alone dreamed of living.

The cold, cruel irony of it filled her with both anger and bewilderment. All of her life she had followed the rules and minded her manners and always, always behaved as a well-bred lady should. Where had she gone wrong? What else could she have done? Why had all of these bad things happened to her, of all people? It simply wasn’t fair…but then life rarely was. Hadn’t she learned that difficult lesson seven years ago while trapped in a bedroom with a man who was not her husband? A man with Henry’s blond hair and green eyes…

“Where are the little nippers?” Felix’s gaze swept the small room and Felicity immediately stiffened.

“My children are none of your concern.”

“Relax, love. I’m not in the habit of harming babies. Or beautiful women, for that matter.”

His wolfish grin made her teeth clench. “Your flattery falls on deaf ears, Mr. Spencer.”

“Ah,” he said softly as he stepped towards her with the coiled grace of an alley cat, “but would a kiss fall on deaf lips?”

“Stay back,” she warned even as part of her yearned for him to do the exact opposite. Heaven help her, but she wanted to feel the weight of his hands on her body and know the taste of his lips on her mouth. She also wanted him to turn around and walk out the door and never come back. The conflicting feelings warred within her as the air between them grew heavy and thick. Anticipation hummed like a finely plucked bow string, sending waves of delicious tension coursing down her spine.

She flinched when Felix reached out, but did not draw away. A rather curious reaction as she had always retreated, in some way or another, whenever Ezra touched her. But that was something to be considered when her breath was once again her own and her blood was not roaring in her ears and her heart was not racing fast as a hummingbird’s wing.

“What – what are you doing?” she asked warily when the rough pad of his thumb traced the delicate line of her collarbone. He had the hands of a working man, the skin calloused and sun kissed. As a lady she should have been repulsed, but as a woman she found herself hopelessly, helplessly intrigued. Felix was the embodiment of everything she had been taught to avoid. But there was something tantalizingly forbidden about desiring what she shouldn’t.

“Seeing if you feel as soft as I remember.” His husky whisper sent ribbons of heat slithering down into her belly. Those warm golden eyes held her captive as his hand followed the natural curves of her body, fingers brushing over linen and lace before sinking into her hip and drawing her close.

She sucked in a breath when she felt his hard thigh against her own.

Closed her eyes when his head lowered…

“Who are you and what are you doing to my mother?”

Felicity jumped back as if she’d been scalded by boiling water when the bedroom door suddenly swung open to reveal a suspicious looking Henry with his arms folded tightly across his chest and a curious Anne peering out from behind his back.

The children!

Her cheeks went pale even as guilt and shame heated the nape of her neck and burned the tips of her ears. How could she have forgotten about them, even for one single second? What would she have said if they’d caught her and Felix kissing? How would she have explained? They were too young to understand. Heavens, she was nearly five and twenty and even she didn’t understand.

It is all his fault, she decided with a glare at Felix. He never should have come here, let alone tried to seduce her! What was he thinking? Better yet, what was she thinking? Yes, Felix was charming and yes, one glance at him and her knees trembled, but he was a man and if there was anything she knew with absolute certainty it was that men could not be trusted. 

Oh, they were all charming at first. Especially the handsome ones. But once they had what they wanted or they saw something they wanted more off they went, heedless of the broken hearts they left in their wake. They did not care about the harm they caused or the lives they ruined. They thought only of themselves, and Felix was no different.

Why, with that devilish smirk and those golden eyes that had the uncanny ability to stare straight into a woman’s soul he was by far the worst of the lot! And she had been one heartbeat away from kissing him.

Again.

Foolish woman, she chided herself. Have you learned nothing?

“Henry darling, this is Mr. Spencer.” She glanced at Felix out of the corner of her eye to gauge his reaction to her children. Ezra had always treated Henry and Anne with bafflingly cold indifference. Had it been up to him he would have left their raising entirely to the nanny which was something she’d never understood. Why have children if not to love them and hold them and kiss their sweet brows? “Mr. Spencer is a Runner, just like Aunt Scarlett’s husband. Isn’t that right, Mr. Spencer?” 

“Mr. Spencer is a Runner?” Henry’s eyes widened as his suspicion quickly turned to excitement. Like most young boys his age he positively idolized the Bow Street Runners. Both Scarlett and Owen had invited her to bring the children by for a tour of headquarters, but not wanting to inadvertently run into Felix again, she had declined. 

A great deal of good that did me, she thought silently.

“Aye, that I am,” Felix said with an easy grin. Much to Felicity’s surprise he crouched down to Henry’s level and spoke to him not as if he were an unimportant child, but an equal. “Except I’m much better at catching criminals than Captain Steel.”

“You catch criminals?”

“That I do. The worst of the worst. Murderers and thieves and – other sorts,” he said when Felicity frowned and shook her head.

“Yes, Mr. Spencer captures criminals,” she said. “In fact, he was just on his way to capture one now. Weren’t you, Mr. Spencer?” Her meaningful glance at the door could not have been clearer. But instead of taking her thinly veiled hint that he had overstayed his welcome – not that he’d ever been welcome in the first place – Felix stuck his thumbs into the pockets of his trousers and rocked back on his heels as if he had all the time in the world.

“Actually,” he drawled with one of those insufferable grins that made her teeth clench and her heart flutter, “I’ve already caught all the criminals there are to catch for the day. I’ve nowhere to be except right where I am. Where are you three off to on this fine afternoon?”

Felicity had always thought of persistence as a virtue, but in Felix’s case it was a considerable annoyance. “That is none of your–”

“Pawk!” Anne stepped out from behind her brother and flashed Felix one of her sweetest smiles. “Howsies at the pawk.”

“She means we are going to see the horses at the park,” Henry translated.

“Ah.” Felix gave a serious nod. “My father used to take me to do the exact same thing when I was a boy.”

“How nice of him.” Felicity’s strained smile fell far short of her eyes. “Mr. Spencer, I would not want us to be a burden. You really should–” She was stopped short when Anne came dashing across the room and pulled at her skirts. 

“Up, Momma. Up!”

“As I was saying,” she continued, lifting Anne up and settling her on the edge of her hip, “You really should return to–”

“You come!” Twisting in her mother’s arms, Anne grinned adoringly at Felix. “You come to the pawk.”

“Oh no darling, Mr. Spencer is so busy he could not possibly–”

“I’d love to, lass.”

Between Felix and my children, Felicity thought crossly, I am never going to finish another sentence as long as I live. Her lips parted, ready to tell Felix once and for all that he really needed to be on his way, but one inadvertent glance at Henry and her mouth snapped shut.

For the first time since they’d returned to London her son looked genuinely happy. He and Anne had been through so much over the past six months. If a walk through Hyde Park with a Bow Street Runner put a smile on their faces then she supposed she could abide Felix’s company for a little while longer.

“Very well. It is settled. We will all go together.” Her children did not notice the subtle rigidity in her voice but Felix did, and she could tell by the gleam in his eye that her discomfort amused him.

She set Anne back down before she lifted her head and made a point to meet his gaze without flinching. If he thought to charm her into submission with a few disarming smiles he would quickly come to learn that despite her diminutive stature she was not a woman easily cowed.

She had been once. Not so very long ago all it had taken was one of Ezra’s long, measured stares to set her in her place. But after he’d taken everything from her there was to take – her home, her reputation, even her title – she’d sworn to herself that she would never again give any man the power to control her. And unlike her husband, when Felicity made a vow she kept it.

“Shall we?” she said, pointing at the door.

Felix opened it with a showy sweep of his arm. “After you my lady,” he told Anne who giggled and toddled past him, her tiny hand firmly encased in Henry’s larger one. Felix glanced back over his shoulder, one side of his mouth curving in a half-smile. “Miss Atwood?”

“Mr. Spencer,” she replied formally as she sailed past him.

His quiet chuckle followed her out the door.

Chapter Three

Felix had always liked Hyde Park. It was a busy place, the bridle paths overflowing with a jumble of gleaming black carriages and women in plumed hats and men with trails of cigar smoke in their wake. It was also the one place in London where commoners could rub shoulders with nobility and aside from a few scandalized glances and the occasional disapproving ‘tut tut’ of an old dowager, no one said a word.

He’d been telling the truth when he said he used to come to the park as a young lad and watch the horses prance by. But his father had never taken him.

A drunkard with a mean right hook and the devil’s own temper, Cornelius Spencer had never been much of a father. Or a husband for that matter. Felix considered himself lucky to have escaped his childhood with only one broken arm and a scar above his right brow where, in a fit of rage, the old man had thrown an empty gin bottle at his head.

When Cornelius finally died of consumption no one had mourned him. Felix was the only one to attend the funeral and that was because he’d paid for it. It had rained the entire bloody time and after the first shovelful of dirt had been dumped onto his father’s wooden casket he’d walked away and he’d never gone back.

When his mother followed her husband to an early grave Felix had seen to it that she was buried in a small, quiet graveyard on the outskirts of the city. He couldn’t save her from Cornelius in life, but he’d be damned if he forced her to remain beside him in death.

Now, aside from an older brother he hadn’t seen in years, the Runners were the only family he had left. Despite being closer to thirty than he was to twenty, he’d never been inclined to marry. A mistress was demanding enough. He couldn’t imagine a wife. All the complaining and the incessant whining…no bloody thank-you. At least when you were done with a mistress you could toss a fancy piece in her direction and send her on her way. But a wife was with you until death.

Or divorce, he thought silently as he looked ahead to where Felicity was walking hand in hand with her two young children.

She hadn’t told him about the divorce herself, but he had eyes and ears, didn’t he? As well as a keen sense of observation. He’d seen the way people looked at her. Even in the middle of the park they stopped and stared and whispered behind their fancy gloves and expensive silk fans.

They whispered about a scandalous affair with another man. They whispered that green-eyed, blond-haired Henry looked nothing like his father. And they whispered that Lord Ashburn was better off without a harlot for a wife.

It was nearly impossible for Felix to reconcile the woman they described with the demure lady he had stolen a kiss from on a warm summer’s day. One with porcelain skin and dark silky hair and the saddest eyes he’d ever seen. But if there was one thing he’d learned as a Runner it was that every rumor held a seed of truth. The seed may not have been easy to find but it was always there, buried away in the dark and the damp, feeding on secrets and shame.

Felix would find out the truth eventually.

He always did.

“Are we detaining you, Mr. Spencer?” Stopping abruptly, Felicity peered back at him over her shoulder, a tiny frown flirting with the delicate edges of her mouth. With a cheerful grin Felix extended his stride.

“Not at all. Just admiring the view.” His gaze dipped pointedly to the slightly rounded bustle on Felicity’s light green walking dress. She may have been a small woman, but her curves were there if one only knew where to look. And Felix always knew where to look.

Pink blotches appeared high on her cheeks when she noted the direction of his stare. Snatching up a handful of her skirt she whirled to face him. The children, distracted by a pair of ducks, wandered to the side of the path.

“Mr. Spencer,” she hissed, violet eyes flashing.

“Aye?” he said with an innocent tilt of his head. He loved that it was so damn easy to get under her skin. Teasing her made him feel like a young lad again tugging on the red braids of Franny O’Connor. She’d been his first kiss, Franny had, and the memory was a dear one.

Since Franny he’d kissed his fair share of women…and done quite a bit more than just kiss. He may not have had a title or a fancy estate in the country, but what he lacked in capital he more than made up for in roguish charm. Truth be told he’d never met a woman he couldn’t have eating out of the palm of his hand within a matter of minutes…until Felicity. She was a puzzle, that one, comprised of intricate layers he was thoroughly enjoying peeling back.

On the outside she was shy and demure. A proper lady through and through. But beneath her timidly reserved façade was a woman with a spine of steel and the fierce heart of a lioness who would do anything to protect her cubs. Was it any wonder he’d been unable to get her out of his head since their first meeting? Even if Captain Steel hadn’t asked him to check up on her and the little ankle biters he would have still shown up on her doorstep. Particularly since her doorstep was in such an unfavorable part of London.

A scowl darkened his countenance.

What the bollocks was she thinking, renting a flat in the East End? The place was ripe with pickpockets and thieves and ne’er-do-wells.

He would know.

He used to be one of them.  

“Mr. Spencer!” This time Felicity punctuated her words with a hard stomp of her foot. 

Felix blinked. “What the devil ‘ave I done now?”  

“You’re still staring.” More color flooded her cheeks. “At – at my bosom.”

So he was. “And where else would I look?”

“You could look at the flowers.”

“Never liked flowers.”

“What about the clouds?”

“If you’ve seen one cloud you’ve seen them all.”

“The trees are rather lovely. The cherry blossoms–”

“I despise the color pink.” 

Her loud sigh of exasperation made the corners of his mouth twitch. “You are insufferable!”

“Because I don’t like the color pink?”

“No. Because – because – oh, you know why!”

“As I’ve been nothing but cordial from the very first moment we met, I cannot say that I do. Care to enlighten me, love?” He grinned down at her. Who knew making a woman blush could be so delightfully arousing? Felicity’s cheeks were the color of an apple ripe for the plucking. Were they not surrounded on all sides he would have yanked her against his chest, buried his hands in her hair, and devoured her mouth in one satisfying bite. The mere thought of tasting all that sweetness mixed with a little bit of tart made his blood heat and the muscles in his abdomen clench.

Completely oblivious to his mounting desire, Felicity regarded him as one would a particularly bothersome gnat. “I would be more than happy to list every single one of your faults, but we haven’t all day,” she said sharply. Turning her back on him, she called out to her children. “Anne, Henry, come along! Leave those poor ducks alone. You haven’t any bread crumbs to feed them.”

“But they’re my fweinds,” Anne protested.

“I know darling, but they’ll be here next time. We will be sure to bring – no, don’t try to pet it!” Felicity sprang forward as Anne let out an impressively loud wail. Plopping down on her bottom, she tearfully held her hand up for her mother to inspect while Henry watched on with the long-suffering expression of a boy who had seen this scene play out many times before.

“My fweind bit me,” Anne sniffled.

“Well you should not have tried to touch him.” Felicity’s tone was firm, but the kiss she placed on Anne’s finger was gentle. “There. All better. Can you stand, please?”

Anne looked up at her mother in confusion. “But my fweind bit me.”

Felix muffled a snort of laughter. He’d never particularly liked children, but he found these two to be surprisingly charming. With her dark curly hair, violet eyes, and angelic smile, little Anne was a miniature replica of her mother while Henry had Felicity’s strength and courage.

His grin dimmed as he thought about what a cold-hearted bastard Lord Ashburn must have been to turn his own blood away. Even if the rumors of Felicity’s infidelity were true – which he highly doubted – the viscount had an obligation as a father to see to it that his children were well cared for. Instead he had washed his hands of them through divorce and disownment, an act so callous and cruel it made Felix’s blood boil.

Didn’t Ashburn know what sort of monsters preyed on young, unwed mothers? Especially outside the gilded walls of Grosvenor Square. Or maybe he did know and that was precisely why he had done it. Felix’s lip curled in a sneer. There had never been any love lost between himself and the gentry and this only confirmed why they deserved his disgust.

Despite all their money and their titles and their big houses they were catty little badgers, never satisfied with what they had. Always wanting more. Wanting better. Wanting the best. And never afraid to step on the shoulders of those dearest to them to get it.

Without consciously thinking about what he was doing, he walked to the side of the path and crouched down beside Felicity. He felt her give the tiniest of jumps when their knees touched, but for once his focus wasn’t on her.

“Look over there,” he told Anne, pointing across the lane to where a lady dressed in a sharp green riding habit sat upon a finely-boned mare. “Do you know what color that horse is?”

Anne turned her head and squinted. “Bwown?”

“That’s right, lass.” He could feel Felicity watching him with all the intensity of a hawk, waiting to swoop in and rescue her daughter from his treacherous clutches at a moment’s notice. Ignoring her, he gave Anne an encouraging grin. “Its body is brown. But do you see how its mane and tail are black?”

“Uh huh,” the child said uncertainly.

“That makes it a bay.”

She mulled this over for a moment. “A bay?”

“Indeed.”

“What colow is that one?”

“A chestnut.”

She pointed again.

“A gray.”

“A gway.” Any lingering concerns about her feathered ‘fweinds’ and injured finger faded away as she repeated the word softly to herself. Then she peered up at Felix with those big violet eyes and gave him the sweetest of smiles before she popped to her feet and went scampering off.

With a quick, searching glance at Felix, Felicity gathered her skirts and dashed quickly after her wayward daughter. “Anne! Anne, do not go out of sight. Henry please get your sister – no, don’t eat that!”

Felix sat back on his heels, an amused grin curling his mouth as he watched Felicity chase her children around the vine covered trunk of an old oak. When they came around the other side of it all three of them were laughing. Anne was giggling so hard there were tears in her eyes and even Henry was wearing a grin that stretched from one ear to the other. As he watched Felicity pick up her daughter and swing her around he felt a deep, unfamiliar pang inside of his chest. Like someone had taken a hammer and cracked his heart wide open.

Bloody hell.

That hurt.

Felix’s jaw clenched as he stood up. He had come to Hyde Park to ensure Felicity and her children weren’t set upon by muggers or pickpockets. And – if he were being completely honest – to steal another kiss if the opportunity presented itself.

One thing he hadn’t planned on?

Falling in love.

He never had before. Not fully. Oh, he’d come close a few times. Once with a French courtesan who’d had the most amazingly talented tongue and a year later with an opera singer whose flair for the dramatic had extended into the bedroom. But he had never been stupid enough to take the full plunge. Why would he? Love was for fools and poets. Not for thieves turned Bow Street Runners. Especially ones with a history as dark as his own.

Yet if his traitorous heart could be believed that was precisely what he was in danger of doing. And not just with Felicity, but with the whole lot of them. The cat and the kittens, such as it were. Which was so utterly ridiculous he couldn’t help but laugh.

He was a scoundrel, a rake, and ne’er-do-well with a reputation that made men think twice before they crossed his path. He’d wooed countless women. Had any number of lovers. Claimed some of England’s greatest beauties as his mistresses. Yet here he was, fawning over a woman who wanted nothing to do with him and two children that were not his.

“What is so amusing, Mr. Spencer?” Balancing Anne on her hip and keeping a restraining hand on Henry’s shoulder, Felicity approached him with one ebony brow arched high.

Felix just shook his head. “Irony, Miss Atwood. Irony.” 

Chapter Four

Felicity hadn’t the foggiest idea what Felix suddenly found so humorous, and she wasn’t certain she wanted to know. Some things were best left to the imagination and the inner-workings of Felix’s clever mind was surely one of them.

“The children and I are going to continue on our walk. They want to see the boats sailing on the Serpentine.” She hesitated. “Would you care to accompany us?” After seeing the way Felix had been with Anne – so gentle and kind – she couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to him than she’d first thought. She still did not trust him. How could she? He was a man. But the children seemed taken, and surely there was no harm in extending their time together a little bit more.

“I knew you would come around eventually. Women always do.”

Felicity was sure they did, but if Felix thought she was one of his light-skirts who went all doe-eyed every time he smiled then he was destined for disappointment. “I have not ‘come around’ to anything, Mr. Spencer. Nor do I intend to.” Absently wetting her thumb, she rubbed a spot of dirt off Anne’s cheek before setting the toddler down. “My invitation was born of politeness, nothing more. If you choose to decline it would not bother me in the least.”

“I’d have to be a fool to do that.” His voice lowered as one eyebrow raised. “Do I strike ye as a fool, Miss Atwood?”

Felix Spencer was many things. A thief. A Runner. A rogue. But a fool? No, he wasn’t that. Not that she was about to stroke his ego by telling him as much. The man’s head was already so inflated it was a wonder it did not detach from his body and float up into the clouds.

“Are you coming or not, Mr. Spencer?” she said with a sigh.

“I hope to, love.” His wolfish grin betrayed the double entendre behind his words and Felicity blushed from the roots of her hair to the curve of her collarbone. Had she never been married the sly innuendo would have mostly likely flown right over her head, but courtesy of Ezra’s monthly visits to her bedchamber she knew precisely what Felix was insinuating.

“Mr. Spencer! You are incorrigible.” 

He tapped his chin. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said about me.”

“It was not intended as a compliment.” 

“Well now you’ve hurt my feelings.”

Felicity barely managed to contain a snort. “I highly doubt that. Given how many insults you must receive on a daily basis, I can only assume you whisk them away as easily as water off a duck’s back.”

“Ye are right about that, love.” He flashed her a grin before extending his right arm in a fancy flourish that would have done a duke proud. “Shall we? I promise I won’t bite, Miss Atwood. Very hard,” he added under his breath when she lightly rested her gloved hand on his wrist. 

She shot him a glance of warning as they began walking. The children scampered ahead, eager to get to the Serpentine, the largest man-made lake in all of London. Built at the request of Queen Caroline, it encompassed nearly forty-acres with a bridge that connected directly to Kensington Gardens. “Behave yourself, Mr. Spencer.”

“Or what?” he challenged, lifting a brow.

“Or I shall report your behavior to Captain Steel.” It was a baseless threat. She had no intention of bothering Owen with such an insignificant matter when he had things of far greater importance to deal with – the least of which being his fiery bride – but Felix did not need to know that.

“I never took ye for the tattlin’ type, Miss Atwood. But if you’re going to tell on me…I might as well do something worth telling.” His eyes darkened, her only warning before he spun her towards him and covered her mouth with his.

The kiss was shockingly fast. No more than the span of a heartbeat. But lightening needed only a second to scorch the earth and when Felix released her Felicity staggered away from him feeling as though she’d just stepped out of a storm.

Ripples of electricity coursed through her body, all the way from the top of her head to the soles of her feet. If she had a small mirror inside her reticule she wouldn’t have been surprised to find her bonnet askew and her hair standing on end.

Good heavens. 

Her lips were tingling. Were lips supposed to tingle after a kiss? They never had before. Not with Ezra and certainly not with Rodger Sherwood.

But you no longer think about that, she reminded herself as a cold shard of ice pierced through the heat and jolted her back to her senses. Or him.

She’d learned a long time ago it was far easier to ignore the past than to dwell on it. That was why she kept every memory of Lord Sherwood and that horrible morning tucked away in a deep, dusty corner where no one would think to look, least of all herself.

It certainly helped that Scarlett’s first husband was dead. Killed by her own personal maid in a dramatic twist that belonged on the pages of a Shakespearean play. As she was not a vengeful person by nature, Felicity found no happiness in Rodger’s death. But she was glad she would no longer have to fear seeing the man who had taken something she’d not willingly given.

And who gave me something I will never willingly give up.

As it always did whenever her thoughts turned to Rodger, her gaze flicked to Henry. He was skipping down the path arm in arm with his sister, completely unaware of the dark circumstances surrounding his conception…and the whispers that still lingered when no one thought she was listening.

Somewhere along the way Henry had lost his cap and his blond hair waved in the breeze. He needed a trim, she noted. He always needed a trim. But even if she cut off every last curl she could not change the color of his eyes or the defiant angle of his chin. Those he’d inherited straight from his father. 

Lord Rodger Sherwood.

Pressing a hand flat against her sternum, she forced herself to take a long, measured breath when her lungs began to burn. For three long years after the attack the mere thought of Rodger had sent her into a full-blown panic. She still remembered all too clearly what it felt like to drown in the middle of a room filled with oxygen. The awful, suffocating weight. The paralyzing fear. The burning that slowly turned to numbness. Every episode had been more unbearable than the last and made even worse because she’d had no one to turn to. Ezra had not understood and Scarlett…well, suffice it to say they had not been on speaking terms. Only out of sheer desperation had she finally learned to control her emotions and she would never allow herself to go down that dark path again.

Breathe, she commanded her lungs. Just breathe. In and out. That’s it. 

“What are ye thinking about?” Felix’s hand on her waist made her jump six inches off the ground. She shied to the side, as skittish as a filly feeling the bit between its teeth for the very first time.

“N-nothing.” In her haste to spit the lie out she tripped over her own tongue. Dragging in a mouthful of air, she fought to compose herself. “I was – I was not thinking about anything.”

“You’ve awful sad eyes to be thinking about nothing, love.” A frown replaced Felix’s perpetual grin as he studied her, his tawny gaze so intent that she feared he was going to reach in and pluck her secrets right out of her head.

Nonsense, she thought. A person can only know what you tell them.

And she had no intention of telling Felix about Rodger. The only two people who knew were Ezra and Scarlett. She’d told Ezra the day after it happened and Scarlett had learned the truth only recently, ending a seven-year-long feud between them. As far as she was concerned the past was buried. There was no point in dragging it back into the present. Especially now that Rodger was gone and both her husband and her dearest friend had moved on.

But you haven’t, a tiny voice reminded her. Not really. Not where it–

“Oh do be quiet,” she muttered under her breath.

“What was that?”

Her brows snapped together. What was Felix still doing here? She wanted him to leave. Almost as much as she wanted him to stay. A choked laugh spilled from her lips as she shook her head, bemused by her own conflicting thoughts.

“I said you should not have done that, Mr. Spencer. Kissed me,” she elaborated when he merely canted his head to the side. “It isn’t proper to display affection in a public setting.” A furtive peek over her left shoulder revealed more than one curious onlooker staring in their direction. How many had witnessed the impromptu kiss? Enough to stir up more gossip, she thought with a bitter twist of her lips. Not that it truly mattered as her reputation couldn’t possibly find anyplace lower to sink. But she was tired of seeing her name in the gossip pages. Or, if not her name – the infamous Lady V technically never used names – then a descriptive moniker that allowed everyone to know exactly whom the Duchess of Scandal was writing about.

She scowled at Felix before she shook out her skirts and marched on, not wanting Henry and Anne to get more than a few yards ahead. Their legs may have been short but they were deceptively fast and easily distracted. The last thing she needed on top of everything else was to lose sight of them in the middle of a crowded park.   

Felix caught up to her easily, his large steps dwarfing her smaller ones.

“Consider my invitation to accompany us rescinded,” she said without looking at him. 

“Because of a little peck?” he protested.

“Go away, Mr. Spencer.”

“Ye were right, ye know.”

“I was? Of course I was.” She hesitated. “About what, precisely?”

“I shouldn’t have kissed ye in the park.”

“You are correct.” She pursed her lips together, glad she had finally been able to make him see reason. A person couldn’t go about giving out all willy-nilly. It simply wasn’t done. “You should not have. I am glad you–”

“Best to wait until we’re alone.”

Her stride faltered. “P-pardon me?”

“I don’t want to rush our first time together. When I put my hands on your soft, smooth skin I want all the time in the world to touch ye.” His eyes glinted with roguish pleasure as his gaze skimmed down to her breasts before returning to her flushed face. “And taste ye,” he finished huskily.

Was it suddenly much hotter than it had been a few seconds ago? Yanking her fan out of her reticule, Felicity waved it feverishly in front of her face as she quickened her pace. “That – that is a preposterous thing to say, Mr. Spencer!”

“No, Miss Atwood.” His voice dropped to a raspy growl that sent shivers of dark delight racing down her spine. “That’s a promise.”

He’d gotten under her skin again, Felix thought with a self-satisfied smirk when Felicity huffed out a breath and hurried away from him as fast as her dainty little feet could carry her. Slowing his stride, he allowed her to put some distance between them, although he was careful not to let her out of his sight.

It was only a matter of time before he found a way under her skirts. Maybe then he’d get all these buggering thoughts of love out of his head.

Or maybe not.

A man could do a sight worse than Miss Felicity Atwood. If he were the marrying type – which he wasn’t – she was precisely the sort of wife he’d pick. Soft, kind, and considerate, with just enough steel in her spine to intrigue him. And hadn’t he always pursued what intrigued him? 

Whether it was a pretty bauble or a beautiful woman, Felix was not a man to deny himself the pleasure of taking what he wanted. When he’d become a Runner, the Captain had made him vow that his days of robbing the wealthy of their most prized possessions were behind him…but he’d never mentioned anything about stealing hearts.

Felicity desired him. She may not have said as much out loud – in fact, she’d said the exact opposite – but he knew desire when he tasted it. He also knew pain, and the raw flash of it in her expressive violet eyes had filled him with the primal urge to protect and defend. Against what or whom he wasn’t yet certain, but he’d be damned before he allowed anything to happen to the delicate, dark-haired beauty who, against all odds, had somehow found a way under his skin.

He scratched his neck, short nails digging into tanned flesh as he shook his head in silent bemusement. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was the bloody thief. Not Felicity. But bugger him sideways if she wasn’t the one who was threatening to steal his heart.

His eyes narrowed as he watched her bonnet bob and weave its way through the congested park. London was not the place for a well-bred lady to be on her own. A quiet country village would have suited her perfectly, for even the tree-lined streets of Grosvenor Square were not safe once the sun went down.

And the East End was no Grosvenor Square.

She needed protection, whether she wanted it or not. Luckily for her, he knew just the man up to the task…

Chapter Five

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 in 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.”

“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.”

It was because Felicity knew her friend so well that she merely lifted a brow and waited.

Scarlett sighed.

“Very well, I may have mentioned that it would be a good idea for Owen to send one of his men to look in on you and make sure you were not murdered in your sleep. Had I known he was sending Mr. Spencer I would have asked him to drop off my hair comb first.”

“Please see to it that your husband does not send him again.”

“He would not have to send anyone if you just moved in with us. It would not have to be forever,” she said hurriedly when Felicity frowned. “A few months. Half a year at the most. Just until you decide what you’re going to do. Come to think of it, what are you going to do?”

It was a question Felicity had been asking herself every single day since Ezra showed her the door. There was no clear answer. At least none that she could see.

She couldn’t remarry again. Even if a man of means would have her – which was very doubtful – she wasn’t ready. She would make an excellent governess, but then what would she do with Henry and Anne? A governess was supposed to raise someone else’s children. Not bring her own along. The only thing she knew for certain was the money she’d managed to set aside by selling her jewelry was not going to last forever. It would run out and when it did she needed to have a plan in place.

“I do not know,” she said honestly. “But I am confident that I will come up with something.”

“Felicity–”

“No.” She held up her hand. “I will not endanger my children. If it comes down to it, I will gladly accept your offer. But I have to try to make a go of it on my own. For once I – I need to do something for myself. I never have before. I know you, of all people, can understand that.”

The ghost of a smile touched Scarlett’s lips. “We thought it was going to be so easy, didn’t we? Marry a handsome lord, move into a grand mansion, have a few well-behaved children. The dream of any young debutante.”

“We did.” Felicity hesitated. “But if it hadn’t been difficult you never would have ended up with Owen.”

“You raise a very good point.” Not so very long ago Scarlett would have bristled at the mere mention of Owen’s name. Now her entire face glowed with happiness. “And I do understand why you are so damn insistent on doing this on your own. I do not agree, but I do understand.” Her eyes lit with an impish light. “Who knows? Perhaps it will lead to your own knight in shining armor.”

Felicity huffed out a breath. “That is precisely what I do not need.”

But if that was completely true…why did she suddenly think of Felix?  

“Another pint for me and my friends. Thank ye kindly, love.” Felix winked at the pretty barmaid as she handed him three metal tankards. Ale splashed over the sides and ran down across his knuckles in frothy ribbons of white while he worked his way back to the table he was sharing with two fellow Runners. Not so long ago the Captain would have occupied the fourth chair, but since he’d tied the knot his visits to The Pony had become far and infrequent.

It baffled Felix that a man would prefer the company of a woman to that of his mates and a cold mug of ale. Then again, he supposed it depended entirely on the woman. There was no denying Owen’s new wife was a fine piece, although he could think of one who was even finer. A delicate brunette with tip-tilted violet eyes, a rosebud mouth that practically begged to be kissed, and the smoothest ivory skin he’d ever had the pleasure of touching.

Had Felicity asked he would have gladly exchanged a night of drinking for a night spent wrapped in her silky embrace. Hell, he would have traded ten pints just for the chance to fall asleep beside her.

If that wasn’t true love he didn’t what was.

“Here ye are gents. As promised.” He slid two of the tankards across the circular table and kept the third for himself.

“Damn well took you long enough.” To look at Lord Grant Hargrave slouched comfortably in his chair with his arm around a buxom blonde, one would never guess he’d grown up in the lap of luxury as the third son of a duke.

A tall, lean man with piercing green eyes, black hair, and sharp, aristocratic features, he’d been bred for the ballroom but had made a home for himself on Bow Street instead. He was second-in-command and would have been the captain if he hadn’t foisted the position off on Owen. While most men would have clambered at the chance to be in charge (particularly if they’d had the great misfortune of being born third in line to a dukedom), Grant had no interest in leading. It was one of the few things he and Felix had in common.

“It’s a bleedin’ madhouse in here.” Felix braced an arm against the back of his chair and glanced over his shoulder. Stuffed to the gills and noisy to the point of deafening, The Pony was easily the busiest he’d ever seen it. Every stool at the bar was taken and every table was full. In one corner five drunks bellowed a bawdy sailor’s tune while a dozen half-dressed bit o’muslins worked the room with sultry eyes and sashaying hips.

“The match at Darby McCall’s just ended,” said Grant.

Ah, that explained it then. Boxing had always boasted a moderate following, but recently it had undergone a resurgence and, aside from horse racing, was currently the most popular and well-attended sport in all of London.

“Who won?” Felix couldn’t recall the last time he had attended a match, but he knew the main players, including the two that had been squaring off tonight at Darby McCall’s, a renowned gentleman’s club just outside the theatre district. All of the fights took place below ground in a large root cellar and were open for anyone to watch – just as long as they met the minimum bet. Even women were encouraged to attend, something which the other clubs frowned upon, but McCall’s ran a tight ship and thus far none of the violence had ever spilled outside of the ring.

“Belcher.” Ronan Hawke – Bow Street’s surliest (and largest) runner – grunted the boxer’s name from his seat in the corner. Built like a bull with a square head set on a thick neck, broad shoulders, and a body that struggled to fit through most doors, Hawke was a bruiser from top to bottom. He was also a man of few – if any – words and kept mostly to himself, although he did seem to enjoy coming out for a pint now and again. Not that you’d ever know it by looking at his ugly mug.

“It speaks,” Felix said with a grin.

“Sod off,” Hawke muttered into his tankard.

“Hawke’s right.” Looking amused, Grant tipped his drink towards the behemoth. “Belcher took it in the third round. Complete knockout. Hayworth never saw it coming.”

“How much did ye lose?” Felix wanted to know. 

Grant’s eyes narrowed. “What makes you assume I bet against Belcher?”

“Because ye never pick the winner.”

“I could have this time.”

“But ye didn’t,” Felix said confidently.

Hawke nodded in silent agreement. It was well known that Grant couldn’t win a bet to save his life. No matter how high the odds were stacked in his favor he always lost. Which was why if Felix ever cared to place a wager he always asked Grant who he’d pick and then chose the exact opposite.

Worked like a charm every time. 

“No.” Grant shook his head in self-disgust. “I didn’t. Cost me fifty pounds. Only would have lost half that if Hayworth had stayed on his feet but the bastard went down like a pile of bricks.”

Felix coughed into his tankard. “Fifty soddin’ pounds! Jesus. If ye wanted to toss your money away ye could have just given it to me.”

“Wasn’t Lady Irvine’s necklace worth three times that?” 

“Aye, but a tight-assed bounder made me give it back.”

The two men exchanged unblinking stares that danced on the edge of animosity. They may have both been Runners, but they would never be friends. While they managed to maintain an air of civility (most of the time), Felix knew that if Grant had his way he’d be tossed into Newgate faster than he could say ‘Bow Street’. 

“I don’t like boxing.” The blonde perched on Grant’s knee gave a delicate shudder that threatened to spill her voluptuous breasts right over the edge of her flimsy bodice. “Too much blood for my taste.”

“That’s what makes it’s interesting, sweetheart.” Grant stroked her arm, an absent gesture that Felix had seem him duplicate a hundred times over. As far as he could tell women were Grant’s one and only vice. An unapologetic rake, his trail of broken hearts stretched all the way to Surrey and back. Every night he had a different woman on his arm. Or in this case, on his lap. “That’s what men pay to see.”

Her lips pursed in an exaggerated pout. “Well I think it’s vile.”

“Do you know what else is vile?” Grant asked with a roguish grin. When she shook her head he pulled her back against his chest and whispered something in her ear that caused her to gasp and slap at the hand sneaking its way up her skirt.

“You are so very naughty,” she cooed.

“I believe that is my cue to leave. Gentlemen,” Grant said, his clipped nod towards Felix noticeably shorter than the one he gave Hawke. The blonde squealed when he stood up and tossed her over his shoulder. Squealed again when he gave her a hard slap on the arse before heading out the door.

“Bloody nob,” Felix muttered, tilting his tankard back. 

Hawke just grunted.

It was well past two in the morning by the time Felix stumbled out of The Pony. He hadn’t intended to stay out so late, especially since he was expected at headquarters bright and early in the morning, but Hawke had been surprisingly conversational. In the span of three hours the behemoth had uttered five complete sentences; a new record.

Whistling a merry tune under his breath, Felix walked in more or less of a straight line as he cut through the middle of Fountain Hill, a shabby collection of pubs and shops. With the exception of a few lady loves out looking for one last tup of the night, the cobblestoned streets were empty and the lamps were dimmed, casting everything in a layer of murky shadow and fog.

It was even quieter in the East End. Those with any brains in their head had long ago locked their doors and closed their shutters. Even the whores were in hiding. Felix ventured forth undeterred by the silence, or the ominous warning it carried with it. Other men would have thought twice before going within spitting distance of London’s most nefarious rookery once the sun went down, particularly with any coins jangling in their pockets, but Felix was not like other men.

He’d been raised on these streets. The twisted alleyways had been his parlor. The rows of tenements his bedchamber. The abandoned warehouses with their crumbling walls and broken windows his ballroom. He may not have lived in the East End any longer, but there was comfort in visiting the familiar. Confidence in knowing that even half sotted he could take down any young pup foolish enough to go sniffing after what was his. And what he intended to claim as his.

His pace increased as he neared Felicity’s flat. It was tucked away on a corner, shielded from the worst of the rot and decay. All in all it wasn’t a terrible place, especially considering what surrounded it. Certainly it was a far cry better than where he’d grown up. There were even flowers blooming in the cracks in the cobblestone.

The ground around the yellow daffodils was damp, as if they’d been recently watered. Felicity’s doing, he wagered, for who else would have the presence of mind to nurture what shouldn’t have even been growing?

He slipped through the darkness with the grace of someone born into it. Tested the door to ensure it was locked. Pulled at the window ledge to make certain it was secure. Doors and windows were flimsy barriers that would do little to prevent a thief from entering, but he imagined the act of bolting them shut gave Felicity peace of mind. Just as he was given peace of mind by leaving his mark.

It was a small thing. Nearly inconspicuous. Felicity wouldn’t see it, but then it wasn’t for her. It was for the serpents that lived in the shadows. The rats that thrived in the squalor. One glance and they would know this flat and everyone in it was under his protection. Just as they would know the fate that awaited them if they dared touch that which belonged to Felix Spencer.

Chapter Seven

Felicity woke the next morning none the wiser as to who had been lurking outside her window during the night. A faint smile touched her lips when she glanced down and saw Henry and Anne nestled on either side of her, Anne with her thumb in her mouth and Henry with his head buried beneath the covers so only a pale tuft of hair was visible.

There were not many good things that had come out of her separation from Ezra, but this was one of them. He had never allowed the children into her bed. It had been one of the few things they’d actually argued about. Now she could do as she pleased and it pleased her to have the children close.

Careful not to rouse them – although she suspected nothing short of a trumpet would wake Henry – she slid off the thin mattress and padded barefoot into the other room, leaving the door open a crack. Then she stood indecisively in the middle of the kitchen/parlor/dining room, bottom lip tucked between her teeth as she studied the dormant fireplace.

On their way back from Hyde Park the day before she’d stopped and purchased a few necessities. Eggs, bread, and the like. But having never actually started a fire of her own she hadn’t any idea how she was going to cook breakfast, let alone serve it as there wasn’t a single piece of chinaware to be had. Something she probably should have considered when she was buying the food.

Blast it all. Could nothing be easy?

Once again tears threatened and once again she pushed them back. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t. She’d faced worse than this, hadn’t she? Overcome more than this. Why, compared to the likes of Rodger Sherwood lighting a fire was like a teeny tiny little rut in a vast, bump riddled road. How hard could it be?

But twenty minutes later Felicity’s face and hands were streaked with soot…and the eggs were no closer to being cooked than they had been when she’d started.

In a rare fit of temper she threw the useless tinderbox across the room. The circular metal tin bounced off the wall and broke open, spilling out the tufts of gray goose feathers that had refused to catch fire.

She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, forcing herself to recite a poem before she went about the task of gathering up the useless feathers. It was something an old governess had taught her to do; a tried and true trick to recover lost patience.

“For did those eyes as planets roll,” she murmured under her breath as she knelt onto her hands and knees and peered under a built-in shelf. “Thy sister-lights would scarce appear – there you are. Got you.” Triumphantly grasping the last feather, she sat back on her heels and dusted off her hands. The sudden creak of a floorboard had her stiffening.

“Easy love,” came Felix’s voice was directly behind her. “I don’t want to startle ye.”

It was too late for that. On a muffled shriek Felicity jumped to her feet and whirled around. “How did you get in here? Never mind,” she snapped. “How easily I forget that you are a thief. Breaking into places is your forte!” 

His grin was unrepentant. “A reformed thief, love. Reformed being the operative word.”

The feather Felicity had gone to so much trouble to pick up fluttered lazily to the ground as she placed her hands on her hips. “What are you doing here, Mr. Spencer?”

“I’ve brought ye breakfast.” He glanced down at his right hand and for the first time Felicity noticed he was carrying a basket filled with all sorts of delicious looking pastries, from blueberry scones to buttery saffron buns. 

“Why would you do such a thing?” she asked even as her mouth watered. 

He looked at her oddly, as if the answer should have been obvious. “I’m courting ye, Miss Atwood.” 

This nonsense again? She thought she’d dispelled any foolish notions of courtship when he’d had her pinned against the lilac bushes. Perhaps she merely needed to be a bit more blunt. “I am not going to be your mistress, Mr. Spencer.”

He rubbed under his chin. “I don’t recall askin’ ye to be my mistress.”

“Because you already have one, no doubt.”

“Would it bother ye if I did?”

Yes.

“No.” She lifted her hands off her hips and crossed them in front of her chest. “Absolutely not. You are nothing more than a swindler, Mr. Spencer, and your mistress is welcome to you.”

Although she did rather hope he left the basket.

“Swindler now, is it?” An unruly lock tumbled across his brow when his head canted to the side. “And what exactly is it that I’ve swindled from ye?”

Common sense, she nearly blurted aloud. You’ve taken all of my common sense.

How dashingly handsome he looked this morning with his hair lightly tousled and the top two buttons on his linen shirt undone, revealing a swarthy V of tanned flesh. He should have been wearing a cravat. No respectable man left the house without one. But then hadn’t she learned firsthand that Felix was anything but respectable?

She had thought – she had hoped – they’d seen the last of each other yesterday afternoon. She should have known better. Like a dog with a bone, Felix was not the sort to give up on what interested him. And for reasons that defied explanation she seemed be what currently interested him.

“It is what you will swindle that concerns me, Mr. Spencer. I know your sort.”

“Do ye now?” he drawled.

“Yes,” she said decisively. “I was warned to avoid men like you before my first season ever began.”

One brow lifted. “Men like me?”

“Blackguards. Rakes. Scoundrels. The name varies, but the intent does not. You use women as playthings and discard them the second your interest wanes.”

“That’s true enough,” he agreed, once again catching her off guard with his candor. Felicity was accustomed to men who hid their dark intentions behind a crocodile’s smile, as Rodger had done. Not ones who admitted their faults as if they were things to be proud of.  

“Well then – then you know why I cannot trust you.”

“Aye, I suppose ye would see it that way,” he said thoughtfully. “But I already told ye I’m not after using ye. Didn’t I say this was not a game? The women I’ve been with before…” He cupped the back of his neck. Squeezed the corded muscles tight. “They were different.”

“Because you wanted to have an illicit affair with them and you want to court me?” she asked, her voice sugary sweet and all the more dangerous for it. Felicity was not a woman who threw vases or screamed or left the room in a dramatic huff when she was angry or wanted to make her point known. Instead she used her words like daggers, slicing with the precision of a surgeon.

“Yes.” He scowled. “No. I – bloody ‘ell, ye are twisting my words. I do want to court ye. I am courtin’ ye.”

It was Felicity’s turn to arch a brow. “I may not remember the exact specifics of what a courtship entails, but I know it does not involve entering the lady’s place of residence without her permission.”

“I brought ye pastries.”

“Blueberry scones do not negate the fact that you picked the lock on my door.”

“And how the devil else was I supposed to get in?” he demanded.

“You could have knocked.”

“Ye would have told me to go away.”

“Yes,” she agreed, “and then this conversation would have never needed to take place.”

“Which is why I let myself in.” He frowned at her. “I might ‘ave never courted a fine lady such as yourself before, but I think you’re supposed to be more grateful.”

Of all the preposterous–

“Have I told you how absolutely incorrigible you are?” she snapped.

“Only once,” he said easily. 

“Which should have been more than enough!” Stunned to realize she’d been close to shouting, Felicity immediately lowered her voice and pointed stiffly at the door. “You were not invited here, Mr. Spencer, you are certainly not welcome, and I need you to leave before the children wake up.”

Felix scratched at the bristle on his jaw. “Here I thought ye would be friendlier first thing in the morning.” 

“You thought incorrectly.” She squared her shoulders, determined to get him out the door before he could charm his way in any further, for in addition to her exasperation she was beginning to feel the stirrings of desire as well.

Before she met Felix she’d never known the two could go hand in hand. Anger and lust. Irritation and arousal. Like two opposite sides of the same coin, there was no telling which one would land on top when the coin was flipped high into the air.

“Mr. Spencer, I really must insist–”

“Ye have soot on the end of your nose.” He stepped forward so quickly and so smoothly that she didn’t have time to blink let alone step out of arm’s reach. His hand touched the side of her cheek. Just a brush of rough knuckles against soft ivory skin, but the spark of electricity it created was nearly enough to send her to her knees.

Oh dear, she thought weakly as desire surged ahead of exasperation. Oh dear, oh dear.  

“Mr. Spencer, you really must–”

“And in your hair.” He lifted a dark silky curl and it wound itself around his finger as if it had a mind of its own.

Traitor, Felicity thought furiously. 

“You – you have to leave.” She was trembling. Why was she trembling? “Now, if you please.”

“But I don’t please.” His husky voice sent a shiver racing down the nape of her neck while arousal pooled in her belly like sweet, sticky honey. He tilted her chin up, tilted his head down. Their eyes met, dazed violet falling helplessly into deep, deep gold. “In fact, I don’t please a’tall.”

Then he was kissing her again, blast him, and this time she was kissing him back.

On a yearning moan she wrapped her arms around his neck, nails digging into skin as she surrendered to the need inside of her. The need to be held. The need to be touched. The need to be wanted. How long had it been since a man truly wanted her? Ezra had stopped so long ago she’d all but forgotten what it felt like.

Felix angled his mouth, deepening the kiss, and Felicity nearly wept from the pleasure of it. Even when Ezra had desired it had never been like this. Nothing she’d experienced had ever come close to this.

She pressed herself shamelessly against him, burrowing into the solid plane of his chest.

Her skin burned where it touched him. Tiny licks of flame that were fueling a smoldering fire between her thighs. She writhed, desperate to make the flames burn higher. Burn brighter. She didn’t want to just feel the fire. She wanted to be on fire.

As if he could sense her mounting arousal Felix growled deep in his throat and shoved his fingers into her hair, sending pins flying in every direction.

Later, she thought dazedly as her lips parted beneath the demanding pressure of his mouth. I will pick them up later.

She tasted coffee on his tongue. Felt muscles hard as iron beneath her fingertips. Heard his sharp intake of breath when her hands slid down the front of his torso to clutch at the tapered edges of his waistcoat. She pulled and he pushed, forcing her back against the wall.

His arms held her captive as he used his tongue and teeth to claim her, nibbling at her bottom lip, the curve of her ear, the sensitive spot where her neck and shoulder met. Her chest rose and fell in time with her ragged breaths and her nipples ached when they scraped against the fabric of her thin bodice.

She wanted to feel the weight of his hands on her breasts. She wanted to feel the weight of his hands everywhere. And then suddenly, so suddenly it felt as though a bucket of cold water had been dumped over her head, she didn’t.

“Wait,” she gasped, pushing weakly against Felix’s chest. “I – I cannot do this.”

Hands shoving her backwards. Mouth curled in a leer.

“This is what you’ve wanted, isn’t it?”

Her voice trapped inside her body. Her arms limp at her sides.

“This is what you’ve been asking for…”

“No,” she whispered. “No. I said NO!”

At her shrill cry Felix immediately released her and jumped back, his tawny gaze filled with confusion as it swept across her trembling frame. “Felicity love, what’s wrong?”

“I said no,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around herself in an effort to contain the helpless quivering of her limbs. “I said no.”

“Aye.” His nod was slow and wary. “That ye did.”

“I…” At a loss for words and unable to explain, she could only shake her head. Dark curls, tangled from Felix’s fingers, tumbled into her face as she peered up at him out of eyes glazed with tears. “I am sorry. I did not – I did not mean to shout.”

Not at him, at least. She hadn’t meant to shout at him. Rodger was the one she really wanted to yell at. But Rodger was dead and Felix was here and she’d spoken without thinking. Spoken the words she wished she’d been able to speak all those years ago when a horrible, despicable man had done the unimaginable.

She had worked so hard at blocking the memory of that morning that sometimes she thought she’d actually succeeded. There were days, weeks, even months where she didn’t think about it. Where she did not lay awake at night staring up at the ceiling and replaying every atrocious second in her mind. Ever touch. Every kiss. Every grunt and groan as Rodger shoved himself into her.

Then something as simple as a touch would bring it all rushing back. Every single horrible minute. And she’d realize it was never going to go away. Not completely. It would always be a part of her because there were some things a person simply could not forget, no matter how hard they tried.

Ezra had never understood that. He had believed it was something she just needed to get over, like a hacking cough or a fear of heights. So they’d both pretended she had forgotten it, and if she froze during their intimate moments, if her eyes turned glassy and she started gasping for air as dark, cloudy waves of panic rolled over her, it was because she wasn’t feeling well. Or because of something she ate. Or because of the weather. But it was never, ever because of what had really happened.

“Ye have nothing to apologize for.” Felix took a step towards her. On a soft murmur of distress she shied to the side and he stopped short, his brow creasing in wounded bewilderment. “What have I–”

“Mum?” Standing in the bedroom doorway with his little fists rubbing at his eyes, Henry’s jaw stretched in an enormous yawn. “Mum, what is Mr. Spencer doing here?”

Feeling dazed and dizzy and not entirely well, Felicity made a half-hearted attempt to fix a smile on her face. She did not need Henry’s frown to tell her the attempt had failed, but it was the best she could do. “Mr. Spencer came to deliver a message from Aunt Scarlett. But he was just on his way out the door. Weren’t you, Mr. Spencer?”

Please, her violet eyes begged. Please, just this once, listen to me.   

“Aye,” Felix said after a long pause where he searched her face for the secrets she was not ready to tell. “Aye, I was on my out.”

“Did you bring your sloop?” Henry asked, his sleepy face brightening with anticipation.

“No lad, not today. Tomorrow maybe,” he said, sliding a sideways glance at Felicity. “Take care of ye mother for me, won’t ye lad? And your sister. See to it she doesn’t get into trouble, or cause your mother any. You’re the man of the house. It’s your responsibility to look after your women.”

Henry nodded seriously, the sloop all but forgotten. “Yes sir. I will, sir.”

“That’s a good lad,” Felix crouched down and ruffled his hair. “We’ll make a Runner out of you yet.” 

“Did you hear him, Mum?” Henry said excitedly after was gone. “Did you hear him? I am going to be a runner!”

“I heard him darling,” Felicity murmured as she wrapped her arms around Henry and drew him tightly against her waist, taking comfort in his warmth and his sturdiness and his boyish grin. Her life may have been crumbling into pieces but her son was happy. Her son was happy, and Felix was partly responsible. It was something to think about. When her head was clear and her heart wasn’t aching and her bones didn’t feel hollow it was something to think about. “I heard him.”

Chapter Eight

I’m going to find the bastard who put that fear in her eyes, Felix silently vowed, and I’m going to rip him limb from limb.

If Ezra Whitten thought he was safe in his gilded house in Grosvenor Square he was sorely mistaken. There was nowhere he could go. No place he could hide. Felix would find him. And when he did…when he did there would not be enough of the viscount left to identify his body.

He could feel the tight leash he kept on his temper beginning to loosen. Others must have felt it as well for he was given a wide berth as made his way towards Bow Street. Two well-bred ladies, parasols in hand, nearly stepped into the path of an oncoming carriage in their haste to get out of his way.

“Watch where you’re going,” he growled after he had yanked them both back to the safety of the pavement. Unfortunately, they did not take very kindly to his kindness.

“Unhand me, you brute!” one of them cried in a voice so shrill it made Felix wince. He winced again when the other woman struck him on the shoulder with her beaded reticule.

Bloody ‘ell. What the devil was she keeping in there? Rocks?

“Now see here,” he said, rubbing his shoulder, “I was only tryin’ to–”

“Is this ruffian bothering you?” Appearing seemingly out of nowhere, Grant offered the women a charming grin that had them instantly flocking to his side. It certainly didn’t hurt that he looked every inch the duke in his snowy white cravat, royal blue tailcoat, and high-waisted breeches. He might as well have had ‘Rich Nabob’ scrawled across his forehead whereas Felix, in his loose-fitting jacket and open collared shirt, could not have appeared more common.

“He was trying to rob us!”

“He tried to take my reticule!”

Felix snorted. “I’d need a damn winch to lift it off your arm.”

“I am not surprised,” Grant said seriously. “We’ve had complaints about him before. Not to worry ladies, I promise he will not bother you again. In fact, I will see to it he is delivered straight to Bow Street.”

“Oh thank you, my lord,” they both gushed. “You saved our lives.”

“And who kept ye from being flat as a flounder?” Felix wanted to know. “Aye, that’s right. I did. You’re bloody welcome,” he grumbled under his breath as the women gave Grant one last adoring glance before they snapped open their parasols and glided away.

“Wooing the ladies first thing in the morning, are we?” Sunlight reflected off Grant’s mocking grin as he fell in step beside Felix.

Grinding his teeth, Felix considered the consequences of sending the arrogant bounder sprawling on his arse…and ultimately decided it wasn’t worth the trouble. He may have gotten in one lucky clip to the jaw, but Grant was surprisingly agile for a blueblood and he didn’t pull his punches. The two men had gone toe to toe before and although neither one had been able to claim victory, they’d both been laid up in bed for the better part of a week. Felix had no interest in repeating the experience, or the blustering reprimand that had followed when the Captain discovered two of his best runners were out of commission.

But that didn’t mean he had to be civil.

“Sod off,” he grunted before he turned left down an alley so narrow his shoulders nearly scraped against the walls. 

“We’re both going to the same address.” Undeterred by the small space, Grant fell back behind him but continued to follow; an annoying shadow he couldn’t get rid of. “Unless you want to stop by Newgate first. I’m certain they have a cell ready and waiting with your name on it.”

“Aye you’d like that, wouldn’t ye?” Felix sneered.

“Nothing would please me more.”

“Then ye should have put me there when ye had the chance.” His sneer turned into a smirk when he angled a backwards glance over his shoulder and saw Grant’s jaw clench and his green eyes flash. He knew it stuck in the aristocrat’s craw that he was the one criminal he hadn’t put behind bars. Which was why he reminded him of his failure every time the opportunity presented itself. There were few things he liked better than getting under Grant’s skin. And nothing infuriated Grant more than the knowledge that Felix was not only out walking the streets, he was policing them.

“There’s time yet.” Although Grant’s tone was light, the underlying threat was unmistakable. Felix allowed it to slide off his back without a moment’s concern. High Society may have deemed Grant the worthier man in the ballroom, but on Bow Street they were equals. And unless Owen suddenly keeled over and Grant became the captain, there was nothing he could do about it.

The two men continued on in silence until they reached the building that served as their main office, a traditional three story brick house set back from the street behind a wrought iron fence. White shutters framed large windows and green ivy covered one wall, creeping up along the reddish brick in a tangle of leaf and vine.

The stately residence had once been the private home of Henry Fielding, Chief Magistrate and founder of the Runners. Following his death, his brother, Sir John Fielding, had taken control and turned the Runners – then a ragtag group of eight – into a fully functioning agency. He had eventually stepped down at the ripe old age of sixty-seven and Owen, with great reluctance, had taken his place.

At its height Bow Street had boasted a force of nearly four dozen men. But a diminishing crime rate and the rise of the Metropolitan Police Force had seen that number gradually shrink to ten over the past few years. Eleven if they counted Mrs. Wadsworth, a black cat who had been living at Bow Street for as long as anyone could remember.

Felix gave the feline an absent pat on her head as he walked through the front door and into the large, sparsely decorated room where they conducted most of their business. A large table cluttered with stacks of paper, pieces of evidence, and Runner’s boots took up most of the space. Taking one of the few remaining seats, Felix found a place for his feet between a pile rags and a pitcher of water while Grant went to the far end.

Linking his hands together behind his neck, he tipped his chair back and took a cursory glance around the table as he noted who was present and who they were still waiting on. Morning meetings were a carryover from when the first Fielding had been in charge. He’d used them to check in with his Runners, discuss ongoing cases, and air any complaints. Now they were held more out of habit than necessity, but woe be the man who was late under Captain Steel’s watch.

As was his right, Owen sat at the head of the table. Tall and broad shouldered with dark hair that was beginning to gray at the temples and a glacial stare, he was a man of great integrity and responsibility. The son of a baker, he had come from the humblest of beginnings and risen to a position of high authority solely off of his own merit, a feat which not very many men could claim.

Felix still remembered, with vivid clarity, the first time he’d met Owen. How could he ever forget? It had been in the wee hours of a December morning so cold his breath had turned to frost the moment it touched the air. He should have been in bed with his mistress, a doe-eyed blonde actress whose talents between the sheets far exceeded those on the stage. But instead he’d followed a tip that had led him straight into a trap.

It was still a point of embarrassment for Felix that he’d made himself such an easy target. He’d known something wasn’t right. He’d felt it in his bones. But he had been arrogant, and greedy, and he’d gone after Lady Irvine’s emerald necklace even though the little voice in the back of his head had told him not to.

The house was pitch black when he entered. He gave his eyes a moment to adjust as he silently untied his boots and left them by the servant’s entrance before proceeding up the stairs. Dressed from head to toe in all black, he was nothing more than a shadow as he walked quickly down the hall, counting out the doors he passed in his head.

Lady Irvine’s private dressing quarters were six doors down on the right. He knew that because he’d overhead it at The Three-Eyed Stag the night before. Just as he’d overhead that she’d recently been given a necklace by her lover rumored to be worth more than the King’s own crown.

It was rare that Felix relied on second-hand information, but the opportunity had been too good to pass up. Something which Owen, only just appointed as captain of the Runners and seeking to prove he deserved the title, had been counting on.

He let Felix feel the weight of the necklace in his hand before he stepped out from behind the curtain. Another Runner appeared at the door, and yet another emerged from the closet. Still holding the necklace, Felix slowly turned to face them and lifted his arms above his head.

“Out for a midnight jaunt, are we boys?” he said easily even as his stomach sank and a line of perspiration gleamed above his brow. Bloody buggering hell. He’d really stepped in it this time. There would be no scraping his way out. Not when he was surrounded by three Runners holding pistols pointed straight at his heart.

“Why don’t ye go on and lower those,” he suggested. “Ye’ve caught me fair and square lads, and I’ve no intention of going to Newgate with a hole in my chest.”

“You’ll go how we want you to go,” growled a tall, lean man with green eyes. “It’s over, Spencer. This is it. The end of the line.”

Felix mustered a grin. “Well at least I led ye on a merry chase. I suppose you’ll be wanting this back.” He look up at the necklace dangling from his fingertips with genuine regret. It was easily the prettiest piece he’d ever held. And he’d been this close to pocketing it. Damn Runners. Couldn’t they leave a man be to live his own life? What had he ever done to them?

“You have been a thorn in London’s side for too long,” Green Eyes continued. “It is going to be a pleasure to finally pull you out.”

“Too bad your father didn’t think to do the same with your mother,” Felix muttered.

Those green eyes flared and then narrowed to slits. “What did you just say?”

“Ye heard me. I said too bad–”

“That is enough.” The man who’d stepped out from behind the curtain did not need to raise his voice for the other Runners to snap to attention, which told Felix who was really in charge. He held out his hand. “Lady Irvine’s necklace, if you please.”

Felix bloody well did not please, but what other choice did he have? He’d been caught fair and square and there was nothing to do now but surrender with dignity.

With great reluctance he handed the necklace over and then was forced to watch as it was put back into Lady Irvine’s jewelry box. All in all it had been a good run, he decided. If he had to go out he’d rather it be like this: caught in the act with a fortune’s worth of emeralds glinting in the palm of his hand. But instead of putting him in handcuffs, the leader asked the other two Runners to step outside.

“Are you sure, Captain?” Green Eyes frowned. “Spencer’s a tricky one.”

“If I am longer than five minutes you can presume Mr. Spencer has knocked me out cold and escaped out the window.” His teeth flashed in a humorless smile. “But I hope I would not be so inept, or he so foolish. Would you, Mr. Spencer?”

“No sir. Wouldn’t dream of it,” Felix lied.

“There, you see? Now go,” he told the other two Runners brusquely. Once he and Felix were alone he cupped the back of his neck and walked to the window. Staring out into the night he said, “We have been chasing you a long time, Mr. Spencer. You’re better than most.”

Felix lifted his chin. “I’m the best.”

“Yes,” the Captain agreed. “You are. Which is why instead of wasting your talents, I’d like to use them.”

“I…don’t understand.”

“It is quite simple, Mr. Spencer.” The Captain glanced back at him over his shoulder. “Would you like to spend the rest of your days rotting way in a cell…or would you like to come work for me on Bow Street? The choice is yours.”

Felix often wondered why Owen had given him a second chance. The closest he could figure was that the Captain had looked at him and seen a bit of himself. He’d never been a jewel thief, but he knew what it was like to come from nothing. Something Grant, who had been born with a silver spoon shoved so far up his arse his teeth glinted, would never understand.

Owen caught Felix’s gaze across the table and gave him a cursory nod which Felix returned. Hawke sat to the Captain’s left, looking surly as ever, and beside him was Archer Brentwood, a gangly, fresh-faced lad straight out of Eton. Like Grant, he came from noble blood. Unlike Grant, he wasn’t a complete and utter wanker.

Felix liked the boy. He may have been a tad odd, but he was also smart as a whip which was why the Captain had recruited him. Archer saw things others didn’t. He had an impeccable eye for detail and nuance and had an uncanny knack for always being able to tell when someone was lying.

Two chairs down from Archer was Tobias Kent, a brooding, black-haired Irishman with a thick brogue and a very personal reason for being at Bow Street.

His wife had been murdered three days shy of their first wedding anniversary. Killed on her way home from the market, her throat slit clean across and her body left out for the beggars to pick clean. Kent had become a Runner shortly thereafter and even though two years had passed since his wife’s death he was still consumed with finding her killer. Recently his vengeance had taken a dark turn, leading everyone to give him a wide berth. No one wanted to be on the receiving end of that unpredictable Irish temper.

Sitting a safe distance away were the Ferguson brothers, Ian and Colin. Different as night and day, those two were, even though to look at their rugged faces, wheat colored hair, and hazel eyes one would be hard pressed to tell them apart.

Ian was a serious, by-the-letter sort while Colin tended to flirt with the edges of the law. Which most likely explained why he and Felix got on so well.

There were only two Runners missing and as soon as they arrived Owen began the meeting by going through their current cases, the majority of which consisted of petty theft, burglary, and two highway robberies.

“And where are we on our slippery jewel thief?” he asked, raising a brow at Grant.

“She’s struck ten houses over the past six months. Every time I believe I’m closing in she disappears again.” The corners of his mouth tightened. “I think she has at least one accomplice.”

“Or maybe you’re just too slow,” Felix suggested.

“Or maybe it’s one of your old lovers and you’re giving her fair warning.”

Felix tipped his chair forward. “Is that an accusation?”

“No. That’s–”

“Enough,” Owen said mildly. “That’s enough. This thief needs to be caught. Lord Munthorpe is threatening to take his business to the Bobbies if his wife’s necklace isn’t recovered and I can’t say as I blame him. Which is why the two of you are going to work the case together.”

“Us?” Felix and Grant exclaimed in unison.

“Yes,” said Owen, blue eyes glinting with amusement. “You.”

Chapter Nine

Felix could think of a hundred things he would rather do than work alongside the likes of Grant Hargrave. Starting with cutting off his own arm. But when Owen gave a direct order there was no getting around it and so the next morning the two men found themselves walking together in stony silence, neither one of them acknowledging the other until they were standing outside the gate of 374 Beacon Lane.

“What did she take this time?” Felix asked, shifting his weight back onto his heels and slanting a hand across his brow to block out the sun as he gazed up at the private residence of their jewelry thief’s latest victim. The three-story brick house was nearly identical to every other house in this particular section of Grosvenor Square, right down to the blue shutters and blossoming cherry tree in the front garden. 

“I do not know yet.” Grant pushed open the gate and proceeded up the narrow stone walkway. “The report was vague. A necklace, I would assume. Usually only one. Rather odd she wouldn’t take more given the trouble it must take to break in, but nothing about this case has made sense from the beginning.”

“Ye don’t see many female burglars,” Felix agreed as he closed the gate and followed Grant up the walkway.

“No, you do not.” Pulling off his hat, Grant tucked it under his arm and raked a hand through his hair. “Particularly ones who have a penchant for knives.”

“I heard she stuck ye.” Felix grinned broadly, delighted by the fact that the mighty Grant Hargrave had been stopped in his tracks by a woman. And not just any woman, but a common thief. If they ever did catch the lass he didn’t know which he would be tempted to do more: put her in handcuffs or buy her a drink.

“She almost stuck me,” Grant corrected with a narrow-eyed glare. “But her days of freedom are numbered. I’ve tracked her all the way to Dickens Square. She’s running out of places to hide.”

“Dickens Square is a big place.”

“Not big enough.”

Felix rubbed his chin. “What does she look like, this jewel thief of yours?”

“She’s not my jewel thief,” Grant said quickly. Too quickly to Felix’s way of thinking.

There was something there whether he chose to admit it or not. Having felt the same thing with Felicity from the moment they’d first met, Felix recognized the signs all too well. 

It was a tiny flicker of desire.

A spark of attraction.

A whisper of lust.

Only time would tell whether the flicker became a flame and the whisper turned into a shout. For his own personal entertainment Felix hoped that it did. Grant would be well served with a little complication in his perfect, holier-than-thou life. And what was more complicated than falling for a woman he couldn’t have?  

“All you need to know is that she’s quick as a snake and twice as mean.” Grant absently rubbed his side where Felix assumed the chit had gotten a bit too close for comfort with one her knives. But before he could respond with a pithy remark the door opened to reveal a footman who quickly ushered both men into the front parlor. The large room was comfortably decorated with heavy furniture in matching shades of green, gold drapes, and a large fireplace framed with tile.

“Lord Ashburn will be but a moment,” said the footman. “Can I offer you gentlemen any refreshments?”

Felix’s head whipped around with so much force he felt a distinct pop in his neck. “What name did ye say?” he asked in a soft, soft voice that had the footman’s brow creasing with confusion and a hint of wariness.

“Lord Ashburn, sir. Is – is something the matter?”

A dark, predatory smile twisted Felix’s mouth. “No. Nothing is the matter a’tall.”

“It’s lovely.” Standing in the middle of Scarlett’s vaulted foyer, Felicity turned in a slow circle as she admired the house the Steel’s had finally purchased after months of searching for just the right one. It had been no small task given the newlywed’s conflicting tastes, but they’d managed to do it with a three-story row house that boasted hints of Grecian architecture, high ceilings, and hardwood floors polished to a glossy shine. As they’d just moved in the rooms were still largely devoid of furniture and her voice echoed in the empty space when she added, “I can see why you chose it.”

“Should I show you your bedroom now or wait until later?” Scarlett asked with an innocent smile that Felicity saw straight through. Wandering over to an empty marble pedestal, she trailed her fingers across the top of it before she lifted her head and looked her friend square in the eye.

“No,” she said firmly.

“But Filly–”

“No. That is a lovely dress, by the by. I do not believe I’ve seen you wear it before.”

Today Scarlett wore a sprigged muslin walking dress in soft violet with lace at the sleeves and a gauze overlay on the bodice. It was not an elegant evening gown by any means, but it made Felicity’s blue and white checkered gingham both look dowdy in comparison.

Before the divorce she had never thought twice about her wardrobe. It was a forgone conclusion that every autumn she would be fitted for a myriad of dresses in a variety of fabrics, as well as wraps, shawls, and unmentionables. Money had never been an issue. Ezra may not have been a duke, but he’d inherited a generous sum from his father and when she was his wife she had never wanted for anything.

It made her feel foolish, and a bit vain, to have taken everything she’d been given for granted. As the wife of a peer she’d merely accepted it as her due, and it had never crossed her mind that it might one day all be taken away. Now she had three dresses to her name instead of three dozen and they were all rapidly falling out of fashion as hemlines lengthened, sleeves shortened, and heavy silk gave way to lighter, more versatile fabrics like cotton.

Not that it really mattered what her dresses looked like. She could wear the Duchess of Kent’s most expensive gown and still not be welcomed at Almack’s, or anywhere else for that matter. But it wasn’t herself she was the most concerned about. It was her children.

Ezra had been a bit more benevolent with their parting wardrobes than his wife’s, but Anne and Henry were growing like weeds and it would only be a matter of months – mayhap weeks – before their clothes no longer fit. Then what was she supposed to do?

A worry for tomorrow, she told herself firmly. On the way to Scarlett’s house she had made herself a promise that for one day she would not let the heavy weight of her responsibilities and an uncertain future drag her down into a pit of worry and despair. For one day – for one blissful, sunny day – she wanted to embrace all of the things she had instead of all the things she had not.

Two beautiful, healthy children.

A dear friend she could once again consider a sister.

A man who made her blood heat and her knees weaken.

Felicity’s gaze dropped to the floor as she felt a blush warm her cheeks. Now where had that thought come from? After their last torrid encounter had ended in tears she thought she’d successfully pushed any thought of Felix to the back of her mind, but apparently he’d been lurking in the shadows just waiting for the right opportunity to make his appearance known.

Pesky man.

It was bad enough he showed up on her doorstep whenever he pleased. She did not need to be thinking about him when he wasn’t even here! It reminded her of a stray cat her mother had made the mistake of feeding once. All it had taken was one bowl of milk and the cat had begun scratching at their window at all hours of the day and night. Nothing would make it go away and finally, in a fit of desperation, her mother had allowed it into the house where it had lived quite happily for seven long years.

“It is quite lovely, isn’t it?” Scarlett’s dress flared out from her waist as she turned in a quick circle. “I wasn’t sure about the color, but–”

“Felix Spencer kissed me,” Felicity blurted.

“–my seamstress insisted it would be all the rage come spring and she…was…what did you say?”

“Felix Spencer kissed me.”

“Yes.” Scarlett looked at her oddly. “Last summer in my bedchamber. You told me that already, don’t you remember? Although that does remind me that he still has not returned my jewelry. I am going to have to talk to Owen about that.”   

Hands curling into tiny fists, Felicity began to pace circles around the marble pedestal. “Yes, that was the first time he kissed me.”

“You say that as though there have been other times.”

“There have! Two. Two other times. In the middle of Hyde Park and in my kitchen yesterday morning. Or is it my parlor?” She threw up her hands. “It doesn’t matter. The point is he kissed me again. Twice.”

Scarlett blinked. “One kiss could be ascribed to the heat of the moment, but three…well, that’s two more than one.”

“Thank you so very much for the arithmetic lesson,” Felicity huffed. 

“Do not get belligerent with me. You are the one who has been hiding kisses.” She tilted her head to the side. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I did not think it would become anything. No, that is not true.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. Forced herself to take a deep, even breath. “It is because I thought it might become something that I did not tell you. I believed if I pushed it under the rug–”

“It would disappear?” A wry smile pulled at the corners of Scarlett’s mouth. “I used to believe the very same thing. Unfortunately that only works for dust, not love.”

“Love.” Startled, Felicity stopped short as her heart gave a hard thud inside of her chest. “I do not love Felix Spencer.”

Scarlett closed the distance between them and clasped Felicity’s hands. Giving a gentle squeeze she said, “Don’t you?”

“No. Yes. Oh, I do not know.” Distressed, could only shake her head. “I thought I loved Ezra and look how that turned out.”

“Ezra is as worthless as a tit on a chicken.”

A choked laugh forced its way past Felicity’s lips. “I cannot believe you said that.”

“I overhead one of the Runner’s use it and I’ve been waiting for the opportunity. But I should have said it far sooner.”

“Why didn’t you?” she asked, looking searchingly into Scarlett’s clear gray gaze. 

“Because I know what it is like to think you know someone, only to have it turn out that you never really knew them at all. It hurts,” she said as tears gathered in Felicity’s eyes. “It hurts your heart and your soul. But worse than that, far worse to my mind, is it makes you doubt yourself.”

“Yes,” Felicity whispered. “Yes it does.”

“You did not do anything wrong. Look at me,” she said with Felicity’s gaze dropped to the floor. “Look,” she repeated, and with great reluctance Felicity forced herself to meet Scarlett’s fierce stare. “Ezra is a pompous bastard and he never deserved you. You’re well to be rid of him.”

One of the hundreds of tears Felicity had been desperately trying to keep at bay slid down her cheek. “I know that. Truly I do. But it does not make it any easier.”

“No,” Scarlett agreed. “I am afraid the only thing that can do that is time. Time and a few passionate kisses.” Her eyebrows darted up and down. “Is Felix a good kisser? He looks as though he would be. All rough and roguish.”

As her tears gave way to a mortified giggle, Felicity pulled her hands free and covered her face. “You cannot ask me that!”

“I certainly can.”

“Then I decline to answer.”

“Which is all the answer I need.” Her eyes glinting with a mischievous light, Scarlett tucked a short blonde curl behind her ear.

She had cut her hair in an act of defiance right before Rodger died and she had kept it shorn close to the nape of her neck ever since. The bold style became her, just as Felicity’s soft, romantic tresses suited her. As inconsequential as it seemed, their hair was a fitting analogy for how very different the two women were.

Scarlett had always been the more outspoken and audacious one, while Felicity preferred to conduct herself with quiet grace. Scarlett threw herself into a problem without any thought for the consequences while Felicity carefully weighed every single option before making a decision. Scarlett followed her heart while Felicity always listened to her head. Yet for all of their differences they had both ended up in the same place.

Married to monsters.

Walking away from the marble pedestal, Felicity went across the foyer until she had a clear view of the rear garden where Henry and Anne were romping about the neatly trimmed lawn with the reckless abandon of two puppies. Satisfied they remained under the watchful eye of Scarlett’s maid, she turned back towards her friend and, after a moment’s hesitation, decided to admit the truth. “I would be lying if I did not say there are certain parts of Felix that are…appealing.”

Scarlett lifted a brow. “I can only imagine what those parts are. It makes a difference, you know. The size. I thought all men were the same before Owen and I became intimate.” Her mouth curved in a satisfied, catlike smile. “They’re not.”

“Scarlett.”

“What?” The blonde’s shoulders lifted and fell in a shrug. “It does make a difference and something tells me you would be very pleased with your Mr. Spencer.”

“I was talking about his kisses.” Felicity’s face could not have been any hotter than if it were on fire. “Not –not–” Oh, she couldn’t even say it! Scarlett, of course, did not have any such reservations.

“His member?” she suggested innocently. “His tackle? His prodigious engine? His stiff steed? His arbor vitae?”

“Arbor vitae sounds like a tree.”

“Let’s hope it is an oak and not a sapling.”

Felicity’s blush spread all the way down to her collarbone. “I do not care to discuss this any longer.”

“Are you sure? We were just getting to the best part. Oh all right,” Scarlett sighed when she realized she’d pushed Felicity as far as she could. “Enough teasing. When are you going to see Felix again?”

“I do not know if I am.”

“And why not? You just said you found him appealing.”

“I said I found parts of him appealing.”

“That still does not answer my question. Why would you not want to see him again?”

“Because – because I have never known an affair that ended well for both parties. And I do not only have myself to consider.” Felicity chewed on the inside of her cheek as she walked to one of the front windows and peered out through the clear glass, gloved fingers pressing down on the freshly painted sill. Scarlett had chosen a soft white for the wooden trim that framed the windows and doors. The walls were bare, the old paper stripped away to make room for the new. And even though it was silly and foolish and melancholy, she felt a pang of sympathy for the old paper. Not so long ago it had been carefully chosen over all the other wallpapers that were available. It had been loved. Admired. Now it was sitting in an old bin somewhere, crumpled up and forgotten.   

“How do you know he wants an affair?” Scarlett asked.

“What else could he possibly want?”

“Marriage? Oh, do not look at me like that.” Gliding up beside Felicity, she tucked her hands behind her back as she looked out at the street. A chestnut horse trotted past, pulling a buggy with a man and a woman inside. On their way to the park, no doubt, as it was another bright, beautiful day with nary a cloud in the sky. “Is it so far out of the realm out of possibility that a handsome, charming man would want to marry you?”

“I really do not think–”

“Or,” Scarlett continued, her eyes narrowing, “is it that you do not want to marry him because he is a commoner? Because I have gone down that path, and I can tell you from personal experience that it is not lined with rose petals and rainbows.”

“No one is talking about marriage!” Flustered, Felicity threw her hands in the air and stepped away from the sill. “And it does not matter a fiddle to me that Felix is common born. He could be a duke and it would not alter my feelings towards him one way or another.”

“So you do have feelings for him.”

“I did not say that.”

“Then you don’t have feelings?”

Felicity hesitated. “I did not say that either.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“I am saying he would not want to marry me.”

Scarlett’s brow creased. “Why the dickens not?” she demanded.  

“Why would any man want to – want to marry me?” Shame caused Felicity’s voice to catch and the back of her neck to burn. “I am ruined.”

“Oh darling.” Scarlett reached out and squeezed her hand. “Don’t you know all the best women are?”       

Chapter Ten

The first thing Felix noticed about Ezra Whitten, Viscount of Ashburn, was how thin he was. Put the man beside a broom handle and he would have all but disappeared. The second thing he noticed was his eyes.

Felix had always prided himself on being able to gauge a person’s worth by looking them straight in the eye. A man could disguise his character with his tongue and his title and the number of coins jingling in his pocket, but not with his eyes. And yet when Felix took a good, hard, long look into Ashburn’s dark gaze all he saw was an unsettling blankness, like a slate that had been wiped clean.

“Good of you men to come so early. This has been very disconcerting.” Ashburn spoke with the clear, crisp dialect of someone who had never stepped within half a mile of the East End. Taking a seat on one side of a mahogany coffee table he gave a clipped nod to indicate Felix and Grant should sit on the other.

“I’ll remain standing if it’s all the same to ye.” Felix’s smile was as thin and sharp as the edge of a razor. It sharpened when Ashburn brushed him off with a deliberate turn of his head and focused solely on Grant.

Felix was accustomed to being overlooked and underestimated, especially by the likes of Ezra Whitten. Wealthy nabobs took one glance at the wooden buttons on his jacket, or heard his distinctive vernacular, and immediately judged themselves superior. Usually it didn’t bother him. But damned if he wasn’t primed to jump over the table, wrap his hands around Ashburn’s skinny little neck, and squeeze until those blank eyes bulged.

Rein it in, he ordered himself as his hands curled into tightly knotted fists. It’s not the time, or the place.  

If he went at the viscount now it would only be a matter of seconds before Grant pulled him off. Which was not nearly enough time to deliver the sort of pain Ashburn deserved for what he’d done to Felicity. For what he’d done to his own damn children.

When he came for Ashburn – and he would come for him – it would be at a time and a place of his own choosing. For now he would mind his manners and bite his tongue until it bled if he had to, but he wouldn’t tip his cards. Not yet.

Shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers, he forced himself to take a deep, even breath and backed up until his left shoulder brushed against the edge of a gold-framed painting. It was a portrait of a middle-aged woman with black hair standing beside a piano. The pinched look on her face made it look as though she had a stick shoved up her arse which led him to conclude it was most likely Ashburn’s mother.

“What can you tell me about the investigation? One moment.” Ashburn leaned back in his chair as a maid carrying a sterling silver tea service entered the parlor. Carefully depositing the heavy tray on a sideboard, she filled three porcelain cups with tea and brought them over to the table along with a sugar bowl. At Ashburn’s brusque nod she used small tongs to deposit exactly three lumps of sugar into his tea.

“Would anyone else care for some sugar or milk?” she asked.

“None for me, thank you,” said Grant.

Felix winked at her. “I’m already sweet enough, love.”

The maid blushed as she hurried from the room, her shoes sinking silently into the thick blue and gold carpet. Once she’d discreetly closed the door Ashburn took a sip of tea and then levelled his cool, unblinking gaze at Grant.

“Well?” he said. “Has the thief been apprehended yet or not?”

“I am afraid not yet, my lord.” As comfortable in the opulently appointed parlor as Felix was in the narrow alleyways of St. Giles, Grant procured a monogrammed handkerchief from the breast pocket of his waistcoat and studiously wiped his hands before lifting his cup by its delicate handle. “But we’re getting closer.” He sipped his tea.

“I had hoped you would come with better news than ‘getting closer’.” Ashburn’s eyebrows made Felix think of two black centipedes as they crawled together over the bridge of his nose. “It seems to me this thief is getting bolder by the day. None of us are safe. How much longer can we expect this to go on?”

“We’ll catch the culprit. Never fear.” Grant met Ashburn’s frown of disapproval with an amiable grin that did not quite reach his eyes. “You said in your report that your wife’s necklace was taken?”

“Yes.” Ashburn set his cup down on the edge of the table with a hard click. “She has not been able to sleep since.”

“And what wife would that be?” Felix asked. “Your first, or your second?”

So much for biting his tongue.

Ashburn’s face paled, then flushed a dull, mottled red. “How dare you.”

“Oh, I dare,” Felix said silkily, pushing off the wall with the heel of his boot. “I dare very much.”

“Please excuse my associate.” Shooting up out of his chair, Grant shot Felix a fierce warning glare before he turned his attention back to Ashburn. “He has a poor habit of speaking before he thinks. Or forgetting to think at all.”

Ashburn’s gaze lingered on Felix. “And these are seen as admirable traits in a Runner?”

“Some of us are a tad coarser than the rest, but we manage to get the job done.” Grant sat back down. “I can assure you Mr. Spencer will not ask any more questions. But I have a few. Beginning with what room the necklace was taken from.”

“My wife’s dressing chamber.” Ashburn cleared his throat. “She has a velvet-lined jewelry box where she keeps her more expensive pieces. It was taken from there.”

“Was the jewelry box locked?” asked Grant.

“Yes.”

“Was anything else taken?”

“No.” He thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. “Nothing else.”

“And the two of you were not at home during the burglary?”

“No. We were at a dinner party on the other side of the square. We departed at a quarter past eight and did not return until midnight.”

Taking out a small leather-bound journal and a pencil, Grant made note of the times. “When did you discover the necklace was missing?”

“That night. When my wife went to return her diamond earrings.” When he heard Felix’s snort of disgust Ashburn looked up at him with narrowed eyes. “Have I insulted or slighted you in some way I am not aware of?”

“Aye. You’re still breathing.”

“Mind yourself,” Grant warned through clenched teeth, but this time Felix paid him no heed. He did not approach Ashburn. He didn’t trust himself enough to get within striking distance of the bastard. But his bristling animosity reached the viscount regardless.

“What sort of selfish, unfeeling bastard dresses his wife in diamonds,” he growled, “while the mother of his children goes hungry?”

“Ah, now it makes sense,” Ashburn said with quiet understanding. “Felicity must be one of your whores.”

Felix made it to the table before Grant intercepted him. The two men grappled, fists flying wildly as they slammed back against the wall. Ashburn’s mother fell the floor with a crash. A chair toppled. Felix caught an uppercut with his jaw and tasted blood before he punched his fist into Grant’s kidney.

“Bloody hell. What’s gotten into you?” Grant demanded, grimacing as he favored his right side.

“Him.” Felix tried to lunge towards Ashburn again. Anticipating the move Grant jabbed his elbow into Felix’s throat. The dirty blow left him wheezing for air. He managed one last punch before he doubled over, hands bracing against his knees as he struggled to breathe. Staggering away, Grant leaned against a long-case clock and waved his arm in Ashburn’s general direction.

“We’ll see ourselves out.”

“What the hell did you do?” Owen snarled. Blue eyes flashing, he stalked across his office and slammed his fist down on his desk with so much force the entire floor shook. “Your antics just cost us not one, but three clients. Three!” Pinching his temple, he turned and faced the wall. “I cannot even bloody look at the two of you.”

“Spencer started it.” Grant leaned back in his chair and linked his hands behind his head. “He would have clocked Ashburn out cold if I didn’t hold him back.”

Felix snorted. “Ye didn’t hold me back, mate.”

“That purple bruise on your face says otherwise.”

“And what about that purple bruise on your mug? Oh wait,” he sneered. “That’s just your face.”

Grant barked out a laugh. “That’s bloody rich coming from the likes of you.”

“Do you find this amusing?” Owen asked in a voice that was whisper soft and all the more dangerous because of it.

“No Captain,” Felix and Grant said in unison.

“Is your job a joke to you?”

“No Captain,” they repeated.

“Then what the devil were you thinking? You,” he said, pivoting and jabbing a finger at Felix. “You should know by now that we do not conduct ourselves like common criminals. We’re Runners. Not wild animals. And you.”

“What did I do?” Grant demanded when Owen levelled his icy stare straight at his second-in-command.

“It is what you did not do that concerns me. I made Spencer your partner for a reason. You were supposed to keep him in line and instead you nearly allowed him to attack one of our clients!” Owen was no longer whispering. His voice reverberated around the office with so much force Felix wouldn’t have been surprised to see the windows rattle. He braced his fingers on the edge of his desk, knuckles whitening as he leaned forward. “The two of you cost us business that we could not afford to lose.

“If the Bobbies have their way the Runners will soon be nothing more than a very thin chapter in a very large history book. Your antics today put all of us one step closer to an early retirement. I hope you are both pleased with yourselves. Now get out,” he growled. “I don’t want to see either one of your ugly faces for the rest of the day.”

Felix and Grant’s chairs scraped against the wooden floorboards as they quickly stood up. Grant started to say something, but then with a shake of his head he turned on his heel and walked out a word. When Felix tried to follow, Owen called him back.

“Spencer. A word before you go.”

“Aye, Captain?” he said warily.

Owen studied him silently for a moment, his thoughts concealed behind his hard, penetrating gaze. “You should have not have lost your temper.”

“Aye, Captain.” Was this it? Had his time as a Runner finally come to an end? He braced himself for the worst, but on a heavy sigh Owen sat back down behind his desk and said the last words Felix ever expected to hear.

“Good job, Spencer.”

“Come again, sir?” he said, certain he’d misheard. Surely the Captain wasn’t congratulating him for trying to choke a peer to death with his own two hands. 

“I said good job. I do not like Ashburn any more than you. The man’s a yellow-bellied bastard who deserves more than a punch to the face. So while I cannot officially condone you trying to murder him, neither can I blame you for attempting it.”

Well put a pair of tits on me and call me Nancy, Felix thought incredulously. The Captain was congratulating him. 

“Thank ye?” he said, uncertain how he was supposed to respond.

A faint smile softened the hard lines around the edges of Owen’s mouth. “Did you at least get in one good blow?”

“Hargrave’s a quick bastard.”

“That he is.” Owen rested his elbows on his desk. “If another opportunity presents itself I only ask that you make certain Ashburn knows you are not acting on behalf of Bow Street. I should also make it clear that if he’s found dead you will be brought up on charges of murder, Runner or no Runner.”

Felix mulled it over for a minute. “What does beating him within an inch of his worthless life get me? Five years in Newgate?”

“A pat on the back and a glass of my best scotch.”

His grin stretched across his entire face. “Aye, sir.”

“One more thing before you leave.” Owen’s smile fell away. “As you no doubt already know, Felicity is a dear friend of mine. She is an even dearer friend of my wife’s. I would not be so bold as to interfere in her personal business, but if you harm her in any way, if you so much as cause her one second of discomfort, I am going to have to kill you.” There was nothing in his tone to indicate he was anything less than completely serious. “Do we understand one another?”

“Aye, sir. We do.”    

Chapter Eleven

“Felix. Oh my goodness!” Upon seeing Felix sitting beside her front door, his hair tousled and his lip bloody, Felicity gasped and ran towards him, nearly stumbling on a loose cobblestone in her haste to reach his side. She crouched down and, wetting her thumb, gently dabbed at the edge of his mouth. “What – what happened?”

“No need to look like I’m on death’s door, love.” He grinned, then winced when fresh blood trickled down his chin. “Just a little cut is all.”

Felicity frowned. “You may need stitches.”

“It’ll take more than this to get me in front of a leech.”

“Be that as it may, infection is not something to be taken lightly. You should…” She trailed off as she took note of the sliver of purple under his eye and the tear in his shirt. “You’ve been brawling,” she accused, jumping to her feet as compassion was rapidly replaced with disdain.

“Aye,” Felix said cheerfully. “That I have.” Standing as well, he brushed off his trousers before peering over her shoulder. “Where are the little nippers?”

“They are spending the afternoon with my mother.” After Felicity left Scarlett’s she had made a detour to Gracechurch Street where Mrs. Atwood lived. She’d moved there after Felicity’s father died, using the money he’d left her to purchase a modest one-bedroom townhouse. It was much smaller than the home Felicity had grown up in, but it more than suited the needs of a single widow and her yappy white Pomeranian. “Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Spencer?” she asked, her voice considerably cooler than it had been a few seconds ago. 

“Aye, that there is.” His head canted to the side, those whisky eyes hungrily devouring every inch of her as if they’d been separated for weeks instead of barely a day. “Ye can tell me why ye looked as though ye saw a ghost after our kiss yesterday.”

Of course he would ask her for the one thing she absolutely could not give him.

The truth.

If she told him what had happened to her, if she revealed what Rodger had done, then he would look at her in one of two ways. With either pity or disgust, neither of which she wanted. So she drew her shawl more closely around her shoulders, pressed her lips firmly together, and stepped past him to unlock the door, hoping her silence would make it clear their conversation had reached its end.

It didn’t.

“I haven’t seen ye wear this dress before.” Felix touched her sleeve, just a casual brush of fingertips against fabric, but it was enough to cause her to fumble and drop her key when she tried to pull it from her reticule. It struck the ground and then bounced beneath the front step, vanishing from sight.

“Now look what you’ve done.” Annoyed with him – and with herself – Felicity pursed her lips as she considered the best way to fetch her key without sticking her hand into dark, cobwebbed-filled uncertainty. She also wasn’t very keen on getting down on her hands and knees and sticking her rump up in the air with Felix watching.

“Having a spot of trouble, love? Step aside.” Flashing her a roguish grin, he pulled out a thin metal pin from behind his ear. Within seconds the door was unlocked and he gestured her inside with a gallant wave of his arm. “After ye, my lady.”

Picking up her skirts so as not to let the hemline drag on the step, Felicity walked past him with her chin held high. And a rueful smile tugging at the edges of her mouth.

How does he do it? She wondered as he followed her into the flat and closed the door behind him. How does he infuriate me and charm me all in the same breath? With Ezra there had never been such a tug and pull. Their relationship had been like the glossy surface of a pond. Smooth, with only the occasional ripple. But with Felix she felt as though she were in the middle of the ocean during a squall. One moment her head was above water, the next it was below. And no matter what she did she couldn’t seem to catch her breath.

“Sit,” she ordered, pointing at the only chair in the room. “Your lip needs tending.” Going into the bedroom she poured some clean water into a basin and wet a strip of flannel. Ringing out the excess moisture, she returned to Felix and, using the skills she’d attained while mending Henry’s various bumps and bruises, leaned over him and began to clean the wound. He sat perfectly straight, the soles of his boots pressed flat against the floorboards, the palms of his hands pressed flat against the top of his thighs. He sat so still she would have thought he’d ceased breathing if not for the steady rise and fall of his chest.

“Who did this to you?” she asked softly.

“One of the other Runners.”

Her hand stilled in surprise. “One of the other Runners?”

“Aye. Grant Hargrave. I believe ye were introduced at Bow Street after the wedding.”

“Yes, I remember.” She recalled a tall, striking man with wavy brown hair and green eyes. If she wasn’t mistaken he was a peer. The son of a duke, no less. Although how he’d ended up on Bow Street she hadn’t the faintest idea. “He seemed like such a gentleman.”

Felix angled his head. “Looks can be deceiving, love.”

“Yes.” Didn’t she know that better than anyone? On the outside Ezra looked like the perfect husband. He had the title. The wealth. The impeccable manners. But beneath the thin veneer of perfection was a man whose heart was as dark and empty as a night without stars. He may have been a gentleman, but he was cold. As cold as a man could possibly be.

And then there was Felix.

Felix, who looked so wrong for her in so many different ways. Felix, who did not have a title or wealth or any discernable manners at all, let alone impeccable ones. Felix, who wouldn’t have been able to dance the valse if his life depended on it, and who would never be accepted by polite society.

Yet when she was with him none of those things seemed to matter. When she was with him all she could think about was their kiss. And the kiss after that…and the kiss after that.

“Yes,” she repeated, more to herself than to him. “I suppose they can be.”

A bruise was already forming on Felix’s chin, another under his eye. On any other man the marks would have appeared garish, but the smudges of deep purple and dark blue suited him. If anything they made him even more handsome. Like a pirate, she thought as she pressed the cool cloth against the swelling on his jaw. Or a knight of old. One who has just returned home to his beloved after defending his king and country on the fields of battle.

“I – I was wrong,” she whispered. 

“About what?” His fingers closed lightly around her wrist, the pad of his thumb pressing on the beat of her pulse. It thrummed wildly at his touch, a bird beating its wings against the gilded bars of a cage where the door was open, but the bird was too frightened to fly out.

You.

Us.

Everything.

“The cut on your lip.” She pulled her arm back and the damp flannel, stained red with his blood, fell to the floor. “It does not look as though it will need stitches after all.” Closing her eyes, she turned away.

Away from Felix. Away from her own emotions. Away from her own heart.

The chair creaked and she knew he was behind her even before he wrapped his arm around her waist and drew her back against the hard plane of his chest.

“What are ye afraid of?” he murmured, the bristle on his jaw scraping against her cheek as he rested his chin on the sloping curve of her shoulder.

“I am not afraid,” she said, but they both heard the lie in her voice. She began to stiffen, to draw back, but on a soft, whispering sigh she let herself relax against him. After so many months – so many years – of nothing but coldness she needed warmth. Like an untended flower that had grown too long in the shade she desperately yearned for the sun.  For the heat it gave, and the comfort it brought. For no matter how deep the dark, the sun would always find a way to rise again. And when it did its light would be brighter and reach further than ever before.

“I am not afraid,” she repeated as tears gathered. “I am not afraid.”

“Ah, love.” Felix’s embrace tightened. He began to sway from side to side and she swayed with him, a dance where the only music came from the rhythmic beating of their hearts. “I know ye have no reason to trust me. No reason to believe a bloody word I say. But I want ye to know I’m not him. I won’t hurt ye. I would never hurt ye.”

“I know,” she whispered as a single tear spilled down her cheek. “I know.”  

Felix took her to the Kew Botanical Gardens. And she began to fall in love with him somewhere between the cornflowers and columbines.

How could she not? He was everything she had been warned against…and everything she needed. He made her feel safe. More than that, he made her feel treasured in a way Ezra never had.

Felix wanted her. Not because she was well-bred or well-mannered or any other matter of wells. He wanted her for who she was. He wanted her as she was. A divorced mother. A spurned woman. A ruined lady. Knowing that, feeling that every time he touched her, how could she not want him in return? How could she not try to reach for the sun?

She just hoped she did not burn herself in the process.

A thorn snared her skirt as she and Felix walked past a vibrant wall of Portland Roses. Named for the Duchess of Portland by renowned botanist Andre Du Pont, the rose had been created by crossing an Autumn Damask with a Crimson China. It was a match no one had ever thought to make for the two roses were so very different, but when they’d been brought together they had produced a deep, true red rose that flowered in even the harshest of conditions.

Not wanting her dress to tear, she stopped to untangle herself. But before she could coax the thorn from the delicate fabric Felix used a small knife to sever the branch from the bush, removed the thorns from the stem, and tucked the rose beneath her bonnet. 

“You shouldn’t have done that,” she scolded as she cast a furtive glance over her shoulder. “We are going to be thrown out.” The gardens, while open to the public, were under the close scrutiny of half a dozen guards who did not take kindly to any flowers being touched, let alone cut. Frowning at Felix, she pulled the flower from her hair with the intention of tossing it off the path. Hide the evidence, such as it were. But at the last moment she put it inside her reticule instead.

The sentimental gesture did not escape Felix’s notice. He said not a word, but she could tell by the gleam in his eye that he was pleased she’d decided to save his token of affection.

“Shall we?” she murmured, and resting her hand lightly on his rigid forearm proceeded down the stone-lined path. Portland Roses soon gave way to sculpted boxwoods and neat clusters of pale pink peonies. Sweet Williams were just beginning to emerge from the freshly raked soil while towering hollyhocks stretched their blossoms towards a clear blue sky. It was a perfect day for a leisurely walk amidst such beauty, and Felicity was glad – albeit admittedly surprised – that Felix had suggested it. He did not seem like the sort of man who would enjoy such a leisurely pursuit and yet here they were, arm in arm, strolling through the stone-lined paths as if they were lord and lady of the manor instead of a disgraced divorcé and a thief turned Runner with bruises on his face.

An incredulous smile touched her lips as they stepped between two rows of towering hedges. If someone had told her eight years ago that this would be her future she would have laughed herself silly. Yet here she was…and truth be told there was nowhere else she’d rather be. But it did occur to her (as things often did when she was trying to turn off her mind and simply enjoy the moment at hand) that she knew next to nothing about the man beside her.

She knew he’d been a thief, and now he was Runner. She knew he had a quick wit and a ready smile. She knew that when he touched her she burned. But what else did she know?

You can always ask, she told herself practically. Surely there is no harm is asking a few sensible questions. After all, this is a man who – if things go accordingly – will be spending time with your children. It is perfectly acceptable to learn more about who he is, and where he’s come from. Just one or two general questions ought to do.

“Why did you kiss me in Scarlett’s bedchamber all those months ago?” she blurted.

Oh dear.

Oh dear, oh dear.

That wasn’t what she had intended to ask at all. She had wanted to inquire about his past. Where he’d been raised. If he had any siblings. If – her stomach turned queasily at the thought – he’d ever been married. Biting her lip she peeked up at him through her lashes, trying to gauge what he was thinking behind those tawny eyes.

“Why did I kiss ye…” he murmured thoughtfully. His fist bumped against his chin, knuckles rubbing over bristle as he considered his answer. “I suppose because I wanted to.”

“Ah,” she said, feeling foolish. What had she been expecting? A declaration of love? For Felix to get down on bended knee and recite a sonnet?  “That – that makes sense, I suppose.”

“And because I knew if I didn’t taste your lips right then and there I knew I was going to starve.” His amber gaze darkened. “Ye were the prettiest woman I’d ever seen. Sitting there in your chair all indignant like. Scolding me for stealin’ your friend’s jewelry when ye should have been trembling in your boots.”

The truth was Felicity had been trembling in her boots – or rather in her walking slippers. She’d been afraid he was going to kill her. But then he had kissed her instead and she’d begun trembling for another reason all together.

“You jumped out the window. I thought you were going to break your neck.”

His bruised mouth stretched in a smug grin. “Worried about me, were ye love?”

“I was worried about the azaleas,” she corrected.

“Liar.” He stopped and turned, putting them face to face, chest to chest, thigh to thigh. Felicity let out a startled squeak when he spanned her waist with his hands and yanked her close. “Ye wanted me to kiss ye. Admit it.”

Butterflies danced in her belly. “I did not–”

“Admit it,” he growled, his mouth a hair’s breadth from her own.

“Yes,” she breathed, unable to deny the truth any longer. “Yes, I wanted you to kiss me.” Whether by accident or design – she honestly wasn’t sure which – her tongue darted out and skimmed across the swell of her bottom lip, drawing Felix’s hot, heavy gaze downwards.

“Aye,” he said throatily, the hard rasp of his voice causing the muscles in her abdomen to tighten and clench. “That’s what I thought.”

He is going to kiss me again, she thought dazedly. And this time – heaven help me – I want him to. But to her bemusement Felix abruptly released her, gravel crunching beneath the heels of his boots as he stepped back.

“What?” he asked when he saw the flare of disappointment in her eyes she wasn’t quite able to hide. “Ye didn’t think I would kiss ye here, did ye? For shame, Miss Atwood.” He clucked his tongue. “There are people all about. Ye wouldn’t want to besmirch my fine upstanding character, would ye now?”

“No.” The corners of her mouth twitched. “No, I certainly would not want to do that.”

He leaned in close and her gaze grew shuttered when he whispered, “When I kiss ye…when I slowly peel your clothes off your body and taste the sweet nectar of your skin…when I make ye slick with need…We’re going to be alone. Just the two of us, love. And you’re going to be sobbing my name by the end of it.”

It was a small miracle Felicity’s knees did not buckle then and there. “M-Mr. Spencer–”

“Lady Ashburn? Lady Ashburn, is that you? It is!” A woman’s high-pitched squeal had Felicity jumping away from Felix as though he’d suddenly caught fire. Pressing a hand over her racing heart and plastering a smile on her face, she turned to find Lady Eleanor Manheim, or Ellie as she was commonly known to her friends, rapidly approaching in a swirl of blue skirts and a haze of expensive French perfume.

Felicity had called her Ellie once, but now she greeted the brunette with a wary nod. “Lady Manheim. How nice to see you.”

Like the rest of her so-called friends (with the exception of Scarlett), Eleanor had given her the cut direct after the divorce. A slender woman with dark hair and a catty penchant for gossip, she had her thumb pressed firmly on the pulse of high society. She knew everything about everyone. Every salacious rumor. Every whisper of scandal. Every lurid affair. She gained her knowledge by whatever means necessary and then tucked it away like an ambitious squirrel storing nuts for the long winter ahead.

“I heard you had returned to town,” Eleanor trilled. “But I did not believe it until I saw you. Why, I was standing right over there and I turned my head and there you were! And I said to myself that cannot possibly be Lady Ashburn, for why would she ever return to London? But of course I just had to be certain, and lo and behold! Here you are.”

“Here I am,” Felicity said demurely.

“How are those lovely children of yours? Growing quickly, I imagine. What were their names again? They are right on the tip of my tongue! Hagrid and Amelia?” She pursed her lips. “No, that’s not it.”

“Henry and Anne.”

“That’s right! Henry and Anne. How very sweet. I often wonder why a father would not want to name his firstborn son after himself, but Henry is such a fine name.”

Felicity smile could have been carved from ice. “Which is why I chose it.”

Had she really ever considered this conniving, malicious woman to be her friend? It felt like a lifetime ago when they’d once sat across the table from one another at a dinner party, or stood together in the corner of a ballroom. She had never stooped to Eleanor’s level of pettiness, but hadn’t she stood silently by while Eleanor cut more than one rival to the quick? As long as it was not me, she thought as the bitter taste of shame flooded her mouth.

Well, no more.

Even if by some miracle she was welcomed back into the exclusive world that she’d been so ruthlessly cut out of she wouldn’t want to go. Not when she’d peeled back the curtain and caught a glimpse of what the ton was really like beneath its glittering surface.

“And who might this be?” Eleanor’s crafty gaze flicked to Felix as her eyebrows, thinly plucked and tinted with powder, arched towards the brim of her feather-tipped hat. “A new beau?” Her tinkling laugh set Felicity’s teeth on edge. “Why, you little minx you!”

“Lady Manheim, this is Mr. Spencer. Mr. Spencer, Lady Manheim.” Although Felicity managed to keep her smile in place, she had a very bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. Eleanor may have looked sweet and harmless to the untrained eye, but in reality she was more dangerous and deadly than a viper. Having seen firsthand what could happen when she sank her fangs into something – or someone – Felicity did not want her within twenty yards of Felix, let alone speaking to him directly.

“Mr. Spencer.” Dipping into a curtsy, Eleanor batted her lashes with such vigor that Felicity wondered if she did not have something stuck in her eye. “What a pleasure to meet you. Are you new to town?”

Watching Eleanor as one might a spider crawling up the wall, Felix slipped his hands into the pockets of his trousers and rocked back onto his heels. “I’ve lived here all my life.”

“Have you? What a wonder our paths haven’t crossed before. How long have you known our darling Lady Ashburn? It is still Lady Ashburn, isn’t it? I must admit I am not certain what social protocol dictates. It’s such a rare circumstance, isn’t it? Divorce,” she said in an exaggerated whisper. “I hardly dare to speak the word. You poor thing. What you must have had to endure! I can see it has taken its toll.”  

“Yes, well, I must admit I find it preferable to be divorced than to share my husband’s attentions with another woman. How is Lord Manheim, by the by? Staying busy, I presume?” Felicity may not have had fangs like Eleanor, but she still knew how to draw blood when the occasion demanded it.

Eleanor’s eyes narrowed. She was not a woman who liked being put in her place, especially by someone who had no place. “My husband is quite well, thank you for your concern. This has been a splendid visit, but I really must be on my way. We should meet for tea sometime, darling. Catch up on old times.”

“Not too soon I hope. With the Season at full tilt I know how busy you must be.”

“Heavens, busy does not even being to cover it! Flitting from one ball to the next is really quite draining. How lucky you are, Lady Ashburn, that you have no engagements to attend.”

“Yes.” Felicity clucked her tongue in sympathy as she ran her gaze from the top of Eleanor’s hat to the polished tips of her leather shoes. “I can see that you are exhausted. But I am sure that with a little bit of rest you shall manage to recover in no time.” 

“My, my,” Eleanor said softly. “The little kitten has finally found her claws.”

“And this little kitten is not afraid to use them. Good day, Lady Manheim. It was so wonderful to see you again. Do give your husband my best. If he is not too busy with his mistress, that is.”

Eleanor’s mouth opened. Closed. On an incredulous huff of breath she snatched up her skirts and stormed off, leaving a nauseatingly sweet trail of perfume in her wake.

Chapter Twelve

The woman was a marvel. An absolute marvel.

While Felix would have preferred to tell Lady Manheim exactly where to shove her hoity opinions, Felicity had managed to put the vicious bitch in her place without so much as batting an eye. It’d taken all of his self-restraint not to jump in – especially after Lady Manheim brought Henry into it – but he’d kept his silence because he knew Felicity was not the sort of woman who wanted, or apparently needed, a man to fight her battles for her.

“That was bloody entertaining.” Grinning ear to ear, he wrapped his arm around Felicity’s waist and pulled her snug against her side as they walked through the middle of Wayfair Square, an eclectic jumble of old London and new where shopkeeper’s sold various wares out of carts and tents. When Felicity squirmed in protest he merely kissed her cheek and tightened his grip. “Did ye see her face when ye dangled her husband’s lady piece right in front of ‘er? White as a ghost on All-Hollow’s Eve.”

“Mr. Spencer, please let me go. There are people watching!”

“Hang ‘em,” he said cheerfully, but he did loosen his arm enough for her to slip free. She tugged discreetly at her bodice to straighten it before she glanced up at him. Biting back a grin, she tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow.

“She was rather angry, wasn’t she?”

“Furious.”

“I used to be her friend, you know. We attended all the same social functions. Knew all the same people. I was never cruel like she was. Like she still is.” A shadow fell across her countenance. “At least I never thought I was. But isn’t there cruelness in standing by and doing nothing while the strong prey on the weak? I should have done something. I should have stood up to her.”

“You stood up to her in the gardens,” he pointed out. “I watched you do it.”

“Yes, I suppose.” But she did not sound very convinced.

Given that he could count on one hand the number of times she’d shown him any true vulnerability, Felix did not take her tender feelings for granted. Felicity may have been delicate in build but she was strong at heart. The strongest woman he had ever met. If she was willingly admitting a weakness then perhaps it meant she was finally starting to open up to him. To trust him. To show him a part of herself that she hid from the rest of the world.

“Everyone has done things they’re not proud of.” Guiding her around the edge of a trolley cart weighed down with baskets, he stopped the vendor from approaching with a steely-eyed glare that had the portly man hastily backtracking. “The devil knows I’m more guilty than most.”

“Because you are a thief?”

Cheeky woman.

“Was, love,” he corrected. “I was a thief. Or as I prefer to call it–”

“A connoisseur of fine things.” Her mouth curved “Yes, I remember.”

A warmness filled him at the sight of her smile. He liked nothing better than to see those beautiful lips of her bend with happiness. To his mind she did not smile nearly often enough. If she was his – when she was his, he corrected silently – he would give her a reason to smile every day, every hour, every minute. He’d wake up to the ringing sound of her laughter in the morning and fall asleep to it at night. There would not be a moment that went by when she did not feel loved and cherished beyond reason. If he did not know for a fact that it would send her running for the hills, he’d tell her as much right to her face. But while she may have been strong, she was also easily spooked and needed to be handled with care and finesse instead of brute force.

It reminded him of a story his mother had told him when he was a boy. A magical story about a young man, and a kingdom, and a sword stuck in a giant rock.

For years and years men full grown tried with all their might to yank the sword free, but the harder they pulled the deeper the sword embedded itself into the stone. Then along came a lad, spindly in build and innocent in heart, who instead of trying to pull out the sword by force decided to coax it free by revealing his true intentions. Not to control the sword or use it for violence, but to have it at his side as an equal to bring about peace.

Now, Felix knew he was no more a spindly lad with an innocent heart than Felicity was a sword stuck in an old rock, but there were still parallels to be found. If he wanted her love, he could not take it by force. She needed to give it freely, without threat or coercion. Only then would he have what he desired most: not jewels or gold or shiny baubles to slip into his pocket, but the heart of the woman he loved. It was the one – the only thing – his nimble fingers could not steal.

“What can I say?” He flashed her a devilish grin. “No one’s perfect. Not even me.”

“You are not perfect?” Her tip-tilted eyes widened in feigned surprise. “I find that very hard to believe, Mr. Spencer.”

“Aye, I know,” he said gravely. “But it’s the truth. I’ve my faults, same as any other man. Or woman for that matter. We’re human, love. We make mistakes. It’s what we do. But what we learn from those mistakes...well, to my mind that’s what matters.”

“Yes,” she said after a thoughtful pause. “Yes, I suppose you are right.”

They continued through the busy square, lingering at any cart that happened to catch Felicity’s eye. When Felix saw her gazing longingly at a green silk scarf he tried to purchase it, but she gently stilled his hand when he reached into his pocket for a few shillings.  

“No. It is a lovely gesture, but one I could not possibly accept.”

“It’s a scarf.” A bit insulted, he withdrew his hand from his pocket and crossed his arms over his chest. “Not a bloody ruby. It won’t bankrupt me, love.”

“I know that.” Yet her mouth settled in a mulish frown all the same. “But I do not want you to spend your hard-earned money on me. It is something I want. Not something I need.”

“Aye, I know.” Exasperated, he picked up the scarf and waved it in the air. “Which is why I want to buy it for ye. Devil take it woman, can ye make nothing simple?”

How was he supposed to woo her, to charm her, to bloody well court her if she put up a wall every time he tried to do something kind? Felix may not have known a lot about courting a lady – the woman in his past hadn’t needed much in the way of courtship aside from a few heated glances and a slap on the arse before they’d jumped in his bed – but he did know it involved long walks and purchasing pretty trinkets. Having done the first (which he’d found surprisingly enjoyable), he was keen to do the second. So why the hell couldn’t she just let him? He’d known love wasn’t easy – one of the reasons he had always avoided it like the plague – but damned if he’d known it was going to be this bloody frustrating.

“Please put the scarf down, Mr. Spencer.”

“Or what?” he challenged.

“Or you are going to ruin what has otherwise been a splendid outing.”

“Because I want to buy ye a gift?” he said incredulously.

“When I wish to buy myself something frivolous I will do so. Until that time comes, I do not need you – or any man – to purchase it for me.” She folded her arms and lifted her pert little chin, violet eyes filled with a gleam of stubbornness he recognized all too well. “I can provide for myself, Mr. Spencer.”

“I never said ye couldn’t.” But Ashburn had, Felix realized as his anger gave way to understanding. Perhaps not in so many words, but Felicity’s husband had shown through his callous actions that every dress she’d owned, every piece of jewelry she’d worn, every bloody chair she’d sat in – none of it had ever been hers. Not really. Because when it mattered, when it counted it most, she had been thrown to the wolves with little more than the clothes on her back.

And even those hadn’t belonged to her.

Created by men of power to give themselves more power, the laws of marriage dictated that anything a woman owned became the property of her husband the moment the vows were read. If she were lucky and her husband generous, she might be given some pin money, but everything she purchased, from hair ribbons to hats, was the legal property of the man she’d married. In the eyes of the law, a wife was a possession instead of a person, with no more rights than a horse. And by all indications Ashburn had been a cruel master.

“I am not him,” Felix said gruffly. “When I give ye a gift I won’t be askin’ for it back.”

“To whom are you not comparing yourself, Mr. Spencer?” Any traces of vulnerability were gone, replaced with the thin veneer of indifference Felicity used when she wanted to shield her emotions. She knew precisely ‘to whom he was not comparing himself’ but she was telling him, without telling him, that she did not care to discuss it.

Well bollocks on that, Felix thought. He was going to buy her the scarf whether she wanted him to or not, and then they were going to put Ashburn to rest once and for all because he’d be damned if she looked at him and saw that bastard’s face instead.

Couldn’t she see he was different? Didn’t she know he would never take advantage of her? Hurting her would be the same as hurting himself. 

“Ye know exactly who I am talking about. That spineless slug you had the misfortune of calling a husband.”

Felicity immediately stiffened and withdrew, just as he suspected she would which was why he had neatly positioned her between the table and his own body. When she tried to brush past him he closed his fingers around her slender wrist in a loose manacle that was ready to tighten if necessary.

She stopped and glared up at him, her flashing eyes reminding him of the amethyst necklace he’d nabbed from the Countess of Swarthmore. It had glittered in his hands when he’d held it up to the moonlight, warm pulsing heat trapped between icy cold diamonds.

“Mr. Spencer, this is neither the time nor the place,” she said tersely. 

“It wasn’t the right place at your flat. It wasn’t the right time at the park.” He scratched his jaw. “Tell me love, just when is the right time and the right place to tell ye that I’m not Ashburn?”

Her lips parted, although whether they did so in surprise or anger he couldn’t be certain. “I – I know that you are not him. You are nothing like him. That is why I–”

“Ye what?” he pressed when she fell silent. “Ye what, Felicity? Tell me.”

“I cannot. Not yet.” Her long, shapely fingers curled inwards, forming a fist. “I am not ready yet. I thought I was. I thought – but no. No.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When her lashes flickered and she looked up at him her gaze was clear, sharp, and focused.

And sad, Felix noted as he felt a hollow pang inside of his chest, like a spoon being beaten against an empty barrel. She still has the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen.

What was it going to take to fill those eyes with love and light and laughter? To have her look at him with joy instead of trepidation? To embrace the future instead of constantly fearing the past? He knew she’d been hurt. He knew she was still hiding secrets from him. He’d seen the pain in her eyes. Pain that had not come from a broken marriage, but something deeper. Something darker. If he could have picked up a sword and slayed all of her demons he would have done so without hesitation, but he wasn’t a knight, and Felicity wasn’t a princess, and there were some demons that could only be slayed from within.

“My focus needs to be on my children,” she said matter-of-factly. “Not on impractical romantic pursuits. Perhaps in a few months, or a year–”

“If ye think I’m going to wait for a bloody year then ye are sorely mistaken.” Time may have healed wounds, but it wasn’t going to take away her hurt. Left to her own devices she’d spend so long figuring out the correct path to take that she’d grow roots and plant herself right where she was.

Time? The lass didn’t need more time. She needed to confront her past and then she needed to be swept off her feet and carried away before that logical mind of hers knew what was happening.

He was ready to do his part. Had been ready from the first moment he’d tasted her lips, truth be told. But he could carry her across the bloody ocean and every step he took would be worthless unless she came to terms with what haunted her.  

“I see.” A quiver of disappointment found its way into her voice. “Well of course I could not expect, or ask, you to wait for me. That would be absurd.”

Felix released her wrist to run his hands through his hair. He pulled at the ends, grinding his teeth as he struggled to rein in his frustration. “Do ye have to try to be vexing or is it a natural talent ye were born with?”

“I–”

“If I had to I would wait a hundred years for ye,” he said, effectively rendering her speechless. “Then I would wait a hundred more. But I’m not going to have to. Ye are going to come to me, love. Sooner rather than later. And when ye do I’ll be waiting.”

She studied him beneath a swell of dark lashes, her tip-tilted eyes as serious as he’d ever seen them. “I cannot promise you anything, Mr. Spencer.”

He brushed his hand across her cheek, thumb lingering on the delicate curve of her jaw. Had he ever felt anything softer than her skin? “I don’t need promises. I just need ye.”

“And if you had me?” she whispered. “What then?”

He met her gaze unflinchingly. “I would never let ye go.”

I would never let you go.

Felix’s words still echoed in Felicity’s head five nights later as she struggled to sleep. On either side of her Henry and Anne were deep into their dreams, little chests rising and falling in rhythm with their soft snores. Three hours had passed since they’d tumbled blissfully into slumber and yet she was still wide awake, cursed with a racing mind and a bewildered heart.

It had been nearly a week since Felix had taken her to the gardens. Nearly a week since she realized she was falling in love with him. Nearly a week since she let her past fears and doubts cast a dark shadow over her present. Yet despite her time apart from Felix – or more likely because of it – she could not stop thinking about him.

During the day her children were a welcome distraction. Heaven knew they kept her so busy she would hardly think straight. But at night, at night when she stared up at the ceiling, Felix was the only face she saw when she tried to close her eyes. He was the only voice she heard. And he was the only one she yearned for. In the quiet darkness, with Henry and Anne fast asleep, she yearned for Felix with her whole mind, body, and soul.

I would wait a hundred years for ye.

He’d stolen her breath with those eight little words. But had he been speaking the truth? She had no reason to believe him...but he had also not given her a reason to doubt him. At least not yet. But didn’t she know better than anyone how deceptive men could be? How they took, and took, and took, never giving anything in return.

Ezra had taken her home.

Her reputation.

Her dignity.

And Rodger...

Rodger had taken her body.

Coldly.

Mercilessly.

Without a single concern for anything but his own pleasure.

When a cold chill worked its way down her spine she gently untangled herself from her children’s heavy limbs and padded silently out of the bedroom, careful to leave the door open a crack so if Henry or Anne woke they would not have to wonder where she had gone. Then, gathering a shawl around her shoulders, she went to the window and perched on the edge of the sill to stare broodingly out into the night.

Nary a single cat stirred in the inky darkness. Nor a person for that matter. After a certain hour anyone not looking for trouble locked their doors, dimmed their candles, and remained tucked away until dawn. But while outside the flat everything was still and quiet, inside of it Felicity’s mind had never been busier or her thoughts louder.

She wanted to believe Felix was different. She wanted to give herself permission to love him. She even thought she had, until he’d tried to buy that damned silk scarf and all of her old doubts and insecurities had come rushing back to the surface. And she’d remembered her promise to never put herself in a position where she could have everything taken away from her ever again. Yet if she gave herself to Felix, if she allowed herself to love him, that was precisely what she would be doing.

As his mistress she would be at his beck and call, relying on his money and his generosity to sustain her. As his wife she would be little more than chattel. Either way, if he changed his mind – if he decided he no longer wanted her, or another woman pleased him more – she’d find herself cast aside with nothing to show for her pain but another broken heart.

Wasn’t it better, then, to remain alone? Of course being alone meant being lonely, but at least nothing could be taken from her. Not the flat she was desperately trying to turn into a home, or the meager possessions she’d managed to steal out from under Ezra’s nose, or her poor beleaguered heart. Her fingers tightened in the scratchy folds of her shawl, drawing it more closely around her shoulders as if it might somehow offer protection against her troubled thoughts.

Her heart would be safe if she was alone. Her heart could not break if she was alone.

I would never let ye go.

“But you might,” she whispered softly, her warm breath fogging the glass as she stared blindly out into the darkness. “You might and if you did I don’t know how I would survive it.”

She wanted Felix. She could no longer deny her own feelings, nor the strange, wonderful, frightening attraction they both shared. But she wanted him with the certainty that he would never hurt her.

Unfortunately, love did not come with a guarantee.

On a sigh of bitter confusion she began to draw her leg up against her chest, only to have it hit the floor with a hard stinging slap when a woman’s scream suddenly tore through the night.

Eyes wide, cheeks pale, Felicity jumped down from the sill and ran to the bedroom. The children were still sound asleep, blissfully unaware of the horrible bloodcurdling screech that had raised every hair on the nape of their mother’s neck.

It was nothing, she tried to tell herself as she stood by the fireplace wringing her hands. Nothing but a cat.

Except it hadn’t sounded like any cat she’d ever heard before.

Just to be careful, just to be safe, she reached for the tin box she kept on top of the mantle and took out the knife she’d hidden inside. It was the same one she’d tried to use on Felix, and even though it was small, the sheer weight of it in her hand gave her the courage to walk to the door and press her ear against the grainy wood.

The goose pimples dotting her arms began to recede when the only thing she heard was the erratic pounding of her own heartbeat. Perhaps her overwrought emotions had made her imagine something that wasn’t there. Yes. Surely that was it. But just as she started to turn away another terrified scream tore through the night, even louder and closer than before, and this time there was no mistaking it for a cat.

“Help!” Fists beat against the door, rattling it on its hinges.

Felicity jumped back, her heart leaping into her throat as she muffled her own scream with the palm of her hand.

“Someone! ‘E’s goin’ to kill me! For the love of – no. Git away. Git away, I said!”

“It is time to stop running, whore, and face your fate.” A man’s voice. Cold. Empty. Merciless. “Do not worry, I will make it quick. Which is more than you deserve.”

Stop! Felicity wanted to cry. Stop! Get away from her! But the words were frozen in her throat, just as they had been seven years ago. Every muscle felt locked in place. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak. The only thing she could do was listen. Listen as the woman begged for her life. Listen as the man laughed. Listen to the wet gurgle of a knife slicing through flesh, and the hard thud of a body hitting the ground.

Then the only thing to listen to was the silence.

Heavy, oppressive silence.

The sort of silence that came from the dead. 

Chapter Thirteen

With the knife clutched tightly in her sweaty palm and her pulse roaring in her ears, Felicity waited for what felt like a small eternity before she dared open the door just wide enough to peer outside.

At first glance everything looked as it always did.

And then she saw the blood.

It was everywhere. Dripping off the petals of the daffodil she had been so carefully tending. Sprayed across the brick. Pooled in the cracks between the cobblestones. And covering the woman who was sprawled on her back in the middle of the alley, like a broken doll that had been played with and then tossed carelessly aside.

Her skirts were twisted around her waist. Her right shoe was missing. Her stocking torn. And Felicity knew, she knew before she even walked over, that the woman wasn’t breathing.

How could she? How could she breathe when her throat had been sliced from one ear to the other?

The doorknob slipped from her numb fingers and swung outward, leaving her standing in the doorway in her shawl and nightdress, face drained of all color, violet eyes glassy with shock and horror. On legs that did not feel as though they belonged to her she walked forward, her shawl slithering off her shoulders and trailing on the ground as she fell to her knees beside the woman.

No.

Not a woman.

Beneath a tangled swath of light brown curls was the face of a young girl. She had too much rouge on her cheeks and there were dark smears of kohl under her eyes, but she could not have been more than fifteen years. Sixteen at the most.

A child, Felicity thought as she gently smoothed the girl’s hair away from her blank, unstaring eyes with a hand that wasn’t quite steady. The poor thing is only a child.  

What sort of monster had done this?

And where had they gone?

Her breath caught in her throat as she realized the murderer could be watching her even now. Hiding in the shadows. Waiting to strike. The knife he’d used to slice his first victim’s throat still clutched in his hand, blood dripping off the tip of the blade.

On a soft cry she lurched to her feet. Through a sheen of tears she ran back to the door, stumbled inside, and locked it behind her. For a moment she stood frozen, her breath coming in hard, fast little bursts that caused her lungs to burn and her entire body to shake.

She’d never seen such violence before. She’d never imagined such cruel, senseless violence was even possible. For the girl had not just been killed, which would have been horrible enough. She had been – she had been maimed. Her throat… Reflexively Felicity lifted a hand to her own neck, smearing blood across her pale skin.

The children.

She needed to protect the children.

A mother’s driving instinct to guard and defend that which was most precious had her swallowing the fear that threatened to overwhelm. She dashed into the bedroom, readying the children’s shoes and hats before she went to the bed and gently roused them.

“Darlings,” she whispered, stroking their soft heads. “Darlings, you need to wake up now.”

Henry stirred first. “Mama,” he said, his green eyes unfocused and heavy with sleep. “Mama, why’s it so dark?” Confused, he rolled onto his belly and started to drift back into slumber, his face cushioned in the crook of his arm.

“Because the sun has not come up yet. Henry. Henry,” she said firmly. “Something has happened. We have to leave. Be a good boy and put on your shoes.” He started to protest when she pulled him from the warm confines of the bed, but she quelled his resistance with a stern frown. “Henry Ezra Joseph. Put on your shoes. Now.”

“Yes Mama,” he mumbled.

While Henry did as he was told, she scooped Anne up, blankets and all. Her daughter began to stir, but then on a long, dreamy sigh she promptly fell back asleep, head lolling on Felicity’s shoulder.

Shifting Anne to her right arm, she knelt and helped Henry finish buckling his shoes with her left before putting on his hat. “Hold my hand and do not let go. We are going to walk very quickly and I need you to keep up, no matter what. You must keep up, Henry. Do you understand?”

The urgency in her tone brought a flicker of alarm to Henry’s countenance. “Mama, Mama I don’t want to leave.”

Still crouching, she cupped his chin and looked him squarely in the eye. “It is no longer safe here, darling.” As the gruesome image of the girl’s sliced throat flashed through her mind she fought back a shudder. “When we go outside I want you to close your eyes tight. Close your eyes tight and do not let go of my hand. Can you do that?”

“Yes,” he whispered.

“That’s my brave boy.” She ruffled his hair, as if it were an ordinary day. As if there wasn’t a dead woman laying on their doorstep. As if the cobblestones weren’t slick with blood. As if a monster wasn’t hiding in the shadows.

For an instant she considered staying put. Bracing a chair under the doorknob and hiding beneath the bed. But surely it was better to run than to cower and hope the murderer would not return. Holding Anne against her chest, she took Henry’s little hand and murmured a quick prayer. “Close your eyes,” she reminded him. “And do not open them until I tell you to.”

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“Bow Street. We are going to Bow Street.”

Bloody uncomfortable cot. Thumping his fist against the thin mattress in frustration, Felix sat up and swung his legs over the side. He hated sleeping at Headquarters. Mostly because he never slept. But at least one Runner always needed to be available in case someone came knocking in the wee hours of the morning, and tonight it was his turn to man the post.

On the other side of the small room Ian Ferguson was snoring.

Loudly.

“Put a cork in it ye bugger.” Picking up his pillow, Felix launched it with no small amount of force at Ian. It struck him square on the back of his noggin. Coming awake with a snort, he propped himself up on his side and glared across the room.

“Watch yourself, Spencer.”

“Or what?” Felix sneered. “Don’t pretend ye are going to come over here and do anything about it.” He knew he was a being a right bastard, but he couldn’t help himself. A dark cloud had formed over his head since he and Felicity last parted and every day that went by without a word from her it grew heavier and darker and more volatile. Each morning he fought a battle to stay away from her and every night as he laid alone in bed with only this thoughts to keep him company he damned his stubborn pride to hell and back again.

He was in love with Felicity. He did not know when it had happened, or even why, but he was in love with her. And even though she refused to say it, mule headed woman that she was, he knew she loved him as well. Which was why her hesitation did not make sense. Why the flash of fear he saw reflected in her gaze when she thought he wasn’t looking did not make sense.

Felix knew what it was like to lose everything. The shame of it, and the helplessness. But one thing he’d never felt, one thing loss had never brought him, was fear. Which was how he knew Felicity was hiding something from him. Something greater than what Ashburn had done. Something that had hurt her worse than the divorce. Something that always made her draw back just as she was about to rush forward. Something that was keeping her from giving him her heart.

Restless, angry, confused, he stood up and dragged a shirt over his head.

“Where are you going?” Fully awake now, Ian scrubbed his hands down his face as he rose to his feet. A by the books fellow if ever there was one, he kept his jaw cleanly shaven and his blond hair neatly trimmed. Both taller and slightly leaner than his twin brother, he had chiseled features that would have been perfectly symmetrical if not for his nose. Courtesy of a wayward fist during a scuffle with two drunks, it slanted slightly to the left.

“Downstairs.” Although he could have easily walked through the house blindfolded, Felix lit a small oil lamp and carried it with him out of the room. The stairs creaked as he descended the narrow staircase, his shadow rippling across faded wallpaper and the stern-faced portraits of Henry and John Fielding.

Leaving the lamp on a small table by the front door, he went into the kitchen to rummage for a quick morsel but after searching through the cupboards and the pantry the only thing he managed to find was a single red apple. Biting into it, he wandered back through the foyer and into the drawing room where Ian was waiting for him, having taken the time to formally dress himself in trousers, a waistcoat, and an impeccably folded cravat. Felix lifted a brow.

“Is there a ball I haven’t been invited to, or are you dressed like a pompous dandy just for the thrill of it?”

“Sod off, Spencer.” Walking around the room, Ian lit the tallow candles tucked away inside mirrored sconces before he sat at the end of the large, cluttered table where they conducted their meetings. Light flickered across stacks of papers and wooden crates filled with an odd assortment of items, everything from a letter opener that had been used to stab a banker to a fluffy ostrich feather that belonged to the mistress of an ambassador suspected of murder.

“Why don’t ye jest go back to bed?” Irritated that he wouldn’t be left to brood alone, Felix crossed to one of the windows overlooking the street and drew back the heavy curtain.  

“And spend another night listening to you pace a hole in the floor? I think not. What’s gotten under your skin, Spencer? I do not think you have slept in three nights.”

Felix glanced back over his shoulder and bared his teeth in a humorless smile. “Four.”

“Guilt for all your past crimes finally catching up to you, is it?” Ian did not like the fact that Felix was a Runner any more than Hargrave did. “Or is it a woman that’s giving you trouble?”

“What do you know about women?” Felix said with a snort. Given how dedicated he was to being a Runner, it wouldn’t have surprised Felix in the least to learn Ian was still a virgin. The man ate, slept, and breathed Bow Street. It was his lover, his mistress, and his wife all rolled into one. 

“I’m married to one, aren’t I?”

“The devil you are,” Felix said incredulously as he turned back around. Ian Ferguson? Married? Preposterous. Owen was the only one among them that had taken the plunge. There were bets on who would be next – Hargrave was the odds on favorite, given who his father was – but Ian was about as far down on the list as one could possibly get. Come to think of it, Felix couldn’t recall if he had even made the list at all.

“We were wed three years ago. Before I became a Runner.”

“How much did ye have to pay the poor wench?”

“Pay her?” Ian shook his head. “She should have paid me. Elizabeth fancies herself a bluestocking.” He spoke the word as though it were a curse, which for him it might as well have been.

Bluestockings had their place. Felix had even fancied one himself a time or two. But in his experience they were high strung, independent creatures who had little patience for social rules and customs. The sort of rules and customs a man like Ian regarded as law.   

“Why the hell did ye go and marry one of those?” he wondered out loud. Ian may have been about as engaging as a piece of pocket lint, but he was also well-spoken, intelligent, and passably handsome. He could have had his pick of any number of women, and yet he’d chosen the one lass who was almost certain to bring him strife? It didn’t make a damn bit of sense. But then love rarely did. Wasn’t he learning that firsthand with Felicity? Stand the two of them side by side and they couldn’t have been more different.

He had been raised on the streets. She had been raised in bloody mansion. He was a commoner. She was a lady. He was impulsive. She was reserved. She was a mother twice over and he’d never given having children a passing thought. Except for the first three letters of their names they were complete opposites in nearly every way, and yet he’d fallen for her so hard and so bloody fast his head was still spinning.

“Why did I marry her…?” Ian’s voice trailed away, his expression contemplative as he thought it over. Then he shrugged. “Because I was young and reckless.”

Picturing Ian Ferguson young and reckless was like imagining a cow sprouting wings and taking flight. In short, it was impossible. While Ian may have technically been young in years – twenty-five of them, to be exact – he was the least reckless man Felix had ever met. If Owen wanted a three page report Ian wrote four pages, just to be safe. He was perpetually early. He never missed a day of work. He always did everything by the book. Hell, he might as well have written the book himself. And he was married to a bluestocking no one even knew existed.

“How did ye know she was the–”

“There is someone at the door,” Ian interrupted. “A woman and one” – he leaned forward and squinted past Felix out the window – “no, make that two small children.” 

“At this hour? It’s almost three in the morning.” Felix took another bite of his apple before he set it down on the sill. “Best go see what they’re about. Start some tea, would ye? And see if ye can scrounge up something more than fruit. Chances are they’re going to be hungry.”

Ian’s chair scraped loudly against the floor as he shoved away from the table. “I’m not your lapdog, Spencer. Get it yourself.”

Felix grinned. If that was one thing guaranteed to put him in a chipper mood – aside from finally getting Felicity in his bed – it was antagonizing his fellow Runners. “Go home to your wife then. I can handle a hen and her chick’s easy enough. There’s no need for ye to be here.” 

“I’ll get the tea,” Ian grumbled.

“Good boy,” Felix said with a chuckle. He was still chuckling when he went into the foyer. But his laughter came to an abrupt end when he unlocked the door and saw who awaited him on the other side of it.

“Felicity.” He caught her as she stumbled towards him. The whites of her eyes flashed with terror before she buried her head against his chest and let out a muffled sob. “Felicity, what the devil–” He cut himself short. He could question her when she wasn’t shaking like a leaf. For now, she only needed one thing. To know that she was safe. “Come on love, in we go.” Picking up the oil lamp he’d left by the door, he led Felicity and her children straight up the stairs to the Captain’s private quarters. When Henry struggled to keep up he simply threw the lad onto his shoulders, but when he went to pull Anne from Felicity’s arms she shook her head.

“I’ve got her,” she said softly. “Where are you taking us?”

“Somewhere the children can rest and ye can tell me what happened.” Even though Owen had moved out three weeks ago, the third floor was still sparsely furnished with a bed in one room and a sofa, chairs, and table in the other.

Lighting another oil lamp, Felix set it down on top of an empty dresser so Felicity could see while she tucked the little ones into bed. Anne did not so much as stir an eyelash, but Henry sat up on his elbows and peered around.

“Where are we? Mum, I want to go home. I don’t like it here.”

His small, plaintive voice tugged straight at Felix’s heart as he watched and listened from the doorway. Henry and Anne may not have been his by blood, but Cornelius Spencer was evidence of the fact that breeding made a sire out of a man, not a father. A father was something more.

A father was there to kiss bruises and bumps. A father was there to teach his son – and his daughter – how to fish and ride and sail a pond yacht straight and true. A father was there to sweep the children’s mother off her feet and show them that love was not cold and sterile but warm and welcoming. A father was there to raise his children. To teach them. To protect them. And if Felicity let him, he would be that father to Henry and Anne. 

“I know, darling. I know.” Metal springs squeaked as Felicity sat down on the edge of the mattress. “You did such a good job holding my hand. You were such a brave, courageous boy.” Leaning forward, she kissed his brow. “I’m so very proud of you, Henry. But I want you to rest now, all right? Close your eyes and rest. When you wake up in the morning Mr. Spencer will take you for a tour. Won’t you, Mr. Spencer?” She lifted her head, revealing eyes heavy with exhaustion.

“Aye,” Felix said without hesitation. “And do ye know whose bed it is you’re sleeping in, lad?”

“No,” Henry whispered.

“The Captain’s himself. I suppose that makes you an honorary Runner. Best get to sleep. A Runner needs his wits about him. We’ll start our work bright and early. Goodnight, lad.” Felix stepped back and partially closed the door, a smile creasing his face when he heard Henry’s excited chatter and Felicity’s calm, quiet insistence that he go straight to bed so he could help Mr. Spencer solve a case in the morning.

After a few minutes all was silent and still. He waited for Felicity in the hall. When she stepped out from behind the door she gasped at the sight of him and pressed a hand over her chest, her face as white as the sheets she’d just tucked her children into.

“It’s just me, love. No need to be alarmed.” Felix spoke in the same soft, easy monotone he’d used to calm a frightened horse which had gotten tangled in its harness. “Let’s go sit down and get some tea into ye. Are ye hungry?”

Her gaze darted back to the bedroom. “I cannot leave Henry and Anne.”

“There’s no safer place for them in all the world than right where they are.” He cupped the back of his neck and squeezed the corded muscles tight. It was hard for him to see Felicity so afraid. Harder still because he didn’t yet know the source of her fear. Or why the devil she’d gone running through the streets at night in nothing more than a flimsy wrap and her nightdress. Bloody ‘ell, the poor dove didn’t even have any shoes on. “I’ll be right back.”

“Wait.” She reached for his arm, nails digging into his skin as she wrapped her fingers around his wrist in a surprisingly strong grip. “Don’t leave me.”

He gathered her close. Pressed his lips to her temple. “I’m going downstairs to get ye some tea, love, and a warm blanket. I’ll be but a minute.”

“The children are safe? No one can get them?”

“They’re safe. No one can get them.”

A shudder ran through her body. “Please be quick. I – I need to tell you what happened. You need to send men. You need to send men to her. She shouldn’t be left there. All alone. She shouldn’t be left.”

“Send men to who, love?” he asked patiently.

“The girl. He cut her throat, Felix. The blood…there was so much of it. He killed her.” Laying her head against his chest, she began to quietly weep. “He killed her right outside my door.”    

Chapter Fourteen

“Get ahold of Kent anyway ye can and get him here.” Holding a pot of tea, two cups, and a gray blanket in his arms, Felix stopped at the bottom of the stairs and turned his head to glare at Ian when he realized the other man wasn’t moving. “Did ye bloody ears get boxed or did ye hear what I said? Get moving, man!”

Ian crossed his arms. “My ears will get boxed if I wake up Kent at this hour without a good reason. And that’s only if he’s in a good mood. Who was that woman? What does she want? And what the bollocks does she have to with Kent?”

“It’s not what she has to do with Kent,” Felix growled. “It’s what the dead woman on her doorstep has to do with Kent. The Slasher is back.”

It was all the explanation Ian needed. Grim-faced, he grabbed his coat and shoved his arms through the sleeves. “I’ll return with Kent as soon as I can. Do you want me to get the Captain as well?”

“Aye.” Felix closed his eyes for a fraction of a second. “Get everyone.”

Felicity waited for Felix to return outside the bedroom where her children slept. She could hear the low murmur of masculine voices beneath her feet, and wondered who he was talking to and what he was telling him. She heard the front door open and close, then the rhythmic pounding of footsteps as someone climbed the stairs. The breath she hadn’t even known she was holding expelled in a loud rush of air as Felix rounded the corner.

“It’s just me, love,” he said in the same reassuring tone he’d been using since she had arrived. “How are the little rascals?”

“Fast asleep.” And for that she owed Felix the world. When she’d set out for Bow Street in the dark and the dreary with shadows nipping at her heels she hadn’t known he would be the one to answer the door. But she was grateful it had been him. More grateful than she could possibly put into words.

She followed him into the small adjoining parlor and sat down in the middle of a worn camelback settee. Felix wrapped the blanket around her lap and thrust a warm cup of tea into her hand before he crouched down in front of the fireplace and started a fire. It wasn’t until the room was encased in warm, merry glow that Felicity realized how cold she’d been. Drawing the blanket up to her chin, she took a long sip of tea. Despite being unsweetened and slightly acidic, it was the best tea she’d ever tasted.

“Now then.” Brushing his hands together, Felix stood up. “Are ye ready to tell me what happened?”

“The girl. She’s still lying there, in the alley. Is someone–”

“The other Runners are on their way here. When they arrive the Captain will send someone to your flat.” Little licks of orange and yellow light danced across Felix’s somber countenance as he walked silently across the room and sat beside her. Not quite touching, but still close enough to comfort.

He hadn’t shaved since she’d last seen him, Felicity noted, and his dark scruff had grown into a beard had enveloped nearly half of his face. The beard made him appear rougher. Surlier. Meaner. But she’d seen with her own eyes the gentle care with which he’d carried Henry up the stairs and the tenderness in his gaze as he’d watched her tuck them in to bed.

He was so kind with the children. Certainly kinder than Ezra had ever been. Would he be a good father to them? It was not something she’d thought of before. Perhaps because she already knew the answer.

“If you would rather wait and speak to the Captain directly,” Felix began, but Felicity gave a small shake of her head.

“No. No, I want to tell you.” She set her cup of tea down on the table and wrapped the blanket more closely around herself, a small bird seeking shelter from a coming storm it had no way to avoid. When she began to speak she was no longer sitting beside Felix, but rather hiding behind her own door, paralyzed by fear and cowardice as a young woman’s life was cut brutally short.

“…and I did nothing,” she finished on a wretched whisper. “I could have helped her. I could have saved her.” Felicity feared that no matter how much time passed she would never be able to get the girl’s voice out of her head, just as she would never be able to get the blood out of her clothes.

Help me! For the love of God, someone help me!  

When she shuddered Felix drew her cold, trembling hand out from beneath the blanket and squeezed the blood back into her fingers. “Look at me. Look,” he said sternly when she would have stared blindly down at the floor. “The only thing ye would have done if ye had opened that door was get yourself and your children killed. Do ye understand?”

“Yes, but–”

“There was nothing ye could have done.” Something flickered in the depths of Felix’s tawny gaze. It took Felicity a moment to figure out what it was, and when she did her breath caught in her throat.

Recognition.

It was recognition.

“You know who did this. You know who killed her.”

“Aye,” he acknowledged. “I know who killed her.” Releasing her hand, he stood up and began to pace back and forth across the room, his shoulders as hard and stiff as Felicity had ever seen them. “We call him the Slasher. He’s murdered four women that we know of. Five if ye include the girl tonight. His last victim was the wife of a Runner. Marianne Kent.” He stopped in front of the fireplace with his legs braced apart and a scowl darkening his brow. “The bastard slit ‘er throat when she was on her way home from the market. Left her body in the middle of the street for her husband to find. That was nigh on three years ago. Kent ‘as been hunting him every day since, but every lead has come up empty. We’ve been hoping he’s been eight feet under the ground. I guess this proves otherwise.” 

Felicity leaned back against the settee and drew her legs to her chest. “How do you know it was him? Perhaps – perhaps it was only someone who wanted to make you think it was him.” As if that somehow made it better. As if that somehow made it right.

While it certainly wouldn’t bring the girl back to life, it would mean a savage killer wasn’t once again loose on the streets of London. A savage killer who had been mere feet away from her children. She pinched the bridge of her nose as a hard, pulsing knot formed right behind her eyes.

What was she going to do? She couldn’t go back there. Not even to collect her things. If she walk over those blood-stained cobblestones again... Her eyes closed as her stomach revolted at the very idea, threatening to churn up the potato stew she’d eaten for dinner.

“Ye need to rest,” Felix said quietly. “You’re safe here, love. Ye have no need to worry.”

Because of you.

Her lashes fluttered open, gaze automatically drawn to the lean, sharp lines of his countenance. He could have turned her away as she had done to him. Could have treated her children with coldness instead of kindness. Could have shoved all three of them back out into the cruel, merciless night. But he hadn’t. Because he wasn’t Ezra. And he wasn’t Rodger. He was Felix. He was her Felix. And she was falling helplessly, hopelessly, irrevocably in love with him…whether she wanted to or not.

“I need to thank you, Mr. Spencer.” Her hands twisted together on top of her bent knees, fingers intertwining as her gaze dropped to his chest. It was easier to look there than into those perceptive golden eyes of his. Especially given what she wanted – what she needed – to say. “I was thinking about you before – before that poor woman was killed.”

“Were ye,” he murmured.

“Yes and I…” I am falling in love with you but I am afraid. I am afraid of being hurt again. I am afraid of having my heart broken again. Help me to not be afraid, Felix. I know that you can. I know that you are the only one who can. “I just wanted to thank you for taking us in tonight. You did not have to do that.”

Coward, she thought with disgust. You, Felicity Atwood, are a spineless coward.

 Felix lifted two fingers to his brow in a mock salute. “That’s what we’re here for, Miss Atwood. Bow Street Runners, at your service night and day.” He scratched at his jaw. “Is there anything else ye wanted to tell me?”

Yes.

“No.” Gathering the blanket, she busied herself by folding it into a neat square before setting it aside. “No, that was it.”

“Are ye certain?”

He knows, she realized. He knows I am in love with him.

“Yes, Mr. Spencer. I’m certain.”

“Are we certain it’s the Slasher?” From his position at the head of the table, Owen commanded the attention of every Runner on Bow Street save Hawke and Colin who had been sent to retrieve what evidence they could from the scene of the crime, including the dead woman’s body.

“Aye.” For the first time since he’d been appointed a Runner, Felix sat directly to the Captain’s left in the chair typically reserved for Grant. “Without having been there to see it with me own eyes, I’m as certain as I can be. Everything Felicity said, from the amount of blood to the slashed throat, matches his previous kills. It’s him all right.”

Everyone was silent for a moment as they absorbed the gravity of the situation.

When the Slasher – the only name they had for him as his true identity remained a mystery claimed his first victim Henry Fielding had still been in charge. It was before Felix’s time, but he’d heard the story enough times to know that at first it was believed to have been a crime of passion. A lover’s quarrel gone wrong. Nothing more, nothing less.

Until the second woman was found, and then the third. When Kent’s wife became the fourth they realized they were not hunting a man, but a monster.

The Slasher murdered without discrimination. All of the women he’d killed had been different ages, different builds, and found in different parts of the city. The only thing they had in common was how they’d been murdered: throats cut wide open and left in the middle of the street in a congealing pool of their own blood.

“The devil must have spat him back out,” Lord Brentwood said quietly.

“And we’re going to send him straight back to hell.” Tobias Kent’s eyes were as dark and fierce as Felix had ever seen them. He was the only one not sitting at the table. Instead he stood by the window, every muscle in his lean, hard body drawn tight as a bowstring.

“This case takes precedence over everything.” Owen spoke calmly, but there was a clipped edge to his tone Felix had never heard before. “I want every Runner hunting this bastard day and night. We need to find him before he kills again.”

“London is a big place, Captain.” It was the first time Grant had spoken. “And the Slasher hasn’t shown a preference for any one district in particular. The first woman was found outside Berkley Square, this one was killed in the East End. That’s a lot of area to cover.”

“So we cover it.” Kent’s voice lashed across the room like a whip.

“I never said we didn’t, or we couldn’t,” Grant said quietly. “But we want to be clever about it. There is a reason the Slasher hasn’t been caught already. He may be a sadistic bastard, but he’s careful. He knows how to cover his tracks.”

“Hargrave is right. We’ll need to keep our wits about us and have a plan in place.” Owen ran a hand down his face. “Brentwood, take that map down off the wall.”

Brentwood tore down the large map of London without question and spread it out across the table. Standing, Owen used a pencil to cute the map into five triangular sections with the East End as the focal point. “We’ll break up into pairs. Cover as much ground as possible. Question everyone. Someone had to have seen something, or know something. Detain anyone who looks suspicious, male or female.” He lifted his head and looked at each one of his Runners in turn. “Pick a partner you like, because the two of are going to be spending a lot of time together over the next few days. I want men canvassing the city round the clock. I’ll be damned if I allow another woman to die under my watch. Is that understood?”

Tight-lipped and grim-faced, everyone nodded.

“Good. Then let’s get started. Spencer, a word.”

Wondering what the devil he’d done now, Felix followed Owen up the stairs and into his private office.

“Shut the door,” Owen said brusquely before he sat down at his desk. An overcast, sullen dawn was just beginning to break across the sky and with it came a pattering of rain. “I take it Miss Atwood and the children are still sleeping.”

“Aye.”

“I imagine finding a dead body was quite a shock.”

“Felicity’s stronger than she looks.”

Owen’s icy blue stare was piercing. “Yes. She certainly is. I am going to be blunt, Spencer. For a variety of reasons, but mostly because we do not have the time to be otherwise. What are your intentions towards her? Be honest with me.”

Why did it suddenly feel as though he were speaking to a father instead of a captain? Truth be told, Felix didn’t know which one he’d rather face.

“I thought ye said ye didn’t want to interfere in her personal business,” he hedged.

“That was before she showed up here in the middle of the night covered in blood.” Owen leaned forward. “Your intentions, Spencer.”

To hell with it.

“I intend to marry her.”

Bollocks, he cursed silently. Had he really just spoken those words out loud? He must have looked as confounded as he felt because the corners of Owen’s mouth twitched into something that vaguely resembled a smile.

“I am pleased to hear that. When can we expect the merry nuptials to take place?”

“Devil if I know,” he said sourly. “The woman’s as fickle as the wind and stubborn as a mule. I know she feels the same way about me as I do about her, but she refuses to admit it. One moment she can’t stand the sight of me and the next she’s all but begging to be kissed.”

Owen lifted a brow. “I am going to pretend I did not just hear that.”

“How did ye do it?” Exasperated, Felix went to the window and stared out at the gray, gloomy sky. The rain had increased in intensity and was falling against the glass in great hammering sheets. On the street below people hurried by clutching newspapers and brollies while carriages splashed through great puddles of water. A woman was dead, killed in the street like a dog, but life went on. Life always found a way to go on. “How did ye make your wife fall in love with ye?”

Owen snorted. “You’ve met my wife. No one makes Scarlett do anything, least of all me.”

“Well ye must have done something. The two of ye were like cats and dogs. Now I’ve never seen anyone happier.” 

“Our courtship was…complicated,” Owen acknowledged after a pause. “But no one ever said love was supposed to be easy.”

“No one ever said it was going to be this bloody hard, either.”

“Felicity has been through more than most.”

Felix braced his arms against the sill. “I know what she’s been through. I know why she’s wary with me. But I would never hurt her. I couldn’t.”

“If I thought otherwise we would not be having this conversation. Give her time, Spencer. It’s not only herself she’s thinking of. She has the children as well. Henry and Anne mean the world to her.”

“They’ve come to mean the same to me.”

“Yes.” Even though Felix was turned away from Owen, he felt the heavy weight of the Captain’s stare on his back all the same. “Yes, I can see that they do. I believe we can both agree that after what happened tonight it is not safe for them to return to the East End.”

“Aye.” Felix rubbed his chin. “Which is why I have a favor to ask ye, Cap’n…”   

“I truly wish I could help you, Filly. I do. It’s just…well…as you can see we are undergoing so many renovations.” Feeling like the worst friend in the entire world, Scarlett gestured helplessly at the piles of wood and stone sitting in the middle of her foyer. “It would not be safe for the children. You understand.”

A line of confusion marred Felicity’s brow. “I – I do, but it would only be for a few days. A week or two at the most. Only until I find somewhere else for us to live. You yourself said the house was large enough to accommodate us. We wouldn’t be a bother.”

“I am sorry, darling. It’s just not going to work.”

“I see,” Felicity said stiffly. “Well in that case I am sorry to have bothered you.”

Damnit Owen, Scarlett cursed under her breath as she watched Felicity walk away. You had better know what you are doing.

Chapter Fifteen

Felicity had been so certain Scarlett would jump at the opportunity to help her that she hadn’t even considered what she would do if her friend refused.

Walking with the careful deliberation of someone trying desperately not to break, she kept her chin lifted and her gaze pointed straight ahead as two women strolled past, their parasols shielding them from the misting rain falling from a cloudy, nondescript sky. They glanced in her direction and she hated that her cheeks heated with shame even though she had nothing to be shameful for.

She had not asked for Rodger to rape her. She had not asked for Ezra to divorce her. She had not asked to be thrown out of her home. She had not asked to stumble across some poor woman with her throat slit ear to ear. She had not asked for any of it. And it wasn’t right. And it wasn’t fair. And if screaming or crying would have made it better than she’d have spent the rest of eternity shouting at the heavens and crying herself sick. By screaming and crying would not do anything other than make her throat sore and her eyes ache, and as she had enough problems to deal with – first and foremost being a distinctive lack of reliable friends – she did neither.

Let people stare. Let them whisper. Soon enough another scandal would take Society by storm and she would become nothing more than a very small fish in a very large, very dirty pond. Every once in a while someone would reel her in but they’d toss her back soon enough, allowing her to live in relative obscurity beneath the water’s murky surface.

Puddles from an early morning downpour covered both the pavement and the street, soaking her leather ankle boots and making her stockings squish as she made her way to Gracechurch Street.

She’d sent Henry and Anne to her mother’s at first light. Felix had been gone when they’d awoken, and although Owen had insisted they could remain at Bow Street for as long as they needed, she had not felt comfortable in the presence of so many strangers. Thus the children had gone to their grandmother’s and she’d gone to Scarlett’s, confident her dearest and oldest friend would be true to her word and offer them a place to stay until she managed to find another flat to rent. Preferably one that was not stained red with blood. But Scarlett, for reasons that bemused, had turned her away…and now, to use one of Felix’s favorite words, she didn’t know what the devil she was going to do.

Mrs. Atwood’s white Pomeranian heralded Felicity’s arrival with a series of short, yappy barks. It nipped at her heels as she made her way through the neatly appointed townhouse and into the parlor where her mother was enjoying a cup of tea while the children played with wooden blocks.

“That was a quick visit,” Mrs. Atwood noted. “Was Scarlett not in this morning? Mr. Darcy, come here. Come here, I said.”

With one last growling nip at the back of Felicity’s boot, the Pomeranian trotted across the rug and jumped into his mistress’s lap where he curled up like a cat, little black nose burrowing itself in the fluff of his tail.

“Silly thing,” Mrs. Atwood said with great affection. “Were you guarding the front door? You are such a good boy, Mr. Darcy.”

The teeth marks on Felicity’s ankle boots said otherwise, but she did not complain as she knelt down to kiss Henry and Anne on the cheek before she sat beside her mother and poured herself some tea. Slowly stirring in a spoonful of sugar, she considered the best way to approach a rather difficult topic.

She loved her mother dearly, and it was because of that love that she had not burdened Mrs. Atwood with the full extent of her plight. As far as her mother knew she and the children had been living in a cozy two-bedroom flat in the comfortable Hanover Square district. She knew this because it was what Felicity had told her.

The tiny white lie – which really wasn’t all that tiny, now that she thought about it – had been for her mother’s benefit. While she looked well today, Mrs. Atwood had been plagued with poor health since the death of her husband.

The doctor’s had given her every treatment imaginable, from vinegar baths to dipping her hair in amber oil, but there was no fixing a broken heart. And even though she managed to summon the strength to watch her grandchildren every once in a while, Felicity feared the toll it would take upon her health if they were all confined to the same house together.

But now that they truly had nowhere else to go and no one else to turn to, what else could she do but rely upon her mother and admit, even though it pained her greatly to do so, that she could no longer provide for her own children? That she could not give them even the most basic of necessities. That she was a failure as a mother.

Putting down her tea without having taken a single sip, she drew a deep breath. “There is something I must tell–”

“Someone is at the door,” Mrs. Atwood interrupted one second before Mr. Darcy let out a volley of barks and jumped off her lap.

“Are you expecting anyone?” Felicity asked.

“No. Not that I can recall.” Her brow furrowed. “Unless it’s Wednesday. It is my turn to host the Bridgeton Waverly Women’s weekly card game.”

Well that was certainly a mouthful. Felicity was glad the scandal that had ruined her name had left her mother’s good name unscathed. Mrs. Atwood was as active as she’d ever been, flitting from one social event to the next. If not for her health she could have easily passed for a woman half her age, but mourning Felicity’s father had taken its toll in more ways than one. She was at least one stone too thin, with more gray hair than brown and more lines on her face than smooth skin. Powders and creams softened the aging, but it did not stop it. Nothing could, Felicity supposed. In the end time took what it wanted from whom it wanted and there was nothing any of them could do to slow it down.  

“We can finally play whist again now that Lady Trembley has returned from holiday,” Mrs. Atwood continued. “Do you know she went all the way to Greece?”

“It is only Tuesday and no, I did not.”

“Well then I haven’t the faintest idea,” said Mrs. Atwood with a bemused shake of her head. “A solicitor, perhaps? They’ve been merciless over the past few days. I’ve told them I have all the silk fans I could possibly need, but do they listen? No. They do not.”

“I will send them on their way.” Rising, Felicity followed the sound of Mr. Darcy’s high-pitched whines into the foyer. The Pomeranian was scratching frantically at the door. When he heard Felicity approaching he flattened his ears and bared his teeth, but she merely nudged him aside with her boot and opened the door. “I am sorry, but Mrs. Atwood does not need any…more...” Her voice trailed away when she saw who was standing in front of her, a bouquet of lavender in each hand and a smirk twisting his mouth. “Mr. Spencer,” she sighed. “I should have known.”

“Miss Atwood.” He bowed forward and brought her hand to his lips. Grazing his mouth across the back of her knuckles, he lifted his head. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

“You saw me just last night,” she reminded him. But it did warm her heart to think that he’d missed her.

She’d been careful to hide it from the children, but she had been disappointed when they’d woken this morning and he had been nowhere to be seen. Off on a case, Owen had said, and he’d given her the choice to wait, but she’d been too anxious to sit idly by. So Owen’s driver had taken Henry and Anne to their grandmother’s while she’d walked the short distance to Scarlett’s to ask her dearest friend – her only friend – a favor.

Fat lot of good it had done her.

“I could see ye every minute of every day and ye would still be a sight. I brought these for ye.” Felix offered her one of the lavender bouquets. Both pleased and flustered by the gesture – she couldn’t remember the last time anyone had brought her flowers – Felicity took the bouquet, but did not step away from the door or invite Felix inside.

“What are you doing here?” She regarded him quizzically, dark brows knitted above the tilted line of her nose. “This is my mother’s house.” 

He flashed her a grin. “Aye, I know. Did ye think I’ve been knocking on every door between here and Bow Street lookin’ for ye and finally happened to stumble across the right one?”

“No, of course not. I…I simply was not expecting to see you, especially here of all places. What do you want, Mr. Spencer?” Her throat tightened. “Is it – is it something to do with the events of last night? Has there been another victim?”

“Nothin’ like that,” he assured her. “We’ve no new leads, but every Runner in the city is out looking for the bastard. We’ll have him soon enough. I don’t way ye to concern yourself with it a moment longer.”

Easier said than done, Felicity thought silently. Her fingers tightened around the bouquet. She did not think she would ever get the woman’s screams out of her head, nor erase the sight of all that blood from her memory. But neither could she allow herself to dwell on the grim and the gruesome. God willing, the Slasher would soon be held accountable for his savagery and the women he had killed would finally be able to find peace, as would their families.   

“As for why I’m here,” Felix continued, “I wanted to see ye. As well as bring ye something pretty. Do ye like them? They reminded me of ye. They match your eyes,” he said gruffly.  

She brought the lavender to her face. Took a delicate sniff. “They’re beautiful. And they smell heavenly. But surely you did not come all this way just to bring me flowers. Which I should put in water before they start to wilt.” She started to reach for the second bouquet, but to her surprise he lightly slapped her hand away.

“Now don’t be greedy, love. This bunch is for your mother.”

He’d brought her mother flowers? But of course he had. If there was one thing she’d learned about Felix, it was that he was predictably unpredictable. From their first kiss to their last he had been surprising her at every turn. Why should today be any different?

“That – that was very considerate of you.” She bit her lip, hedging between inviting him inside to deliver the flowers in person or asking him to leave. Introducing him to her mother would be a very personal step in their relationship. But was it a step she was ready to take? Perhaps if she introduced him as an acquaintance…just to test the waters, so to speak. Wasn’t it always better to dip your toe in the ocean instead of plunging headfirst into the surf? If not better, then surely it was safer. Who knew what could be lurking beneath the restless waves? One would hope there was nothing but smooth silky sand. But on the off chance there was a shark, it was far better to lose one’s toe than one’s life.

Her mind made up, she opened the door wider and stepped to the side. “Won’t you please come in?”

“I thought ye would never ask.” He started to walk past her, then stopped short at the sight of Mr. Darcy sitting in the middle of the foyer waiting patiently for more feet to nip. Eyes wide, Felix took a step back. “I don’t know if ye mother knows this love, but there’s a giant rat in her house.”

“That is not a rat, that is Mr. Darcy, her Pomeranian.”

Felix snorted. “I know a rat when I see one and that thing is a bloody rat.”

“I can assure you he is not a rat.”

“Then what the devil is it?”

“I told you. He is a Pomeranian.” Not knowing whether to laugh or roll her eyes, Felicity did a combination of both as she gestured for Felix to come through the door. “I believe the breed originated in Germany.”

His eyes narrowed. “The Germans have always been sneaky bastards. I think they sold your mother a rat and made up a fancy name for it so she wouldn’t get suspicious.”

“Oh for heaven – do come inside, Mr. Felix. Or am I going to have to tell everyone you are terrified of a tiny little dog no bigger than a cat?” she challenged, one brow arching.

“Just keep it away from me,” Felix muttered as he walked past her and gave Mr. Darcy a long, hard look. Blinking, the Pomeranian tilted his head to the side and let out a little yip. “Bloody ‘ell! Look at its teeth!” 

Felicity brought a hand to her mouth to muffle a giggle. “You are being ridiculous. Mr. Darcy does not even bite. Very hard,” she added impishly, and could not contain her laughter when she saw a flash of something that very closely resembled fear in Felix’s eyes. “Why Mr. Spencer, I believe I’ve found your weakness.”

He tore his gaze away from Mr. Darcy to glower at her. “Everyone knows a rat will strip the flesh from your bones as quick as look at ye. Nasty, disease-riddled buggers. Only good rat is a dead one.”

“That may very well be true, but I can assure you if any harm comes to that dog, rats will be the least of your concerns. Shall we? The parlor is right through here. Come, Mr. Darcy.” She patted her thigh and the Pomeranian pranced past her, leading the way with his triangular ears pricked and his tail waving as if he were a miniature show pony instead of a yappy little ankle-biter.

As she pushed open the door to the parlor, Felicity was struck by an odd sense of familiarity, as if she had done this before. And in some ways she supposed she had, although not with Felix.

Eight years ago it had been Ezra who was shown into the parlor. Not by her, of course, and unlike Felix he’d actually been invited, but the similarities were still striking.

They’d both brought flowers. Felix with his bouquets of lavender, and Ezra with half a dozen long-stemmed yellow roses. They’d both come with the intention of courting her. And now that she thought about it, they’d both arrived at exactly half past eleven. Coincidence, she wondered, or fate? But what could fate possibly want with two men who had nothing in common and eight years between them? Eight years that might as well have been a lifetime for everything that had occurred from when Ezra had called upon her for the very first time.

It had been raining that morning as well, she recalled. But then rain and spring so often went hand in hand. It was the day after the Dunmore Ball and she had hardly slept a wink. Caught in the throes of her very first love, she’d stayed awake to count down the hours until she would see Ezra again. When he finally arrived and her mother summoned her into the parlor it had taken every ounce of control she possessed not to lift up her skirts and race down the stairs two at a time. 

Her first gentleman caller! How excited she had been. What she didn’t know – what she couldn’t know – was that Ezra would be her only gentleman caller. But at the time the only thing she was thinking about was how handsome he looked in his black tailcoat with his hair slicked back and his jaw freshly shaven.

He stood up when she entered the room, and her cheeks blushed with delight when he lifted her hand and brushed his mouth across the back of it.

“It is my deepest pleasure to see you again, Miss Atwood,” he said, his voice clear and crisp. “Your stunning beauty puts these roses to shame, but I beg you to please accept them as a token of my blossoming affections.”

Felicity’s blush spread from her face to her collarbone, but her impeccable manners did not fail her as she graciously accepted the flowers and dipped into a perfect curtsy complete with a demure chin tilt. “Thank you, Lord Ashburn. I shall treasure these always.”

“I am sorry my husband could not be here to receive you, Lord Ashburn,” Mrs. Atwood said once they’d sat by the front window, Felicity beside her mother and Ezra centered across from them in the middle of a striped chaise lounge. “His father is ailing, I am afraid, and he was called to his bedside early this morning.”

“I am terribly sorry to hear that,” said Ezra. “Please extend my wishes for a speedy recovery.” 

Mrs. Atwood nodded. “Thank you, my lord. I shall do that.”

A maid brought in a platter of refreshments, and over tea and scones they discussed a variety of topics from the weather to the opening of a new exhibit in the Leverian Museum. Named for Sir Ashton Lever, the museum boasted the largest collection of natural curiosities in all of England.

Any mention of politics was avoided, of course, as was anything that could be considered gossip. The rules governing polite conversation were quite strict, and both Felicity and Ezra adhered to every one while Mrs. Atwood looked on with a vague smile.

When it was time for Ezra to leave, Felicity accompanied him to the foyer and watched through the stained glass oval in the middle of the door as he walked to his carriage. Her heart fluttered in time with his steps, and before the black coach pulled away she fancied herself in love.

“What do you think?” she asked breathlessly when her mother rested her hand upon her shoulder and gently squeezed. “Isn’t he perfect?”

“No man is perfect, my dear. But,” Mrs. Atwood quickly added when Felicity frowned, “I can certainly find no fault in his character, and I can see how taken you are with him.”

“He is everything I could have ever hoped for. Do you think he will call upon me again?”

“I think he would be a fool not to, and Lord Ashburn does not strike me as a fool.” Mrs. Atwood waited patiently for her daughter to finish gazing out the window like a love struck fawn before she clapped her hands together and said, “Come along now. We have a fitting appointment to prepare for.”

Felicity gasped. “I completely forgot!”

Mrs. Atwood smiled. “I thought as much. Hurry along and change, my dear. I shall wait for you here.”

Giddy with thoughts of Ezra, Felicity did not notice how quickly her mother’s smile faded. Or the hardness in her eyes when she turned and stared out the stained glass window.

Chapter Sixteen

When Felicity and Felix stepped into the parlor Mrs. Atwood was standing beside the mantle gazing at a miniature portrait of her husband, and the children were nowhere to be seen.

“They’ve gone upstairs for an afternoon rest,” she said as she turned around. “The poor dears wore themselves out trying to see who could build the higher tower. Anne won, but only because she knocked Henry’s over. Clever girl.” The only evidence that she was surprised to see a strange man in her parlor was a quick blink as her gaze swerved past her daughter and narrowed on Felix. “And who might this be? You do not look like any solicitor I’ve ever seen. Pesky nuisances, solicitors. Always trying to get you to purchase something you have no need for. You’re not going to try to sell me a fan, are you?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” said Felix.

“Good. Are those flowers for me?”

“Aye, that they are.”

“You may place them in the vase over there. The green one, not the blue. I always thought purple flowers looked best in a green vase. Now forget-me-knots and dahlias, they should always be paired with blue. But for lavender and irises, green is best.” She paused and her eyes, the same unusual color as her daughter’s, flicked from the flowers to Felicity. “You know dear, it is very unseemly to let me blather on without introducing me to your gentleman caller.”

“Oh no,” Felicity hastened to explain as her cheeks flushed with color just like they had eight years ago, although this time for an entirely different reason. “He is not here to call on me. He is here to...well, come to think of it I do not know why he is here. He has a habit of dropping in whenever he pleases.”

“Does he now?” Mrs. Atwood murmured.

Realizing how she’d made it sound, Felicity’s face turned even redder. “That isn’t what I - oh bother.” So much for only dipping her toe in the water. Another faux pas like that one and she might as well submerge her entire head. “Mother, this is Mr. Felix Spencer. He is a Runner on Bow Street and an acquaintance, not a gentleman caller.” Or a gentleman at all for that matter, she added silently.

This had been a very poor idea. But there was nothing she could do about it now except finish the introductions and get Felix out of the room as quickly as possible. It shouldn’t be too difficult, she reflected. Her mother was not a woman who suffered rogues lightly. Felix wasn’t going to be able to charm her as easily as he had Felicity, and she was confident that within just a few minutes he would be sent on his way.

“Mr. Spencer, may I introduce my mother, Mrs. Atwood.”

“A pleasure to meet you, ma’am.” Felix crossed the room and lifted her mother’s hand to his lips. “It is easy to see where your daughter inherited her beauty. You are absolutely stunning.”

Felicity’s smile was glib as she waited for her mother to deliver a crushing let down, but to her utter astonishment Mrs. Atwood batted her lashes and giggled like a schoolgirl.

“Oh Mr. Spencer, you are a flirt, aren’t you?” Fluttering a hand in front of her face, she giggled again. 

“Mother?” Felicity said uncertainly. “Are you not feeling well?”

Mrs. Atwood waved off her concern with a flick of her wrist as Felix put the lavender bouquet in the green vase. “I am perfectly fine. Better now that I’ve such a handsome man as this in my parlor. Pray tell Mr. Spencer, how is it you came to be an acquaintance of my dear daughter?”

Felix slanted Felicity a sideways glance that was nothing less than devilish. “Truth be told it’s quite an interesting story.”

“No,” Felicity said quickly. “No, the story is not interesting. In fact, it is very boring.” It was one thing to introduce Felix to her mother as a Runner. At least that was a respectable position. But if Mrs. Atwood learned her daughter had been keeping company with a reformed jewel thief Felicity did not know what her mother would do, or say. Especially if Felix revealed they’d kissed not once, not twice, but three times! But he wouldn’t dare. Would he? She peeked at him beneath her lashes, saw the wicked glint in his eye, and decided that yes, he very much would dare.

Oh dear.

Oh dear, oh dear.

“Why do we not have a seat,” Mrs. Atwood said, oblivious to her daughter’s mounting panic, “and you can tell me all about it, Mr. Spencer.”

“I really do not think Mr. Spencer has the time–”

“I’d love nothing more, ma’am,” Felix interrupted, flashing her mother’s his most charming of grins.

“Please, call me Dorothea.”

Felicity’s jaw actually dropped. “Mother,” she hissed. “Mother, you cannot be serious.”  

“Why not?” Mrs. Atwood lifted a brow. “We are among friends, aren’t we? Surely the world will not catch fire if we address each other by our given names.”

“Yes, but–”

“Do be a dear and fetch Mr. Spencer a cup of tea, won’t you? The poor man looks positively parched.”

“I am rather thirsty,” Felix said gravely. “Chasing criminals does take its toll, I am afraid.”

Mrs. Atwood clucked her tongue. “I can only imagine. You do this city a great service, young man. We are in your debt.”

Oh for heaven’s sake.

“He is a Runner, Mother. Not the Prince Regent.”

Mrs. Atwood frowned at her daughter. “Please do not insult our guest by comparing him to that man, Felicity. We all know Mr. Darcy would make a better Prince Regent.”

That man, otherwise known as George Augustus Frederick, son of Mad King George and heir to the throne of England, was not highly regarded by…well, by anyone. While his father babbled away to dead people – or so the rumors went – the Prince Regent spent his days gambling and drinking and plotting on how best to overthrow the king.

“The tea, if you would be so kind, Felicity. Mr. Spencer is waiting.”

Felicity looked at Felix. If his smug grin and the amusement dancing in his eyes was any indication he was enjoying himself immensely at her expense.

Bothersome man.

She should have known better than to invite him in, but now there was nothing left to do but grit her teeth and suffer through. She still could not believe how her mother – her practical, no nonsense, do-not-fidget-and-keep-your-chin-up mother – was behaving, but perhaps she was coming down with a fever. It would certainly explain the giggling and the eyelash fluttering.

“Of course.” She managed a tight smile. “Just a moment.”

While her mother and Felix sat down across from one another, Felicity stomped to the side buffet and poured a cup of tea. She poured another cup for herself and seriously entertained the idea of adding a splash of her father’s whisky before deciding she needed wits about her more than she needed a stiff drink. 

“Here you are, Mr. Spencer.” Delivering his tea with the sweetest – and fakest – of smiles, she started to sit beside her mother, but with a shake of her head Mrs. Atwood pointed at the empty chair right next to Felix.

“You know how I like to look at someone when I am speaking to them,” she said.

Felicity knew nothing of the sort, but not wanting to argue she did as her mother asked. She could feel Felix watching her as she sank gracefully into the chair and smoothed out her skirts and she kept her gaze straight ahead, not wanting to look at him any more than was absolutely necessary. “So,” she began brightly, “what do you think about this weather? It has been unusually sunny, has it not?”

“Mr. Spencer, I believe you were going to tell me how you and Felicity first met,” said Mrs. Atwood, completely ignoring her daughter’s desperate attempt to steer the conversation in direction that did not lead straight to reformed criminals and stolen kisses.

“Aye, I believe I was.” Felix leaned back in his chair, the soles of his boots disappearing beneath the wooden coffee table as he stretched his long legs out in front of him. “Fact of the matter is, Mrs. Atwood–”

“Dorothea.”

Felix’s grin was adoringly bashful. “Of course. Please excuse me. Fact of the matter is, Dorothea, when I met your daughter I was in the middle of a jewelry heist, such as it were.”

This, Felicity predicted darkly, was not going to end well.  

“As it was a secret assignment for Bow Street I can’t give ye all the details,” Felix went on, “but I can tell ye that your daughter came upon me while I was gathering evidence and I was forced to detain her or risk the entire operation going under.”

Mrs. Atwood gasped out loud. “Oh my goodness. How thrilling! What happened then?”

Thrilling? Her mother thought Felix breaking the law was thrilling? The fever was getting worse, Felicity decided. Although her mother did not look like she was sick. Truth be told she looked the best she had in months. There was a missing sparkle in her eye and her cheeks were pleasantly flushed. She seemed…happy. Just like Henry had when Felix offered to take him Ponding and little Anne when he’d taught her the different horse colors. 

Considering, Felicity took a sip of tea as Felix continued.

“Your daughter, thinking I was a nefarious sort for some reason or another–”

“Because you were stealing jewelry,” she could not help but interrupt.

“Let the man speak,” Mrs. Atwood chided. “Go on, Mr. Spencer. You were saying?” 

“Unbelievable,” Felicity muttered.

“I wasn’t stealing jewelry, love.” Felix looked hurt at the mere suggestion. “As I told Dorothea, I was gathering evidence.” 

“Evidence you’ve yet to return,” she pointed out. “Evidence that does not belong to you.”

“Aye, ye are right about that. It’s property of Bow Street now.” He tilted his head so only she could see his quick, mischievous wink. “And who knows when it will be needed again?”

“I believe it is safe to say that case is closed, don’t you?” she said meaningfully. “Given that the two individuals involved have most assuredly resolved their differences.”

His rangy shoulders lifted and fell in an innocent shrug. “Ye never can tell about these things.”

“Since we both attended their wedding, I think in this particular case we can.”

“Aye, ye might be right about that.” He lowered his voice. “But I’m still not giving that hair comb back.”

Their gazes met. Held. Lingered. Felicity felt the muscles in her stomach clench as the butterflies she’d been doing her very best to suppress stirred to life and stretched out their wings. She bit her bottom lip, an unconscious gesture that drew Felix’s gaze down to her mouth. His eyes darkened, dusky beige turning to deep bronze as he shifted towards her, a subtle movement that brought their bodies within inches of touching.  

Mrs. Atwood cleared her throat. Loudly. “I do believe we can all agree that the circumstances under which you met my daughter were unusual, Mr. Spencer.”

“Aye.” Reluctantly tearing his gaze away from Felicity, Felix straightened in his chair. “That we can.”

“And now the two of you are…friends?”

“Acquaintances,” Felicity said quickly.

Felix leaned forward. “Would ye like to hear the truth, Dorothea?”

“Always,” Mrs. Atwood replied without hesitation.

“Well then, the truth is that I fancy daughter. More than fancy, to be honest. And I’d like your permission to court ‘er.”

“Mr. Spencer,” Felicity gasped even as a delighted thrill shot down her spine and her cheeks flushed a deep, delighted pink. “My mother does want to hear–”

“Yes,” Mrs. Atwood said calmly. “Your mother does. Now then, Mr. Spencer.” She gestured at him to continue with an elegant wave of her hand. “Go on. Before my daughter so rudely interrupted – again – you were saying…?”

Felix settled back in his chair, hands lightly curled around the scrolled ends of the armrests. “I’ve been tryin’ to court her, but it seems I haven’t been doing a very good job as she’s not yet fallen for my considerable charms. Seeing as she’s fond of rules and such I thought if I did it all proper like, with your permission, she might be more…”

“Agreeable?” Mrs. Atwood suggested.

Felix flashed her a grin. “Aye. More agreeable. She’s a stubborn woman, your daughter. Has an answer for ever damn thing, no matter what it is. And she’s always picking fights.”

“I am not always trying to pick a fight!” Felicity exclaimed. “You are the one who is argumentative.”

Felix glanced at Felicity and then back at her mother with one brow raised as if to say, ‘Do ye see what I mean’?

The corners of Mrs. Atwood’s mouth twitched, but she managed to retain a sober expression. “I must admit I find this all very interesting, Mr. Spencer, as the daughter I know would never dare do anything as unladylike as argue. Nor would she keep company with a man of your…shall we say, temperament.”

Shame and embarrassment had Felicity squirming in her chair. Hadn’t she already put her poor mother through enough with the divorce? And her father! She wouldn’t have been surprised if he was turning in his grave. Oh, why had she allowed herself to be wooed by a rogue? And not just any rogue, but a common born thief! One who had openly admitted to any number of inappropriate acts, the least of which was stealing precious jewelry from her own closest friend! Felix was exactly the sort of man her mother had once warned her to stay far away from. She never should have spoken to him, let alone fallen in love! 

As if you had much choice in the matter, her heart reminded her. He may have pursued you first, but he wasn’t the only one participating in those kisses. Or have you forgotten?

Oh do be quiet, her head replied. You’re the one who got us in this mess in the first place!

“Mother, please let me explain–”

“Do be quiet, Felicity.”

“But Mother, if you would just–”

“I said be quiet.”

Felicity’s cheeks paled. She may have been a woman full grown, but when Mrs. Atwood used that tone of voice she would forever be an eight-year-old girl with her hand caught in the cake tin.

“Yes Mother,” she said meekly, lowering her gaze to her lap where her fingers had twisted into one large knot of abashment.  

“Now then. Where were we, Mr. Spencer? Oh yes,” Mrs. Atwood said pleasantly. “You had just ask for my permission to court my daughter, and I was about to tell you how exceedingly inappropriate the ton would find such a relationship. Why, I dare not even imagine the gossip it would stir. Have you thought about what people will say?”

“No. That I haven’t.”

“And why not?” Mrs. Atwood queried. 

“Because I don’t give two shites what anyone thinks. Never have before, and I don’t plan on starting anytime soon.” He leaned back in his chair, embodying a perfect air of nonchalance save for the sudden rigidity in his fingers as his grip on the armrests tightened. “I know I’m probably not the sort of man you envisioned ever asking for permission to court your daughter.”

“You are quite right about that.”

“But that does not mean I’m wrong for her.”

“Is that so?” Mrs. Atwood murmured.

“Aye.” The single syllable word was sharply spoken, betraying the tension that simmered just beneath his amicable expression. “But she thinks I am, which is why I’m here.”

“You believe my opinion holds weight over my daughter and if I approve of you she will be more inclined to do the same.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement.

Felix gave a clipped nod. “I do.”

“Well in that case, you have my full blessing.”

“He what?” Felicity said in stunned disbelief. Of all the possible outcomes, this was not one she’d been expecting. Her mother actually approved of Felix? Impossible!

“You needn’t look so surprised my dear,” Mrs. Atwood said mildly.

“I – I just thought–”

“You thought because Mr. Spencer does not have a title or a formal education or any qualities pursuant to a gentleman – no offense intended, Mr. Spencer –”

“None taken,” Felix said cheerfully.

“–that I would send him packing, did you?”

Felicity snuck a quick glance at Felix before she admitted, “Yes. I did.”

“Perhaps once I would have.” Mrs. Atwood scratched Mr. Darcy behind the ear and the Pomeranian’s tail became a tiny white blur of happiness. “But over time I have come to realize something very important. Do you know what that something is, Felicity?”

“No.” At the moment Felicity felt like she knew nothing.

“I realized that love, true love, does not distinguish between classes. And I would rather my only child be happy with a pauper than miserable married to a prince.” Her gaze sharpened. “That being said, you aren’t a pauper, are you Mr. Spencer? My daughter has been through enough. I will not have her beggaring herself on the streets.”

“I don’t have the wealth of a duke, if that’s what you’re asking, but I’ve a steady income and enough tucked away for a rainy day or two.”

“One can hardly ask for more than that. I wish you well, Mr. Spencer.” Mrs. Atwood’s gaze flicked to her daughter. Her lips thinned, pinching in at the corners as a line creased her brow. It appeared for a moment as if she was going to say something of great significance, but with a tiny sigh and shake of her head she simply said, “You are going to need it.”

Chapter Seventeen

“This is a mistake.” Peering out the carriage window at the long line of men and women streaming between the massive white pillars of the Lyceum Theatre, Felicity let the curtain slip through her fingers and murmured a quick prayer. “I wish to return to my mother’s.”

“Your mother is the one who suggested we come in the first place,” Felix reminded her.

“I believe she may be gravely ill.”

“Because she likes me?”

“Yes.”

“Well in that case,” he drawled, eyes gleaming a bright, suggestive gold as he leaned forward and braced his arms beside her hips, “I fear ye are on death’s door, Miss Atwood.”

She pushed halfheartedly against his chest with a gloved hand. “I do not like you that much.”

“But ye do like me,” he said with the arrogance of a man who knew he was speaking the absolute truth. “No point in denying it any longer.”

No, there wasn’t.

Nearly three weeks had passed since Felix received her mother’s blessing, and in that time he had begun courting her in earnest. Every day he either brought flowers himself or had them delivered. They’d taken long strolls through Hyde Park and marveled over the oddities at the Leverian Museum. He’d given Henry a tour of Bow Street, just as he’d promised he would, and then they’d all spent the rest of the afternoon sailing a pond yacht in the Serpentine.

He hadn’t kissed her again, nor had he tried to. She’d made it clear that while she was willing to give the courtship a chance, there were two rules he would have to abide by. The first was that aside from flowers, she would accept no gifts of a material nature. The second was that he would keep his hands to himself. Felicity wanted to approach their relationship with a clear head and a steady heart, neither of which she was capable of sustaining when he touched her.

“I am not denying anything,” she said matter-of-factly. “I am simply saying that this, coming here tonight, is a mistake.” Of its own accord her gaze shifted back to the window and the curtain that covered it.

Inside the darkly intimate confines of the carriage she and Felix were protected from the outside world, but the moment they stepped out they would become vulnerable to all of the stares and whispers and vicious conjecture the ton could muster. In the park and the museum they’d managed to slip by unnoticed; just one more couple in a sea of faces. But the theater, especially one as grand as the Lyceum, was a place where people went to see and be seen.

Tickets were nearly impossible to acquire and sold out months in advance, but three years ago the Bridgeton Waverly Women’s Club had pooled their money and purchased a box which they rotated between themselves and their families. Tonight it had been Mrs. Atwood’s turn to see Shakespeare’s renowned masterpiece A Midsummer Night’s Dream. The reviews were excellent, the play heralded as one of the best the Drury Lane Company had ever produced, but Mrs. Atwood said she wasn’t feeling well and had insisted Felicity and Felix take her place.

“The box will simply sit empty otherwise,” she’d claimed. “And the Bridgeton Waverly’s will never let me hear the end of it. You must attend.”

“If you are not feeling well, who will watch the children?” Felicity had asked. She and Henry and little Anne were now living – temporarily – in her mother’s guest bedchamber. It was not the solution she’d wanted for fear of the stress it would cause her mother, but to her surprise Mrs. Atwood’s health had vastly improved since they’d moved in. Her strength had increased tenfold and she no longer took to her bed for long stretches of time complaining of megrims. If she really was feeling unwell, this was the first Felicity was hearing of it.

But Mrs. Atwood had waved her daughter’s concerns away with a flick of her wrist. “We’ll be able to manage by ourselves for a few hours. They’ve been so well behaved I am certain it will not be any trouble at all.” 

“They tied wings to Mr. Darcy and tried to throw him out the second-floor window.”

“A minor incident.”

“Not for Mr. Darcy.”

But in the end, despite all of her arguments and concerns, Felicity had been no match for her mother’s stubbornness. Thus three nights later she found herself sitting in a carriage with Felix outside the Lyceum Theater, the very last place in all of London she wanted to be.

It wasn’t that she disliked the theater. Quite the opposite, actually. She’d always enjoyed the arts, and the Drury Lane Company was the best in the business. If she could have snuck inside and watched the production with no one being the wiser she would have done so happily, but she feared that was not going to be the case.

As the footman came around to open the door and she stepped out in a swirl of midnight blue skirts, she felt as though she were attending her first ball all over again. The one where she’d been terrified of falling flat on her face. Inside her black satin gloves her palms were clammy, and her heart beat in an irregular rhythm. Had Felix not been beside her with a steady grip on her arm she might have turned and fled back into the carriage, something he must have sensed for he leaned in close to whisper in her ear.

“Ye have nothing to be afraid of, love.”

Her spine stiffened. “I am not afraid.”

Except she was. Ridiculous and vain as it seemed, the opinions of her peers mattered. She’d told herself they didn’t. In the dreary mist with anger fueling her thoughts she’d told herself she had nothing to be ashamed of and to hell with anyone who believed otherwise. But standing at the foot of the marble steps leading up into the theater she felt nothing but shame. And even though they weren’t – even though no one had even noticed their arrival – she felt as though everyone was staring straight at them.

“We can leave if ye want to.” Felix’s quiet voice made her jump. She’d all but forgotten he was still beside her. He squeezed her arm, just a small, innocuous flex of his fingers, but it was exactly what she needed to reassure herself that the world was not going to end if people spoke unkindly about her. Especially people who had never been her friend to begin with. For the difficult truth – the hard truth – was that none of the men and women flocking into the theater had ever really been her friend. If they had, if they’d care about her even a little bit, they never would have abandoned her the second her name carried the slightest whiff of a scandal. Never would have gossiped about her. Never would have stared when she walked down the street, their eyes burning holes in the middle of her back, right above where they’d plunged their knives.

These were not her friends. Not anymore.

But Felix was.  

“No. We came here tonight to see a play, and that is precisely what we are going to do.” She marched between the marble pillars with her chin held high. And when people stared and whispered and pointed, just as she’d feared they would, she did not allow her posture to waver.

Her reputation would never be what it had once been, but she’d be damned if she allowed herself to be cowed into hiding her face for something she had not done. If there was anyone who should have been ashamed, if there was anyone who should have stayed at home with the curtains drawn, it was Ezra.

He was the one who had brought this upon them. He was the one who had caused the scandal. He was the one who deserved the vicious gossip and scathing stares. And if he was able to get on with his life as if nothing had happened, then by God so could she.

An usher dressed in deep red with gold tassels hanging from his shoulders escorted them to their box seat. The first time Felicity had ever attended the theater she’d been surprised by how bright it was, and tonight was no exception. Even as the moon began its ascent into a clear, dark sky, the interior of the Lyceum was brightly lit courtesy of enormous chandeliers, each one boasting over a hundred individual candles. One of the great benefits of sitting in a box – aside from the obvious reasons of privacy and a superior view of the stage – was that one did not have to suffer hot wax dripping onto their head.

The curtains remained closed as people continued to trickle in and take their seats. Sinking gracefully into hers, Felicity watched with a touch of amusement as Felix went to the edge of their box and peered down over the railing, his expression one of wonderment and disbelief. 

“Haven’t you ever been here before?” she asked.

“Never,” he said, glancing back at her. A lock of hair tumbled across his brow and he tucked it absently behind his ear. He’d worn all black tonight save a crisp white cravat that emphasized his golden skin. His brown hair was swept back from his face – all except for that errant curl – and he had trimmed his dark side-whiskers so they hugged the long, lean lines of his jaw. If one overlooked the roguish glint in his eye it would be easy to mistake him for an aristocrat. But the more she got to know Felix, the more grateful Felicity became that he wasn’t a lord.

As an earl, Ezra had always been obsessively concerned with keeping up appearances. Everything, from the shine on his shoes to the curls on the wig he wore when he attended Parliament, had to be absolutely perfect. His title and sterling reputation had meant everything to him. In the end, they had meant even more than his wife and children.  

“What is it?” Felix asked when her stare lingered. He ran his knuckles across his chin. “Do I ‘ave something on my face?”

“No. I was just – you’re very handsome,” she blurted. Hoping the sudden color in her cheeks would be attributed to the heat radiating down from the chandeliers, she withdrew her fan from her reticule and waved it furiously in front of her face. “I meant to say, you look very dashing this evening.”

“Thank ye.” A grin crinkled the corners of his eyes as he leaned back against the railing. “And ye don’t look half bad yourself. I’ve never seen ye in that dress before. Is it new?”

Her gloved fingertips smoothed an invisible wrinkle from the lace overlay on her skirt. The blue gown was one she’d worn before she married Ezra. It was nearly eight seasons out of fashion, but of course Felix did not know – or care – about such things.

“I have not had an occasion to wear it in quite a long time.”

“Well it suits ye. You’re a beautiful woman, Miss Atwood.” The chandeliers paled in comparison to the heat coming from his gaze. It swept across her as the sun scorched the earth, leaving her breathless and uncomfortable and aching in places she wasn’t entirely certain she wanted to ache.

“I’ve missed touching ye,” he said huskily.

Her blush intensified. “Mr. Spencer–”

“I’ve missed the softness of your skin. The taste of your lips.” He pushed away from the railing. The space in the box was limited, and all it took was two strides for him to reach her. His tailcoat fell open as he leaned in close, enveloping her in a dark cloak of sin and seduction. “Have ye missed me?” He angled his head so his words brushed against her cheek like a caress. “Have ye dreamed about me as I’ve dreamed about ye?”

Her fingers curled under her seat, nails digging into the wood as she anchored herself to the chair. “Mr. Spencer, please. My rules were very clear.”

“Ah, love. Don’t ye know rules are meant to be broken?”

She trembled when she felt his tongue slide along the edge of her ear. Gasped when he bit down on her lobe and drew it between his teeth. “I – I am afraid I have never heard that particular saying,” she said weakly as he began to suckle.

Oh heavens. This was precisely why she’d made the rules in the first place! Because the second he touched her all common sense went out the window. Squirming, she pressed her thighs together in a desperate attempt to stop herself from dissolving into a sticky pool of honey.

They could not do this here of all places! And especially not now, when the theater was still aglow with light and people were still walking below them on their way to their seats. But loathe as she was to admit it, there was something deliciously decadent in doing what she ought not to. It may have been terribly wrong of her to allow herself to be seduced in such a public setting, but it felt oh so right. Especially when Felix cupped her breast through the thin fabric of her gown and began to leisurely circle her nipple with the pad of his thumb.

Inhibition followed common sense out the window as her spine arched away from the back of her chair with so much force she feared she might have popped a stay. Felix’s husky laughter tickled the downy hairs at the nape of her neck that had escaped her elegant coiffure. He continued to lean over her, his open jacket shielding her body from any prying eyes. If someone happened to glance in their direction it would look as though he was merely whispering a secret in her ear.

A very naughty, very wicked secret.  

“Do ye like that, love?” he murmured when her nipples tightened in response to his touch. Her breasts grew heavier, straining against the restrictive confines of her bodice. “Do ye like when I put my hands on ye?”

“Yes.” The word escaped as a choked gasp.    

“Look how flush your cheeks are. You’re vibrating, love. Can ye feel it?” He nuzzled her neck, teeth nipping at the sensitive spot where her throat and collarbone met. “Like a finely plucked bowstring,” he murmured before he soothed the bite with a teasing flick of his tongue. “Are ye going to play music for me, love? That’s it.” His hand slid down across her ribs and slipped between her thighs, pushing aside layers of crinoline and lace until his fingers pressed against the pulsing heart of her desire. “That’s what ye want, isn’t it?”

It was. It was what she wanted. And had the trumpets not sounded at that precise moment to announce the beginning of the play, Felicity did not know to what lengths she would have gone to in order to get it.

“M-Mr. Spencer.” Her voice felt heavy on her tongue, as it had the night she and Scarlett delved into her father’s liquor cabinet. Except this time she was not drunk on elderberry wine left over from Christmas, but on desire. “The actors have t-taken the stage.”

“Aye, so they have.” And as if nothing was amiss, as if he’d not just been touching her in the wickedest of places and whispering the wickedest of things, Felix straightened, buttoned up his coat, and sat down beside her.

Bewildered by how he could appear so calm and unaffected while she was still struggling to catch her breath, Felicity discreetly pulled her bodice up and pushed her skirts down. Picking up her fan, she snapped it back open with a quick turn of her wrist and began to wave it feverishly in front of her cheeks.

“Does – does it feel overly warm in here to you?” 

His gaze trained on the stage, Felix shrugged. “A little bit, I suppose. Probably the chandeliers.”

“Yes.” Her lips pressed together. “I am sure that must be it. Mr. Spencer, are we just going to pretend–”

He interrupted her with a hushing sound that had her eyebrows climbing all the way up to the middle of her forehead. “Are you attempting to shush me?” she demanded in a hissed whisper.

“I am attempting to watch the play.” He slanted her a look of marked disapproval out of the corner of his eye. “Which is rather hard to do with you chattering on like a blue-headed wagtail.”

A blue-headed wagtail?

A blue-headed wagtail?!  

Her nostrils flared. “Mr. Spencer–”

“I’m not going to have to go get one of those stuffy blokes in the red coats, am I?”

“No.” Drawing on every bit of her debutante training, she managed to fix something that vaguely resembled a smile on her face. “No, you are not.”

Bothersome, annoying, irksome man!

For the rest of the first act she refused to so much as look at him, but by the time Puck and King Oberon began to conspire to make Queen Titania fall in love with a donkey she couldn’t help but begin stealing a series of sideways glances in his direction.

He was watching the play with unwavering attention. For all intents and purposes she might as well have ceased to exist. Had she fallen asleep and dreamt his mouth on her neck and his hand…well, his hand down there?

She set her jaw, teething grinding together in silent frustration.

No, no she had not.

It had happened. She knew it had happened as surely as she knew the sky was blue and the grass was green. And she…she had not become hysterical. Felicity drew in a sharp intake of breath at the stunning realization. She had not become hysterical. Felix had touched her. Intimately. And she’d been so wrapped up in passion and lust and raw, blatant need that she hadn’t thought about what Rodger had done to her, or how helpless she’d felt when he was doing it. In fact, she hadn’t thought about him at all.

Felix had made her forget…and he’d used the most delicious means to do so. She peeked at him again, catching him mid-laugh, those warm golden eyes bright with amusement as he chuckled along with the rest of the audience at the antics taking place on stage. He was quite literally sitting on the edge of his seat, gaze darting left and right as Lysander and Demetrius, enchanted by a love spell, made fools of themselves over the very bewildered Helena, much to the general annoyance of Hermia, who was in love with Lysander.

It was a rather silly, foolish play about silly, foolish people. Felicity had seen it performed countless times before and could have recited every line by heart, but Felix’s boyish enthusiasm was infectious and soon she found herself watching it as though for the very first time. 

When the third act concluded with the four young Athenian lovers falling into an exhausted sleep in the middle of the forest and the mischievous Puck – who had cast the love spell in the first place – vowing everything would be right in the morning, heavy velvet curtains swept across the stage.

“That’s it?” Felix scowled at Felicity as though she were the one personally responsible for the act ending at that particular moment instead of Shakespeare. “What about Hermia’s father? And Theseus? And–”

“It is only the intermission,” she explained. Her lips twitched. “There are still two acts to go.”

“Oh.” The crease in his brow softened. “Well why didn’t they bloody say so?”

“I believe it is implied.”

Muttering something unintelligible under his breath, he stood up. Bracing his hands on the railing, he peered down into the gallery where everyone remained standing, not wanting to give up their place. In the other boxes men and women stood and stretched and began to move around, seeking both refreshment and socialization as they walked out into a large hallway that wrapped around the rear of the theater.

“What the devil are we supposed to do now?” he asked.   

That, she thought silently, is an excellent question.

Part of her wanted to remain squirreled away in their box until the play resumed, but the other part – the part that had put one foot in front of the other and marched herself in here – demanded she face her peers with her head held high. No small task given the painful gossip she’d been forced to endure over the last twelve months, but wasn’t it time – past time, actually – to show to herself, and to Felix, and to anyone who had ever said anything cruel or thoughtless, that their opinion really didn’t matter?

People would always think what they wanted, and left to their own devices they would always tend to think the worst. No gossip was ever fed by good intentions, but she could not allow that gossip to dictate her actions, or her happiness, or her future.

Not anymore.

“During intermission light refreshments are served in the hallway.” She twisted in her chair to look out the door. In the soft glow streaming underneath it she could see the shadows of slippered feet walking past. 

“Do ye fancy a drink and a tea cake, then?” Felix spoke with a distinct air of nonchalance, but Felicity could tell by the intensity of his stare that the question was not as forthcoming as it appeared.

He wasn’t just asking her if she wanted a glass of watered down champagne and a stale sweet. He was asking if she was prepared to face what awaited them. He was asking if she was ready to stand by his side and announce their courtship to the entire ton. He was asking if she was ready to plunge headfirst into the ocean. An ocean infested with sharks who had very, very sharp teeth.

“Yes.” Rising from her chair in an elegant swirl of blue skirts, she extended her arm. “Yes, I believe I do.”

Chapter Eighteen

Inwardly bracing herself for what was to come, Felicity walked out into the hallway with a smile on her face and a lightness in her step that did nothing to betray the rapid beating of her heart. Beside her Felix stood tall and true, a strong mast in a tumultuous sea.

She knew if it were up to him he would have told everyone staring at them to go straight to the devil. Then he’d grab a bottle of champagne and head for the nearest door. But he understood facing her peers was important to her, and for that she loved him all the more.

Love. What a short, simple word to describe such a tangled web of emotions.

She hadn’t told Felix that she was in love with him yet. At least not in so many words. But surely he knew that she was, just as she suspected he was in love with her. For why else would he continue to bring her flowers every day? Why accompany her on long walks through the park, or go to all the trouble of fixing up a little boat for Henry, or help Anne put bows in Mr. Darcy’s fur, if not for love? After all, a long courtship was not for his benefit. If he had his way…if he had his way she’d already be in his bed.

Her toes curled at the not-unpleasant-thought, and the fire in her belly smoldered anew. Banking down the flames, she forced herself to focus on the task at hand.

Aside from a new chandelier, the private hallway, reserved strictly for those in the box seats, looked exactly the same as she remembered it. While furniture was sparse – the room was intended for socializing, not sitting – it was luxuriously adorned with a thick blue and gold carpet, green silk wall hangings, and floor length curtains in deep burgundy. The curtains had been pulled back to offer a clear, unfiltered view of the city. From this height everything looked so very small; a dotted maze of rooftops and soft lights that glowed ever brighter as night sank its inky fingernails into the horizon.

Servants dressed in all black balancing large silver platters moved discreetly around the crowd of three or four dozen. They offered flutes of champagne and miniature cucumber sandwiches cut into neat triangles and garnished with a sprig of ginger.

“We’ll take two of those.” Felix waved down a servant and neatly plucked two glasses off his tray. “Thank ye kindly, mate.”

“Thank you,” Felicity murmured when he pressed one of the crystal flutes into her hand. She wasn’t particularly thirsty, but holding onto the glass gave her fingers something to do other than hover awkwardly at her waist.

“Do ye know anyone here?” he asked. 

“Yes.” She brought the flute to her lips as she scanned the room. “I know all of them.” And yet not a single one had met her gaze or come over to introduce themselves to Felix. They were not giving her the cut direct, but everyone was being very careful to keep their distance. Scandal by association, she thought with a bitter twist of her mouth. One of the first unwritten rules every young debutante was taught to abide by.

“Miss Atwood!”

Her fingers tightening around the flute’s delicate stem, Felicity turned at the sound of her name. A curvaceous woman with curly brown hair springing out in every direction was squeezing through the crowd, her warm smile a welcome sight in a sea of frosty glares.

“Miss Atwood. I thought that was you.” Breathless by the time she reached them, the brunette’s ample chest heaved up and down as she dragged air into her lungs. “Lady Harriet. Lady Harriet Grisham.”

“I know.” Felicity met the woman’s smile with one of her own. Harriet’s brother, the Earl of Appleton, was a close friend of Ezra’s. The two had attended Eton together, and while they’d both gone on to marry (Ezra more than once), Harriet remained firmly on the shelf. It was not hard to see why. In addition to being a tad plumper than the gentleman seemed to prefer, Harriet was a loud, awkward creature who was forever saying the wrong thing at exactly the wrong time. In short, she was a well-bred gentleman’s worst nightmare and nothing – not even a generous dowry – had managed to convince one of them to step up with an offer of marriage.

She and Felicity had met at the Lyceum five years ago during a dramatic performance of Hamlet. Their paths had crossed infrequently since then – Appleton did his best to keep his sister out of the public eye – but Felicity had always regarded Harriet with fondness.

“You look well,” she said, noting the pink flush in Harriet’s cheeks that bespoke of good health. “Are you here with your brother?”

“And his wife.” Harriet rolled her eyes. “She talked through the entire first act. Complaining about this, that, and the other. Honestly. But enough about her. How are you? I couldn’t believe my ears when Lady Manheim said she saw you in the Bridgeton Waverly Women’s box. I thought surely she was mistaken. But here you are!”

“Lady Manheim is here?” But of course she was. Eleanor never missed an opportunity to be seen. Before Felicity’s fall from grace they’d often attended the theater together three, four, five nights in a row. The play was the same, but then one never went to the Lyceum for the play. They went for the people.

“Yes. And she’s saying the most horrible things about you.” Harriet winced. “I am so very sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s quite all right.” And for the first time, it truly was.

For a woman who prided herself on perfection, having her good name and her reputation completely destroyed had been nothing short of devastating. It had formed a knot in her chest, and with every whisper and every cruel bit of gossip and every calling card that had gone unreceived the knot had tightened until there were times Felicity feared it was going to strangle her from the inside out.

She’d tried to untangle the knot by continuing to follow the rules. By minding her manners and avoiding any further scandals and hoping, that with enough time, the ton would eventually forget and forgive. But the truth was…the truth was it really didn’t matter.

No matter how perfect she was or how much time went by, people would always have something cruel to say. People would always think worse of her than she deserved. But that did not mean she had to deny herself the pleasure of attending a play, or a dinner party, or even going to a ball. Because for every Eleanor that cast a dark cloud there would be a Harriet to bring the sunshine.

And she was so very weary of hiding in the shadows. 

As the knot in her chest finally began to loosen, Felicity smiled. Not the rigid, polite smile she’d been taught to wear when out in society, but a bright, brilliant smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes and showed off her slightly crooked incisor and was not at all flattering.

“Lady Harriet, I should like to introduce you to a very dear personal friend of mine, Mr. Felix Spencer.”

“Mr. Spencer.” Harriet extended one gloved hand and Felix bowed before he brushed his mouth across her satin covered knuckles.

“Lady Harriet. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Brown eyes bright with curiosity, Harriet’s gaze flicked from Felix to Felicity and then back to Felix. “Are you and Miss Atwood…?”

“Carrying on behind the garden shed?” he suggested with a devilish smirk.

“Oh! I would never imply–”

“Mr. Spencer is only jesting,” Felicity interrupted with a warning glance at Felix. Poor Harriet’s face was as red as the curtains and she feared her own countenance was a similar shade. Carrying on behind the garden shed, indeed! How did he even think to come up with such things? The man really was incorrigible. “I fear he has a rather wicked sense of humor.”

Harriet appeared nonplussed for a moment, and then she shrugged. “There is nothing wrong with that, I suppose. Goodness knows that my brother and his friends could well benefit from a bit of humor now and again. Oh dear,” she fretted, twisting her hands together as she looked ruefully at Felicity. “I was not suggesting that Lord Ashburn is without a sense of humor. Although he did divorce you, which is not a very humorous thing to do, so perhaps he truly is devoid of any wit. I should not have said that.” Her nose wrinkled. “I do apologize, Miss Atwood. I really cannot seem to help myself.”

“There is absolutely no need to be sorry, or to feel as if you need to censor yourself around me.” Leaning in close and speaking in a conspiratorial whisper, Felicity added, “Ezra never was very amusing.”

Harriet nodded sagely. “I can assure you he has not gotten any more so since he married that awful woman. Oh!” She clapped a hand over her mouth. “I should not have–”

“Stumbling over your own tongue again, Harriet? What a surprise.” Sailing up to them in a gown of emerald green and a glittering smile, Eleanor giggled as she not-very-subtly nudged the red-faced brunette out of the way. “Dearest Miss Atwood. I saw you from across the room and I just had to come over and say hello.”

Beside her Felicity felt Felix stiffen, but she laid a restraining hand on his arm before he said anything untoward. She would take care of Eleanor. In fact, it would be her great pleasure to do so.

“Did you?” she murmured, her own smile dimming considerably as she met Lady Manheim’s sharp, calculating gaze. How very small and petty you are, she thought silently. And how foolish I was not to have seen it sooner. She almost felt a stirring of pity for Eleanor. It must have been lonely, living a life that appeared so bright and fulfilling on the outside but was so brittle and empty within. For if Eleanor was truly happy, if she was truly content, then she would not need to lower herself to dragging others down with cruel insults and cutting remarks. “That is very unfortunate, as I am afraid you have wasted your time.”

“And why is that?” Eleanor purred.

“Because I have nothing to say to you.” And with that Felicity turned her back, a direct cut that lifted a gasp from Eleanor’s lips and caused nearly a dozen heads to swivel.

“What are you doing?” she hissed. “You do not turn your back on me, you vile little wretch!”

“Careful,” Felix drawled, and even though his mouth was curved in a lazy grin his eyes were hard as flint. “Your ugliness is showing.”

It was fitting that Eleanor’s hands went immediately to her hair. When she realized Felix was referring to her character she bared her teeth and would have grabbed Felicity by the shoulder and forcibly spun her around had Felix not intervened.

He caught her arm in midair. “I wouldn’t do that if I were ye, my lady.”

“I say, what is going on over here?” Twenty years his wife’s senior, Lord Manheim walked with a slight limp, his right hand wrapped firmly around the polished silver handle of a long wooden cane. “Your sir, unhand my wife at once!”

“Lady Manheim was just leaving. Isn’t that right, Eleanor?” Felicity spoke calmly as she turned to face her adversary with a lifted brow. “You can release her now, Mr. Spencer. I do not believe she is going to bring us any more strife.” While a dozen people looked on with expressions running the gamut from shock to amusement, she stepped close enough to Eleanor to see the outraged throb of her pulse beating against the side of her neck. “You will never speak to me again. You will never approach me again. Is that clear?”

“You’re making a dangerous mistake,” Eleanor snarled, her face mottled with rage. 

“No,” Felicity said simply. “The only mistake I made was ever believing you were my friend to begin with. You should leave, before you embarrass yourself any further.”

Eleanor’s eyes flashed. “Me? Embarrassed? You should be the one who is embarrassed! Parading yourself around like the whore you are. You’re not fooling anyone. Everyone knows that blonde-haired son of yours is a bas–”

Felicity slapped Eleanor with so much force that her head whipped to the side. The sound of it was like a clap of thunder. It echoed through the entire hallway, as did Eleanor’s shocked gasp.

“You struck me!” she cried in pained disbelief.

“And I shall do it again if you ever mention my children.” There was no anger in Felicity’s voice. She spoke quietly, smoothly, and her words carried all the more weight because of it. “That is not a threat, Lady Manheim. That is a promise. Now leave before I lose my temper and do something I may one day come to regret.”

The implication that she did not regret slapping Eleanor was clear, as was the hate in Eleanor’s eyes. She raised a trembling hand to her cheek, pressing lightly against the red imprint Felicity’s palm had left.

“You are going to rue–”

“That is enough,” Lord Manheim said sharply. “You’ve both said your piece. Eleanor, come with me. Our carriage is waiting outside.”

Eleanor’s mouth dropped open. “Did you not see what she did to me?”

“I do not believe there is a person in this room who did not.”

“And?” she demanded. “What are you going to do about it?”

Lord Manheim’s sigh was long and heavy, indicating this was not the first time he’d had a similar conversation with his wife and he knew it was not going to be the last. “Come along,” he said wearily. “What is done is done.” His gaze shifted. “Miss Atwood. Lady Harriet. I hope you can excuse my wife’s behavior. She has not been well as of late. Do enjoy the rest of the play.” He held out his arm. For a moment it appeared as though Eleanor was going to openly defy him, but with one last, lingering glare at Felicity she tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow.  

“This is not over,” she seethed. 

“Yes,” Felicity said evenly. “It is. Good night, Lady Manheim. I hope you feel better soon.”

Chapter Nineteen

“I cannot believe you did that. I saw it with my own eyes. I saw it. But I cannot believe you did it.” Clasping her hands together beneath her chin, Harriet looked up at Felicity with equal parts astonishment and adoration. “Where did you find the courage?”

Where indeed, Felicity thought? 

“I – I do not know,” she admitted honestly. She still could not believe she had raised her hand in anger, let alone physically struck someone. But when Eleanor began to speak about Henry she saw red, and her arm acted of its own accord. Her palm still stung where it had connected with Eleanor’s cheek, a radiating pain that felt oddly satisfying. Curling her fingers inward to form a fist, she tucked the offending limb behind her back. “I should not have done it.”

Felix snorted. “I think what ye mean to say is ye should have done it a lot earlier.”

“Yes,” Harriet agreed “It is past time someone put Lady Manheim in her place. She’s always been quite mean to me, you know.” A frown pulled at the corners of her smile. “Yet I’ve never done anything to her. At least nothing I can recall.”

“Eleanor is only concerned with furthering her own self-interests,” Felicity said.

Harriet’s head tilted in confusion. “I thought you were her friend?”

“I thought I was as well, for a time. But things change.” She glanced over her shoulder at Felix. He met her gaze, the hint of a smile curling one side of his mouth.

“Aye,” he agreed quietly. “That they do.”

Biting down on the inside of her cheek, Felicity found herself being drawn into the warm depths of his eyes. Framed by short, thick lashes they really were a striking color. Dark pupils surrounded by dusky gold. Like honey sliding into a cup of black tea, the gold deepened to amber whenever he thought about kissing her…rather like it was doing right now. They were standing so close she could smell the soap he’d used to wash his hair, and she couldn’t help but wonder what he looked like with water beading on his sun kissed skin and his muscles rippling in the soft glow of candlelight.

He would be hard and lean, she imagined. His body long and fluid, his stomach taut, his thighs powerful. The fire in her belly burst into flames as she imagined the taste of his lips. The brush of his side whiskers against her throat. The touch of his hand on her breast. He was right behind her. If she just tipped her head back…

Harriet cleared her throat.

Loudly.

“I should probably be on my way. My brother is no doubt looking for me as we speak.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, gaze darting awkwardly between Felicity and Felix. “Erm…it was very nice to meet you, Mr. Spencer.”

His hot gaze trained on Felicity, Felix gave a clipped nod of acknowledgement.

“Interesting,” Harriet said, mostly to herself as neither Felix nor Felicity were paying her one whit of attention. They only had eyes for one another, and even though they were all standing in a very public place it seemed as though the two of them were a hundred miles away on their own private island. It must have been a very nice island, the kind with sandy white beaches and seashells and those silly looking trees with the fruit that hung down in peculiar little round balls. 

“Did you say something, Harriet?” Feeling as though she were waking from a very deep trance, Felicity had to blink several times before she managed to tear her gaze away from Felix.

“I said it is interesting.”

Felicity blinked again. “What is?”

“Well, it’s just that I’ve always wondered what love looked like.” Harriet shrugged. “And now I know.” 

Felix enjoyed the second half of the play even more than he had the first, although for an entirely different reason.

Having never seen a Shakespearean play before, let alone one performed by the Drury Lane Company, he’d been captivated from the first moment the actors took the stage and nothing, not even Felicity, had managed to distract him from the spell they were weaving. But now, as Puck delivered his final soliloquy, Felix was not looking at the stage at all. He was looking at Felicity and she was looking at him, her violet eyes dark and heavy lidded with desire.

Did she know she was gazing at him in a manner that invited all sorts of wicked thoughts? If not for the bloody chandeliers lighting up the theater as if it were high noon in the middle of summer he would have taken her then and there. Against the wall. On the floor. In the chair. His entire body throbbed with need, but he still held tight to the rein he’d been using to keep his arousal in check over the past three weeks. He wouldn’t loosen it until they were alone and Felicity finally admitted that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Then – and only then – would he take what he had been craving since he’d first kissed her all those months ago.

Sweet, he thought as his loins tightened with anticipation. She’s going to taste so bloody sweet.

When the play ended and everyone stood to give a standing ovation, Felix gripped Felicity by the arm and they walked quickly out of the box and down the same hall where Felicity had slapped the smirk right off of Lady Manheim’s face.

The blow had been no less than the bitch deserved for what she’d been about to call Henry. If Felicity hadn’t stepped forward then Felix would have, and while he wouldn’t have raised his hand to her - his questionable moral compass stopped just short of striking women - he would have put her spoiled arse in Newgate for the night and seen how arrogant she was come morning.

“What is so amusing?” Felicity queried as they stepped out into the cool night air and paused at the top of the stairs. The marble steps had been lit with torches so women would not trip over the hem of their gowns as they descended to the pavilion below. Ushers stood at attention with glasses of champagne and little crystal bowls filled with fruit should any of the more affluent theatergoer’s desire a drink or a nibble while they waited for their carriage to be brought round. Private coaches and hired hackneys were already lined up around the block, some of them having never left, their drivers forced to sit and wait for hours on end.

“The look on Lady Manheim’s face when ye clocked her.” Grabbing an entire bowl along with two more flutes of champagne - it wasn’t every day Felix was able to experience how the other half lived, and he intended to take full advantage - he offered Felicity a strawberry and a glass. She accepted the champagne but declined the fruit, and with a shrug Felix popped it into his mouth before he handed the bowl back to one of the ushers. The strawberry had been dipped in sugar and it all but melted on his tongue, much as he envisioned Felicity doing when he finally sampled the honeyed sweetness of her delectable little body.

He wondered where he was going to start. Nibbling her ear, or suckling on her toes? He’d leave it entirely up to her, he decided. It did not matter either way. Before it was over there would not be an inch of her velvety skin he had not kissed or licked.

Buggerin’ hell.

Biting back a groan, Felix shifted subtly to the side as his trousers bulged. Had he ever looked forward to lovemaking with such anticipation? Never, he thought silently. For there’d never been an occasion to wait, thus there had never been any time for anticipation to build.

All of the women he’d bedded in the past had come to his bed willingly after only a few days, some after only a few hours. But Felicity was a different sort, and so instead of bedding her he’d courted her with more care and attention than a duke used to woo his future duchess. And to his surprise he had loved every minute of it.

Before he met Felicity he never would have imagined in a hundred years he would enjoy strolling idly through a park, or playing hide and seek with two giggling children, or attending a bloody play at the Lyceum Theater. Just being with Felicity brought him a sense of contentment he’d never felt before.

He considered him blessed just to make her smile or hear her voice or feel the soft weight of her hand on his arm. But he was still a man, a man whose natural urges could only be suppressed for so long.

He’d been following Felicity’s ridiculous rules because she’d asked him to, and because he knew there was still something she was keeping from him.  But with every day that passed his ardor grew more difficult to control. She’d nearly broken him in the hallway when her raw, pulsing desire for him had clouded the air like the finest of perfumes. If he didn’t know any better he would have sworn she had been undressing him with her eyes, but he supposed that was only the wishful thinking of a lust-crazed fool. 

Felix grinded his teeth together. How much longer did she intend to make him wait? He knew she desired him. He knew she wanted him He knew she needed him, the same as he needed her. But she was still holding herself back.

He suspected it had something to do with that worthless cur she’d once called a husband. And the whispers that Henry was not Ezra’s son. His jaw tightened. Something had happened to her. Something she wasn’t yet willing share. Something she did not yet trust him with.  

“I should not have slapped her.” Worrying her bottom lip between her teeth - was the woman trying to drive him mad on purpose? - Felicity peeked shyly up at him, violet eyes filled with a distinct gleam of vindication that was at direct odds with her words. “But it did feel very good.”

Felix grinned. “My wicked ways are finally rubbin’ off on ye.”

She pursed her lips. “I do not know if I would go that far.”

“We can steal her jewelry if ye would like. That sapphire piece she was wearing is worth a pretty penny.”

“Do not even think about it.”

“Just a bracelet then.”

“No.”

“A ring?” he said hopefully.

“No.”

“What’s the fun in that?”

Exasperation tightened the corners of her mouth. “You are not a thief any longer. You are a Runner. Which means you cannot just go around stealing things.”

His grin turned wolfish as he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her snugly against his side, breathing in the alluring scent of her hair. She smelled of honeysuckle, and night, and promises unfulfilled.

“I stole ye, didn’t I?” he whispered into her ear.

She pushed her hand half-heartedly against his chest. “You have not stolen anything.”

“I beg to differ.” He dipped his head to nuzzle the slender curve of her neck. “Ye want me, Miss Atwood. Ye can admit it.”

Even though she stood tall and stared straight ahead, that was an unmistakable quiver in her voice when she said, “I - I am not going to admit anything, Mr. Spencer. The hour is growing late. I have had a wonderful time, but the children will be looking for me. We need to flag down a hackney before they’re all taken.”

They may have been one of the first couples to leave their box, but while they’d been standing at the top of the stairs there had been a mass exodus of the theater. Men and women swarmed the steps and the pavilion below, some of them idly chatting, others indulging in one last glass of champagne, and the rest jostling to queue up for the coaches that would carry them home.

“Your mother put Henry and Anne to bed hours ago. They won’t be looking for ye ‘til morning,” Felix pointed out.

Felicity frowned. “That may very well be, but we still need a hackney.”

“Not if we go to my townhouse.” The arm he had wrapped around her waist tightened, fingers sinking through the thin layers of her cloak and dress to curl around the edge of her hip. “It’s only a few blocks.”

She twisted out of his grasp and met his gaze with narrowed eyes. Torchlight flickered across her face, illuminating the elegant arch of her brows and the stubborn tilt of her chin. “And why would we go there?”

“Ye know why,” he said huskily.

“My rules were very clear-”

“Aye, they were,” he interrupted. “But ye weren’t thinkin’ about your precious rules when I had my hand up your skirt, now were ye?”

“Mr. Spencer, that is quite beside the point!” she hissed, blushing furiously as she looked over his shoulder, but after her transgression with Lady Manheim everyone was giving them a wide berth. Aside from a few side-eyed glances they may as well have been invisible, which suited Felix just fine. He may have enjoyed the play and the champagne, but with the exception of Harriet the company had left much to be desired.

“That is the point, love.” He tucked a dark, silky tendril of hair behind her ear, the calloused pad of his thumb lingering on the soft curve of her jaw. “I want ye. Ye want me. What’s left to discuss?”

“Lots - lots of things!” She looked so adorably flustered that he was tempted to kiss her then and there, but he restrained himself. If things went according to plan there would be plenty of kissing in their immediate future. He’d been patient for this long. What was another few moments? Because the second he had her alone he was going to do a lot more than just put his hand up her skirts...  

“I know ye are afraid,” he said evenly, his penetrating stare seeking out the secrets she wasn’t ready to share. “And I know ye will not - or ye cannot - tell me why. But I won’t hurt ye. And I won’t hurt Henry or little Anne. Ye can trust me, love.”

She shook her head. “I know you would never hurt them. You’ve been wonderful with them. More than wonderful, and they adore you. Henry especially. It’s not that…”

“Then what is it?” he asked when her gaze lowered and her voice trailed away. “Have I not courted ye the right way? Because I only took flowers out of Lady Harcourt’s garden once. Twice.” He rubbed his jaw. “Seven times.” 

“Mr. Spencer!”

“What?” he said defensively. “It’s not as if she’ll miss them. The old woman’s blind as a bat.”

“Which is why she has so many flowers. So she can smell them.”

“Lady Harcourt’s flowers are not the reason ye don’t want to go home with me tonight.”

“No,” Felicity agreed, sucking in on her cheek. “They’re not.” The creamy tops of her breasts peeked out through the triangular opening in her cloak when she drew in a heavy breath. “You were right before.”

“I’m afraid ye will need to elaborate, love.” He winked at her. “Given as I’m right all the time.”

“Incorrigible,” she muttered under her breath. “It was when you were sitting on my stoop with a bloody lip.”

Felix absently touched his mouth. “I remember.”

“You said I was afraid and you were right. But I shouldn’t be. Not with you.” She took another breath, this one deeper than the last before she pressed her palm flat against his chest, right over his heart. It beat steadily against her hand as he stood perfectly still. “Never with you.”

Her violet eyes drew him into a world of shy, sensual promise as the hand on his chest slid lower. “Take me to your townhouse, Mr. Spencer.” Her fingers fell to the button on his trousers, one nail clicking against the polished metal surface. “Take me to your bed.” 

Chapter Twenty

Felicity felt as though she were floating on clouds as she walked away from the Lyceum Theater with her hand firmly tucked into the crook of Felix’s elbow. But she had no way of knowing if the clouds would carry her up into a blue, blissful sky….or dissolve into mist and send her plunging back down to earth.

To say her heart was in her throat would have been a vast trivialization. As far as she could tell her heart was lodged somewhere in her head, and the two were engaged in a vicious battle.

Her head was determined to turn her around and send her marching back for a hackney, while her heart was directing her straight into Felix’s arms. With every small step she took towards his townhouse her heart gave a hard thump inside of her chest; a tiny celebration that her head was determined to quell.

This is what we said we would never do again! Her head blustered. You cannot trust him.

But it’s Felix, her heart said reasonably. He would never hurt us.

He’ll take everything from you, just as Ezra did. You’re a fool to think otherwise. The only person you can trust is yourself.

Felicity’s steps began to slow.

What am I doing? She thought helplessly. What am I thinking?

“It is only a little further.” Misunderstanding her reason for suddenly stopping in the middle of the empty street, Felix urged her forward with a gentle tug. “Down the lane and to the right. We’re nearly there.”

They’d exchanged bright torches and dramatic architecture for dimly lit lamps and a terrace of cream-colored stucco townhouses curved in a gentle crescent. The houses looked new, with sharp black trim around the windows and brick pathways framed with neatly trimmed boxwoods. They were also rather large, easily twice the size of Mrs. Atwood’s cozy rowhome, with balconies jutting out from the second and third floors.

Oddly enough, Felicity had never given much thought to where Felix lived. But whenever she had imagined it, this was certainly not what had come to mind. She’d imagined…well, she’d imagined he lived in something quite similar to the downtrodden flat she had been forced to leave. But these townhouses were sleek, modern – and no doubt very expensive.

“You live here?” she said, unable to prevent the doubt from creeping into her voice.

“Aye. Is that a problem for ye?”

“No. Of course not. It’s just…”

“Not what ye were expecting?” Looking amused, Felix faced her and lifted her hand to his mouth. Brushing his lips across her bare knuckles – she’d forgotten her gloves in the theater – he said, “On occasion I sleep on a cot at The Pony. We can go there if ye’d like.”

Another insufferable blush swept across her cheeks and she pulled her hand away. “I am sorry. I should not have assumed.”

“No,” he agreed, although he did not appear to be insulted in the slightest. “Ye shouldn’t have. Shall we, my lady?” But when he offered her his arm Felicity could do little more than stare at it as her body refused to move.

Blast her head! Why did it always have to draw the worst possible conclusion? The easy thing to do – the right thing to do – would be to take Felix’s arm and let him lead her into his home and into his bed. No more than ten minutes ago she’d stood before him and told him that was exactly what she wanted. But now…now she did not know what she wanted.

Felicity closed her eyes. She was not some quivering virgin about to climb into the marriage bed for the very first time! She knew what awaited her. She knew what lovemaking entailed. She’d had a husband, hadn’t she? But it wasn’t Ezra who filled her chest with ice when she thought of laying down beside Felix. Because it wasn’t Ezra who had clawed and grabbed and pinned her to the mattress.

And wasn’t that what – and whom – she was really afraid of?  

Felix was a good man. He’d proven that time and time again, in a myriad of ways. And when it came to it – if it came to it – he would be a good husband and a good father. He wouldn’t cast her aside as Ezra had done. He wouldn’t hurt her like Rodger. That she believed with every beat of her heart. It wasn’t Felix who was preventing her from taking a step forward.

It was herself.

It was her own doubts and her insecurities and her fears. What if she tried to make love to Felix…and she couldn’t? What if she froze, and her breathing quickened and black dots danced in front of her vision and she had one of her horrible attacks? Or even worse yet, what if they did make love…and Felix found her wanting?

Ezra always had. Not before Rodger, but after…after, when she could do nothing else but lay there and stare up at the ceiling, he’d rolled off her in disgust and left the room without a word. For four long years, before he stopped visiting her completely, it had been the same thing over and over and over again. And no matter how hard she willed her body to respond, she never could.

Was it any wonder, then, that he’d had sought comfort in the arms of a mistress? For what sort of woman could not please her own husband?

“Felicity.” Felix’s gentle voice coaxed her from the dark depths of her own mind, and it wasn’t until he brushed his finger against her cheek that she realized she’d begun to cry. “Ye can tell me, love. Whatever it is. Ye can tell me.”

She blinked back her tears and shook her head. “What if it changes your mind? About me. About us. About any future we might have together.”

Felix simply wrapped his arms around her trembling frame and pulled her into his protective embrace. For a few moments they both just breathed, their chests rising and falling in tandem before he rested his chin on top of her head and said, “There is nothing ye could say that would make me love ye any less. Nothing.”

She sucked in a quick, surprised breath. “You – you love me?”

“Did ye think I’ve been courtin’ ye for me own health?” His hold tightened. “Of course I bloody well love ye. And ye love me too, ye daft, stubborn female.”

It took a bit of effort, but Felicity managed to wrench herself free of his grasp. “Perhaps you should not call the woman you just pledged to love daft or stubborn,” she said stiffly.

“And why not?” Felix demanded, his eyes flashing a hot, molten gold in the shifting shadows. “Ye are daft to think that anything from your past could prevent me from loving ye in the present. And ye are stubborn to have kept us apart for this long.”

When he put it that way…

“I have had my reasons,” she mumbled, dropping her gaze.

 “Aye, I know.” He rubbed his chin. “Because of the scandal, and what people would say. But after that ringer ye gave Lady Manheim I’m inclined to think ye no longer give a flyin’ fish what anyone else thinks of ye. Nor should ye. So the only thing I’m left to assume is that even after all this time, ye still don’t think I’m good enough for ye.”

Her jaw dropped. Was that was he really thought?

“I never said that!” she exclaimed.

“Ye never had to, love.” Tipping onto his heels, he crossed his arms. “But I’m not half as dumb as I look.”

“I never thought you were dumb,” she said fiercely. “And I never thought you were not good enough for me. If anything, it is the opposite.”

Felix snorted. “Now that’s a crock if I’ve ever heard one.”

“It’s true,” she insisted when his top lip curled in disbelief. “There are things about me you do not know.”

“Then tell me.”

“It – it is not that simple.”

“Aye, it is.” His expression inscrutable, he cupped the nape of his neck and squeezed the corded muscles until his knuckles shone white in the weak lamplight. “We can go on as we have been for the next fifty years and I wouldn’t bat an eye, because I’d rather have part of ye than none at all. But that isn’t what I want, and I don’t think that’s what ye want either.”

“No.” She closed her eyes again. “It isn’t.”

She wanted more than a courtship. She wanted a lifetime. A lifetime of waking up beside him in the morning and falling asleep next to him at night. A lifetime of his roguish stares and naughty quips. A lifetime of knowing she was loved beyond measure. But in exchange for a lifetime, she needed to do the one thing she had sworn to herself she would never do again.

If she wanted the dream, she needed to finally face her demons.

She needed to tell him what had happened seven years ago.

She needed to tell him about Rodger.

Chapter Twenty-One

Seven Years Ago

The Sherwood’s Country Residence

“Is Lady Sherwood here?” Pulling off her soft leather kid gloves, Felicity tucked them beneath her arm before she untied her hat and slowly pulled it free of her hair. The foyer she’d been shown into was considerably darker than the bright sunlight outside, and it took her eyes several seconds to adjust. When they did she looked up to discover Scarlett’s husband slowly descending the staircase. Given the early hour – it was only a shade past nine – he was still in half dress, and she took a quick, embarrassed step back towards the door. 

“Lord Sherwood. I apologize for interrupting your morning. The butler let me in. I was hoping to catch Scarlett before she left for her morning ride, but if she is not here–”

“You just missed her.” Stopping at the foot of the stairs, he draped his arm over the railing and regarded her with piercing green eyes and the hint of a smile. “Is there something I can help you with, Lady Ashburn?”

“No. No, that is quite all right.” Felicity could not pinpoint exactly why she was never comfortable in Lord Sherwood’s presence. She should have been. He was, after all, her best friend’s husband. They’d attended any number of dinner parties and social gatherings together. Why, the four of them had just returned from a weekend in Bath. Her and Ezra, Rodger and Scarlett. And yet…and yet there was something about him that always caused the tiny hairs on the nape of her neck to prickle whenever he was near. Very much like they were doing right now. She took another tiny step of retreat. “I – I’ll just be going, then.”

“Wait.” Rodger descended the last stair and walked across the foyer, his stockinged feet silent on the marble tile. “My wife left you something upstairs on the off chance that you were to stop by. I would be remiss if I did not give it to you.”

“Oh. Well.” She chewed on her bottom lip. “I can wait here while a servant retrieves it.” 

“The problem,” said Rodger, looking charmingly sheepish, “is that I’ve forgotten what it was she left for you. A necklace, I believe. One she borrowed at the Headley’s ball.”

“Yes, she did borrow a necklace.”

“Excellent! Then you’ll be able to pick out the right one.” His teeth flashed in a grin. “She has so many I can no longer tell one from the other, and she’d have my head if I disorganize them in any way.”

Scarlett did take her jewelry very seriously.

And yet…

“I should really come back when Scarlett is here. I wouldn’t want to intrude on her privacy.”

“Nonsense. It will only take but a minute. Come with me.”

Against her better judgement, Felicity followed Rodger up the stairs and down the hall. But instead of going to Scarlett’s dressing chamber he entered a bedroom she’d never seen before and beckoned her inside.

“Did Scarlett move her things?” Confused, she stepped into the room. It was clearly intended for guests, the four poster bed neatly made and a stack of clean linens sitting beside a porcelain wash basin. With the curtains pulled closed it was also rather dark, and she did not realize Rodger had stepped behind her to close the door until she heard it slide into place with a soft click. “Lord – Lord Sherwood, what are we doing in here?”

“Call me Rodger.” His smile thinned, taking on a predatory sharpness as he began to stalk her around the room. She took two steps back for every one step he took towards her, but the bedchamber was only so large, and soon she found herself trapped at the foot of the bed with nowhere else to go.

“Please, Lord Sherwood.” Her chest felt painfully tight and her skin had begun to crawl, as if tiny ants were racing up and down her arms. “I – I should not be here.”

“And yet here you are.” His green eyes gleamed in the shadowy interior. “There is no need to disguise your feelings any longer, Lady Ashburn. We’re finally alone. We can do whatever we like…as many times as we like.” He touched her face and she flinched, turning her head sharply to the side when he tried to trace the line of her jaw with his fingertip. He chuckled quietly, and the sound of his laughter was like sharp nails digging into her flesh.

Do something, she thought desperately. Say something! Don’t just stand here. 

“Lord Sherwood, I – I am afraid there has been a misunderstanding.” Her lips felt dry, cracked. She wet them with her tongue. “Please step aside so I can leave.”

Desire darkened his gaze as his stare dipped to her mouth. “I don’t think that’s really what you want.”

“It is,” she said emphatically. “It is what I want. I promise not to say anything to Scarlett. If you just let me pass–”

He grabbed her wrist and yanked. Thrown off balance, she stumbled into his chest. “Is this how you wish to play it?” he whispered against her ear. “Is this what excites you? Then so be it.” And then he shoved her backwards, onto the mattress. She tried to roll to the side, but he pinned her down with one arm while the other yanked at her skirts. He pushed them up past her thighs and dragged her drawers down below her knees, pulling so forcefully the string threaded through the waistband snapped in half. 

After that everything happened quickly. At least by the measurement of time. In heartbeats, it took forever. A small eternity where Felicity could do nothing but lay there, frozen by the pain and the terror and the disbelief. Even when Rodger released her arms and stood up she continued to lay on the bed, staring blindly up at the ceiling.

There was a crack in the plaster. It was small and narrow, but given time it would begin to fester and spread. Someone really needed to mend it, she thought idly as Rodger yanked up his trousers and began to button his shirt. Before it spread to the walls. By then it would be too late.

“Do you need help getting dressed?” One golden brow lifted in question, Rodger loomed over her. She flinched when his shadow passed over her legs.

“No.” The single word forced itself from a throat dry as dust, and she wondered where it had been when she needed it before. When he was grunting and pawing and thrusting. “No. I do not need anything from you.”

As he studied her oddly vacant expression, a frown touched the corners of Rodger’s mouth. “Perhaps I…miscalculated the depths of your affection for me.”

“Yes,” she said quietly as she sat up. “Perhaps you did.”

He watched her for a moment more, and then he shrugged. Just a small, effortless lift and fall of his shoulders. As if he were brushing away a fly. “Very well. It won’t happen again.”

She waited until he left to dress herself. With hands that weren’t quite steady she forced herself to stand, to pull up her drawers, to pull down and smooth her skirts. There was nothing she could do for her hair, and in her haste to leave, to run, to get out from the suffocatingly hot room as quickly as possible, she did not even bother to search for her missing stocking before she fled out the door and down the stairs.

Mindful of the servants, she made herself take small, measured steps. When the front door suddenly swung open and Scarlett stepped into the foyer, her cheeks still flushed from her morning rode, Felicity stopped short in the middle of the staircase.

Her stomach cramped painfully as her mouth opened and closed, then opened again. Good Lord, what was she supposed to say? What could she say? That Rodger had just taken her by force in one of the guest bedrooms? Except that wasn’t entirely true, was it? Because if he really had taken her by force shouldn’t she have done something other than lay there? Shouldn’t she have fought him off, or told him to stop, or screamed, at the very least. But she’d done none of those things.

She’d done nothing.

He had raped her, and she’d done nothing. 

Scarlett’s head tilted in puzzlement when she looked up and saw her friend standing on the stairs. “Felicity, what are you doing here?”

Before Felicity could explain, before she could even say one word, Rodger’s booming voice rang out from the top of the stairs and the rest of her suddenly fragile world came crumbling down around her.

“Felicity you forgot your – Scarlett. I did not expect you to return from your ride so soon.”

Puzzlement turned to disbelief and disbelief to stunned hurt as Scarlett’s gray gaze darted between her husband and her oldest friend. “What…what are you doing here, Felicity?” she repeated, and Felicity hung her head in shame.

“I…I do not know what to say,” she croaked.

“How long?” Scarlett looked up at Felicity through a thin veil of tears. “How long has – has this been going on?”

An affair.

Scarlett thought she and Rodger were having an affair.

And why wouldn’t she? All of the immediate signs pointed in that direction. Why, Rodger was even holding Felicity’s blue stocking in his hand. The one she’d lost after he had ripped it forcefully off her foot.

“Scarlett, please let me explain.” Desperate to make her understand, to make her see, Felicity hurried down the rest of the stairs. But when she tried to reach for Scarlett’s hand her friend snatched it away and stared at her as though she were something that had just been removed from the bottom of her shoe.

“I asked you a question. How long? A month? Two months? Longer? Tell me!”

“You do not understand–”

“Three weeks, give or take,” Rodger called down. “I am sorry you had to find out this way, my dear. It was never my intention.”

After what Rodger had already proved himself capable of the blatant lie should not have caught Felicity off guard, but it did. She shook her head, ready to refute his statement, but Scarlett was already speaking.  

“No,” she said slowly. “I am sure your intention was to never be caught. How unfortunate for you that I came home before you had a chance to cover up your indiscretion.”

Still reeling from what had happened to her, Felicity was ill-prepared to defend herself. “Please,” she begged, tears rushing down her cheeks. “If you would only let me explain–”

“Explain?” Scarlett bit out scathingly. “I am not blind, Felicity. I do not need you to explain anything.”

“But–”

“Get out,” she hissed. “I never want to see you ever again.”

Felicity jerked back. “Surely you do not mean that. I will come back tomorrow after you have had time to calm yourself. Yes.” She took a deep breath. Tomorrow. Everything would make sense tomorrow. Everything would be better tomorrow. “Yes, that is precisely what I shall do. Then we can sit down and discuss–”

“How you turned yourself into my husband’s whore?” Scarlett’s bitter laugh echoed through the foyer. “I think not. There is nothing left for us to discuss.” Her jaw clenched. “Am I somehow making myself unclear? I want you to leave and never return! If you do not leave of your own accord I shall have Givens escort you off the property.” Her gaze flicked threateningly to the butler who stood silently in front of the drawing room with his eyes averted.

When Felicity didn’t move – how could she, when her feet had adhered themselves to the floor? – Scarlett waved her arm. “Givens, come here and–”

“There is no need for that. I shall see myself out.” Feeling as though her legs were made of wood, Felicity walked stiffly past Scarlett as a footman rushed to open the door. Before she stepped outside she stopped and waited.

Waited for Rodger to admit the truth.

Waited for Scarlett to realize that she would never hurt her in such a way. 

But there was only silence. Cold, damning silence. With tears in her eyes and a dagger in her heart, Felicity walked out the door.

“I discovered I was pregnant with Henry four weeks later.” As she stared into the crackling flames of the fire Felix had started when they’d entered his drawing room, Felicity absently wiped at a tear trailing down her cheek. “Ezra and I were intimate, of course, but he was away that entire month, you see. The dates would not have made sense. So I told him about Rodger. Even then he was still hopeful Henry would be his, but when he was born with blond hair and green eyes…” She trailed off and shook her head, pulling the blanket Felix had given her more closely around her shoulders. “Our marriage was never the same after that.”

For the entirety of her story Felix had stood beside the fireplace and said not a word. The only sign that he even heard her had been the slow clenching and unclenching of his fists. But now he spoke for the first time. “This is what you’ve been hiding.” 

“Yes.”

“This is what you’ve been afraid to tell me.”

She looked from the flames to Felix’s face. His jaw was as tightly clenched as she’d ever seen it, but beyond that she could not decipher what he was thinking.

When she’d told him she was ready to at long last reveal what she’d kept buried, both from him and from herself, they’d gone directly to his townhouse. She’d barely had time to admire the ruggedly masculine décor before he’d directed her to sit on a sturdy camelback sofa, put a glass of scotch in both of their hands, and retreated to the fireplace. She hadn’t known if the distance was for his benefit or her own, but by the time she’d gotten halfway through the retelling she was grateful for the space between them.

If gave her room to breathe. Room to think. Room to gauge – or at least attempt to gauge – his mood.  

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Why?” The three-letter question filled the entire room.

Dropping her gaze to her lap, Felicity tried to answer as honestly as she could. “There were several reasons, I suppose. The first being that it was – is – still painful for me to think about it, let alone speak of it out loud. Scarlett and Ezra were the only ones who knew, and they would never say anything. I thought if enough time went by it would simply…go away. Almost as if it had never happened at all.” She smoothed her hand over the blanket. “And because I was afraid it would make you think of me differently.”

Felix inhaled sharply. “Why would ye ever think that?”

“Because it made me think of myself differently. Before it happened…before it happened I was so sure of everything. I knew who I was. I knew what I was doing. Where I was going. But after it happened, everything changed. I changed. I was no longer the same woman I’d been.” The blanket fell away as she stood up. “I tried to pretend. Every time Ezra visited my bedchamber I tried so hard but I couldn’t…I couldn’t do anything. Just like I couldn’t do anything when Rodger held me down on the mattress.”

“It wasn’t your fault. What that bastard did to ye, it wasn’t your fault.” 

“I know that,” she said, but they both detected the uncertainty in her voice. “But if I’d tried harder to stop him–”

“He raped ye,” Felix said flatly, and even though Felicity flinched from the harshness of the word she was grateful he’d said it, for no one else ever had. Certainly not Rodger. Nor Ezra. Nor even Scarlett. They’d acknowledged what had happened to her. With the exception of Rodger, they’d sympathized. But they’d never said it. Not like that.

“There was nothing ye could have done,” Felix continued, “because ye weren’t the one in control. He was. And he used his control to take what didn’t belong to him. And it was wrong, and vile, and if he were still breathing I’d choke the life out of him with my own bare hands.” The flames from the heart paled in comparison to the wrathful fire burning in his gaze. “And I’d enjoy every bloody second of it.”

“But he’s dead,” she said softly.

“Aye, that he is. But that doesn’t mean what he did to ye died along with him.”

Felix was right. Rodger may have been gone, but what he’d done to her had not disappeared. It would always be a part of her. And she could either continue to ignore it and hope it went away…or she could acknowledge it and move forward.

“It truly does not matter to you?” she whispered.

“No.” A lock of hair tumbled across his brow when he angled his head. “I knew ye were beautiful. Smart as a whip. Kind. A good mother. But I never knew how strong ye were until this moment. Ye are the strongest woman I’ve ever met and it’s my privilege to be in love with ye.”

“Oh Felix.” It was the first she’d ever used his Christian name. Tears filled her eyes, blurring her vision as she ran into his arms. He hugged her tight against his chest and held her while she cried. When she was finished and the last tear had finally been purged, she used his handkerchief to wipe her face.

“There now love,” he murmured, stroking her back. “Do ye feel better?”

“Yes.” And she did, Felicity realized. For she was finally free of the burden she’d been carrying for seven long years. A burden that had become so much a part of her that she hadn’t even realized how heavy it had gotten, nor how draining it had been on her soul. “There is only one more thing…”

Felix kissed her brow. “There always is with ye. Out with it, then. I’ll have no more secrets between us.”

Unable to meet his gaze, she bit her lip and stared at a button on his waistcoat. “I do not know if I will be able to be…intimate with you.” A blush spread across her cheeks. “At least not in the manner you are accustomed.”

“Why don’t yet let me worry about that, love.”

“Yes, but–”

“Come sit by the fire.” Keeping an arm around her waist, he guided her gently but firmly to the stone hearth where the fire slowly smoldered. Spreading out a thick fur blanket on the floor, he sat down first and then pulled her onto his lap. After a moment’s hesitation she relaxed against him, her spine curving into the hard line of his body as her head lolled against his chest. She felt his abdomen clench when she rested her hands on his thighs, but he did not press for more than she was ready to give. Instead he began to massage her shoulders, fingers sinking into knotted muscle and coiled sinew until she sighed and closed her eyes.

Sleep came quickly for her, and she did not fight it. Warm, drowsy, and loved, she sank blissfully into slumber.

Chapter Twenty-Two

When Felicity woke it was not yet dawn, and she did not recognize the room she was in. Startled, she jerked upright, her hands instinctively sweeping out to the side.

“Bloody ‘ell,” Felix grunted when she caught him square in the mouth. “I know ye’ve gotten a taste for violence, but next time jest give me a shake.”

“I’m sorry.” Immediately contrite, she folded her arms over her belly. “I did not know where I was.”

“In my bedchamber.” Twisting to the side, he fumbled to light a small oil lamp before he sat back on his elbows and regarded her with the faint tracings of a frown. “Ye fell asleep in front of the fire and I didn’t want ye to get a crick in your neck.” He flexed his jaw. “Although given your newfound penchant for punching I may be inclined just to leave ye there next time.”

“I said I was sorry.”

“Aye, that ye did. By ye know what they say.” Beneath a tousled hank of tawny hair his eyes lit with a rakish gleam. “Nothing says sorry like a kiss.”

Her gaze inadvertently dipped to his chest, and she let out a loud gasp and covered her eyes with her hands. “Mr. Spencer! You – you are not wearing any clothes.”

He lifted the blanket. “I’m wearing my drawers. See?”

Felicity certainly did see. Peeking through her fingers, she saw a taut stomach lined with muscle and a black arrow of hair leading straight down to a pair of white cotton drawers so short they might as well have been nonexistent. In the soft glow of the lamp his skin was the same dusky gold as his eyes and it was with marked difficult that she managed to wrench her gaze away.

“A pair of drawers hardly constitutes clothing,” she said with a prudish sniff.

“I’ve all the important bits covered, haven’t I?” Clasping his hands together behind his neck, he fell back onto his pillow. “And I left ye fully dressed.”

That he had. With the exception of her cloak, shoes, and missing gloves, she still had on everything she’d worn to the theater, including her heavy blue gown, now wrinkled beyond repair.

“Do you know what time it is?” she asked, glancing out the window. The double curtains were tied open with satin cord, affording a glimpse of a small courtyard below where everything was still and dark.

“An hour or two shy of sunrise, if I had to hazard a guess.” His gaze steady and unblinking, he said, “Do ye want me to escort ye home, Miss Atwood?”

“No.” She returned his stare, her expression solemn even as her heart began to race and heat warmed her belly. “No, I don’t.”

His eyes darkened with awareness. “What is it ye want, then?”

What did she want? Now that Felix knew her deepest, darkest secret – and it had done nothing but strengthen the love he felt for her – what did she really want? For him. For herself. For them both.

“You,” she said without hesitation. “I want you.”

“Ah, love,” he groaned. “Do ye know how long I’ve been waiting for ye to say those words?”

“Nearly as long as I’ve been waiting to say them, I imagine.” Yet despite her desire, she couldn’t help but feel a prickling of bashfulness. What if she did not meet Felix’s expectations? He’d said to let him worry about it, but how could she possibly do anything except worry? Grasping the blanket, she pulled it up to her chin as she sank lower into the bed. “It – it has been a very long time. I do not know what I’m supposed to do.”

“Nothing.” He angled his body towards her and brushed a curl back behind her ear. “Just enjoy it, and if at any point ye want me to stop ye just say the word.” His mouth curved in a wolfish smile. “Even though I can promise ye that stopping will be the furthest thing from your mind.”

He began by kissing her. Just a soft, lingering brush of his lips across her lips. She attempted to kiss him back, but the self-doubt rushing through her head made her stiff and clumsy. Their noses bumped, then their teeth. Miserable and embarrassed she started to turn away, but Felix merely slid his hand behind her neck and deepened the kiss until she wasn’t thinking, she was only feeling.

The blanket slid out of her grasp and fell to her waist when he began to nibble at her ear, and her head fell back onto the pillow when his mouth skimmed down her throat. She did not panic when he began to tug at the bodice of her gown. Instead she rolled onto her side so he could pull at the stays, and then sat up with her legs dangling over the edge of the bed so he could peel her dress and chemise from her quivering body.

When her clothes were piled on the floor in a heap of satin and silk, he rose to his knees behind her and brought his hands around to her front, cupping her breasts and gently flicking his thumbs across her hard, pointed nipples. 

A spark of bright, brilliant heat ignited between her thighs and on a throaty sigh she tilted her head back, sending her dark hair spilling across Felix’s bare chest. He kissed her throat. Her shoulder. When he twisted her around and kissed her mouth she yielded beneath the pressure of his tongue, and welcomed more heat as he slowly lowered her onto the mattress.

Pillows and blankets were pushed mindlessly aside. She arched her spine on a sharp, thrilled gasp as he drew first one aching nipple between his teeth and then the other, suckling and teasing until her gasp became a muffled cry.

Her body burned with need wherever he touched her, and when he kissed her on the lips against it was her fingers buried in his hair that dragged him there. He shifted his weight, sliding a leg across her silken thighs. His tongue swirled inside her mouth, tasting, possessing, claiming her with every stroke.

When his hand eventually found its way down to the curls that guarded her womanhood she did not even think of resisting. Nor did she lay passively beneath him as he dipped a single fingertip into the honeyed depths of her core, but rather dug her nails into the clenched muscles of his back and urged him on with tiny whimpers of pleasure.

She’d never felt sensations like these before. It was like feeling the warmth of the sun for the very first time. Or looking up at a midnight sky and seeing it lit with a million stars.

Every kiss was new. Every touch held meaning. Every glide of his finger in and out of her body brought her closer to a precipice she’d never even known existed.

He murmured wickedly carnal things in her ear as he mounted her, and with each word spoken her desire heightened until she was throbbing with need. All but sobbing with it. And then he was inside her, his long, hard length filling her, and she was clinging to him, and he was kissing her, and on the same desperate breath they both plunged over the cliff into stunning oblivion.

“I saw ye before I ever met ye.” Dawn was just breaking across the horizon as Felix toyed with a silky lock of Felicity’s hair. She laid tucked into the crook of his arm with her eyes closed and one slender arm thrown across his chest. “Did I ever tell ye that?”

“No.” She blinked drowsily up at him. “When?”

“Eight years ago at a ball.”

“Eight years ago…” Her eyes became more alert and he could all but see that quick mind of hers ticking back through the years. “That would have been before I was even married.” She frowned. “How did you know it was me?”

“Do ye really think I would ever forget this face?” He leaned down, nuzzled the side of her neck. But when his ardor stirred and he licked her earlobe the arm over his chest became noticeably heavier.

“Wait,” she protested, pushing him back when he would have begun nibbling along her collarbone. 

“Wait?” he smirked. “That’s not what ye were saying ten minutes ago.”

She gave him a withering look before she sat up. “Where are all the blankets?”

“Dunno,” he said cheerfully as his gaze skimmed unabashedly across her naked breasts. “But I can’t say as I’m going to be looking for them anytime soon.”

Bloody ‘ell, but the woman was a vision. All long, graceful limbs and ivory skin still flushed red in places from their lovemaking. Her hair was tangled around her shoulders, the pins scattered across the floor. She was a mermaid brought to life. A fairy queen coaxed from the woodlands. A goddess descended from the heavens above. 

“I cannot sit here in the nude,” she said, glaring at him as she hunched forward over her thighs and looped her arms around her bent knees. “It is not seemly.”

Felix did not bother to contain his snort. “What difference does it make if ye have on ten dresses or none a’tall? I’ve already seen every inch of ye.”

“But that was when it was dark.” She looked past him out the window to where the sun was slowly rising into a dull, gray sky. “It is daytime now. Or nearly.”

“I’ll let ye in on a secret, love.” Leaning towards her, he angled his head and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “I have excellent night vision.”

Her sigh was long and suffering, but she couldn’t quite disguise the amused twitch of her lips. “Have it your way, then. But I must know…what were you doing at a ball?”

“I was looking at Lady Dunmore’s jewelry.” 

“Looking at it? Or stealing it?”

“Just taking a look.” His mouth stretched in a sly grin. “And maybe tucking a few of the finer pieces in my pocket for a rainy day.”

“Mr. Spencer!”

“Miss Atwood.”

“You really are incorrigible, aren’t you?”

He stroked a finger along her bare arm. “I can show you just how incorrigible I am right now if ye’d like.”

She ignored him. “I remember that ball. It was one of the first ones I ever attended. You really saw me there?”

“Aye. I was on my way out the door when I caught sight of ye across the room. Four dozen women and my eyes went straight to you.”

“I find that rather hard to believe.”

“Ye had on a white dress.”

“All of the debutantes were wearing white,” she pointed out. 

“Ye had on a white dress,” he continued, undeterred by her skepticism, “with little pink roses on the sleeves and your hair was piled up on top of your head. Ye were wearing pearl earrings. And ye were the loveliest girl there.”

“You – you really did see me all those years ago.” She looked at him with amazement. “I can hardly believe it. Why didn’t you tell me before?”

Felix shrugged. “I suppose I was waiting for the right moment. And this seemed to be it.”

“I cannot believe our paths crossed all those years ago.” She shook her head. “How odd.”

“Ye can call it odd if ye like, but I prefer to think of it as fate.”

“Do you?”

“Aye.” Bracing his hands on the mattress, he leaned forward again and kissed her nose before he stood up. The last thing he wanted to do was leave Felicity – especially when she was naked in his bed – but his presence was required on Bow Street and he was already late. With the Slasher still on the loose the Captain was requiring all of his men to pull double shifts and he’d begun cracking down on tardiness. If Felix did not get moving quickly he was going to arrive just in time to receive a blustering reprimand. “Ye never stood a chance when it came to me, love.”

He felt Felicity watching him as he pulled a clean pair of trousers out of an antique chest of drawers and a linen shirt out of his closet. Dressing without fanfare, he splashed cold water on his face from a washbasin in the corner of the room before sitting down in a chair to pull on his socks and boots.

“Stay here for as long as ye like. When ye are ready to go there will be a hackney waiting outside.”

“I wish you did not have to leave,” Felicity said wistfully. “I wish – I wish this moment could go on forever. The both of us. Here. Isolated from the rest of the world. Although I do rather miss Henry and Anne.” Her pretty brow creased. “I’ve never been away from them before for more than a few hours.”

“It’s early yet. I’ve no doubt they’re still fast asleep dreaming of sugar plums and kittens.” 

“Kittens? Why would they be dreaming of kittens?” Taking note of Felix’s guilty expression, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Mr. Spencer, what did you do?”

He rose from the chair and unhooked his coat from the back of the door. “I haven’t the faintest idea,” he said evasively.

“Mr. Spencer…”

The woman was like a bloody dog with a bone. Were their genders reversed, she would have made a damn fine Runner. “I may have promised them a kitten.” 

“Mr. Spencer!”

“Each,” he muttered.

“A kitten each?” Felicity’s brows shot up. “Without consulting me first?”

“In my defense, they’re sneaky little buggers.” And when they’d looked up at him with their big eyes and innocent smiles, how could any man on earth not be expected to give them whatever it was their little hearts desired? If they’d asked him for a stable filled with prancing gray ponies he would have found a way to make it possible. Because he’d not only loved Felicity. Somehow along the way he’d fallen in love with Henry and Anne as well.

It was a different sort of love than what he felt for their mother. It was warm. Protective. Paternal. He loved them as if they were his own blood, and if they wanted the moon he would happily drag it down for them. Compared to a celestial orb that controlled the tides, two kittens were hardly a lot to ask for.

“A friend of mine has an entire litter, born just last week.” He slid his arms through the sleeves of his jacket and pulled it snug around his shoulders. “They’ll be ready to go by the end of the month. The children can have their pick.”

“You really should have asked me first.” Felicity frowned at him over her knees. “Now I am going to be the one who has to disappoint them when I tell them they cannot have the kittens.”

“And why would ye go and do a foolish thing like that?”

“Because there is hardly enough room in my mother’s house as it is!” A lock of hair flew up in the air when she huffed out an impatient breath. “Not to mention Mr. Darcy is quite content being the only pet.”

“Which is why the kittens are going to live here.” He leaned back against the door and slid his hands into the pockets of his trousers. Like shooting fish in a barrel, he thought smugly. This was precisely the opening he’d been looking for.

“Why would – can you hand me a blanket, please?” Exasperation sparked in her eyes. “I cannot have a serious conversation while I am devoid of clothing.”

“Those are my favorite sort of conversations to have,” Felix said with a wicked grin, but he went to the closet and pulled out a thin cotton blanket in soft blue. God only knew where the first one had gone. Under the bed, most likely, or it had burned up from all of the heat they’d made between them.

The devil knew he had slept with more adventurous women. More experienced women. More daring women. But not a single one of them had ever set his blood on fire and put stars in his eyes like the way Felicity had. From the first kiss to the last he’d been a man possessed, and even their sweat was not yet dry on the sheets he wanted her again. He would always want her. And he was determined to ensure he always had her.

Fashioning the blanket around her slender body as though it were a Grecian toga, Felicity padded barefoot to the window and peered out through the glass. “You’ve a lovely view of the courtyard.”

“Aye,” he said impatiently. “About the kittens–”

“If you really want to keep them here, there is nothing I can do to stop you. My parents had one once. A stray they made the mistake of feeding, thinking it would go away.” She turned away from the window with curved lips. “It lived quite happily in my father’s study for the next seven years. Although it was rather destructive on occasion. And that was just one cat. I cannot imagine what two would be capable of.”

“I’m sure the children will keep them busy.”

“Yes, when they come to visit. But they will not be here all of the time.” Her smile faded and was replaced by a frown. “It does not sound as though you’ve thought this out very well, Mr. Spencer. Animals, even small ones, are a very large responsibility.”

If only she knew how much he’d been thinking about it.

“What if Henry and Anne were here all of the time?” The floorboards creaked beneath the weight of his heavy boots as he crossed the room and gently took her hands. Squeezing, he looked down at her in earnest. “What if they lived here?”

Felicity looked up at him blankly. “Without me? Mr. Spencer, I have no intention–”

“You’d live here as well.” For a woman with such a quick, clever mind she could be terribly dense. “I want ye to marry me. I want ye to marry me, and live here with me, and share your life with me.”

Her cheeks paled. “Are you – are you proposing marriage, Mr. Spencer?”

“No.”

“No?” she said, confused. “But you just said–”

“I’m tellin’ ye that I am going to ask ye to marry me and live here with me and share your life with me. I thought I’d give ye time to get used to the idea first.”

“Because you think I am going to decline?”

Felix snorted. “Because I know ye are going to decline. Just as I know that I’ll eventually wear ye down. At least this way I’ve given myself a bit of an advantage.” He glanced out the window. The sun was rising higher by the minute. He should have left for Bow Street half an hour ago. The Captain was going to have his head. “I’ve really got to leave, love. But if ye want, I can come calling on ye this evening.”

She hesitated. Bit her lip. Looked down at her bare toes peeking out beneath the hem of the blanket. “Yes,” she said softly, and Felix released the breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. “Yes, I should like that very much.”

Hands diving into her tangled mane he kissed her, hard and fierce and long. The sort of kiss that would carry them both through the day until they saw one another again. When it was finished he cupped her jaw and drank in every blessed, beautiful inch of her flawless countenance. “Tell the little ankle biter’s to mind their mother.”

“I will,” Felicity said dazedly.

Knowing if he lingered another second longer he wouldn’t be able to leave, Felix gave her one last kiss before he left his bedroom, and the woman he loved. 

Chapter Twenty-Three

Felicity took her time getting dressed. Humming a little ditty, she smoothed out the wrinkles in her gown the best she could, combed her hair with her fingers, and used the washbasin to clean her face and hands.

There was a small looking glass above the basin hanging from a leather string and her reflection caught her off guard. Gone was the carefully polished debutante with nary a single curl out of order. In her place was a heavy lidded siren with swollen lips and flushed cheeks and a gleam in her eyes that only came from being thoroughly loved.

The things Felix had done to her… She trembled just to think of them. He had played her body as if it were the finest of instruments, and he a grand musician. He’d pulled on strings no other man had ever touched. Pressed down on keys she hadn’t even known existed. He had loved her thoroughly. Completely. And not once, not a single time, had she felt a stab of ice in her belly or fear in her heart or panic in her breast. It had been perfect. He had been perfect. And now he wanted to marry her.

Felicity would be lying if she said the thought had not crossed her mind. There were things to consider, of course. There always were. But the short of it was she did want to marry him. To live here with him. To raise Henry and Anne with him. To maybe, one day, have a child with him.

“Yes,” she said aloud, and the single word filled her with so much bubbling elation that she actually jumped in the air and clapped her hands together. “Yes, Felix Spencer, I will marry you.”

That’s what I shall say, she thought giddily as she made her way downstairs. That is exactly what I shall say when he asks me.    

Tempted by a healthy dose of curiosity, she snuck a peek into every room she passed. Surely it wasn’t prying if the doors were open and most of them were, affording her brief glimpses at a side of Felix she’d not yet had an opportunity to see.

The townhouse was sparsely decorated and the furniture a tad masculine for her taste, but everything was sturdily built and impeccably clean with just enough personal touches to give her an idea of what caught his eye. Things would have to be rearranged, of course. The cabinet in the front parlor would need to be moved and she simply could not abide velvet curtains. But the townhouse had all the makings of a wonderful home. A home where she and Felix and Henry and Anne could love and live and grow as a family.

She drew her cloak over her shoulders before she opened the front door. Fog had overtaken the sun, and a few drops of rain hit the top of her head as she hurried out to edge the street where a lone hackney was waiting.

“I am sorry to have kept you,” she apologized to the driver, a nondescript man with a long face and lanky build. He had a cap pulled down low over his eyes so only the lower half of his face was visible.

“Not a problem, mum.” He waited until she’d settled herself on the bench seat before he asked, “Where is it I’m takin’ ye?”

“Gracechurch Street and West, please.”

She hoped they arrived before the children woke, for she did not know how she would explain her absence. Although if she was being truthful, it was not Henry and Anne she was the most concerned about. It was Mrs. Atwood.

How did one explain to their mother they’d spent the night in the arms of a man? Some things, she decided as the carriage lurched forward, are better left unspoken.

Given the hour and the rain, traffic was heavy in the middle of Town, and so when the driver turned the hackney left instead of right she presumed he was taking a shortcut. It wasn’t until they emerged on the edge of the textile district that she felt the first stirrings of alarm.

Bordering the East End, the textile district was comprised of sprawling brick factories with dingy windows and enormous chimneys that continuously spewed out thick streams of black smoke. It was a filthy, disease-ridden place with broken glass in the streets and a gin bottle on every corner. Felicity had read horrible stories and seen heart-wrenching drawings of the working condition women and children were forced to endure in the factories. In short, it was not somewhere she wanted to be.

“Excuse me.” Half standing out of her seat, she wrapped her fist against the small window separating herself from the driver. From this angle she could only see his back, and he did not so much as turn around. She raised her voice. “Excuse me! I believe you’ve taken a wrong turn!”

There was no response.

Wide-eyed, Felicity sat back and gripped the edge of her seat. What was the driver doing? Better yet, where was he going? Gracechurch Street was at least ten blocks in the opposite direction. He had not brought her here by accident.

The hackney turned down a narrow alley and came to a sudden stop. She breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe the driver was new to London and he’d merely gotten confused by all the different streets and thoroughfares. But he did not look very confused when he yanked open the door.

“Get out,” he snarled.

Instinctively moving to the furthest edge of the seat, she shook her head. “No. Absolutely not. You’re supposed to take me to my mother’s.”

“Plans ‘ave changed.” He braced his hands on either side of the door. “Now ye are goin’ to get out, or I’m going to pull ye out.”

“I am not moving from this carriage,” she said stiffly.

He shrugged. “Have it yer way, then.”

Felicity’s screams ricocheted off the walls of the alley when she was dragged from the hackney, but if anyone heard they did not care. The East End was a place where cries for help went unanswered, and there was no hope to be found for the hopeful.

“You’re goin’ to give me a bleedin’ headache.” Easily overpowering her – the driver was surprisingly strong for someone so lanky – he shoved a foul-smelling gag in her mouth and tied her wrists behind her back with a rough piece of twine. Her eyes teared, nostrils flaring as she struggled to draw in enough air to satisfy her burning lungs. Grabbing her by the arm, he marched her to a cast iron door at the far end of the alley. Withdrawing a key from his pocket, he inserted it into the lock and the door swung open.

Felicity caught only a glimpse of the small, windowless room before he shoved her inside with so much force that she fell to her knees. By the time she managed to right herself he had slammed the door shut, and she screamed into the gag when she heard the distinctive click of the lock falling into place.

She was trapped.

Felix sipped from a mug of coffee long gone cold and listened intently while the Captain assigned new areas of London for them to hunt for the Slasher. Or at least he pretended to listen intently. His body may have been at Bow Street, but his mind was still in his bedroom.

“…searched the docks to no avail…”

By now Felicity was at her mother’s, but for the sake of his imagination she was still sprawled on his bed, the blanket he’d given her riding high on her hips, revealing the creamy swell of one buttock and the tops of her breasts. She looked up at him when he entered the room, a catlike smile curving her lush mouth as she beckoned him towards her with a sultry crook of her finger. Her lips parted…

“We need to start concentrating our efforts on Mayfair.”

Mayfair? There was nothing the least bit sensual about Mayfair.

“Hargrave and Brentwood will take Grosvenor Square,” the Captain continued. “The people there will be more willing to talk to their fellow peers. I want Hawke and Ferguson to do another patrol of White’s. Someone there has to know something.”

“Which one?” Colin and Ian said together.

“Ian,” the Captain decided after a pause. “Colin, you’re with Spencer.

“And where is it we’re going?” Felix drawled, setting down his coffee and tipping back in his chair.

“Harper Street.”

Grant snorted. “You’re sending him to the financial district? Might as well tell the banks to empty their coffers now.”

“Sod off, Hargrave.” Felix slanted the second-in-command a narrow-eyed glare. “It’s too early in the morning for your shite.”

“Late night at the theater?” Grant queried, lifting a brow.

“That’s none of your bloody business.” 

Grant just grinned. “Touchy, are we? Wouldn’t have something to do with a certain brunette now, would it?”

Felix stiffened. “I said sod off.”

“That is enough.” Owen’s sharp voice reverberated around the room, and everyone instantly fell silent. “We have enough to worry about without squabbling among ourselves. Not to mention the brunette to whom you are referring, Hargrave, is a close personal friend of mine. I will not have her name brought up here again. Are we clear?”

“As a crystal,” Grant said easily, but the amused glance he slid at Felix revealed the ribbing between them was far from over.

“Good. Now there is one last order of–”

“Excuse me.” As if conjured by magic, Dorothea Atwood appeared in the doorway. “I knocked, but the only one who answered was this cat.” Purring loudly, Mrs. Wadsworth slid past her skirts and jumped onto the table.

“Mrs. Atwood.” Felix stood up quickly as did the rest of the runners, the legs of their chairs scraping loudly on the floorboards. “Is everything all right?”

“Oh good, I was hoping you would be here.” Waving a fretful hand in front of her face, she drew a deep breath and said, “It’s Felicity. She has gone missing.”

Felicity did not know how long she sat in the dark and the damp. Long enough for her tears to dry on her cheeks and her arms and legs to go numb. Long enough for her to imagine a hundred ways she was going to be killed. Long enough to grow thirsty, and hungry, and cold.

She jumped at the sound of a key turning in the lock. Then cringed and closed her eyes when a man carrying a bright lantern stepped through the door.

He closed it behind him. Took care to lock it. Fearing the worst she trembled when he approached her and tried to turn her head to the side when she felt the brush of his gloved hand against her chin, but the only thing he did was rip her gag out before backing away.

Working her jaw, she waited for her eyes to adjust to the influx of light. And when she was finally able to see who was towering over her she couldn’t contain her gasp of shock.

“You. You are the one behind this? You are the reason I am here? Why?”

“I think it should be obvious.” Setting the lantern down on the floor, Ezra straightened and looked down at her with the same vaguely disapproving expression he’d worn for the majority of their marriage. “Your recent antics have brought my wife and I a great deal of embarrassment.”

Even though her legs screamed in protest, Felicity forced herself to her feet. She’d be damned if she cowered before anyone, least of all her spineless excuse for a husband.

“So you had me kidnapped?” she said incredulously.

Ezra frowned. “Do not be dramatic, Felicity. It is unbecoming.”

How, she wondered as she stared at him in disbelief. How had she ever married him? How had she ever loved him? Had she truly be so blind? Or just naïve?

“I was brought here against my will!” she cried. “I had my hands tied behind my back and a foul-smelling rag stuffed in my mouth and I have been locked in here for God only knows how long. That is not being dramatic. That is abduction!”

“I apologize if you have suffered needlessly.” 

“You can hang your apology,” she said, borrowing one of Felix’s favorite phrases. “I do not want it and I do not need. What I need is for you to open that door and release me. Well?” she said expectantly when Ezra just continued to stand there, looking ridiculously overdressed for a kidnapping in his top hat and white cravat and long tailcoat. “What are you waiting for?”

“I am sorry, Felicity.” His gaze lowered. “Truly I am.”

“Ezra, open the door.”

“Why couldn’t you have remained in the country? If you’d remained in the country, none of this would have had to happen. I have a reputation to uphold. And I will not allow you to besmirch it with your wanton ways. Not this time. Not again.”

“Ezra.” She felt the bitter, familiar taste of panic on her tongue when she saw his hand slide into the inside pocket of his waistcoat. “Ezra, please open the door.”

He lifted his gaze and looked her straight in the eye as he pulled out a small silver pistol. “I think we both know I am not going to do that.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

“I want London torn apart. I want that bloody hackney found. Now!” More savage wolf than man, Felix stormed out of Bow Street with Owen hot on his heels. Helpless to do anything but wait, Mrs. Atwood stayed behind, hands clasped to her breast as she sent up a fervent prayer for her daughter’s safe return.

She’d known something was wrong the minute the children had woken and Felicity was still not home. Leaving Henry and Anne with her neighbor, a sweet elderly woman with enough breakables to keep them entertained for the rest of the day, she had gone straight to Bow Street. Straight to Felix.

Part of her had hoped she would see her daughter when she opened the door, but all of that hope vanished in an instant when she saw the fear in Felix’s eyes.

“What do you mean she’s gone missing?” he’d demanded. “It’s nearly ten o’clock. She should have returned over an hour ago.”

“Well I can assure you she did not.”

“She’s still at my townhouse, then.”

But Mrs. Atwood had been able to tell by the look in his eyes that he did not really believe that, and neither did she.

Oh my darling girl, she thought silently, watching through the front window as Felix and the Captain mounted their horses and tore off down the street in a wild clatter of hooves. Please come back to me. 

Felicity stared at the gun in horror. “Ezra, what are you doing?”

“What I should have done instead of divorcing you.” A thin sheen of perspiration marred his brow. Holding the gun in one hand, he used the other to dab at his forehead with a white silk handkerchief.

Both hands trembled.

“You were supposed to be well behaved. You were supposed to be a lady. But you brought shame to yourself. You brought shame to me. You brought shame to our marriage!”

“I did nothing of the sort.” The woman Felicity used to be would have been the very picture of contriteness. The woman who had dutifully sat in the House of Lords with her head bowed and her hands clutched together while her character was torn asunder would have dropped to her knees and begged for forgiveness. But that woman was gone. And she was never coming back. “I was a good wife to you, Ezra. Better than you ever deserved. If there is anyone who should be ashamed, it is you. You had an affair. You wanted a divorce. You threw your wife and children out the door with nothing more than the clothes on their backs.”

“Because of that bastard son you bore! Do you know I was laughed out of White’s? They said you made a cuckold out of me!”

“You know that is not true,” she said evenly. “You know what really happened.”

“But they didn’t! I was laughed at.” His eyes glittered in the darkness. Not with madness. Felicity knew what madness looked like, and this was not it. This was pride and desperation. This was a man who thought he’d lost everything, and was willing to do anything to get it back.

“And then you divorced me and you remarried. It is over, Ezra. It has been over for a long time. Why are you doing this now?”  

“Because they’re whispering again!” He gesticulated wildly with his arms and the gun jerked, causing Felicity to flinch and duck. “They’re gossiping, again. They’re laughing, again! You should have gone away. Why couldn’t you have just gone away? Instead you’ve been parading yourself all over London. With a commoner!” A vein bulged in his forehead. “You slapped Lady Manheim!”

“She deserved it.”

“What happened to you?” he whispered. “You were so perfect. So ladylike.”

“I think obedient is the word you are looking for. I was obedient. Like a dog or a horse or a well-trained cat. But I am not the same person I was, Ezra. And neither are you.” She should have been repulsed by him. She should have been afraid. But as she looked at him, a small, desperate man clinging to desperate things, the only thing she felt was pity. “Does the opinion of others mean so much to you that you would take another person’s life? Because the only thing murdering me will do is put you in Newgate.” If Felix doesn’t kill you first, she thought silently.   

Oh Felix. And Henry. And little Anne. Her chest tightened. What if she never saw them again?

No, she told herself fiercely when she felt tears prick the corners of her eyes. You cannot afford to think like that. Felix said you were the strongest woman he has ever known, and you need to use that strength now.

“Put the gun down, untie my hands, and open the door. Let me go. Let me go, and this will all be over.”

“So you can return to the theater and cause another scene?” His mouth curled back in a sneer. “I think not! This ends here. I will not have you tied around my neck for the rest of my life.”

“Is that where you think I’ve been? Around your neck?” She shook her head. “That is your own guilt, Ezra. And the only one to blame for it is yourself.”

“No.” He lifted the gun. Pointed it at her heart. “No, you’re wrong. When you’re gone, they’ll stop laughing. When you’re gone, my reputation will be restored. When you’re gone, I will finally have peace.”

“Ezra, wait–”

He pulled the trigger.

Felix rode as if the demons of hell were nipping at his heels. Even Owen, an adept equestrian in his own, right could not keep up with him as he galloped through the Mayfair District, sending carriages veering off course and bystanders scattering in all directions.

He dismounted before his horse had come to a full halt, and did not bother to knock before he threw open the door to 374 Beacon Lane and stormed inside.

“Sir! Sir, you cannot be in here!” An alarmed butler came rushing into the foyer. One glance at Felix’s thunderous expression and he stopped dead in his tracks. “How – how can I help you, sir?”

“Ashburn.” Felix all but spit the name. “Where is he?”

“I – I am afraid I do not – ahhh!” the butler yelped when Felix grabbed him by the lapels of his black uniform and shoved him against the wall.

“Where. Is. Ashburn,” he gritted out between clenched teeth, golden eyes feral in their intensity.

“Spencer, unhand the butler.” Stepping through the open doorway, Owen assessed the situation in one passing glance. “How do you know Ashburn even has her?”

“Because I know.”

It wasn’t an answer, but it was good enough for Owen. Spencer’s gut was one of the things he valued most about him. If he thought Ashburn was involved, then Ashburn was involved.  

“Where is your employer?” he asked the white-faced butler. “It would behoove you to answer honestly. And quickly.”

“I do not – all right,” he gasped when Felix growled. “All right. Lord Ashburn left rather unexpectedly two hours ago.”

Almost exactly the same time Felicity would have gotten into the hackney. If she’d gotten into the hackney. Felix’s hands clenched into fists.

“Where was he going?”

“I am not certain. But! But,” he said hurriedly when Felix took a menacing step towards him, “Lady Ashburn may know. She is generally privy to all of her husband’s comings and goings. If you would f-follow me.” He led them directly to her dressing chamber. She was in the midst of having her hair curled with long silver tongs, and her mouth dropped open with outrage when Felix and Owen piled into the room. 

“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded. A pale, watery-eyed blonde with a distracting mole above the left side of her mouth, Lady Ashburn was no great beauty. But she did come from an impeccable bloodline. “Get out at once!”

“We apologize for the intrusion,” Owen began.

“Your husband,” Felix interrupted. “Where is he?”

He could not say with any real conviction why he knew Ashburn had taken Felicity. There was certainly no evidence, nor any witnesses. But he felt it. In his bones, he felt that Ashburn was involved and that he was on the verge of doing something dire – if he hadn’t already.

“Ezra?” Lady Ashburn waved her maid out of the room with a flick of her wrist. “What do you want with Ezra?”

His head on a bloody platter if he’s harmed one hair on Felicity’s head.

“Lord Ashburn’s first wife has gone missing,” said Owen.

Lady Ashburn’s gaze shifted to the Captain. “And you think my husband has something to do with it?”

“We do.”

Her lips pursed. “He has seemed rather…unsettled as of late. I never really thought anything of it, but now that you mention Miss Atwood it does seem rather odd…”

“What?” Felix’s jaw clenched. “What does?”

“Well, it’s just that he has suddenly become very interested in textiles. I do not see what it would have to do with his first wife, but he did mention he was going to tour one of the factories this morning.”

“A factory in the East End?”

Lady Ashburn rolled her eyes. “But of course. Where else would a factory be? Now if you would excuse me, I really need to finish getting ready. I have a luncheon at noon.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Felicity was limping out of the alley when Felix came barreling in. He stopped short at the sight of her, and then he was running and she was running – or rather, trying to run – and they were in each other’s arms.

“Felicity. Felicity.” He said her name like a prayer, over and over again, until she was finally forced to press her fingers to his lips.

“I am all right. It’s all right.”

He took a deep, shuddering breath before and searched her face. “I thought…”

“I know.” Rising up on her toes, she kissed his stubbly cheek. “I know.”

“Are ye hurt?” Grasping her by the shoulders, he set her back away from him as his gaze swept down her body. She could only imagine what he was seeing. After sitting in the dark, dingy room she was covered in dirt and soot and heaven only knew what else. Her hair had come loose from its braid and hung down over her shoulders in a great tangled heap. There was a rip in her skirt and her cloak trailed behind her, the hem dirtied beyond repair. “Did he hurt ye?”

“So you know it was Ezra then,” she murmured.

Felix nodded grimly. “I had a feeling. A gut instinct. Are ye–”

“He did not hurt me.” Her mouth thinned. “Although not for lack of trying.”

When Ezra had lifted the pistol and pulled the trigger she’d thought she was going to die. But then the gun had clicked empty, and she’d realized what Ezra had not – the idiot had forgotten to put bullets in the chamber. Taking advantage of his temporary confusion she’d launched herself at him and by sheer dumb luck he had struck his head against the wall when he fell, rendering himself completely and utterly unconscious.

It had taken a bit of time, but she’d managed to untie her wrists and pull the key out of his pocket. He’d been snoring when she left him. Making certain to lock the door, she’d slipped the key in her bodice and walked away.   

“Where is he?” A black storm cloud would have looked like a fluffy white cloud compared to the dark violence in Felix’s gaze. “Where is the bastard?” He started past her down the alley, but she grabbed his wrist and pulled him back.

“Leave him. He cannot go anywhere. I want to see my children.” Tears thickened her voice. “I – I want to see my babies.”

Although he could have easily shaken free of her grip, Felix turned and pulled her against his chest. “And they want to see ye,” he said, burrowing his face in the snarled tendrils of her wild mane. “Your mother as well. She’s waiting for ye at Bow Street.”

They met Owen in front of a cobbler’s shop two blocks away. He’d been searching another factory. It had been pure luck that Felix happened to choose the one where Felicity was being kept. Or, as she preferred to think of it, fate.

“There you are.” Relief swept across his countenance as he and Felicity exchanged a short, friendly embrace. “Scarlett would have had my head if something happened to you.”

“Would she?” Felicity said doubtfully as she stepped back. Since their little tiff over a month ago the two women had hardly seen one another. They’d both been busy, of course. She with Felix and Scarlett with her renovations. But there was also tension there. Tension Felicity had never fully understood...until she looked up and caught a quick exchange of glances between Owen and Felix. “You did something. The two of you. What?” she demanded.

“It’s my fault, love. I’ve been meanin’ to tell ye…” Sheepish, Felix ducked his head and muttered, “I may have asked the Cap’n not to let ye live with them if the occasion arose.”

“Why on earth would you do such a thing?”

“So ye would have to live with me instead,” Felix said, as if the answer should have been obvious. “But then ye seemed happy at your mother’s...” He shrugged helplessly.

“We will discuss this at a later date,” she said. Bothersome man. She should have been angry with him, and perhaps she would have been if she were not so exhausted…and his boyish grin was not so very charming. At least it was a relief to know that Scarlett had only been acting with her best interests at heart. Or rather Felix’s best interests, which to Scarlett would have been one and the same given how determined she’d been to see Felicity and Felix together. “Right now the only thing I want to do is see Henry and Anne and get out of these filthy clothes.”

“Where is Ashburn?” Owen asked. “It was Ashburn, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Felicity said wearily, pressing a hand to her brow. “It was. He is in a locked room at the end of the alley. I have the key, here.” Pulling it out of her bodice, she handed it to Owen. “Do with him what you will but…please be kind. He’s a very troubled man.” Beside her she felt Felix tense, but for once he managed to hold his tongue, and for that she was grateful. After everything she had endured, the last thing she wanted was more violence.

“I will send someone for my personal carriage.” Owen stepped inside the cobbler shop, leaving Felicity and Felix alone.

Wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her against his side, Felix pressed his mouth to the top of her head before he began touching her back in long, soothing strokes. “If ye don’t wish to talk about it yet I understand,” he said quietly. “But I have to know. How did ye manage it?”

She’d been wondering when he was going to ask.

“Do you mean how I managed to escape?” she said, tilting her head back. 

Intrigued, he nodded. “Aye. Exactly.”

When she told him what had happened he threw back his head and laughed, then squeezed her tight. “Ah, love. Ye never cease to amaze me.”

“Do you know what I was thinking, when I was trapped in that room, staring down the barrel of a pistol?”

Instantly sobering, Felix shook his head and the hand he’d wrapped around her back fell away. “Ye must have been terrified. And it’s all my fault. If I’d known Ashburn had paid off the hackney driver–”

“There was no way you could have known that. Please do not blame yourself. I don’t.” She turned to face him. Stared straight into his bright golden eyes. And felt nothing but love. “When I was in that room, when I feared I was going to die, I thought of you and the children. And I thought of the woman I was before I met you. A woman who blindly obeyed her husband. A woman who was so desperate to be perfect and polite and well-mannered that she forsook her own happiness. And I knew that no matter what happened, I was never going to become that woman again. Because of you.”

“It wasn’t only because of me–” he began, but she silenced him with a quick shake of her head.

“I am not finished. When Ezra divorced me, I never thought I would fall in love again. I convinced myself that it was better to be alone than to risk having everything taken away from me. But do you know what I have come to realize?”

“What is that?” Felix said huskily as he reached out to brush a tendril of hair from her cheek.

“Dresses, cloaks, carriages – even a person’s social standing. They are all material things and they do not matter. Not really. But love…love matters.” She smiled up at him. “The love of a mother for her children. The love of a man for children he’s accepted as his own. And the love of a woman for a good, kind-hearted man. When Ezra divorced me, I did not lose anything. In fact, I was given something. Something irreplaceable. Something I would not trade for the world.”

Felix drew her into a protective embrace, one arm curving around the small of her back while the other cupped her cheek, thumb brushing against the tears of joy shimmering in her eyes. “And what would that be?” he said softly.

“You, Mr. Spencer. I was given you.”

“Felix, love.” A rakish grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I think it’s time ye called me Felix.”

“Yes.” Laughing, crying, she flung arms around his neck and kissed him through her tears. “Yes, I believe it is.”  

Epilogue

They were married exactly one month later in the very same church where Scarlett and Owen had said their vows. With all of Bow Street looking on, as well as Scarlett, Henry, little Anne, Mrs. Atwood, and even Mr. Darcy, Felicity and Felix promised to love and cherish one another until the end of their days.

Only one person was absent.

Lord Grant Hargrave.

Instead of sitting in a narrow wooden pew, Grant was racing through the twisted alleys of St. Giles, London’s most nefarious rookery. For such a large man he moved with surprising agility and quickness, bounding over crates and ducking beneath lines of dirty laundry in search of his prey.

Like a hound who had smelled the blood of a fox, he was unrelenting in his pursuit. Three times he’d come this close to the little thief that had been stealing jewelry from the ton’s elite, and three times she’d managed to slip through his grasp.

She would not do it a fourth.

He tracked her into an abandoned tenement building. The stairs creaked ominously beneath his weight as he sprinted up them to the highest floor. A board splintered beneath his boot when he ran down the hall, falling away into nothingness. Having been scorched by fire, the building wasn’t sound. There was no telling how long it would hold, but if he went down with it then so would his thief, for he wasn’t letting her go.

Not this time. 

Faced with a door to his left and a door to his right, Grant was forced to make a decision. One door pointed at the street and the other at the alley. If he picked incorrectly, the thief would be gone and there’d be no telling when she would surface again. His gut told him to go left.

He went right.

The thief was perched on the windowsill when he slammed open the door. She glanced back at him over her shoulder, and her mouth curled in a sneer.

“You’re too late, Runner.”

She pushed herself quickly off the sill, but Grant was quicker. Throwing himself forward he managed to catch the hood of her cloak. He yanked. Hard. She fell backwards into him, and the force of their two bodies colliding sent them both sprawling onto the floor in a cloud of dust. Coughing, she tried to flip herself upright and make a run for the door, but he swept out his leg and struck her behind the knees.

He threw himself over her, thighs straddling her waist as he pinned her wrists together above her head in an iron grip. Hair the color of sunset flew in every direction as she tried to twist and buck, but try as she might she couldn’t throw him off.

Chest heaving with the force of her exertion, she glared up at him out of flashing green eyes and snapped her teeth, a fierce little wolf with her paw in a trap. Grant just grinned.  

“Caught you.”

BOW STREET BRIDES

I thoroughly hope you have enjoyed the time you’ve spent with Felix and Felicity! Of all the books I’ve written, they are right up there as two of my favorite characters. If you loved A Dangerous Proposal (or even if it wasn’t quite your cup of tea), please consider taking a few minutes and leaving a review! For an indie author like myself, every single review counts and I appreciate each one more than you can possibly know.

And make sure to follow me on Facebook and Twitter for exclusive excerpts from A Dangerous Affair, the next book in the Bow Street Brides series!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jillian Eaton grew up in Maine and now resides in Pennsylvania. When she isn't writing, Jillian is doing her best to keep up with her three very mischievous dogs. She loves horses, coffee, getting email from readers, ducks, and staying up late finishing a good book. 

She isn't very fond of doing laundry. 

www.jillianeaton.com