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.�
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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.
A Dangerous Proposal (Bow Street Brides Book 2) Page 23