by Shana Galen
“Where is Armand?”
“He’s—” Felicity tried to breathe, couldn’t, and pointed at the garden. Without waiting for further direction, the duc slammed through the French doors and disappeared into the night. A moment later, the duchesse floated into the parlor. She was wearing a white silk robe, and her hair was a thick chocolate wave across her back. “Is something wrong? Where is the duc?”
By now Felicity had her breath back and was actually anxious to return to the garden. “His Grace went after the comte. There was an intruder in the garden.”
“An intruder?”
“Yes. I must take my leave, Your Grace.”
As she stepped back outside, she heard the duchesse call, “If there’s an intruder, stay inside!”
But Felicity could not bear to stand idly by if something exciting was happening elsewhere. She raced to the garden gate, reaching it just in time to encounter the two brothers. Both looked winded, but neither seemed harmed. She looked at the duc. “Did you catch him—the intruder?”
The duc opened his mouth to answer, but the comte was the one who spoke. “Bad man,” he said, his voice considerably less hoarse than earlier that day. Felicity blinked in surprise, and she and the duc exchanged a glance.
“I didn’t teach him that,” she said.
The duc was looking at his brother. “Who was it? A thief?”
The comte seemed to think for a moment, and then he repeated, “Bad man.”
The duc sighed, looked at Felicity. “Did you see this man?”
“Yes. In fact, this was the second time I saw him. The first was last night. I saw him from my bedroom window. He and another man were digging in the garden. I thought they were the gardeners. I suppose that was a rather foolish presumption, now that I think of it. It was far too late in the day to be gardening.”
But the duc was nodding. “The holes we found.” He glanced at his brother, and Felicity felt her cheeks grow warm. Obviously, the duc did not know she had been present at the comte’s discovery of those holes. But the comte had not seen the man that night, only his handiwork. Did he somehow recognize him from an earlier meeting?
She almost opened her mouth to speculate, then realized doing so would indicate that tonight was not the first time she and the comte had shared a stroll in the garden after dark. And tonight—there had been more than just stargazing.
Had she really allowed the comte to kiss her? Had she really just stood there while he pulled her against him, wrapped his arms about her, and ravished her mouth? There was no other way to describe the kiss. She had been kissed before—innocent pecks and even one or two more passionate embraces. But none of those kisses had moved her like this one. None of those kisses had claimed her mind and body so completely. She could still feel the last remnants of the fire that had pooled in her belly. Even the appearance of the intruder had not been enough to dispel it completely. The feel of the comte’s arms around her and his mouth on hers lingered, as well. She had known his lips would be enticing, and they had been. Her mouth still tingled, and she ran the back of her hand along it to try and quell the sensation.
Fortunately, the duc did not notice her action. He was looking at his brother. “Did you see that man last night when you discovered the holes?”
The comte shook his head. “Bad man,” he repeated, and Felicity was certain he must have seen the man before.
“I suppose I’d better station some footmen about the perimeter of the house tonight,” the duc said, motioning for Felicity to precede him back to the house. “I don’t want to take any chances. In the morning, I’ll speak with some of the neighbors and see if they’ve had similar problems.”
They entered the parlor, and the duchesse pounced on them. “Did you catch the intruder?”
The duc scowled. “You should be in bed.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m not tired. And how am I supposed to sleep with an intruder about?”
“He’s gone now, and I’ll station some footmen outside tonight to keep watch. I may hire some professional watchmen tomorrow.”
“Bad man,” the comte said again, and the duchesse’s eyebrows rose considerably.
“Does Armand know this man? I’m still not entirely sure what happened.” She looked from the comte to Felicity. “Our servant said Armand had gone after an intruder, but how did you know about the intruder, Miss Bennett?”
Felicity could feel the duc and duchesse’s eyes bore into her and knew they were beginning to put the pieces together. She glanced quickly at the comte, realizing belatedly the gesture would only incriminate her.
“Oh, hell,” the duc said under his breath.
Felicity was not certain if the comte understood the full conversation, but he understood enough to look chagrined. Still, he would not have to be the one to explain.
“I was walking in the garden after dinner,” Felicity began, trying to decide how much to tell. In reality, she had been afraid Charles might make good on his threat of an appearance in the garden, and she’d hoped to shoo him away before anyone in the family saw him. She could hide her reason for being in the garden, but she could not deny she had met with the comte. The kiss they had shared, on the other hand, would remain their secret. “I was on my way inside, in fact, as it had grown dark. On the path to the house, I passed his lordship. I suppose the comte was planning to take a stroll himself. We stopped for a moment to… exchange pleasantries…”
Beside her, the duc blew out a breath, and she continued quickly, not wanting to look at him. She had a feeling he had guessed more occurred than just a stroll in the garden.
“And as we were… communicating, the comte seemed to notice the intruder. He stiffened and yelled, then ran after him when the man fled the grounds.”
“Were you able to see the man, as well?” the duchesse asked.
“Yes. In fact, as I told His Grace, I saw him last night from my chamber window. He was digging in the garden with another man, and I assumed he was one of your gardeners.”
“Are you certain it was the same man?” the duc asked.
Felicity nodded. “Perfectly. His appearance is quite unique. He’s small—the size of a child, but his face is wrinkled and gnarled. An old man’s face, though I don’t think he could be over fifty. And his eyes—well, as I looked down into the garden last night, he looked up at my window. The look in his eyes was nothing short of malevolent.”
“Really?” The duchesse shuddered.
“You should retire now,” the duc all but ordered his wife.
“And the man who was with him? What did he look like?” she asked, ignoring her husband.
“He was tall and muscular. His arms were huge, like ham hocks. I didn’t see his face as clearly, but I believe him to be younger.”
“Very bad man,” the comte said now.
Felicity glanced at him, then the duc and duchesse. “I really do believe his lordship recognized the man he chased tonight. He may also be familiar with that man’s accomplice, the larger man.”
“I agree,” the duc said brusquely, “but unless Armand can give us more information, he’ll be of little help to the magistrate.”
“Perhaps I might work with him on that point tomorrow.”
“That might be a better use of time than a stroll in the garden.”
Felicity felt her cheeks flush but forced herself to meet the duc’s eyes. She needed this position and could ill afford to give the appearance of any wrongdoing. She could ill afford to engage in wrongdoing! What had she been thinking in the garden? It was wrong to kiss the comte, for so many reasons. It would not happen again.
The duchesse laid a hand on her husband’s arm. “It’s been a long day, and I fear we are all over-tired. Why don’t you and Armand retire, and I will see Miss Bennett to her chambers?”
“Fine,” the duc growled, and Felicity could tell by th
e look in his eyes he wanted to say more but held back for his wife’s sake. “Don’t be long.”
The duc pushed his brother toward the door, but the comte shrugged him off and went through the French doors, into the garden again. The duc shook his head in frustration and followed his brother. Obviously the comte was truly concerned about the men he called bad. She wondered what precisely made these men so bad. It couldn’t be merely that they had dug holes in the garden. Those were easily refilled and restored. He must have recognized the men from somewhere else. But where? And what had they done that made them so detestable?
Could she manage to coax that information out of him?
“You and the comte have become quite close rather quickly,” the duchesse said, interrupting her thoughts.
Felicity bit her lip and tried not to sigh. She had thought when the duc retired she would be free from scrutiny and questioning. Now it appeared he had been dismissed so his wife might question and scrutinize in his place.
Felicity tried to smile. “I would not say we are close. We both happened to be in the garden at the same time.”
The duchesse raised eyebrows above eyes that seemed to know far too much. “Just this once?”
Felicity swallowed. “Perhaps twice.”
“Oh, dear.”
Felicity clenched her fists at the duchesse’s disapproving tone. “I assure you our meeting tonight was purely by chance. It will not happen again.”
The duchesse did not look like she quite believed her, and Felicity stood there, feeling like a small, disobedient child. “You are attracted to the comte.”
Felicity opened her mouth to protest, but the duchesse shook her head. “There’s no sense in denying it. I can see it quite clearly. He’s an attractive man.”
Felicity straightened to her full height, which was still a bit short of the duchesse’s. “Yes, but I am his tutor, and that is clearly a professional relationship.” Not to mention—and she would not mention it—she was technically betrothed to another man.
“Precisely. I am happy you understand the comte needs you to act as his tutor at all times. I fear if your relationship were to become… entangled, it might be to the comte’s detriment. He’s vulnerable.”
Felicity bit her lip to stop the retort on her lips from spewing forth. She did not think the comte was quite as vulnerable as the duchesse would have him appear. After all, it was he who, mere moments ago, had swept her into his arms and plundered her mouth with reckless abandon. Those steel arms holding her close had not felt particularly vulnerable.
Felicity cleared her throat. “I assure Your Grace the relationship will not become entangled. I know my position.” Perhaps a hint of the bitterness she felt was betrayed in her voice, because the duchesse reached over to touch her arm.
“You know I was once a governess, as well, so obviously I don’t mean to patronize you. I’m only thinking of what’s best for Armand. If your feelings will not allow you to act in a professional capacity—”
“My feelings are purely professional,” Felicity said, pulling her arm away. She could not afford for them to be anything more and keep this position. Not only that, but she would need another position in the future. For that, she would need the duchesse’s recommendation. “I assure you, once again, that I know what is expected of me. There will be no more strolls in the garden.”
“Miss Bennett—” the duchesse began, her voice beseeching.
“May I be dismissed?” Felicity asked, keeping her back ramrod straight, so straight she feared were she to bend, it might crack.
“Of course,” the duchesse said with a sigh. “I shall see you in the morning.”
Felicity nodded and strolled, head high, out of the parlor, into the magnificent vestibule, and up to her room. She managed to hold back her tears until she had shut the door, and then she could not stop them.
She had overreacted; she knew that even as she extracted a lace handkerchief from a pocket in her gown to dab at her tears. She sat on the bed and pressed the lace to her eyes. She had been in the wrong, and the duchesse had been kind enough to remind her of that gently. But the worst of it was she had put her position in jeopardy. She could not lose this position, and if she continued down her current path, that would be the inevitable outcome.
Foolish girl! she chided herself. Do you want to end up married to a drunkard who gambles away money and leaves you with a passel of hungry mouths to feed? Do you want to bring scandal upon your poor aunt?
No, and she should be ashamed of herself.
Then why wasn’t she? Try as she might, Felicity could not regret what had passed between the comte and herself. How could she regret a kiss that had all but melted her insides with a liquid fire? On the other hand, would it not have been better never to have experienced that kiss? Surely, no other could match it. She would be forever disappointed.
Surely Charles St. John would never make her feel that way. He had kissed her once. It had been about two years ago—a quick kiss but not altogether dispassionate. Still, it had set her young heart racing. She knew he was experienced, had kissed other girls. He was a popular man in Selborne, and he had many of the village girls in giggles when he walked by. She had always thought him the most handsome, most charming man of her acquaintance. She pined for his attention, but she had too much pride ever to chase after him. Not all the girls held back, and he had always seemed more interested in the girls who flirted and wore their bodices low than in her.
Had her father made Charles promise to marry her? If so, why had he agreed? Duty? Did Charles possess a sense of duty? He obviously had no honor. What kind of man demanded money in return for ending an engagement?
The kind who was always looking for a profit. Was that why he had cared for her father at the end? Had Charles, laden with gambling debt, returned home to Selborne, saw the ailing old vicar, and seen an opportunity to make a profit? If so, he had grossly overestimated the Bennetts’ financial situation.
And that was why she was here, tutoring the comte de Valère. She must remember she was his tutor, nothing more.
And tomorrow, when she was forced into his presence for hours on end, she had best forget the way his body had felt against hers, the way his tongue had teased her lips apart, the way he had smelled…
Felicity fanned her face with the handkerchief and groaned. Was it too soon to ask for a day off?
***
He could not allow the bad men to come back. Armand was not certain what would happen if they did. Try as he might, he could not recall how he knew them or from where. But he knew they were evil. He wanted them as far away from his family as possible. Had his speech brought them here? No, they would have come anyway. He knew that. They were a part of his past, a part he had always known would never let him go.
Every night for a week, Armand spent the hours after the sun had set prowling the garden, keeping watch on the house. He knew his brother had hired watchmen, who paroled the town house’s perimeter, but he did not trust anyone else with his family’s safety. He had, somehow, brought these men here, and he was responsible to see they did no harm.
Julien tried to make him stop his nightly patrols, but Armand ignored him and went right back to patrolling. With his increased speech fluency, communication was easier, but mere words alone did not open the locks barring his memories.
Armand’s nightly watches did not benefit him by day. Miss Bennett expected to begin her lessons with him directly after breakfast, and some days she continued teaching right until dinner. Actually, she did not teach so much as cajole, harass, and demand he say these words, use this fork, bow in this way.
Armand was tired of the lessons but increasingly drawn to Miss Bennett. His constant state of sleep deprivation meant his mind often wandered far from the object of the lesson for the day, straying into what he now knew was dangerous territory.
When she attem
pted to show him the correct way to hold a knife and fork, he forgot to pay attention and stared at her long white fingers instead. When she attempted to illustrate how he should bow after being introduced, he found himself staring down the front of her gown—at her… oh, he could not think of the word, and she had turned red when he had asked. And even now, as she encouraged him to say some word or other—he really should pay more attention—he was more intent on the shape of her pink mouth than what she wanted from him.
“Carriage,” she said again, her lips curving ever so slightly as she spoke. “Now you try.”
Why was it he had never noticed a woman’s lips before? There was a maid pretending to dust in the corner of the drawing room even now. She was here as a chaperone, but Sarah had probably told her to pretend to be busy with her work. Armand flicked his glance to the young woman. He had seen her a hundred times, perhaps a thousand in the time he had been here, and yet he had never looked at her lips. He looked at them now as best he could, considering she was moving about, waving a long-handled thing with bird parts attached to it at everything she saw.
The maid’s lips were nice, but nothing that interested him. He did not want to kiss them. He looked back at Miss Bennett. Now, her lips he wanted to kiss. He knew he was not supposed to kiss them. His brother had given him a long, rambling talk on that subject after that night in the garden. But Armand still wanted to kiss Miss Bennett’s lips. And why shouldn’t he? Julien undoubtedly kissed Sarah’s lips.
Something to do with marriage. It was a word Armand knew, vaguely. A word from his childhood that had never interested him much. But that word had everything to do with why he could not and should not kiss Miss Bennett.
“My lord.”
Her lips had thinned, and he glanced up into her eyes, which were not quite so bright blue at the moment. They had turned a darker, ominous shade.