Meeting his gaze, she said archly, “Somehow I doubt that.”
He smiled. “You know me so well. You see? You could be a great help to me.”
Her consternation at his words was so transparent, he marveled that she didn’t realize herself how unwilling she was to marry him off elsewhere. Stubborn woman. Her pride kept her from accepting him. And her jealousy, no matter what she protested.
Well, he’d use that jealousy against her. He’d make her see that watching him court someone else was much worse than enduring his protection of Miss Greenaway. And if he had to dance with ten thousand women to make her see that, so be it.
Felicity cast a quick look up to heaven as if hoping for the Deity to advise her on his proposal. Then she lowered her gaze to his. “All right. I’ll do what I can.”
“Thank you.” When she went limp, he added, “And don’t think to renege once we’re back in London. I shall hold you to your promise.”
“I’m sure you will,” she said morosely.
Her misery delighted him. She was his already, whether she admitted it or not. “Tomorrow,” he said, “I must be off early to attend to business in London, but tomorrow night, I’ll be at Lord Caswell’s party. You intend to go, too, don’t you?”
She gave a stiff nod.
“Good. You can begin your efforts on my behalf then.” He couldn’t resist adding, “Of course, if you change your mind about my proposal—”
“I shan’t,” she retorted, though he noticed her words lacked conviction this time.
“Very well. Until tomorrow.” He gave a slight bow, then headed off toward the door. He didn’t want to leave. What he wanted was to toss her onto the feather bed and make love to her until morning. With any other woman, that would ensure a marriage.
But it might not with Felicity, and he wouldn’t risk the possibility that compromising her might firm her resolve to resist him.
As he opened the door, she called out behind him. “Wait, Ian!”
He turned with his hand on the knob to find her coming toward him with his coat, which he’d forgotten on the floor. As she neared him, however, her gaze shifted to a spot behind him, and the color drained from her face. He followed the direction of her gaze, already guessing what he would find.
Standing outside the nursery across the hall were several people who’d apparently been engaged in earnest conversation until he opened the door: Sara’s housekeeper, a nursery maid, another servant…and Sara and Emily. All eyes were locked on him standing in his shirtsleeves and Felicity clutching his coat, dressed in only her chemise and wrapper.
The servants melted away at once, averting their eyes as they scurried off along the hallway, but Sara and Emily stood frozen. Then shock hardened Sara’s expression, while Emily began to smile.
Ian scarcely had time to decide how to handle the awkward situation. Much as he wished he could use it to force Felicity’s hand, he doubted that would work. She was much too independent to be swayed by his friends’ advice and would resent him even more if he urged the marriage on the basis of her now-compromised reputation.
Yet as his gaze locked with Sara’s, it occurred to him that Sara would be a good ally. The only way to gain her support, however, was to ensure she had a clear grasp of the facts and not merely what tale Felicity might spin.
“Good evening, ladies.” He smiled with casual ease. “I hope there’s nothing wrong in the nursery.” He heard Felicity groan behind him, but ignored her, focusing instead on Sara.
The young countess glared at him. “What are you doing here, Ian?”
“Miss Taylor has agreed to help me in my search for a wife,” he said truthfully. “We were consulting on strategy.”
“Yes,” Felicity chimed in with great eagerness. “Lord St. Clair and I were having a long discussion on the matter.”
As Emily rolled her eyes, Sara glanced at Felicity. “But my dear, the way you’re dressed—”
Ian shot Felicity an amused glance, wondering how she would explain that one away. With a little gasp of dismay, Felicity tugged her wrapper closed. Clearly, she’d forgotten she was wearing only her chemise and a scrap of lace.
“Don’t blame Miss Taylor,” Ian told Sara with great magnanimity. “I surprised her after she’d already prepared for bed, and we became so engrossed in our conversation that we completely forgot about the proprieties. Besides, Miss Taylor is fairly nonchalant about such matters.”
“So nonchalant that you removed your coat?” Her tone was stiff as starch, as stern as any mother’s. “Don’t try to fool me, Ian. I know how you men work. And if you think I’ll allow you to take advantage of a woman in my house—”
“Truly, Sara, nothing happened,” Felicity protested. “I know it looks bad, but—”
“You needn’t defend him,” Sara retorted. “I know what he is about.”
Ian raised one eyebrow. “Do you really? Then you must know that I proposed marriage to Miss Taylor.”
With a look of shock, Sara shifted her gaze to Felicity. “Is this true?”
He fancied he could feel the heat of Felicity’s anger warm his back.
“Yes.” Felicity hurried to add, “But I refused him. We discussed it, and that’s all that happened. I swear it.”
Ian bit back a smile of triumph. Felicity might think her revelation would extricate her from this, but she didn’t know Sara as well as he did. The woman loved making matches, and both she and Emily were eager to see him married. They’d be on his side from now on, especially if it looked as if he were reasonable and Felicity were simply foolish.
How else could it look, after all? Without revealing what she knew about his connection to Miss Greenaway and how she knew it, Felicity could never reasonably explain why she’d refused him. Thus her refusal would seem inexplicable, and Sara would have all the more reason to work at matching them up.
In truth, there was already a dangerously familiar gleam in his friend’s eye. “You refused Ian?”
“Yes.” Felicity looked from Sara to Emily. When she caught sight of Emily’s broad smile, her expression grew panicky. “That’s why I agreed to help. Him, I mean. You know, find a wife. Because I refused him. He said if I wouldn’t marry him, I ought to help, and I agreed, and we…we had a perfectly civil conversation. That’s all that happened. Truly…”
As Felicity trailed off, Sara shot him a questioning look. His only answer was a smile. Her brown eyes darkened. “Ian, I’ll speak to you in a moment downstairs. Just now I wish to talk to Miss Taylor. Alone.”
“Of course.” He glanced at Felicity, whose wide eyes and pale face showed her bewilderment. If she only knew what Sara was about to put her through…He didn’t envy her that, having once or twice been at the mercy of Sara’s matchmaking attempts.
Still, he felt a perverse need to reassure Felicity that he’d keep silent about her identity as Lord X. He laid his hand on her shoulder, trying not to react to the sheer pleasure of touching her. “You needn’t worry about my discretion in this matter, nor that of my friends. I’m sure they can keep the servants quiet as well. Despite all the talk earlier this evening, no one will discuss this affair with the gossips, and especially not with Lord X. The man won’t be brought into it, I assure you. Certainly not by me.”
Felicity’s eyes locked with his, and he saw understanding flicker briefly in them. He owed her that much…to protect her secret.
But though he didn’t realize it, Felicity was still confused. What was he attempting with this new ploy? He could have used this opportunity to force her into marriage, but he hadn’t. Why was he being so truthful with his friends, so defensive of her honor? And so willing to keep her secrets?
“If you ladies will excuse me,” he added, “I’ll leave you to your talk.”
He strolled off down the hall, leaving Felicity to shake her head. “I’ll never understand that man.”
“None of us ever have,” Sara remarked at her side. Gently, she took Felicity’s arm. “Come, my dear,
let’s go into your room before more servants happen along and see you standing here in that. Never fear, we’ll help you figure out how to deal with Ian.”
The statement brought Felicity up short. What was there to figure out? She and Ian had made a simple agreement, and she’d told Sara and Emily there would be no marriage. What else was left to discuss?
Yet the two women obviously thought there was something to talk about. They both stared at her expectantly. Suddenly it dawned on her—they wanted to discuss why she wouldn’t marry Ian. His reasonable manner and willingness to marry her had convinced them that he was behaving like a gentleman while she was either a fool or a wanton. They wanted to know which one it was.
Her heart began to thud in her chest. She couldn’t even explain, not without revealing what she knew of Ian’s character. That would mean revealing her identity.
Very well, she thought defiantly, she wouldn’t tell them a dratted thing. Let them think what they wanted of her.
Then she saw Sara’s sympathetic smile. She groaned. Sara had championed her earlier tonight. She’d taken Felicity’s side for no reason other than friendship. And brazening this out would mean losing that friendship. Ian could make her out to be whatever he wished—fickle, a fool, even a wanton—and they would believe him because she’d provided no explanation of her own.
She searched her mind frantically for a plausible explanation of her refusal, but could think of nothing. Any reason would require blatantly lying about Ian, and she couldn’t do that—not to Sara. Not after what had happened before.
Ian had realized that, hadn’t he? The manipulative rat. He was counting on her not to lie or come up with a believable explanation. He was counting on her to brazen it out. Then Sara and Emily would remain on his side, and she’d lose them as friends.
She couldn’t win. Not unless she told them the truth. Her spirits lightened suddenly. Yes, the truth—perhaps it was as simple as that. Unburden herself to them, explain everything from beginning to end, and trust to their good sense.
It was risky, yet they were both sensible women. Surely they would understand and stand by her once they knew everything.
The possibility was enticing beyond belief. Oh, to have someone who knew enough to give her good, honest advice. They could help her figure out how to deal with Ian—him and his secrets, him and his insistence that she help him find a wife when the very thought of it made her sick with jealousy.
“You really can trust us,” Sara was saying. “Ian spoke the truth about our discretion, you know—we would never gossip about you. And as for Lord X, I can’t imagine why he mentioned the man. I don’t even know the columnist—”
“Yes, you do,” Felicity broke in. “Lord X has been in your midst all along.”
The mixture of confusion and disbelief on their faces almost struck her as humorous. Almost. After all, they might take her confession ill. They might hate her afterward.
She only hoped they didn’t.
“What do you mean?” Emily asked. “Surely you don’t think one of us—”
“No.” Felicity hesitated, but only for a second. This was her best course of action, and she would follow it wherever it led. “Not one of you: me. I am Lord X.”
Chapter 11
In these enlightened times, it is troublesome to see so many marital unions formed without respect to affection, disposition, or compatibility. Does it matter if financial or political success results from such a union when the individual parties cannot enjoy it?
LORD X, THE EVENING GAZETTE,
DECEMBER 13, 1820
Sara sat on Felicity’s bed with her legs tucked up beneath her, unable to pretend nonchalance as she watched the young woman pace the dimly lit bedchamber relating her amazing tale. Sara might have questioned its veracity if everything hadn’t fit so beautifully with what she herself had observed in the past few days.
Felicity Taylor was Lord X? All this time London’s most notorious columnist had been visiting in her home, and Sara had never once guessed the truth. How astonishing!
She glanced over at Emily, who perched on the dressing-table stool. Emily’s occasional nod and encouraging murmur indicated that she sympathized deeply with the young woman. That was understandable—Emily knew what it was like to maintain an elaborate pretense, having been forced into a masquerade last year that had nearly lost her everything. But then Emily had acted upon peril to her life, whereas Felicity…
Sara shook her head, returning her attention to Felicity, whose bold telling of her story contrasted with the feminine lace of her attire. Felicity was not like other young women of society that Sara knew. Then again, neither was Emily. Or herself.
Indeed, Sara did sympathize with Felicity’s motives for her actions—the woman’s concern for Miss Hastings’s future and then her humiliation after Ian had embarrassed her on the balcony. While Sara could never have initiated so public a battle, she certainly would have done something to retaliate. For heaven’s sake, Ian had toyed with Felicity’s affections, then pretended she was the wanton. Sara ought to have done more than toss Ian out of the house; she should have boxed his ears, too. Just wait until she got him alone later—he’d get an earful from her!
One thing puzzled her, however. Why had Ian persisted in keeping Felicity’s secret about Lord X? Felicity said he had something to hide, but Sara wondered if he had another reason, one more romantic. That possibility intrigued her enormously.
The young woman was staring at her now, a guilty expression on her face. “You must find all this so horrible,” Felicity said, apparently misinterpreting Sara’s look of concentration. “You can never know how sorry I am that I misled you about Ian. I still think of it with shame. But I didn’t know you then. I couldn’t believe you might understand what really happened. And I didn’t know how kind you are or how different from most—” She broke off, her embarrassment more than obvious.
“Most what?” Sara prodded.
Felicity swallowed visibly. “Most women of rank. They all treat me with condescension.” She glanced away, her gaze hardening. “They like me to entertain them with gossip or tales about Papa, but when I’m done, they cast me aside like any other amusement, leaving me to fend for myself with their sons and their husbands.”
“As did I,” Sara said softly.
“No! It wasn’t the same. Despite what I let you believe that night, Ian never took advantage of me. Not really. It was my own fault that I…that I…”
“Took his actions to heart? Believed in his kisses? No, that wasn’t your fault.”
“But I brought it on myself with my columns,” Felicity protested.
“Which you had every reason to write,” Sara interjected. “I don’t blame you in this. I wouldn’t like having my feelings trampled on by some careless lord either.”
“Still, it wasn’t the same,” she said in a low voice.
“The same as what?”
Felicity crossed her arms over her chest, her gaze downcast. “Those others. The ones I met because of Papa.”
Sara sucked in a breath. “What did the others do to you?”
“Oh, nothing very terrible,” Felicity said hastily, though her arms tightened over her chest. “An unwanted kiss here, a groping hand there, when I got older. I-I was eleven when I began to go with Papa to his patrons’ houses and take notes for him.”
A faint smile touched her lips. “He had awful handwriting. He couldn’t even read it himself half the time. And I liked going with him to all those grand houses.” Her smile faded. “That is, until I found out what the people in them were like.”
“Not all of them, surely,” Emily put in.
“Oh, no! Just some of the men. It was usually the eldest sons who wanted to ‘entertain’ me when Papa was busy with their parents, after I grew old enough to interest them. But I could handle them most of the time. And our footman showed me how to…um…hit them with my knee where it hurt.”
“Good for him,” Sara said, glad of protec
tive servants.
“It was only the fathers who gave me any real trouble. I knew it wasn’t wise to rebuff them as boldly as I did their sons, so I had to be more creative in my refusals.”
The thought of a girl fighting off a grown man’s advances roused Sara’s outrage. “Where were these men’s wives, for God’s sake? The young men—where were their mothers? Did they not teach their sons any better than to assault young female guests?”
“Women tend to look the other way. Or worse.” Felicity spoke the words dispassionately, but Sara saw the pain she tried to hide. “Pelh—One man’s wife who caught her husband…making advances to me blamed me to Papa and advised him to give me a good thrashing.”
“Surely he didn’t take her advice!” Sara exclaimed in horror.
Felicity looked startled. “Oh, no, Papa never lifted a hand to any of his children. In the case of my brothers, it might have been better if he had. Papa told the woman she was a jealous old witch with an octopus for a husband, and refused to continue the project.” Her tone filled with self-reproach. “It took him a year to find another that paid as well, and Mama and I worked ourselves to death taking in mending.”
Sara saw bitterness flash across Felicity’s face, and her tender heart softened all the more. “So you learned not to complain about the men’s roving hands, didn’t you? Better to put up with it than be responsible for your family’s loss of fortune.”
A wan smile touched Felicity’s lips. “As always, Lady Worthing, you are more perceptive than most.”
“Won’t you call me by my given name anymore?” Sara asked gently.
“I don’t deserve to.” Felicity’s face was wrought with remorse as she turned to pace once more. “I’m so ashamed. You’ve been nothing but kind to me from the day I arrived, but I abused your hospitality horribly that night on the balcony.”
“Nonsense,” Emily put in with a glance at Sara. “You did what was needed to survive. When men use seduction as a weapon, they leave us with only deceit as a defense. Besides, if I remember what Sara told me, Lady Brumley was also present. You could hardly have let her know what had really gone on.”
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