“Did you speak to Lord Lindsay?” Amy called the question over her shoulder, tossing it out as if the answer didn’t concern her at all.
“Yes, we had a brief conversation.” Felicity kept her head down, focusing on her evening glove as she tugged it up her arm.
“Then I won’t be dancing with him?”
“That seems the best course.” Should she tell the girl that Lord Lindsay didn’t remember her? That he’d claimed someone else had written the note? She couldn’t. Protecting Amy was the whole reason she’d accompanied her. “You’ll have no trouble filling your dance card, my dear.” More often than not, her cousin ended up with too many requests and had to turn gentlemen away.
“Then we should head downstairs. I can’t wait for the first dance on Saturday, whoever it may be with.”
Whether or not her cousin was unruffled by the turn of events, Felicity couldn’t tell. Amy was terrible at concealing guilt, but she had mastered the polite smile. Perhaps if they headed to the drawing room a bit early, Amy could salve any disappointment by making new acquaintances.
Felicity slipped a small folio of fiction under her shawl. Amy could chat with the other ladies and gentlemen while she caught up on Jane Eyre. She remembered her mother reading the book and had always wanted to read it herself.
“Do I look fetching, as Papa would say?” Amy patted the pinned coils of hair piled on her head. She wore a pink silk gown that set off her hair and eyes. She looked lovely.
“Fetching, without a doubt. Now stop fussing with your hair.” Felicity reached for her cousin’s hand, and Amy immediately clasped it tight.
“Any last words of wisdom from your etiquette book?” The girl was shaking, just a slight tremor along her jawline. She’d never shown a bit of interest in any etiquette book, but her late mother had taught her basic decorum. Amy knew how to behave like a lady, but she was young, given to emotion, and far too eager to fall in love.
Felicity scoured her mind for some fail proof rule she could extract from the first chapter of the Etiquette for Ladies. Nothing seemed as essential as calming Amy’s immediate worry. “Just breathe. You’ll be a success at this party. I’m certain of it.”
As they descended the stairs, Amy transformed from a nervous cygnet into an elegant swan. She caught the notice of two gentlemen who stood speaking in the hallway before they entered the drawing room, drawing their appreciative gazes like a magnet. Without a single misstep, she entered the drawing room and waited patiently for Lady Forsythe to make introductions.
Lady Louisa, the Forsythe’s daughter who’d befriended Amy during their first season, approached and the two young women took a spot on the settee. When two other ladies joined them and all four were engaged in conversation, Felicity secured a chair near the warmth of the fire and opened her book.
The story’s Mr. Rochester had just professed his love for his governess, Miss Eyre. As much as Felicity wanted the heroine to secure a stable future, something told her none of it would end well. If she’d ever believed in happy endings, Felicity didn’t anymore. She expected even her fiction to include disappointment.
“Some might call it rude behavior to read on your own while everyone else is engaging in conversation.”
Felicity didn’t jump when he spoke and pulled her out of Miss Brontë’s fictional world. His voice was too smooth, too low and appealing, and he wasn’t even looking at her. Thank goodness. Chatting publicly with the man would hardly help her convince Amelia to avoid him.
He stood off a short distance from her, looking out through a window onto the same balcony where they’d spoken hours before.
Without lifting her eyes from her book, Felicity whispered, “Interrupting someone who is reading is rude, and we shouldn’t be talking at all. We haven’t been formally introduced.”
Lord Lindsay glanced over his shoulder at his aunt, who was in the process of making introductions on the other side of the room. “My aunt will rectify that soon enough. She’s making the rounds.” He turned back toward the window. “What are you reading anyway?”
“Jane Eyre.” He’d probably never heard of Charlotte Brontë’s book. Felicity’s father had always disdained fiction, considering it a waste of precious time when there were so many books of anatomy, science, and history to read. Though Lord Lindsay had dabbled in authorship with his infamous publication, she suspected he found plenty of other ways to pass his time than lost in the pages of a book.
“My mother was quite fond of the Brontë sisters and forced my brother and I to read their books. What do you think of it? That novel frustrated her most of all.”
“Why? What happens?” Felicity frowned. The story had been progressing well so far. Miss Eyre’s fortunes had certainly taken a turn, as she was soon to be raised from lowly governess to mistress of Thornfield Hall, her employer and soon-to-be husband’s home.
“Oh, no. Never let it be said that I spoiled a novel for a lady.” The moment he whispered his reply, his aunt called out from across the room.
“Alexander, do stop staring at the shrubbery and come over here.” Lady Forsythe had gathered a coterie of young ladies around her, all wide-eyed and apparently eager to make his acquaintance. Felicity was grateful to find that Amy was not among the assembly. There was no need, since she’d been introduced to him at a ball months before and had fixated on the man ever since.
When Lord Lindsay and his aunt approached Amelia and the ladies gathered near the settee, Felicity tucked Jane Eyre away.
“You are acquainted with Miss Huntingdon, I believe. Her mother and I were childhood friends.” Lady Forsythe gestured toward Amy, whose jaw and mouth had begun trembling.
“Pleasure to see you again, Miss Huntingdon.” Somehow, he managed to cool his voice, uttering the words in the same rote tone many used for social niceties. Felicity detected none of the warm allure she’d noted during their earlier conversation.
“And you, my lord.” Rather than disappointing Amy, his attitude seemed to put her at ease.
Felicity, on the other hand, felt anything but easy when Lady Forsythe cast a look her way.
“Miss Beckett, have you been introduced to my nephew?”
“I have not had that pleasure, Lady Forsythe.” Felicity couldn’t tell from the blank expression on the viscount’s face whether he would betray her by divulging the way she’d confronted him on the balcony.
“Miss Beckett is Miss Huntingdon’s chaperone.” Lady Forsythe turned to her nephew to explain Felicity’s purpose, and Lindsay’s increasingly disinterested expression soured the moment. Until that instant, Felicity had never minded her role as guide and safeguard for her cousin, despite how unprepared she sometimes felt for the task. But the viscount seemed to be looking at her down his well-shaped nose. He even narrowed one clear gray eye to inspect her.
“You’re a bit young for a chaperone, Miss Beckett. Are you quite sure you’re up to the task?” The blasted man lifted his chin, as if even lowering his gaze to her level was too much to ask. The gesture reminded her so much of Thomas’s behavior on the day he informed her he’d inherited a barony that she had to stifle the urge to step on the toe of the viscount’s polished boot.
“Don’t be peevish, Alexander. Forgive him, Miss Beckett. Traveling always puts my nephew out of sorts.” The countess pulled Lord Lindsay away with an arm clasped around his as she spoke, and he followed dutifully. Or at least he did until they’d taken a few steps and he turned to offer Felicity a conspiratorial wink. A wink! Worse, he matched the impish gesture with a blatant perusal, taking her in from head to toe and infusing her body with heat. Warmth trickled down from the flush in her cheeks to the spot where her new shoes pinched against her feet.
“Shall we go into the dining room?” Amy’s question accompanied the sound of a low reverberation echoing through the room. Felicity had been so busy scowling at Lord Lindsay’s back, she’d missed the call of the dinner gong.
“Of course.” They joined the virtual parade of la
dies side by side with their mothers or on the arms of obliging gentlemen and progressed down the hall.
“I can’t wait to see where we’re seated.”
Felicity glanced over to note whether Amy’s eyes were locked on Lord Lindsay, whose stature kept his head and shoulders in view, despite his distance ahead of several couples in front of them.
“Louisa says she asked her mother to place us near each other.” Amy turned to her and smiled without an ounce of guile.
Could her cousin have actually taken her admonitions about the viscount to heart?
They were seated at Lady Forsythe’s end of the expansive rectangular table. Every other room in the house was lit with gaslight, but the dining room glittered with sparkling glassware and sliver under an impressive candlelit chandelier.
“It’s all so pretty,” Amy said a high-pitched gush of excitement, and Felicity couldn’t disagree.
As her cousin turned her head from side to side to see who was seated where and engage in polite discussion with the ladies she’d met in the drawing room, Felicity forced herself not to stare, not to look down the long row of faces and see where he had landed. Right. He had to be seated to her right. She sensed him without looking for him, and that disturbed her almost as much as Amy’s infatuation with the viscount.
“I don’t care where I’m seated as long as it’s next to you,” a man’s deep voice announced.
Felicity sloshed wine from the glass she’d just lifted to her lips. Ruby droplets rained down on the pristine tablecloth next to her bowl of soup.
A woman giggled. No, not a woman. A young lady. Lady Louisa, the Forsythe’s daughter. She stood across the table from them pointing out a man’s place card to him. No, not a man. Thomas Reeves, Lord Kenniston.
Leaning in front of her, a footman blotted at the spots she’d made on the tablecloth and temporarily blocked Felicity’s view of Thomas. Which was useful, since she was struggling to resist blurting all the bitter sentiments that had been stewing in her heart for years.
“It’s just a bit of wine, cousin. Not to worry.” Amy whispered her reassurance as she patted Felicity’s hand.
But it was too late for reassurance, no matter how sweetly offered, because the footman stepped away from the table and Thomas glanced at the guests seated across the table from him. His eyes locked with hers. He’d begun to sip his wine too, but he didn’t slosh at the sight of her. He simply froze, glass held aloft as his eyes widened and his skin blanched to match his white tie evening attire.
“I trust you’ve been introduced to everyone, my lord?” Lady Louisa asked, beaming at his side.
“Yes.” He hissed, soothing the curtness of his reply by turning to the Forsythe’s daughter and beginning a conversation with her in low tones that Felicity was all too grateful not to hear.
Another footman replaced her spilled wine, but the sip she gulped down did nothing to cool her insides or soothe her frayed nerves.
How had she missed Thomas’s name when Amy recounted the guest list to her? Not that Amy would know to make any special mention of the baron. Outside of her father and his sister, none had been aware of their feelings for each other.
Dinner tasted like dust. Course after fragrant course was placed in front of her, but Felicity kept her eyes glued to her plate. She stared at her food, but tasting the fish or enjoying the peach dessert was out of the question.
Being the invisible chaperone who no one wished to engage in conversation allowed her to steady her breathing and sort her thoughts. By the time the dinner service had ended, and ladies and gentlemen were being directed into different drawing rooms, she was prepared to face Thomas for the remainder of the party. They meant nothing to each other anymore. She had a new life with the Huntingdons, and he clearly had his eye on an earl’s daughter. Never mind that Lady Louisa was a decade younger than him. The Forsythe’s daughter was precisely the kind of high born lady he told Felicity he would set his cap at, though she did wonder why he hadn’t been able to win the hand of such a lady in the four years since they’d parted.
As she followed Amy and the other female guests into Lady Forsythe’s drawing room, a hand brushed her arm and that voice, Lord Lindsay’s warm and alluring rumble, whispered, “May I have a word, Miss Beckett?”
CHAPTER FOUR
“May I have a word, Miss Beckett?”
She’d avoided him throughout dinner, never even sparing him a glance. In fact, she’d avoided everyone, keeping her chin tucked in her chest and studying her plate, though he never observed her sampling a single bite. If he’d been dining anywhere but at his aunt and uncle’s home, he would have finagled a seat next to her. Even an argument with Miss Beckett would have been preferable to the gaping and nervous tittering of the young ladies his aunt had placed near his chair.
“No.” Felicity stopped just outside the drawing room door, stepping aside to stay out of view of those past the threshold. “You shouldn’t be speaking to me at all.”
“Why? We’ve been properly introduced. What rule are we breaking now?” Mercy, this woman did like her rules. Despite being the author of a rulebook, Alex loathed them.
“My rule. About not speaking to rogues in dimly lit hallways.”
He loved that she thought him a rogue. Which was ridiculous. Everyone dismissed him as a debauched man. He wasn’t certain why this leggy chaperone’s opinion mattered more to him than anyone else’s.
“I only wish to request a dance.”
Her fetchingly kissable mouth opened as she shook her head in denial, but no words emerged.
“Come, Felicity. One dance? It needn’t be the first.”
She seamed her lips into a stern line. Then her shoulders hunched and the oddest sound escaped. When her eyes began to crinkle round the edges and she lifted a gloved hand up to stifle the noise, he realized she was laughing. And trying very hard not to.
“Do you really think, my lord, that so many gentlemen will vie for a place on my dance card?”
Alex frowned. Was she calling him a fool or denying her own appeal? Neither possibility pleased him. He was quite content not to fight off a passel of men to dance with her, but the notion that she thought herself unworthy of such attention disturbed him. He knew how it burned to be overlooked. For years he’d been dismissed by his father as the lesser son—less intelligent, less talented, less trustworthy. Any man who failed to discern Miss Felicity Beckett’s attractions was a complete and utter dunderhead.
“Fine, then save me the first dance.”
Felicity shook her head again, but Alex had no intention of giving up. She was the first woman to stir him, to remain in his thoughts long after they’d spoken, since he’d learned of his unwanted inheritance. She was the only spark of fire in a sea of simpering young ladies.
“Do relent, Miss Beckett. Otherwise my nephew will detain you out here all evening.” His aunt emerged through the drawing room door and stood just over Felicity’s shoulder.
“I do have a reputation for tenacity.” He tried to keep the smirk he felt tugging at the corners of his mouth out of his tone.
“Among other things, Alexander.” Aunt Georgianna moved to stand between them. “Now my dear Miss Beckett, I know you wish to act in your cousin’s best interest, to protect her from men who are…extremely tenacious.” She cast a glance back at Alex. “But my nephew has started on a new path. Please allow him a dance with your cousin.”
“My cousin?”
“Her cousin?”
They didn’t answer in precise unison, but their duet of voices caused his aunt to raise her pale blond eyebrows in surprise. “Surely that’s why you’ve been out here badgering this poor woman, Alexander. If you’ll allow just one dance with your cousin, Miss Beckett, I will assure his gentlemanly behavior myself.”
“Your faith warms my heart, Aunt Georgianna,” he added dryly. Then he glanced up to see misery in Felicity’s face. She’d insisted he avoid her cousin, and he’d vowed to do so. “Unfortunately, the honor i
s not Miss Beckett’s to give. Apparently her pretty cousin has already filled her dance card.”
“What a shame.” His aunt twisted her lips in a pout. “Then Miss Beckett can secure you a spot for Monday next. There will be plenty of opportunities to dance this fortnight.” With that his aunt stepped back through the drawing room doorway, casting Felicity a glance implying she should follow.
Alex was thrilled to find Felicity hesitating. She turned to him when they were alone in the hallway again.
“Thank you.” The husky sincerity in her tone made him shiver. For the first time she looked at him beyond her prickly shield of righteous indignation. Whatever it took, he’d cause her to look at him that way again. Every day, if he could manage it.
“For what?”
“You fibbed to your aunt to keep a promise to me. Though it seems she’s the tenacious one.” Another first. Felicity Beckett smiled at him. It was slight and gone almost as soon as he beheld it, but her lips had curved as a dimple flickered at the edge of her cheek, and it was all for him.
“Will you grant me a dance then?”
“With Amelia?”
“With you.” He edged closer. Would have touched her if he wasn’t convinced his watchful aunt could see straight through walls.
“Let me consider it.” Rules, denial, deliberation. That was what she said with her mouth, but her gaze still held a bit of mirth. Enough to give him hope.
“Very well, Miss Beckett. I suspect you’re worth waiting for.”
***
Waiting is torture. Patience had never been one of Alex’s meager share of virtues, especially when it came to pleasure. Gratification should be sought. Pleasure, and not just of the carnal sort, should be pursued. What was the point of life if not to enjoy it? His father had been a joyless man, bound up in a tyranny of etiquette and rules. Now, with the prospect of becoming as dour as his father as he calcified under the burdens of the title, Alex wanted to grasp at anything that promised a taste of bliss.
Never Tempt a Rogue: A Rogues' Rulebook Novella Page 3