“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 midd
le-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, C
aptain.” 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?”
A Dangerous Proposal (Bow Street Brides Book 2) Page 10