Gareth: Lord of Rakes (25 page)

“Which means you have, what, another year before missing heirs are disinherited in favor of the Crown? I really don’t understand why you and Astrid weren’t granted something at least during your minorities.” And why hadn’t he put Brenner on the question already? “Do you want me to look into this, Felicity? It would be no trouble.”

No trouble at all, and give him an excuse to remain at least marginally involved in her life.

“Gareth, when has anyone
ever
succeeded in collecting a debt from the Crown in a timely fashion?”

Particularly with the King’s sanity in doubt, and Wales spending like a sailor on shore leave. “Point taken.”

“What’s the sigh about?”

Lying on his chest, even with her eyes closed, she could no doubt feel as well as hear his sighs—as he could feel hers.

“Self-recrimination,” Gareth admitted. “If I’d had the foresight to chase down the Crown’s agent managing your father’s estate, you might have seen some revenue by now, but it simply didn’t occur to me.” Though it wasn’t likely—but why hadn’t he tried?

Felicity raised up to glower at him. “And I should have married any man who offered while my father was still alive, and petitioned the Crown to pass the title on to my firstborn male child? Lived and traded on the expectations generated by such a farce?” She looked both fierce and delectable, silhouetted against the sky, her hair tumbling down her back. “I am content with what is, Gareth, and I am not sure Father’s estates were even realizing a profit at the time of his death, suggesting such an undertaking might have been so much wasted effort. My legs are going to sleep.”

She shifted so she was straddling him, then treated him to a frown worthy of a seven-year-old hellion’s governess. “Oh, you bad man.”

“What?” He was a bad man, though it had never troubled him much before he’d met her.

“I saw that look in your eye, you rapscallion. You had an impure thought,” she accused, hoisting herself and her voluminous skirts off of him.

He levered up on one elbow. “Only just the one, and more an appreciative thought than an impure thought.”

“Wicked, wicked, bad man,” Felicity told him, rubbing her feet. “Scandalous, shameful, scoundrelous bad man.”

Gareth smoothed her hair back, thinking this was one of her finer, dearer scolds. “Is scoundrelous even a word?”

“When you’re in the vicinity, it should be. I need to get up, but my legs are not awake yet.”

Gareth surged across the blanket to tackle her onto her back and crouched above her. “No running off yet.”

“I can see the time has come for those stern measures.”

“That it has,” he agreed before he sternly kissed her senseless, until she was panting and laughing on the blanket in broad daylight.

Felicity stretched and yawned, nagged by a sense that the day she faced held something onerous. Yesterday had been so lovely, with memory upon memory to treasure. Gareth had given her hours of his time, and a touching amount of himself as well. They’d lazed around in the back garden on a blanket, shared a quiet private dinner, played cribbage after dinner, and taken a moonlit stroll through the same garden.

The day had been different from any other time they’d spent together, rich in both affection and conversation, but also in self-reflection. Felicity came to see how her father’s lifestyle and untimely death had robbed her of a girl’s most fanciful years, forcing on her a practicality that might not have been completely true to her nature.

And Gareth had been so quiet, unusually so for a man who never seemed to stop moving, and
doing
. The sexual tension had been present, as it always was with them, but subdued by something sweeter.

Romance.
Gareth had given her a few hours of romance. Or they had given it to each other, a precious parting gift to warm her heart for years to come.

And then, like a rumble of thunder on the horizon, her agenda for the day emerged into her awareness: today was the day she would publicly end her association with him. She would insult him, humiliate him if possible, leaving no doubt further association with him was unwelcome.

Drat him and his stratagems. Drat him for his unwillingness to risk her reputation one iota more than circumstances required. Drat him for his very chivalry.

Felicity had resolved to roll over and go back to sleep, but Astrid came along, chirping determinedly about an outing to the park after breakfast. Felicity capitulated, because spending the morning cooped up in the house was only going to exacerbate her sense of anxiety—and Astrid had been trying so hard to be good lately.

They walked to the park arm in arm, footmen trailing closely and the day promising to be every bit as lovely as the previous one. As they gained the duck pond, Felicity spotted David Holbrook sauntering down the path.

“Hello, Miss Worthington, Miss Astrid. Glorious morning, isn’t it?”

Astrid waved enthusiastically from where she was tossing bread crumbs on the water several yards down the bank. Ducks and geese honked at her feet and made quite a racket, splashing out into the water in pursuit of the bread.

“She is the picture of feminine innocence, is she not?” Holbrook asked, watching Astrid with a quiet smile.

“Mr. Holbrook, are you entertaining ideas about my sister?” Felicity tried to keep amusement in her voice—enough to convey that such a notion couldn’t possibly be serious, not so much as to insult the man.

His expression when he answered her was all gravity. “While I am sure Miss Astrid is lovely in every regard, she is, in the first place, not yet receiving gentlemen callers, and in the second, not appealing to me in the manner such attentions require. And,” he added, looking abruptly quite severe, “if you are wondering if I am harboring
ideas
regarding your own person, be assured I am not.”

Felicity’s smile faded in surprise. “That is an interesting declaration.” And more relief than it should be.

He further startled her by bestowing on her a warm, thoroughly transforming smile. “I rather surprised myself by making it. I do not want you to worry that you or your sister might have to fend off my unwelcome designs. You ladies appear to me to be without the protection of a properly motivated male relation. Having been raised myself with some deficits of familial support, I am concerned to see you thus.”

Felicity puzzled through that and searched his face for nefarious innuendo. “You are offering friendship?”

“If ever a friend you need,” he replied, handing Felicity a card engraved with his address—a stone’s throw from Grosvenor Square, no less. He turned from her, distracted by a ruckus along the bank of the pond. Astrid was flapping the empty bag of crumbs over the hissing and weaving head of a particularly cantankerous gander.

“Try waving that bonnet, Miss Astrid. If you’re lucky, he’ll snatch it out of your hand,” Holbrook called.

“Astrid Worthington, you will do no such thing. That is a fine, serviceable bonnet, and until such time as it no longer fits, you will not be using it on helpless waterfowl.”

Astrid grinned at them, and fingered the bow under her chin, but left her bonnet on her head. Shooing the gander off, she rejoined her sister on the walkway.

“Mr. Holbrook, how pleasant to see you again. I have missed your company, among that of my other companions in the park.”

“Your other companions?”

“She means that lot,” Felicity said, gesturing to the honking, flapping crowd on the bank. “They know she brings them treats, so she is a great favorite with them.”

“I am to be compared to a goose?” Holbrook mused. “It won’t be the first time, I’m afraid. Shall we stroll, ladies, or would you like to linger by the water?”

The pond, while picturesque, bore a certain scent that did not agree with Felicity’s breakfast. Then too, the daffodils here were all past their prime.

“We should stroll,” Felicity said before Astrid could take charge of matters. “Astrid and I have a call to pay this afternoon and cannot tarry here with her many admirers much longer.” Though she wanted to tarry amid the sunshine and greenery, despite all the misgivings Gareth had about Mr. Holbrook.

“You look wistful, Miss Worthington,” Holbrook said, offering them each an arm. “Are your duties so burdensome?”

“Her duties are burdensome,” Astrid said. “She must disentangle herself from old Heathgate today, and in the home of the man’s own mother. We’ll be relieved when we’ve sent him on his way.”

If Holbrook was appalled at that revelation, or at Felicity’s gasp of indignation, he didn’t show it. “And will old Heathgate accept his set-down with good grace, or will the situation become awkward?”

“Good grace,” Astrid informed him cheerily. “He and Felicity have this planned to stifle the gossips. They actually rub along together quite well, though he simply won’t suit, will he, Felicity? There’s really nothing else for it.”

“Astrid,” Felicity said through clenched teeth, “
that
is
really
quite
enough
.”

“Miss Worthington,” Holbrook addressed Felicity with a twinkle in his mismatched eyes. “When I spoke earlier, I referred to the burden a lack of family can bring. I see in your circumstances, family can also be a burden.”

Bless him for his gallantry, though Astrid didn’t deserve it. “Mr. Holbrook, you are entirely right. At this moment, having less family appeals quite strongly.”

“Miss Astrid?” Holbrook prompted.

“I suppose I should not have said something so forward to Mr. Holbrook, Felicity, but with the way Heathgate acted yesterday, I didn’t want Mr. Holbrook to think you were spoken for when you are not.”

And never would be at this rate. Felicity closed her eyes and leaned on Holbrook’s supporting arm. And to think some people endured siblings by the dozen.

“Astrid, you were doing less harm before you attempted that apology. What am I to do with you?”

“Miss Astrid,” Holbrook said, bringing them to the gate of the park and looking back over the lovely green space, “I do not envy you the dressing-down you’re due once your sister gets you home. I’d sooner face Barbary pirates unarmed in a high wind.”

“I am sorry, Lissy,” Astrid mumbled miserably.

Holbrook reached out and tweaked one of Astrid’s blond curls where it had escaped from the dreaded Ugly Bonnet.

“She knows you are, missy, but your sister has earned the right to sulk and glare and make you pay a bit, don’t you think?” he suggested, smiling at Felicity.

“I think,” Felicity agreed, offering Astrid the barest smile.

Having apparently satisfied himself that they had exchanged an olive branch—an olive
twig
—Holbrook tipped his hat, bowed, and strode away.

***

Gareth decided to walk the eight blocks to Felicity’s house. He’d watched from the corner of his eye as she’d navigated the social waters at Lady Heathgate’s at-home, and when she’d embarked on a tête-à-tête with two of his mother’s most gossipy cronies, he’d known his term as a marital prospect had summarily ended.

Which should have been a relief.

He let himself in through her back door, and found her in the kitchen preparing dinner. Wordlessly, he held out his arms to her, and without hesitation, she went to him.

“I hated doing that.”

He kissed her temple, thinking of a cold spring night when this same kitchen had smelled of smoke and fear rather than freshly baked bread. “It’s over, and I never felt a thing, thank you.”

Felicity pressed her nose to his cravat while Gareth inhaled lavender and peace. “It wasn’t as hard as I feared, in some ways, and in others, it was harder, too.”

He should have stepped back; instead he kissed her cheek. “What exactly did you say?”

“That I lacked the worldliness to take on a marital project of your, er, proportions, as you are too sophisticated, and your estates too well endowed for one of my retiring nature and humble means.”

Gareth smiled at the ceiling, where pots hung gleaming from nails in the rafters. “Merciful saints. We don’t suit because I’m too mighty a swordsman?”

“It was a version of the truth.” Felicity slipped away, her smile forced. She went to the hob and poured a fresh pot, then set about arranging a tea tray. She looked lovely in her old dress, flour dusting her hands, and she looked so
dear
.

It hurt; it hurt nigh unbearably to think he would never again have the privilege of stopping by, letting himself in through her back door, and being offered a perfect cup of tea like any other adoring swain calling on his lady.

He had more wealth than most men could dream of, but there was something in this kitchen… something in this household, something in this
woman
, he would be forever impoverished without.

She had hated maligning him in any fashion, he had hated forcing her to do it, and that was their version of common ground.

The silence stretched between them, comfortable, warm, and sad. Felicity eventually got up, took Gareth’s empty mug from his hand, and leaned down to kiss the top of his head. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her to him, pressing his face to her midriff.

“Are you worried about my swordsmanship tomorrow afternoon?”

“Not worried,” Felicity replied. “Just… I don’t know. This time tomorrow night, I will be different. I will not be the person I am now, and the change is irrevocable. I see it as something like riding into my first battle. I will know things tomorrow I don’t know now, and the knowledge will not necessarily make me happier.”

Gareth rose at her words and steadied her—or himself—with a hand on each of her shoulders.

“Felicity, love…” He searched for the right words, words that would be honest but comforting. “You will be different, that much is true, but you will not be
less
. You will be
more
.”

She looked unconvinced. “And what about you, Gareth? If you do this with me, feeling as you do, will you be more as well, or will you be less?”

He shifted his hands to frame her face while he offered her a kiss of more tenderness than he’d known he had in him. When she might have moved into his embrace, he stepped back and ended the kiss.

“That is to remind you that this business we undertake tomorrow will be for your pleasure,” he said, tapping her nose with an index finger. “Sleep well tonight, for you’ll need your rest.”

“See that you do likewise, Marquess of Too Much,” Felicity said, beaming him one of those sudden, brilliant smiles. “For I plan on exercising many stern measures with you.”

“On that comforting assurance, I will take my leave,” Gareth replied, grabbing his coat and strolling out into the pleasant spring evening.

As he made his way home, he failed to come up with a satisfactory answer to Felicity’s question: If he made love to her, completing the destruction of her innocence but securing her future, if he allowed them both to create a memory as painful as it would be precious, if he engaged in intimate pleasure with a woman for financial reasons, would that make him something more or something less than the man she’d kissed, held, and greeted so warmly tonight?

***

A soft, incessant clicking woke Gareth before dawn, less than three hours after he’d finally dropped off to sleep the night before.
Sleet.
About the ugliest of the many varieties of ugly weather London offered, but typical of the early spring season. Glorious spring weather one day, and a dirty reprise of winter the next.

Today he would be Felicity’s lover in fact, no longer simply her tutor in all the peripheral bed sports. The concept left him as unsettled now as it had months ago. He craved intimate congress with her body with a cross-eyed, mindless lust he hadn’t experienced since he’d been a university boy in a state of perpetual rut.

But he also treasured her womanly decency, that something about her that was fine and good and proper. The same something that in her eyes would be diminished—if not destroyed—by what they did today.

The room was freezing, so Gareth stirred up the fire, grabbed his blue velvet dressing gown from the foot of the bed, and went to the French doors leading to the balcony.

He stood for long minutes before rousing himself to put the morning, at least, to some use. Brenner had managed to find a copy of Callista’s will, and Gareth had yet to actually read the damned thing, which lately had niggled at him, as details sometimes did.

So he rang for hot water and his morning chocolate, washed, dressed, and shaved quickly and without assistance.

As he sat at his desk intending to hunt up Callista’s will, he was assailed by the memory of Felicity, curled on top of him in the warm sunshine of his back garden. He’d never spent time like that with anyone, much less a lover. Their afternoon had been enchanted, imbued with a sense of peace and privacy that in some secret, wistful corner of his jaded heart, he knew would haunt him for the rest of his life.