‘Of course she would, Stanton. Go along, Felicity. I am sure you do not need chaperoning if you are with your intended. I declare I have never been so happy in my life—except, of course, when my dear Farlowe proposed. Who would have thought that I would be mama-in-law to the Earl of Stanton. I shall be the envy of everyone. I cannot wait to see their—’
‘Mama, please.’ Felicity cut across her mother’s monologue as she stood up.
Richard rose to his feet with a guilty start. He had been on the brink of becoming mesmerized by Lady Katherine’s inane chatter.
Felicity, cheeks splashed with colour, shot a glance at him before lowering her gaze. ‘Thank you. I should enjoy a breath of fresh air.’
She took his arm and they left the library via one of the French doors. It was dark outside on the terrace, but lamps at intervals along the balustrade cast weak pools of light to soften the shadows.
Richard placed his hand over Felicity’s, where it lay on his arm. It was chilled, despite the mildness of the evening.
‘You are chilled, Lady Felicity. Shall I fetch your shawl?’
‘I am warm enough, thank you, my lord.’
‘Richard. Please. We need not stand on ceremony with one another; unless, of course, you have doubts about our marriage?’
Her eyes flicked to his face, then returned to their contemplation of the flagstones at their feet. Richard stopped beneath one of the lamps and took her hands in his.
‘Forgive my blunt speaking, but you do not appear happy. Am I ousting a preferred suitor?’
‘No, there is no other, although I had not thought... I did not realize... Oh, heavens, I cannot find the words.’
Felicity tugged her hands free and turned to stare into the darkness of the surrounding gardens. Her arms were wrapped around her waist and she looked somehow very vulnerable, standing there alone. It crossed Richard’s mind that she was self-contained: she gave the impression she was used to relying on her own resources. He shook his head in self-deprecation. Harriet would be impressed. She was forever castigating him about his lack of insight and yet, here he was, analysing his bride-to-be as though he had known her for years. He thrust away all thought of his mistress. It felt, somehow, disloyal to think of her whilst in the company of his future wife.
He put his hands on Felicity’s shoulders, the bones fragile beneath his fingers. ‘Try. I won’t bite, you know. I should prefer to start off with honesty between us, if we are to live together with any degree of comfort.’
Her shoulders tensed as she inhaled. Then she turned, and regarded him, her eyes as rueful as her smile.
‘This is ridiculous. You are right. If we are to wed, we need to understand one another. And, I admit I have doubts. Not about you. Well, that is...’ She paused, her brows drawn together in a frown. ‘No, that is untrue. It is about you, but it is about me, also. You and me. Together. You see, I hadn’t thought...I never presumed to be presented with such a...such a...catch, if you do not object to my calling you that?’
Richard bit back a smile. He had been called a catch many times, he was aware, but never to his face before. And never by an earnest-faced female who appeared to believe herself unworthy of a ‘catch’ such as he.
‘You may call me what you will,’ he said, ‘as long as you promise not to use such insultingly offensive terms that I shall be forced to take umbrage.’
She laughed, revealing a glimpse of white teeth. ‘Umbrage? I always thought that to be a state applied to elderly dowagers. Do you sporting gentlemen consider it a fittingly masculine trait, my lord?’
This was better. The spirited girl he remembered from last year had surfaced, her face alive with laughter, her eyes bright.
‘Perhaps umbrage does not quite convey the precise meaning I hoped to convey,’ he conceded. ‘Which word, in your opinion, should I have used, if I am to portray a suitably manly image to my future wife?’
Disquiet skimmed her expression, then vanished. Had he imagined it? Was it the bald reminder that she would be his wife that had disturbed her? Her countenance was now neutral, but her eyes remained watchful and she made no attempt to answer him.
‘Would you have preferred me to use “offence” perhaps, or “exception”?’ He leaned closer to her, and said, ‘I do not, you notice, suggest “outrage” for that, I fear, would not meet with your approval any more than “umbrage”. It is too synonymous with spinsters, would you not—?’
Felicity stiffened. ‘Do not make fun of me, sir. I may be a spinster and, therefore, in your eyes, a poor, undesired thing, but I have feelings and I have pride.’
‘Felicity, I promise I intended no slight. The thought never crossed my mind that you might think I was making fun of you. I was...I was... Oh, confound it! Come here.’
He had run out of words. He clasped her shoulders and drew her close. A finger beneath her chin tilted her face to his. He searched her eyes. They were shuttered. She was rigid in his arms. Was she scared? Had she never known a man’s kiss? The thought, strangely, pleased him: knowing his wife had never experienced another man’s touch. But he must take care not to frighten her. He lowered his head, slowly, and put his lips to hers.
He almost recoiled in shock. He had expected ice. What he felt was fire.
Felicity’s heart clamoured in her chest as Richard’s lips claimed hers. One arm swept around her back, the other hand cupped her head. His lips were warm, surprisingly soft and tasted of brandy. They slid, slowly, tantalizingly, over hers and she felt her own lips soften and respond. A tingling thrill shot through her, all the way to her toes. Her fingers tightened on his sleeve as her belly squeezed in a strange but not unpleasant way. That kiss ended too soon for Felicity and as the reality sunk in—that this man would indeed be her husband, would be entitled to kiss her and caress her and much more—her heart faltered.
How could she resist falling in love with such a man? She was under no illusion that he might ever love her. Unrequited love had caused far more beautiful women than she to suffer. She saw an image of her future—lonely and desperate—stretching before her.
Richard smiled down at her. She searched his face. It confirmed her fears. Even in this dim light, she could read the amusement that lurked in the depths of those velvety eyes. And why would he not be amused? A naive spinster and the experienced man about town: would that not set the precedent for their marriage? Could she protect her heart? Through the lit windows of the library she could see her mother and the duke, deep in conversation. She must tell them as soon as possible that she could not marry Lord Stanton. She peeked at him again. He looked bored. That settled it, then.
‘Perhaps we should go back inside. Mama will be wondering where we are.’
His lips twitched as he glanced through the window. Felicity felt a lick of heat, deep inside, remembering their warm, silken caress.
‘I suspect your mama has forgotten our existence for the moment.’
Nothing would prevail upon Felicity to admit he was right. ‘Nevertheless, I think we have been out here long enough.’
Richard sketched a bow. ‘As you wish, my lady.’
Felicity studied him surreptitiously as she took his arm. Starkly handsome, his close-fitting black tailcoat and trousers emphasized his masculinity. Not only was Stanton one of society’s most eligible bachelors, but Felicity was aware he was also widely acclaimed for his sporting prowess. The hard muscle of his arm under her hand attested to his strength.