“No,” Nick answered, more abruptly than he’d intended. Sitting again, he rubbed Johnny Boy’s ear while the dog smiled and snorted contentedly. He opened his palm so Johnny could lick it in the hopes to ease his nerves at the mention of the drug. “No laudanum. Johnny is all the medicine I require.” Nick glanced up to meet the old man’s suspicious gaze. “Thank you for bringing him in.”
Clooney gave up trying to unlock the cupboard. He put his keys away and took the seat to the right of Nick so Johnny Boy was between them. “Had nothing to do with it. It was Miss Felicity’s request when she saw the boys out letting the dog relieve himself. Seems to think you two need to be together, to heal proper.”
Nick smiled, surprised by the depth of her insight. He nodded his gratitude to the stable hands as they left the room.
“I, on the other hand”—Clooney poured some coffee for himself and Nick—"think the dog’s better off as far from you as possible. You’re to blame for this. Bringing him along for a theft.” The old man’s watery eyes turned on Nick.
Nick looked down at the dog’s injuries. “I wasn’t planning to steal anything. I assure you.”
The groundskeeper rolled his eyes, obviously not convinced.
“But you’re right about one thing,” Nick continued. “I very well am responsible for my dog’s present state.” The admission numbed his tongue, remembering the many heists he’d taken Johnny on in the past. The pit bull had lost his ear trying to defend Nick against a guard dog during one such interlude.
“Don’t care what deal the lady plans to make with you,” Clooney said between sips of coffee. “I want you gone. I’ll have the baggage we found on the hobbie returned to you tonight. Then the minute you’re healed, go back home to your family and leave hers alone.”
Nick jiggled the loose, velvety skin beneath Johnny’s chin. How to tell the groundskeeper that this dog was the only family he had left? He scooted back to the table and pulled his coffee beneath his nose.
Steam drifted up and burned his eyes, making them water. Clooney was right not to trust him. He was lying to his hostess. Was considering seducing her for his own purposes. And that was nothing compared to the sins he’d committed against his own wife.
His future was as dark and bitter as the liquid swirling in the cup. He’d rather enjoyed having other people to talk to over the past few hours; a glimpse into another world which hadn’t been tainted by his failings. But he was to always choose the wrong path; destined to be on the run and alone for the rest of his life. He’d long ago accepted those facts.
A murderer couldn’t ask for any future brighter than that.
Chapter Seven
Fabric rustled in the dining hall’s doorway, rousing Nick from his cup of self-pity.
Miss Felicity stood on the threshold with a blonde, blue-eyed angel clinging to her skirt.
Nick started to stand with Clooney, but Felicity waved them both to stay seated.
“Lord Thornton, I should like you to meet my youngest niece, Lia. My eldest niece is otherwise occupied. She’ll be breakfasting with the servants once the morning tasks are done.”
“Of course.” Nick tipped his head at the tiny beauty. “A pleasure to meet you, my lady.” Something about her eyes, the way her pale lashes fanned to shadows on her cheeks, drew him into her sleepy gaze. He grinned at her.
She crinkled her forehead. “Why are you sitting in Auntie’s chair?”
Humbled by the accusing strains of her tinkling voice, Nick glanced down at his lap. “Oh, is this your spot, Miss Felicity?”
Felicity took the child’s hand and led her to the seat beside Clooney. “I asked that you be seated at the head. You need room to prop up your leg. Lia…” She helped the child into place. “Do not ask rude questions. And stay to the topics we discussed on the way here. Those appropriate for dining conversations with guests.”
Wiggling her nose, the sprite waited for her aunt to walk to the other side of the table and take the seat next to Nick. As soon as Miss Felicity had mumbled a token Catholic blessing over the food and opened a napkin to arrange her silverware, Lia raised on her knees in her chair.
She banked one dimpled hand on the table and the other on Clooney’s shoulder then stared over the groundskeeper’s lap at Johnny Boy. “What happened to your dog, Mister? He’s quite ugly.”
“Lia!” Felicity started to stand.
Nick caught the countess’s wrist and coaxed her back down. “It’s all right.”
Felicity stiffened beneath his grasp and he released her, managing only to stretch out the tension between them.
He refocused on the little girl. “Did you not hear of his collision with the greenhouse?”
Her tiny mouth pinched tight. “I mean his ear. Why is there only one?”
“Ah. My dog fought with another dog. Some while ago. He lost his ear in the scuff.”
“Lia, from this moment on you are to address Lord Thornton as My Lord or Sir.” Felicity pointed to the cushion on the child’s chair. “Now sit down properly, little goose.”
Lia grumbled and rearranged her orchid-colored skirts as she sat back.
“You might carry a sausage in your pocket next time,” Lia said to Nick, nibbling on the scone Clooney had handed her in hopes to silence her inquisition.
Felicity snorted and covered her mouth with a napkin.
Nick suppressed a chuckle. “Should I now?”
“Dogs like sausages. We feed them to Nutmeg. Might save your dog from another’s teeth if it has something else to bite.”
“Tis right good advice, my lady.” Nick spooned some apricot jam on his plate, his lips trembling from holding back a smile.
Felicity shook her head and plopped a dollop of Devonshire cream atop her scone.
“Think you might be done with my pony soon, Mister Sir?” Lia’s attention had strayed to the stick-horse propped against the side of Nick’s chair.
“Needing it back, are you?” he asked before Felicity could scold the child for her intentional butchery of his title.
“Yes. I should like to have a carousel for my birthday gala and he’s the only pony I have.” She gave her aunt a pointed glare. “And you’re the only man I’ve seen that likes to play dress up.”
“Lia, hush,” Felicity hissed from behind her tea cup.
The sprite stared at her aunt wide-eyed. “He is! He wears jewelry like a girl!”
Nick tweaked his earring. “What, this? It’s holding my ear on. You see, the same dog got me.”
Felicity’s brow lifted on an amused slant as she sipped some tea.
Nick nearly burst out laughing when Lia glared up at him, obviously too sharp to buy a word of it. “So that’s why auntie’s sweet for you. Because you’re jolly.”
Nick smiled at Felicity’s exasperated moan. Seducing her could be easier than he thought. “She said she likes me, aye?” he asked Lia.
“Nope.” The child nibbled more of her scone. “I just know. The way her eyes get bulgy like a frog when she looks at you.”
Felicity made a gargling sound, as if she were choking on her tea.
To salvage his hostess’s waning dignity, Nick returned to Lia’s original query. “As to my earring, I wear it for sentimental reasons.”
“So, it’s rather a keepsake?” Lia asked.
Nick nodded.
Satisfied with his answer, the sprite looked away and started to smear jelly along the rim of her tea cup. After she’d slathered it on, she leaned forward and lapped her tongue along the sticky edge.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Lia.” Felicity set down her cup with a loud clink.
“I’m eating like the butterflies. With my tongue.”
“You well know they do not have tongues. They have proboscises. And your antics are unacceptable at the table, most especially with a guest present.”
“You’re just cross that your caterpillars are sick,” Lia groused.
Nick wiped his whiskers with a napkin. “I should like to dis
cuss these production issues, Miss Felicity.”
The countess and Clooney exchanged a murky glance. “That is not your concern, Lord Thornton,” she said. “It shouldn’t affect our business transaction. Your funding will help rebuild the caterpillar populous.” Then she sharpened her attention on her niece. “And where are your manners, child?”
“I left them in the garden when you took Uncle Donal’s gift from me.”
“Fine then. You can just go up to your room until you find some new ones.”
“But …”
“Dig through your trunks if you must. Surely you have a reserve of proper etiquette somewhere. Now scoot.”
Brandishing a woeful pout that nearly melted Nick to a puddle on the floor, the child slipped from her chair and puttered out of the room. Her ruffled skirt flapped at her knees with each overdramatized step up the stairs.
Felicity straightened the black lace at her sleeve cuffs. “Clooney, please fix her a plate and take it up. She’s bound to get hungry from all that soul searching. And then could you go into town and see to that other matter we discussed earlier?”
The old man nodded curtly. He took Lia’s plate and lined it with a slice of white pudding and another scone garnished with jam before excusing himself.
Felicity felt Nick’s gaze heavy on her face as she gnawed on a bite of black pudding. Even after seven years of living here in Ireland, she still had a hard time tolerating the pungent taste of the pig’s blood and beef fat. She’d meant to take a slice of the white pudding since it contained minced liver in lieu of blood. But she opted to save it, in case their English guest was averse to the traditional Irish cuisine, as well.
When she swallowed, the oats and barley scratched her throat all the way down. Sipping some tea, she noticed Nick’s attention still heated her skin. “I suppose you think me an ogre, sending her to her room like that.” Glancing up, she was surprised to see admiration shining in his eyes.
“You handled it magnificently. I would have been on my knees, begging the little sprite to forgive all my wrongs—imagined or otherwise. She’s quite irresistible.”
“And she knows it. She uses her charm and wiles to get her way with almost everyone.”
“But it doesn’t work on you.”
Felicity shrugged. “That depends on the day or the hour. Sometimes, I get too weary to fight her anymore. But weariness is a small price to pay for having children in your life.”
A pained expression crossed Nick’s features. “It must be difficult, raising them on your own.”
Tipping her fork in her Devonshire cream, Felicity licked the sweetness off the metal prongs, all too aware of Nick’s intense observance of the action. She stopped and bit her lower lip when it started to quiver uncontrollably. “There are times I wonder if I’m simply too young to have wisdom enough to be their guardian.”
He lifted an eyebrow and Felicity immediately caught her faux pas. “I—I mean to say, they are too young for me to understand … to remember how they feel at this age. Perhaps, were they older…” Satisfied she’d salvaged her guise, she let the sentiment trail off.
Nick studied the quarter of a scone left on his plate, too thoughtful for Felicity’s liking. “Females only get more enigmatic with age.”
“Are you referring to any female in particular?” Felicity goaded.
Elbows propped on either side of his plate, he eased in close, casting a glance to the doorway to assure they were still alone before capturing her gloved hand. “A whip-wielding countess who wears men’s clothing and runs an estate while raising her nieces without any outside help. You are nothing if not an enigma.”
The roasted heat of his coffee-tinged breath awoke a tingle in Felicity’s chest.
Nick was touching her again. Nick … the gallant paladin of her dreams. It didn’t help that she’d fantasized of moments such as this. To actually start experiencing them rendered her inept and weak in the knees—out of her element. And to be treated as if she were attractive again, after so long playing the role of lonely elder widow, it melted all her defenses. It was as if he didn’t see her wrinkles, or think of her as a declining dowager, but only as a woman.
“Seems the little sprite was right,” Nick said, tightening his grip. “Your eyes are bulging a wee bit. Though you look rather more like a doe. Far too elegant for a frog.”
He squeezed her hand which roused Felicity from her fanciful musings. She stiffened in her chair.
“Master Nicolas,” she sputtered, her face hot. “Release me at once.”
He did, but it was a slow and purposeful liberation. His gaze on her intensified as he skimmed his nails across the lace which covered her palm, stimulating her lifeline before he stopped and held the very tips of her fingers. Finally, he turned loose and pulled back to his plate.
All of her nerves hummed with sensation. It left her reeling, that such a small gesture—with a layer of fabric standing between them—could arouse her entire body to such extremes.
As if completely unaffected, her guest slathered more jam on the remainder of his scone. “I ask that you would call me Nick. Only my father addresses me as Nicolas.” A dark look crossed his face before he schooled his strong features to a blank page. “So, you’re to give Lia a birthday gala with a carousel. Quite a stunning debut for a seven-year-old.”
The silver teapot rattled beneath Felicity’s trembling fingers as she poured herself more tea. She offered to warm Nick’s coffee but he shook his head, his diamond stud casting chinks of light on his neck with the movement.
Inhaling the tea’s calming scent, Felicity took up the subject he’d so graciously given her. “Living here … well, it has some disadvantages. Lia has never had a real party. Never even attended one. She’s been begging for a gala. The guest list will include only our staff and family, since neither of the girls have been exposed to society.”
“They have no interaction with other people? Do they not attend mass with you? There must be a cathedral somewhere close by.”
Felicity swirled her spoon through her tea. “I have little use for religion.”
“You asked a blessing over the food earlier. I assumed—”
“That’s for the girls’ sake. They are innocent children, and need something to believe in. Adults, on the other hand … too many use religion as a mask to hide the evil that lurks in their hearts.” Feeling her face flush, Felicity tamped down her bitterness. “Besides, to attend services would be risky. We’ve been alone up here since my brother died. No one knows I’m raising these children without a husband. Case in point, what do you know, as a patron, of me?”
“Well, before I left home, you and Emilia became rather close. Though she never spoke of your personal life.”
“As I never shared it.”
Nick swigged some coffee. “All right then. All that I know of you is what I heard from strangers. In Carnlough, it’s said there are phantoms protecting this place. And the story that frequents London is you’re a reclusive dowager who breeds her caterpillars here in solitude, with no one but her husband’s ghost for company.” Nick half smiled. “Rumors that you started, I assume.”
Felicity shrugged. “It’s better this way. Both the cook and my maid are fine seamstresses. They keep our wardrobes stocked. The stable hands are orphans, and have no family or friends other than us. Clooney and those boys are the only servants with authority to leave the premises. They run any necessary errands in Carnlough for me. They do the shopping—buying fabrics, food, whatever is needed. I conduct my business via post. Thus, I can stay here to care for my butterflies and teach the girls their subjects.” She waved in the direction of the books on the table. “I feed them, clothe them, love them,” she finished. “That will have to be enough, for I made a promise to my brother to raise them. And to honor that, I can never leave this castle.”
Nick stroked his beard, unrelenting in his ardent study of her face. Felicity had the passing concern that her wrinkles might be fading, but it was too e
arly in the day for such an occurrence—unless the lotion was getting weaker. That was an ever-growing possibility, considering the source had been compromised.
“I applaud your effort to uphold a promise, Miss Felicity,” he finally spoke. “But surely there’s a better way. How can this be enough? To never know others their age … to never have friends or share little girl secrets and games. And you mentioned a thirteen-year-old niece. Why, she’s almost a lady. By twelve, my sister was already attending galas, under my mother and father’s close supervision. Your niece will be old enough any day to experience the innocent splendor of young love. Would you begrudge her that?”
“I never knew such innocent splendor, Master Nicolas. And I survived.” She toyed with the corner of her napkin, listening to Johnny Boy’s soft snore.
Nick paused, as if digesting her statement. “I see. You are captive here in your gloom—for whatever reason. And in turn, choose to hold these girls captive as well.”
She dabbed a napkin across her mouth to hide her grimace. “As you’ve been acquainted with us all of one morning, that is none of your concern.”
“So you’ve told me.” That pinched quality had returned to his voice.
Felicity fisted her hands on her lap as the maid came in to take their soiled plates. As always, Rachel treated her with a hint of controlled disdain. Ever since the maid’s seduction of Landrigan months ago, she presented a haughty air, as if proud she’d bettered her employer. Lord knew it hadn’t been much of a contest, considering.
Running her finger over the scar hidden beneath her clothes, Felicity frowned. Perhaps Rachel was hoping to better her again, with Nick. One couldn’t miss the young woman’s special attention to their guest—calling him “Yer Graceship,” … asking if he needed anything more … offering to bring him a cheroot to smoke or a pint of stout to drink. Rather like the dance of a bee upon a flower’s swollen stamen. Felicity’s blood simmered at the spectacle.
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