“Never alone. I worry for their safety. The bogs are dangerous, much like quicksand. Some time ago, Landrigan set my pigs loose out there. They became stuck in the peat and died.”
Nick glanced at her, his gaze serious. “Thus, the shortage of sausage?”
Felicity bit her lip. “Yes. With my business in jeopardy, I’ve not been able to afford replacing them.”
“Peat bogs.” He was quiet for a moment. “Why did you bury Jasper so far from the castle?”
Felicity held the blanket tight at her neck and crept forward, walking on her knees, until she reached her companion. “Did the maid not tell you? Perhaps she’s holding out for more of an incentive, Yer Graceship.” She offered it as a tease, unwilling to acknowledge the jealousy which still sat like a mossy rock in her belly.
Taking up the challenge, Nick glanced down, warming her blood and bones with his sexy grin. “You’re the only one I plan to use my incentive on.”
Felicity’s heart gave a leap. She forced her attention back to the porthole, to the headstone below only a few yards to the north. A deer crossed behind it—unaware of its audience—graceful and silent as a phantom. The rain had softened to mist, coating the elegant creature with sparkles.
“In Binata’s culture,” Felicity began, “it is believed that there are two kinds of death. A good death and a bad one. Anyone who dies before the age of fifty is prematurely departed. Since they’ve not fulfilled their destiny, they will be restless. Binata was terrified that Jasper would become a floating ghost. She told me, that to prevent being haunted, her people would cast those who died bad deaths far away from the village into the forest … so they might be eaten by wild animals to prevent reincarnation.” Felicity shrugged, feeling foolish for even recanting such a tale. “Or some such nonsense. This was my compromise. To appease her worries, we buried the coffin outside the castle gates. Far away in the forest.”
“But you didn’t leave his body to the wilds.”
Felicity pressed her temple against the wooden wall, regarding him. “Leaving the coffin open and unburied is against our traditions.”
Nick continued to look outside, his profile studious. “I see. So you do give credence to a belief system, of some sort or other.”
“I may not live amongst society, but I still uphold their customs. This surprises you?”
He removed his hat and tossed it behind him. Every strand of hair had fallen from the tie now, leaving it an unkempt mess of golden waves, much like it had looked last night when he’d come to her chamber door. Felicity’s fingers itched to touch it. Instead, she clenched her hands tighter in the blanket.
“When I first came looking for Jasper,” Nick said, “I hoped he could offer some untapped information pertaining to death and the afterlife. But now I realize you are the expert on such things.”
“How so?”
He locked his gaze to hers. “Due to the fact that you came so close to dying yourself, seven years ago at that brothel.”
Felicity shot to standing at the words. He had remembered who she was. What she was…
Her back slid along the wall until she came to the three-legged stool. She ended crumpled upon the seat, the blanket bunched up behind her. She dragged the blanket free and stared where it piled upon the floor, unable to look at Nick for fear of what would reflect in his eyes.
Kneeling in front of her, he took her hands and peeled away her gloves before she could jerk free. Touching her palms to his bared jaw, he turned his chin to run his lips across them. “Sweet, soft Jasmine.”
Mortified by the name, Felicity tried to stand. “I-I don’t know what you’re referring to.”
“Stop.” Nick clasped her hands—a counter to her efforts. “You cannot outrun a memory that haunts us both.”
Felicity closed her eyes against the scalding burn behind them, refusing to cry. She knew there was no escape, and in some strange way, gleaned relief in the unveiling of this secret. “I can’t help you find Mina, if that’s what you’re after. If you plan to blackmail me for information, both of us will lose. For I truly know nothing of death.”
“No. I was hoping my knowledge might win me refuge here, in this place. Nothing more.”
She snapped her eyes open. So he did mean to bargain with her. He knew that he held her fate in his hands. “If I refuse to let you stay, do you intend to tell Landrigan?” She tensed as she felt his breath hot on her face.
“Never. What must I do to convince you I’m on your side?” His finger trailed the hairline at her temple, but she flinched and pulled back, her emotions raw and wild.
“Would I have tried to help you that night,” he asked, “if I intended to throw you to the wolves today? And do you not realize you have something to hold over me as well? You witnessed a murder I committed when I pushed the man who stabbed you down the stairs.”
Felicity considered letting him believe his part in the crime … until she saw the depth of guilt behind his eyes. He already seemed to have so much remorse to bear. It was within her power to relieve him of this one thing. Yet in so doing, she would lose any leverage.
But didn’t she owe him this, after all he’d done for her? She would just have to give him the benefit of the doubt. Believe that he wasn’t like so many other men who had passed through her life. “You are no murderer. He didn’t die. Least not from the fall.”
In that moment, cold astonishment washed through Nick’s blood, causing his hands to spasm, to release Felicity’s from his grasp. He forfeited the softness of her flesh for the splintered floor and rocked back to sit on his hips, his body numb. “I don’t understand. How could anyone survive that?”
“By some miracle of fate.” The dim light rendered her tragic eyes such a deep brown they appeared bottomless. “That man was the Earl of Carnlough. The owner of this estate. Had he died that day, I would never have inherited my home. I have that fall to thank for my marriage to him.”
Nick clenched his jaw. Her own husband had stabbed her? Wait … she admitted he hadn’t been her husband at that point. Why would she have married him after such cruelty? Just to gain this estate? And then to inherit the trouble with Landrigan. She’d certainly won the short end of that stick.
“For all of his faults,” Felicity continued, “the earl … Hayes … was deeply religious. It was his fear of dying in sin, of facing purgatory for his mistreatment of me, that brought him to a place of utter penitence. In the months it took me to heal from the stabbing, the earl developed pneumonia from being laid up in a bed due to the broken bones he’d sustained in the fall. During the last week of his life, he arranged for me to marry him. Our ceremony took place in a hospital with the earl propped on pillows in his deathbed. He put me in his will, so I might legally own his estate, and he might merit a place in heaven.”
Felicity resituated on the stool and reached for the blanket, quivering again. Nick came to himself enough to help her tuck the cover around her shoulders. He noticed his trousers were wetter where her skirt had pressed against his thighs, as if a part of her had transferred to him. He rubbed the dampness with his palms as he sat down again.
“Will you tell me?” he asked. “Tell me why he attacked you so viciously that night.” He saw the flash of indecision in her eyes. “Felicity, I already know your darkest secret. What have you to lose at this point?”
Her lashes slanted downward. She took a deep breath and anguish paled her face. “He wished me dead because … because I no longer wanted the life he had arranged for me. He thought me ungrateful.” She gripped her chest beneath her blanket and rolled her shoulders, as if struggling to bear the weight of her confession. “Jasper and I once lived in an orphanage in London. We were separated when a couple took Jasper but didn’t want me—I was just a girl, after all. I couldn’t carry their name on for other generations. Some months later, Hayes Lonsdale came to the orphanage. Out of all the other children, he chose me, carried me to his townhouse in the country. In the beginning, he was kind. He bought me
fine clothes and took me to mass each Saturday, claiming that I was his cousin’s child. He taught me to drive a carriage and use a whip. He taught me to read and write. Then he taught me other things. Things I didn’t wish to learn. He was the first man to ever—”
Nick winced as her voice broke. A growl caught in his throat. “How old were you?”
“Thirteen.”
Watching the shame suffuse her cheeks in a red rush, Nick ground a fist into the floor. The gritty ache along his knuckles offered a momentary distraction from his rage.
“The earl trained me.” She still wouldn’t look at Nick. “And when I’d mastered my ‘skills’, he dubbed me Jasmine, because the flower’s fragrance is known as the transport of joy. He said that was what I was to be to men. The transport of joy. Thus was my calling in life. I was to earn him money by lifting my skirts. At the time, I was too naïve to think I could escape, for who else would want me after I’d already been spoiled? When I turned sixteen, Hayes rented me out to a brothel while he came here to Ireland to tend his estate. He promised, if I made enough money, he would return and wed me. He would bring me here, and let me pursue my dream to breed butterflies and be a mother. I thought he meant it … I thought he loved me, in some warped way.”
When she finally braved a glance at him, Nick was crushed by the stark betrayal shadowing her fragile features—the grief deepening her wrinkles. Wrinkles that weren’t even real…
Now he understood why she spared no tolerance for religion.
He forced himself to hold her gaze. He wanted to embrace her, to caress her. To show her intimacy the way it was meant to be, between two consenting adults who wished to share their feelings. He wanted to erase her torturous past with his lips, hands, and body.
But he wouldn’t. For a woman like Felicity to offer up her most vulnerable memories, after having scraped and clawed for survival for so long, she’d be feeling exposed to her core in this moment. And he would rather fight this desire to touch her … even when it ached to the point of visceral pain … before he would reduce her to that helpless, violated girl she once was.
Only if she reached for him would he go to her.
When she made no such move, Nick stiffened every muscle and stayed nailed to his place on the floor. “I wish I had killed that bastard now,” he said, unable to maintain the charged silence any longer. “I wish I had another chance to do it right.”
“No, Nick. I’ve forgiven him, for it all. Things happened as they did for a purpose. His hope for absolution enabled this new life with my nieces. Ironically, the very life he had promised me.” She turned away to look out the window. “Such a break with the old would never have been possible without this castle far removed from London, and from men who could’ve recognized Jasmine.”
The rain had started again. Nick imagined the droplets rinsing away the wounded Jasmine to reveal Felicity, the woman underneath … the woman she had become. From a cocoon to a butterfly. Strong and independent. He was even more in awe of her than before. To bear such ugliness and degradation, yet still retain tenderness and compassion enough to forgive her persecutor then step in and care for her nieces—it spoke volumes of her capacity for love and loyalty.
A wave of shame surged through him, to have ever thought her an unforgiving shrew. Now everything made sense. Why she held herself captive here. Why she tried to look older and colored her hair so it resembled polished metal.
“Your wrinkles?” he asked, unable to curb the curiosity.
“A lotion my brother concocted. It’s a byproduct of Heliconius saliva.”
“Ingenious. So that’s why the butterflies are so important to you, even beyond your business dealings.”
“Yes.”
“Who else knows of this secret you keep?”
“Aislinn is aware of my true age. But she can never learn of my past.” Felicity cast him a pleading glance.
He nodded an assurance.
Felicity’s shoulders visibly relaxed. “My brother. I discovered his whereabouts soon after I came to live here and asked him to make this his home. He knew … everything. And Clooney knows. He’s been with me since I left London.”
Nick’s ears perked. “Does he know who I am? My role in your past?”
“No.”
“Hmmm. I’ve noticed he’s peculiarly knowledgeable in medicine. What’s his story?”
“At one time, he was a fine physician … but he squandered his life away on gambling. He ruined his reputation, lost his license. Having no other recourse, he became the personal physician for the brothel. He also became like a father to me. Perhaps since I was the youngest, he pitied me most. When I was stabbed, he helped me break away. He told everyone in London, including my mistress, that I died. He’d been keeping tabs on the Earl’s condition and set up the secret appointment between Hayes and me that resulted in our marriage before his death. Then Clooney came with me here for support.”
“And to hide from his own demons, no doubt,” Nick said. “Your servants … do they know any of this?”
“Only Binata. But she would never betray me.”
Nick cocked his head, unconvinced. “She and her nephew seem very close.”
“She adores Landrigan. But not as much as she despised his father. Hayes abused Binata’s sister mercilessly. The one time Binata tried to step in, she received a slash of the whip across her face.”
Nick scrubbed his palm across his smooth chin. “The ‘H’ upon her face. It stands for Hayes?”
“Yes. He was a master with the whip. Binata and I … we both share scars enacted by that man. We have a sisterhood, of sorts. So she will never reveal my secret to his son.”
She shivered upon the final sentence, and to see her so vulnerable had the strangest effect on Nick. To even imagine her being chained for life to that bastard gouged him inside. It felt as if he’d swallowed a carving knife that was shaping his heart and soul to some monstrous form.
In that moment, the sun shifted from behind the clouds outside, fully illuminating Felicity. A shift took place in Nick, as well. Everything in this nook was dusted with age and neglect. And there she sat, a counterfeit reflection of the confinement and decay. But he could see beyond those faded lines upon her face, beyond that messy upsweep of silver hair, still wet from the rain and clinging to her dark lashes with each blink. Despite her every effort to appear otherwise—she was the touch of spring upon a winter mountain. A blossom bursting out of the snow, attempting to open its petals at each shy sprinkling of light. Deep inside, that twenty-five-year-old woman waited to live again—tender, fragile, and searching for wings. And everything that marked him a man burned to preserve that part of her.
Pulse pounding in his neck, Nick lifted to his knees. Before he could even consider the outcome, he caught her hands in his. “You are too fine a lady for Donal Landrigan. Marry me instead.”
Chapter Seventeen
Felicity couldn’t believe what she’d heard. Or had she heard it at all? Perhaps she’d merely dreamed it. Thus far, this day had felt like a walk up a winding stairway of dreamscapes. It had started at the bottom step as a Landrigan-induced nightmare then ended here in the clouds with Nick—a wonderful fantasy too lovely and sweet to be true.
How could it be possible, that even knowing what she had been in her past, Nick still called her as a lady … still regarded her with the same veneration as when he’d thought her a respectable dowager?
She listened to the rain slapping the roof, watched Nick’s face lighten and darken with the shifting storm. The soft light torched his wavy hair, glazing each strand in turn, making it appear alive and dancing. The set of his full mouth was honest and determined. Such devotion from a man she’d known less than two weeks left her breathless and unable to answer.
“Did you hear me, Felicity? You need a man. That’s the one thing Donal and I agree upon. Let me fill that void. Marry me.”
She gulped, trying to tamp the desire to accept the proposal without a second thought.
He knew her secret, after all. Her hand twitched within his. Yes. He knew her secret. But he didn’t know Jasper’s. And were he to live with her under the same roof, eventually that truth would come out.
“You merely wish to rescue me again,” she offered as a countermand.
“I wish to rescue myself. From a life out there.” He motioned to the portholes, but they both knew his implication. “If I stay here with you … I can staunch Donal’s efforts once and for all. And I’ll not have to return to a world that holds nothing but loss and shame for me. The arrangement will benefit us both.”
It did seem ideal. He was running from a past, just like her. “Tell me about your family. Why do you wish to hide from them? Does it have to do with the newspaper?”
He started to pull back. But she kept him anchored with her grasp.
“Nick, you know my secret—why I hide. So … tit for tat.”
A grin swept over his face, so fleeting, she almost didn’t catch it. “Tit for tat, aye? You drive a hard bargain.” He kissed her inner wrist, warm lips gliding across her skin and leaving a hungry ache at her pulse point. Still kneeling, he rested his hands atop hers on her lap. “I once seduced a virgin—the daughter of my brother’s business partner. I took her innocence without a thought as to consequence. Her family learned of our tryst. To salvage my family’s holiday resort, I tried to do the right thing by eloping with her. But we were young, and neither of us truly understood what love was, or even if we shared it. A year into the marriage, we became further estranged by a very personal tragedy. I didn’t know how to comfort her when the very same pain was eating away at my soul. So I left every night to wallow in liquor and strange women. I betrayed my vows … was a bastard in the worst possible way. Mina was alone far too often. And to seek escape, she started using laudanum. Under the influence of the drug, she took her life.”
Felicity captured Nick’s hands, an effort to still his trembling. “I’m so sorry.” Her eyes searched his downturned head. “What was this tragedy that tore you apart?”
The Glass Butterfly Page 17