He wouldn’t meet her gaze. “The babe came too fast. Before the physician could arrive. Something was wrong. When his tiny body slipped into my hands … I knew.” He swallowed a sharp breath. “Oh, but he was perfect. Ten little fingers and ten little toes, his mouth—sweet—poised as if ready to nurse. But blue … by God, he was the color of shadows on snow.” Nick started to tremble again. Felicity tightened her grip on his wrists, though she didn’t know if it was to ground him or her.
“The cord…” He shook his head. “It had wrapped around Christian’s neck. Mina blamed herself, said that her body choked the life from him. She could never forgive herself after that. She said his empty cries rang in her head every day … cries that were never born, from lungs that never took a breath.”
Felicity inhaled deeply as the tragedy unfurled in her mind’s eye. Tears singed her lashes. For years she’d fooled herself into thinking nothing could be worse than her experience, but she now knew. It was a gift that she’d never seen her baby. A sad, morbid, gift that her child was always to remain a genderless, nameless angel.
Nick groaned, a sound from deep within, as if he battled a demon locked inside. The same demon which roared within Felicity every day when her memories came to call.
“My wife needed a human touch, Felicity.” Nick squeezed her knees to the point of pain, holding on for dear life. “Lord help me. Just a little compassion. A little reassurance.” His broken voice pounded her skull like the rain on the roof overhead. “And I was too caught up in my own grief to offer it.”
His eyes lifted to hers then, and the raw anguish slashed through her heart’s outer shield like a poison-tipped thorn. “You made a mistake, Nick. A human err.” The pressure on her knees softened.
“I killed my wife. Through my own selfish indulgences, I killed her. You should despise me for that, like everyone does. Like I despise myself.” He glanced at the floor, tendrils of hair hanging over his eyes. Through the strands, she could see tears sliding silent down his face. His broad shoulders strained with the effort to not break down.
Felicity swiped his hair back and dried his cheeks. “I don’t despise you. You did not kill her. Her heartache and the opium did. It is not her forgiveness you need to seek, but your own. Let her rest. She has peace now. They both do.”
Eyebrows furrowing, Nick studied her. “Do you really think so?”
“I do. It wouldn’t have mattered if you’d tried to ease her pain. A mother’s grief can be inconsolable …” Repressing the urge to tell him of her baby, Felicity altered her response. “I can only imagine what I would feel if I lost my girls. Forgive yourself and take comfort in her release.”
She tugged him into her arms. His rough chin curved over the top of her head. With her ear pressed to his chest, she felt his warmth, his life pulsing through her on a strong, masculine heartbeat. She moved closer so his scent surrounded her, seeking comfort as she gave it. She turned to nuzzle his neck, to taste the flavor there—rain and salty tears.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “No one’s ever put it quite like that.” His shuddering breath tugged at her hair.
“I understand. More than you know,” she said against him.
Nick leaned back. “You do?”
“I understand shame. That’s why you left your family. You didn’t wish for them to find out.”
Nick’s forced laugh clipped the air. “If only. You mentioned my father and brother purchasing that printing press … wondered why, or how they could afford it after I’d nearly cost them everything?”
He waited, as if for her to verify. She nodded and he continued.
“A drinking compatriot who’d been with me on that fated night sold my story to that press as a personal interest piece. They were only too happy to print it, the tale of the unfaithful husband driving his young bride to take her life after the loss of their child. My father had a friend working there, who caught wind of the story before it hit ink. Father stepped in, and with Julian contributing half the funds, bought the paper so they’d be in control of what printed. And I was oblivious, using laudanum myself, taking the coward’s way while my father and brother stepped in to be my heroes. To clean up my messes once more.”
Felicity touched her fingertip to his lips. “Stop. What matters is that your family survived it. They must be doing well now, to still invest in my caterpillars.”
“They are,” Nick spoke behind her finger—breath balmy against her skin. She moved her hand aside. “I have an uncle who’s a renowned mantuamaker. He has a fine reputation designing gowns, and a long list of prior customers. My mother makes hats to complement each outfit. And my perfect brother … he has a way with people. Went to the world’s fair and managed to find new investors for the resort. But it’s not so much the money as the mark on my parents’ reputation, and their disappointment in me. They have two offspring who have brought them pride, then one who’s brought them nothing but misery and shame. It is better they not have to think about me another minute.”
Felicity cupped his face, smoothing her palm along the burr of his jaw. His eyes locked to hers, and the remorse was palpable. To carry so much blame … to feel like he’d lost his parent’s love and respect forever. That had to be such a burden upon a man. “Do you not realize they’re thinking of you still? Even more so, when you’re not there. They must be devastated you’re gone. It would lift their spirits to hear from you. Time can heal so many wounds.”
“No. My father can’t see anything but my failings when he looks at me now. Even if the wound has healed, there will always be the scar left behind. It’s irreversible.”
Felicity’s chest tightened, the truth behind the words etched into her skin. His glittering earring caught her eye—a welcome distraction. She touched the gem. “Mina’s wedding ring.”
Nick nodded. “What’s left of it.”
“So tragic.”
He shrugged, a gesture Felicity ruled as a defense-mechanism to guise his pain. “Most things kept shut within the heart are tragic, Felicity. Why else would we hide them away? You know that as well as I.”
Felicity placed her hands in her lap and grew quiet, pondering the child she had not yet told him of—the hollowness inside that opened anew each day.
Nick traced a fingertip over the blanket, following her disfigured chest. His voice lowered. “We both have pasts we wish to forget. Facing my father for me, would be like you facing all those men who used you. A reminder of my most repulsive and weakest moments. I want to forget those mistakes, forever. You can relate to that, can’t you?”
Felicity nodded.
“I knew you could,” he continued. “We understand one another on a level few others in this world do. Thus, a marriage is not only logical, but destined. We are two broken pieces. Perhaps together, we can find a fit.”
Such a beautiful sentiment. Felicity closed her eyes, fighting the burn that pricked them. They shared even more than he knew. But she couldn’t tell him of her deepest loss, or her barrenness. She was frail enough in his eyes already; were he to feel any more sympathy for her, it would border on pity. He might even feel obligated to uphold his proposal even if the confession changed his mind. He was a nobleman. Surely he wanted an heir one day.
No. She wouldn’t tell him anything else. And she wouldn’t allow him to marry her since she could never give him another child.
Determined, she opened her eyes and found her voice again. “Nick … there is so much to consider in a situation such as this. There are two young girls who have a stake in my decision.”
“Two girls whom I’ve grown very fond of in just a short time. Would you put them in the care of that misbegotten Irishman over me?”
The mere thought made Felicity’s spine rigid. “I would put them in the care of no one but my own. I still hope to resolve this without having to marry for convenience. To have a marriage in name only—”
“I don’t recall saying anything about ‘in name only’.” Holding her gaze, he took off
his earring and tucked it in his pocket.
The profound symbolism behind the action froze her in place. Much as her mind begged escape, her body’s anticipation controlled her now. Moving closer, he tugged her blanket from between them. His fingers wedged between the back of her head and the wall and dug into the edges of the bun at her nape.
“It’s been so long for me, Felicity. I haven’t taken a woman since my wife’s death. You and I … there’s an undeniable attraction between us. There’s no reason we shouldn’t have every fringe benefit a marriage has to offer,” he whispered.
Before she knew what he intended, Nick pulled out the pins which secured her coif. In one smooth motion, her hair flowed through his fingers and fell to her waist in a breezy rush. She gasped in surprise. Wedged as she was between his weight and the wall—his muscular thighs against her shins—she felt like a butterfly on a cork backing.
His palms followed her hair’s damp cascade along her ribs, his gaze trailing the length where the ends fringed her waist. “You are so beautiful … you don’t even know.”
His fingertips continued their descent to trace the curve of her hips swelling gently around the stool’s edge. His touch radiated all throughout her torso and roused a humming pulse low in her pelvis—a reminder of a life once lived, of a pleasure she’d given but never fully experienced for herself.
Wrestling the urge to throw her arms around his neck again, she clenched her hands on her lap, her scar wielding a warning as heavy as a sword. “No. It would have to be in name only.” If he would agree to this, it would prove he didn’t care about having heirs.
“Do you think Donal will respect such a boundary?” Nick asked. “You’re a very desirable woman. Even with your aging façade. I doubt he could resist you for long.”
Felicity shuddered, remembering the pig’s hands on her in the henhouse. “But I could resist him. Much easier than…”
“Than me.” Nick finished for her.
Felicity locked her lips tight.
“I only want to give you pleasure,” he said. “Has any man ever pleasured you, Felicity? I mean used his body to satisfy you. Not used yours as a vessel for his lust.”
Not ever… She breathed the words, unable to speak them aloud.
“Is this self-flagellation?” he asked. “Penance for a past you never even wished to live? If so, stop it now. You are young and full of life. You deserve to be touched by a man who truly wants you. You, Felicity, not some selfish fantasy steeped in his own lechery. But the real woman. Vulnerable”—his lips trailed her chin— “skeptical”—a sweep of sensation along her jaw line— “perplexing”—a hovering caress over her ear lobe— “you. Will you rob yourself of that for all eternity?” His eased back, his mouth settled again just a hair’s breadth from hers.
Her lips ached with his proximity… a bruise wanting to be healed. “This is pointless.”
“Answer me,” he spoke, lips close but not touching. “Answer and I’ll let you go. If you still want me to.”
She tipped the back of her head against the wall to put some space between them. The scent of moisture and musty wood whisked in on a cool breeze and grounded her. “We are strangers.”
“After what we shared that night at the brothel and today in this place, we are allies, and so much more.” His hands tightened on her hips, anchoring her with desire. “You were in my thoughts long before I came here. I used to envision your eyes. When I tossed and turned in bed trying to sleep. I had insomnia for months after that tragedy at the brothel. It killed me to think I hadn’t got to you in time.”
Felicity leveled her face to his. He’d dreamt of her, too? She could hardly fathom it. “I’m sorry you suffered so needlessly.” I can’t have you suffering more.
He leaned in again to whisper against her cheek. “I’m not sorry.”
Felicity quivered at the tingling sensation along her skin. “Why?”
He pulled back to look her in the eyes. “Because I have you now, here in my hands. All these years, I’ve lived in shame for my failures. Yet here you are. The one person I put above myself. I tried to rescue you. And I succeeded. I must be worth something because of that.”
She tried to curb the rush of need climbing through her like vines aflame. “You’re asking me to be your charity case.” She wanted his kiss so much her mouth watered.
“No. I’m asking you to be my salvation. To rescue me now.”
“This is all part of your quest to reach Mina.” She threw it out as a last-ditch attempt to curtail his sensual onslaught.
“Damnit Felicity.” His jaw twitched. He gestured to his trousers where the tented fabric verified his state better than any words could. “Does this look like I’m dwelling on the past? This is desire for the woman sitting right before me. Real and alive. A desire that enflames my blood.”
Felicity swallowed. The moment was so different from Landrigan earlier. Nick hadn’t forced her touch, which only made her want him more. She wanted such exploration, ached to curl her fingers around this man, to know him.
Quivering with lust, she forced herself to draw back.
He gave her quarter, but his eyes weren’t so merciful. They burned into hers with feral intensity. “All I’m offering is my body to you, and my devotion to the girls. I’ll find some means to support us and this estate. Some legitimate means.”
“And we’ll all live happily ever after.” Felicity balked at the stoicism behind her quip.
Nick frowned. “You’re right. Roses fade with each passing day. A knight’s armor grows tarnished. But what I’m proposing isn’t a fairytale. Tis reality, prettied-up and polished to a lovelier shade of gloom.”
A lovelier shade of gloom. Though strange and blunt, the words touched her with a stark poeticism. It was an odd comfort, that her portion of happiness might be to share the grief with one who understood self-loathing and acute loss on a level few others did.
Hesitant, Felicity leaned forward and touched his smooth face, running her fingers over every angle and line and feature. Her senses drank him in—smell and touch and sound—reacquainting him from her dreams. He sat there, quiet and unmoving, muscles coiled with the effort to let her appease her thirst.
But the instant she pressed her lips to his—an offering of sympathy for losses shared, spoken and unspoken—he snapped into motion. His mouth took hers in a deep, hungry kiss. It was as if he’d been waiting for some sign from her to open the floodgates of his passion.
It happened before she realized it. He folded to the floor, sweeping her beneath him, straddling her. Propped upon his elbows, he scooped his palms beneath her shoulder blades and molded their bodies together. She moaned as his hips wedged between her thighs, until her knees opened to allow him between the fan of her skirts.
The press of his desire, hard and hot against her abdomen even through their clothes, stirred images of his beautiful, perfect body joining hers—flesh to flesh. She’d seen him bared … knew his splendor. Surely such grace and fire could melt her scar away to oblivion.
He ran a palm along her leg to push up her drawer’s frilly hem, starting at her ankle and settling in the indention of her bent knee. He gripped her there, securing her leg around his waist. He consumed her skin with the gentleness of lips and tongue. His hips thrust in a motion remembered yet so different from the past. For his every move seemed measured and motivated by her reactions. Only when he heard a satisfied whimper or desperate moan would he evolve to another level of pleasure. As if her satisfaction drove his movements, not his own.
The mere thought made her weep in silent disbelief.
Was this how it was supposed to be? Wondrous and rapturous?
Lost in the feeling, she arched upward and choked on a sob—a guttural sound that would’ve shamed her, if not for the overwhelming need driving it.
“Am I crushing you?” His concern came on a whisper of air at the edge of her throat where tears had left wet lines.
“Yes,” she managed. “Don’t
dare stop.” She felt his lips curve to a smile on her neck in response. She laughed then, a surprising release of honest emotion deep from her soul.
“I love your laugh,” he whispered, kissing her again. “I want to hear it every day. To wake to it every morn.”
Her hands burrowed beneath his shirt along his perfect chest—silken hair and taut skin around thick, tense muscles. Lifting her chin to allow his mouth access to her jaw line, she tugged his shirt off. Their panting breaths became louder than the rain.
But she stopped breathing when it was his turn to undress her … to loosen the armor so fastidiously tied, clasped, and buttoned into place each day. He had her scarf tossed aside and the rip in her bodice stretched open—fingertip gently grazing the tip of her scar beneath her chemise. She tensed, and he lifted his face to study hers.
What she saw in his eyes in the dim light struck her heart.
Adoration. Devotion. And a desire so darkly sweet she could taste it on her tongue.
She flinched as his finger delved further, following her ugly disfigurement between her breasts.
She caught his wrist to stop him.
“Felicity. You needn’t ever hide yourself from me. I’ll protect you. Cherish every part of you. You can harbor in my arms by day. Fall asleep in them by night. We will be a family.”
The reminder came at her like a pair of snapping shears, pruning away her blossoming hope to leave nothing but hemorrhaging stubs. The depth of his emotions as he’d told her of his son … the way he’d bonded with her nieces in such a short time. How he wanted a true marriage.
He loved children. And for her to even consider accepting his proposal without telling him of her barrenness was a tribute to how desperate and weak she’d become.
Palms banked against his chest, she edged him off until they were lying side by side on the cold, hard wood. “You do want a family, then?”
A puzzled expression passed over him as he swept strands of hair from her face. “Yes. I want everything I lost.”
Eyes blurring, she scrambled to stand against the wall—a support for her jittery legs.
The Glass Butterfly Page 18