“I moved in here after his stroke to be closer to the girls’ rooms.”
“Ah.” Finishing the last bite of his bread, Nick rubbed his palms to whisk away the crumbs. “Your brother is here and you’re aware of his presence. Yet you hide him. Why?”
Felicity’s cheeks grew warm. Sound returned to her in the form of the longcase clock tick-tocking against the far wall. It seemed to say: He knows-he knows-he knows. But how could he?
As if triggered by Nick’s accusation, a finger of sun broke through the clouds, filtered through the window, and pointed at her face. “I-I don’t know what you mean,” she mumbled. “I showed you his grave.”
Nick’s focus shifted over her skin, following the light. “I’m not speaking of his trumped up resting place. I’m speaking of him.”
The sunbeam moved to pierce Felicity’s eyes, blinding.
Nick sat back in the chair, arms crossed. “At first I thought he was here to heal your scar … but there was no residue of fungus anywhere on your gown. I searched for it when I laid you in your bed.”
“What are you talking about? Who are you talking about?” Felicity squinted against the light’s harsh glare. Nick lifted the remaining gingerbread from her lap, placing the napkin on his chair as he took a seat at the bed’s edge. He positioned his broad shoulders to block the sun from her eyes. The faint scent of mead—softened with a soapy tinge—teased her nose upon his proximity. She remembered his hot, seeking tongue flavored with the drink last night. Had Rachel even taken the time to appreciate his flavor … his tenderness? Felicity bit back a disgusted sob.
Curling her legs to her chest, she tried to put some distance between them.
“I haven’t been completely honest with you.” His voice deepened on the confession, causing her pulse to jump. Was he going to tell her about the maid now? That he lied when he said those sweet words about wanting only her? Felicity’s belly spasmed. She didn’t want to hear it and had to clench her fingers together to keep from plugging her ears.
“I left out some information about the fungus that healed me,” he said. “Where it comes from. It seems to be tied to the Raven. And Aislinn believes him to be your brother’s spirit. And deep down, you believe it, too. Why else would you be so defensive each time I bring it up?”
Felicity took a silent breath of relief. So, he didn’t truly know the secret—only part of it. “I’ve told you … it is impossible. There is no ghost. Landrigan has spawned this nonsense to feed the girls’ imaginations. He’s a master at manipulation.”
“I saw something, Felicity. In here, last night.”
Relief ignited to caution. “Describe it.”
He looked down, kneading his nape with a palm. “I—I heard a swish. Had a sense of something being there. Like a shadow.”
Felicity narrowed her eyes. “Let me guess: butterflies in the shape of a man?”
“More of a blur creeping along the floor then standing.” He winced. “I know, it sounds ludicrous.”
“It sounds like a drunken man’s musings. Did you indulge in that bottle of mead all alone last night?”
“I did, but—”
“So why should I believe … better yet, why should you believe anything you saw? You were soused out of your head.”
“Perhaps.” A pensive expression crossed his face, as if starting to doubt the validity of his memory. Then his chin tensed in determination. “Though I’ve experienced enough delusions in my life from the opium to know when what I’m seeing is real or imagined.”
“Or is it possible that you’ve experienced so many that you can no longer differentiate?”
His mouth twitched as he leaned close. “Your brother was here last night. His spirit. In this very room. He had you in a trance so deep you couldn’t wake. I suspect he’s been here before … when you were writing that novel with my sister. I suspect he wrote it through you. I recognized his handwriting when I saw his journals in Aislinn’s keep. They matched the correspondences my sister received. And now, he’s trying to reach you again … to tell you something.”
“Enough of this madness.” Stunned by his perception, Felicity shoved against him. His rock-hard muscles didn’t even give an inch. She considered spilling why she had such trouble believing this ghost could be Jasper. Were she to tell Nick the truth behind her brother’s death, it would bring this line of questioning to a screeching halt and leave him as befuddled as her.
She shifted her legs beneath the covers. The bottle of opium rolled toward her hip, reminding her again of Nick’s tryst with the maid. Felicity had enough complications to deal with. She didn’t need a man with two mistresses to further muddle things. “I don’t care what you think you saw last night. I’m more concerned with what you did. And for that, I’d prefer you just leave and never look back.”
“What I did?” A full burst of sun brightened the entire chamber—an illumination that left Felicity feeling exposed and vulnerable beneath Nick’s bewildered gaze.
Felicity eased her hand under the covers and fished out the bottle, resting it in her lap. “I can’t believe you were so desperate for this that you would …” She trembled despite the rays of light heating her hair where it draped her shoulders. “I know about Rachel’s visit to your room.”
“Ah.” Nick looked none too happy. His shoulders grew as if ready to pounce—a dark predator with his prey in sight.
But wasn’t she supposed to be the predator in this scenario?
“Has it ever occurred to you that it was her seduction? A seduction which never came to pass because I didn’t wish to use her like I had other women. Because I didn’t want to be like the men who had used you.”
Random memories from the prior night came crashing into Felicity’s mind: seeing Rachel wander the halls before coming to bed; the maid asking about Nick all throughout supper; how she stood out in the courtyard to beat the rugs which had been cleaned earlier that week just so she could watch for his return. Rachel had been waiting for him like a lioness in heat. She must’ve used her keys to hole up in his room. Her clothes could’ve been rumpled from Nick throwing her out.
The tears Felicity had been holding back broke loose in a wave of relief. “So … you simply borrowed her keys? Without being tempted to bed her?”
“Oh, I was tempted.” The mattress rippled as Nick edged closer. “But I once killed a woman I cared for by being impulsive and heedless, driven only by lust. Do you think I’d ever make such a mistake again? Ever in my lifetime?” He swiped away Felicity’s tears with the back of his hand, then trailed her hair where it laid lightly over her left breast.
Her body instantly responded, and by the hungry slant of his lips, Nick felt it.
She waited in anticipation, wanting to be touched again like yesterday in the rain. When he’d been forceful, yet gentle. Demanding, yet pleading. When he’d been focused solely on her and she believed his every word as sincere—just like now.
But he pulled back.
The movement numbed her. “Nick. I-I wish I had a forget-me-not …”
He sighed. “We’d have to have a field full, for all the times we’d be exchanging them.” He met her gaze. “Your heart will not let you have faith in me. And I’m too weak to live teetering upon every turn of your insecurities. It drives me to do things that otherwise—” His eyes locked on the opium.
You’re not weak. I do have faith in you! She wanted to scream the words. Instead, they laid flat on her tongue. The one good thing that had come into her life since the girls, and she was chasing him away. She regretted it, with every piece and parcel of her being; but in light of her barrenness, it was the kindest thing she could do for him.
Nick sighed. “When I first sat down to share breakfast, I was intent on convincing you to let me stay three weeks longer. Just until Lia’s birthday. But what’s the use? It’s doing neither of us any good for me to be here. Is it?”
Felicity took his hand and latched their fingers tight, admiring how hers felt so sma
ll in his, taking comfort in the calloused strength. “I was wrong to say those things last night.”
“You were right. The girls are impressionable. They need to be reared by people with morals.”
Felicity slanted her gaze to the window, convinced Nick was thinking the same thing she was: that a courtesan had no license to hold other people to such a pristine standard. Though he was too kind and noble to say it.
“Or in the least,” he continued, “people who try to live ethically.” He made a pointed glance at the opium tincture in her lap. “Obviously, I’m not yet that kind of person.”
Felicity tucked his hand beneath her chin. “I believe with all my heart you are. But until you can find something that truly fulfills you, you’ll never believe in your own goodness—never be strong enough to live up to it. I know this better than anyone.”
He opened his hand to caress her neck, stopping at her collarbone. “The girls. They fulfilled you. Gave you the courage you needed to live a better life.”
Both her hands closed over his. “Yes.” Once you have that son you want, you’ll understand. “You must find your measure of happiness.”
His eyes became dark and serious as the sun slid again behind a cloud. “I was hoping perchance I had.”
A hush fell on the room. He pulled free to cup her jaw, drawing her to him, then leaned in and kissed her. A rush of tears started anew, rolling down her cheeks. Basking in his scent—in his skin’s smoothness and flavor—she clasped his nape, fingers woven within his damp, bound hair.
She tried to open her lips beneath his, to give him access so she might savor the hot challenge of his tongue. But he remained closed-mouthed. The effect changed everything in the kiss—made it soft and despondent—not demanding, not even persuasive. A kiss flavored with the bitterness of goodbye.
He broke contact but stayed close enough to share her breath. She sniffled as his hand glided down the curve of her neck to pluck at the shawl covering her chest.
“The peat bogs in your forest,” he whispered against her. “They’re the answer. You’ve a gold mine here. You should be selling the peat.”
Felicity strove to make sense of his words, overcome by the emotions burbling up within.
Nick broke her hold on his nape and inched back, as if to help her focus. “Draw up a contract giving Donal a percentage of the peat sales. Have a solicitor help you. It can be done discreetly in Carnlough, without bringing anyone here. Just make sure the solicitor witnesses you and Donal signing the agreement. Share profit only on the grounds Donal’s tricks cease and he stays away from you and the girls and off of this estate. Have his aunt make visits to him in town. Those must be the terms in writing. With the law behind you, he can never torment you again.”
Felicity’s mouth gaped. Sweet lord in heaven. She would never have fabricated such a shrewd plan. That Nick had been pondering her predicament—trying to find some means to help her in spite of her efforts to force him back into the world he dreaded—overwhelmed her.
So grateful for his concern, she considered betraying Jasper’s secret. Her lips almost opened on the confession before she remembered the real reason she couldn’t marry Nick. No matter how much she’d come to trust him, it would never change the fact that she wasn’t the woman he needed.
After a pause, Nick stood and leaned forward to kiss the bruise on her forehead with strong, soft lips, stroking her nape tenderly.
“Take care, Felicity,” he said against her, his smooth, shaved chin brushing her aching flesh.
“Wait…” She caught his wrist as he edged away.
He looked hopeful, as if expecting she’d ask him to stay. With her free hand, she tugged out the knife from the sheets.
“This belongs to you.” She swept her covers aside and dropped her legs over the bed’s edge. Nick’s gaze caught on her bared knee and calf. A muscle in his jaw twitched as she smoothed her gown’s hem to her shins.
Coming back to himself, he took the blade and placed a palm on her shoulder to hold her in place. “Stay. Clooney will hang me if I allow you to get up.” He let the cloth fall away from the engraved handle. A line scrawled across his forehead, as if etched in place by a painful memory. “You’ve had this all along? Why did you keep it from me?”
“Because … I didn’t know you well enough to give you a weapon.”
“Of course,” Nick mumbled apologetically, eyes flashing to her chest.
Her scar drew tight beneath her gown. “But it’s not a weapon at all, is it?”
He seemed to consider his words carefully. “It is not meant to be. Tis a carver’s knife … a gift from my father. Thank you for giving it back.” Squeezing her shoulder one last time, he started for the door. Upon opening it, he stalled at the threshold, studying the knife as if it held some mysterious power over him.
Felicity couldn’t bring herself to look at his profile. Instead, she watched his deft fingers handle the glistening blade as he slid it into a leather sheath tucked inside his pocket. She remembered how those hands had felt when they caressed her body in the rain: reverent and ravenous. She should’ve known they were tools of creation—for she’d been reborn beneath them, beautiful once more.
“You are an artist?” she asked, trying to postpone his departure for as long as possible.
“It has been some years since I’ve been inspired. But lately, I’ve had the urge to start again.”
“I would’ve loved to see your work.”
“You will. I’ll be sending you something in the post. I haven’t forgotten your wish for wings.”
His answer snapped her head up but he’d already slipped out the door. She released a shuddering breath. The fact that he remembered her childhood ache only made her want him more. She had an impulse to chase after him, and only by imagining her arms and legs were lead could she keep herself in place. When she heard his heavy footfalls clear the steps onto the first floor, she snatched up the bottle of opium and leapt to her feet.
She stared at the red walls, letting the color feed the flame of fury lapping at her core. With a growl scraping her vocal chords, she chucked the opium across the room. The glass burst and a brackish liquid formed an ugly splatter that filled the room with a distinctive odor. A scent which always reminded her of Jasper.
“You…” she seethed, regarding her surroundings through her tears—seeing her brother’s fingerprints on everything. “You’ve asked too much of me! Locking me in this castle … ruining my relationship with Aislinn … robbing me of my one chance at lo—”
She cut herself short. No. She couldn’t admit that. Not that. It would make Nick’s absence unbearable.
Lowering her weary body to lie back on the mattress, she shut her eyes. She knew it wasn’t all Jasper’s doing. She was damaged—had nothing to offer a man like Nick. This was her own cross to bear.
“Jasper,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. I need your counsel, dear brother. I miss you. Is it possible it was you? Did you come here last night?”
She scraped the back of her hand across wet eyes. The instant her lashes opened, a flash of movement swept her vision. Gasping, she sat up on her elbows, seeing the tail end of a dark blur as it stole into the corridor in the direction of the turret.
A chill scuttled up her spine. “Jasper?”
She tightened the shawl around her shoulders and strode barefoot through the door. After veering a right into the empty corridor, she stopped at the tower’s staircase, clutching the rail until her knuckles whitened. The scent of staleness and decay curled through her nostrils. She took one step up, then another.
Pebbles and dust caked the soles of her feet, and each footfall weighed heavier until she stopped where the windows ceased and the steps dissolved to a landslide of rubble. Searching along the cool wall for the remembered stone, Felicity inhaled a deep breath to still her jittery stomach. Finding her mark, she eased the cragged rock out of its place and fit her hand into the opening, flipping a small lever with her thumb.
&n
bsp; With a mechanical, grating sound, a door slid open to reveal a narrow winding staircase carved out between the inner and outer wall. She pressed the stone back in place and triggered another lever on the inside to shut the door behind her.
Then she felt her way up in the darkness—one hesitant foot at a time—starting a climb she had sworn to never take again, to see a brother she hadn’t visited in almost two years.
Chapter Twenty
Nick paused on the first floor beside the staircase as he heard glass break in Felicity’s room; he debated whether to go up and check on her. But she’d made it abundantly clear that she didn’t need him … despite that she wanted him.
He knew the latter was true. It was in her eyes, in that kiss she tried to intensify to a level he wasn’t willing to surrender to.
What kind of clod did that make him? They’d been alone in there. And she’d been so beautiful: her hair fallen and messy from sleep; skin scented with lilac and orange blossoms. Not a wrinkle upon her lovely face. Sensual, vulnerable … lying on the bed in her gown. Aside from the men’s suit that first night, it was the only thing he’d ever seen her in other than mourning clothes.
All he would’ve had to do was lock the door. Then he could have peeled off that dowdy shawl, pushed her hem to her thighs and taken her, right there, in the pink dim of dawn—where she wouldn’t have to feel conscious of her scar. He could’ve shown her what a beautiful, desirable woman she was.
Truth be known, he’d contemplated it.
Piss that. He’d fought it.
All because of his bloody pride—what little he had left. The woman was still lying to him. There was something about Jasper’s death. Some reason Felicity was convinced he couldn’t be haunting this place. More than just her aversion to superstitions. But she wouldn’t tell him. She couldn’t trust him enough.
He frowned. Well hell. Since when did trust figure into a one-time tryst?
A rash impulse turned him around and spurred him back up, taking two steps at a time. He would ravish Felicity despite her lack of faith in him … they could spend all of their passion and desire in one powerful interlude. Then she wouldn’t ask him to leave. She’d beg him to stay.
The Glass Butterfly Page 21