The thunderstruck look of desperation on Gareth’s face as the woman disappeared down the hall would be locked in Felicity’s vault of amusing memories henceforth and forever.
“Look here.” She tucked the baby against her chest, pulling the blanket into a makeshift swaddle and patting her little bum as she cradled and bounced her. “Just like this, watch her head, and don’t jostle her over much. She’ll calm down in a bit.”
With slow, painful movements, he mimicked her hold, but it didn’t seem to have the effect it should, as little Charlotte only became more upset.
He made a face. “I don’t think I—”
“No, you’re doing fine, just put your arm beneath her. Yes, like that. Let’s go through to the parlor.”
She turned away from him, needing a moment to compose herself after the sight of him with a drooling, chubby infant caused an explosion of butterfly wings in the vicinity of her womb.
She went to the settee and sat, rocking the quieting child in her arms as she cooed to it. “There you are, little one.” She caressed the girl’s tiny brow, ran her fingertip along the bridge of her nose. “You’re out of the cold now. You’re with Aunt Felicity, what fun we shall have.”
Instead of taking up his regular seat across the way, Gareth sank down beside her. Watching her carefully and imitating her every move.
“What’s it doing now?” The note of uncharacteristic distress in his voice had her fighting a smile.
“Just untangle the blanket so she can move,” Felicity gently corrected. “And it is a her, and her name is Charlotte.”
He laid the baby longways on his lap, supporting her head between his knees as he unwrapped her busy limbs. As small fists windmilled and little feet kicked out in grateful freedom, he glanced from baby to baby with stern consternation. “How can you tell them apart?”
“You might not know this, but I am a twin. That makes me extra qualified, I imagine.”
“You don’t say.”
She couldn’t be certain, but it seemed he very studiously avoided her gaze.
“I mentioned my sister Mercy. The one who is traveling.” The twinge of sadness took her by surprise. She missed Mercy every day, but this evening, their separation was like a physical ache.
What would Mercy think of Gareth Severand?
“You do not like that she’s with her husband?” he asked alertly.
She shook her head as Caroline’s little fist closed over her finger. “I don’t like that he took her from my side. But I told her to go. She’s so happy. She’s having all the adventures she yearned for since we were young. And I’m glad of it.”
“And her marriage? Her husband? Are you glad of that?”
She glanced over to see him holding his hands out as little pads for Charlotte’s strong kicks. The baby seemed delighted with this, and was instantly cheerful.
“I can’t say I know him well,” Felicity admitted, attracted in every way by the sight of him with a child in his lap. Soothed by his presence. By the fact that they sat so close. “I’ll be honest, I have my concerns. He was a— well, an infamously unscrupulous man most of his life. But I believed him when he said he loved her. I don’t think I’ve ever believed anything so much as that.”
In fact, she always wished a man would look at her like Raphael Sauvageau looked at Mercy.
Like she was his greatest treasure.
“And… does your sister return his love?” He seemed more interested in the answer than she suspected he would be. How nice, to have a man pay such good attention to a conversation not about himself.
“Oh yes, she’s nigh gone for him.”
“How do you know if you are not together?”
Felicity snorted. “Her letters are mostly swooning, elated stanzas of praise for him. And I’m glad of it.”
“You do not seem so glad.”
She looked down at the bundle in her arms, convinced that Caroline, such a peaceful child, might take after herself. Would she only be an aunt for the rest of her days? Might no one ever call her Mother? “If I’m honest, I’m envious. Mercy always claimed she’d never marry. She made me promise not to, either. We were going to make our own way in this world the same way we came into it. Together. And here we are… here I am… beholden to duty while her choice has somehow granted her a modicum of freedom.”
She cleared a gather of bitterness from her throat at the same time Charlotte made an adoring noise up at Gareth.
“I think she likes you,” she murmured when the child curled a strong, chubby fist around one of his rough fingers.
“How can you tell?”
“Look at her face, she’s very contented.”
“Well…” His nose wrinkled in a wry grimace. “That might have been the bubbles I just felt coming out of the back end.”
Felicity threw her head back and laughed in a burst of pure merriment. How easily he could dispel her earlier melancholy with his dry wit. And her loneliness with his very presence.
When she finally looked over at Gareth, he’d gone perfectly still.
And was smiling at her. An honest-to-goodness smile. Both sides of his lips relaxed into something that looked like joy.
It was like standing in the sun for the first time. Warm and beautiful and breathtaking.
“Haven’t you ever held a child before?” she asked, glancing away and clenching her thighs.
“Never.”
“At your age? I find that hard to believe.”
His smile melted into mock effrontery. “I’m no Methuselah.”
“How old are you?”
“All of four-and-thirty,” he sniffed, obviously offended.
“It’s not your age that surprises me, just that you’ve never been around children. There are only twelve years between us and that’s no significant difference, I think.”
“I should think not.”
Charlotte chose that moment to shove his captured finger into her mouth and chew on it with ruthless vigor, drawing his attention.
“I’m too big a meal for you, little one,” he chuffed. “But gnaw away if it makes you feel better.”
Charlotte cooed, smiling and drooling on his hand.
“Would you look at that, your sister’s raising a little cannibal.” He checked to see if Felicity witnessed the spectacle, a winsome smirk of pride smoothing out the savage planes of his face. Producing handsome branches at the corners of his eyes and deepening the lines of his mouth.
Oh, she was looking.
She was looking in a way she’d never looked at him before. Her skin tingled and tightened around her bones and suddenly she was aware of all things that made her a woman. Her breasts became heavy, aching, the tips tightening to an almost painful degree. All the moisture deserted her mouth but pooled between her thighs. Thighs that yearned to open and clench simultaneously.
This man. He claimed to have no children. No family. And it seemed like a travesty that the world would keep existing without his child in it.
What a waste of all that masculine perfection.
Dear lord, how alarming that her body seemed to be petitioning for the job without her permission.
Felicity might be innocent, but she now understood why authors described lust as hunger. It was so physical and base. So consuming. When one needed to eat, the body and brain rarely allowed any function until the hunger was sated. The need was obsessive. Overwhelming.
So, too, was this.
Her entire being thrummed with awareness. With desire. And it would be impossible to think of anything else until she either got the hunger under control…
Or filled that emptiness with Gareth Severand.
Chapter 11
Gareth couldn’t measure the depth of his relief when the housekeeper returned holding warm glass bottles with little rubber nipples.
She fussed and bossed him as he fed… Oh, shit. He’d forgotten which one he’d been holding. Caroline? Catherine? Charlotte?
It wouldn’t do to ask eith
er of the ladies, who handled the little ones with expert care. Not when they seemed so delighted with him.
Looking down at the small human in his lap, he was struck by an odd sense of wonder. The child stared back at him with eyes the startling color of Felicity’s, her fingers inelegantly gripped the bottle, even as he held it steady. Her lips sealed around the nipple as she gnawed on it rather than suckled. He ran a single finger over thin black curls through which he could see her round head.
It was difficult to believe, to comprehend the size of her toes, even though they were right in front of him. How did one’s feet go from looking like a mangled dumpling to the useful appendages people so relied upon? How did something so plump, dimpled, and creased with rolls, stretch into a whole person?
How was it possible that he’d once been like this? Small. Helpless.
It was due to his mother and a few miracles that he and Raphael survived.
He almost hadn’t. So many times. His father would not have minded his demise so long as he profited from it.
The mirror had told that story until recently.
“’Tis nice to have a man about the house again.” Mrs. Pickering’s comment drew his notice to where she stood over him, beaming down with an approving smile. “Despite the circumstances.”
He nodded his thanks, not exactly knowing what to do with a compliment. “Do we have a place for them to sleep?” he asked.
“Well certainly, but you have to burp her first.”
Certain he misunderstood, he cocked his head. “I have to… what?”
“Prop her on your shoulder and give her a few swats.”
His jaw dropped. He’d heard of the aristocracy having some odd and alarming child-rearing practices, but this? “I am not striking an infant.”
At that she crowed a laugh. “Like this, you dolt.” Plucking the girl from Felicity’s arms, she propped the baby up on her shoulder and gave her a few firm pats on the back. “Where did ye find this oaf?”
Felicity’s breathy laugh joined in. “I found him in the archway, and I’m ever so glad I did.”
The warm spark the evening had ignited in his chest expanded to a glow that rivaled that of a good whisky.
“Now you try, lad,” Pickering instructed. “Like so.”
Hesitantly, he propped up the little mop-haired angel and cupped his hands, gently patting her on the shoulders and back.
Both women sighed in tandem, which drew his brows together in puzzlement.
“Am I doing it wrong?”
A rude little sound erupted next to his ear, followed by a warm spread of something on his collar and down his back.
His eyes went wide as a sour smell followed. “Oh fuck. I mean— shite. I mean… sorry, ladies. Is it— she— all right? Did I—”
“Don’t fret, my boy, it’s something babies like to do from time to time.” The housekeeper bounced Caroline, her apple cheeks bunched in an endlessly amused smile.
Felicity surged to her feet and bent over him, lifting the baby from his shoulder. The darling miscreant looked oddly pleased with herself as she plucked at a lock of his hair before she was dragged away from him.
Tucking the child against her hip, Felicity wiped at the corners of the baby’s mouth and was unable to cover a giggle at his dumbstruck expression. “I’m so sorry she soiled you. Please don’t be cross.”
“I’m not.” He shrugged. “I’ve been soiled with worse.”
He couldn’t identify what he saw in her expression before she hid it from him. Something like distress, or maybe desire… Perhaps he needed his own vision checked. “You’ll be wanting to clean up.” She pointed to the door. “Mrs. Pickering and I will set things to rights here.”
Gareth could do nothing but nod as he took in the tableau before him. Golden lamps created a halo around Felicity’s corona of hair. The calming silver, ivory, and grey of the room contrasted with the violet of her dress, which somehow painted her eyes the same shade.
The child in her arms splayed a hand over her peach-tinted cheek, hooking a finger into her mouth, which caused her to laugh and nibble at the tiny fingers. “Look what you’ve done to poor Mr. Severand, Charlotte,” she cooed. “You certainly take after your aunt Mercy.”
Burbling nonsense, the baby rested her forehead against Felicity’s, who closed her eyes, apparently reveling in the sweet affection of the gesture.
Someone would make her a mother someday.
Some fucking lucky bastard would plant a baby inside of her. Would watch her form that child with her miraculous body. Would hold their progeny with pride.
The very thought made him ill.
“Pardon me then, ladies.” Before he could return Charlotte’s dubious favor and be sick all over, he spun on his heel and quit the room.
Gabriel took his time bathing and dressing, castigating himself for his ludicrous sentiments.
The urge to kill any man who touched her, integrating with all the reasons he refused to do so became a tumultuous vortex of frustration directed only at himself.
He wanted nothing so much as her happiness.
He wanted nothing so much as her… which would very probably destroy her chances at happiness.
Life had defeated him, even before he’d been born.
By the time he’d bathed, dressed, groomed, and ventured back to the main floor, Cresthaven Place was silent and almost dark as Mrs. Pickering bustled about dousing the lamps.
She greeted him with a smile and a wink. “Sir and Lady Morley came to collect their little ’uns not a half hour ago.”
“I see.” He looked at the closed parlor door, wondering if Felicity read behind it.
“She’s gone up to bed,” the observant woman informed him. “But there’s some smoked meats, cheeses, and fresh bread in the kitchens. Me husband, Gordon, was a man your size. Before he died of the cholera, he was always wanting an extra meal before turning in. Near ate me into the poorhouse, God rest his soul.” She adjusted her cap and winked up at him. “You remind me a bit of him, if you’d believe it. Rough hands. Hard jaw. Soft heart.”
Gareth wanted to correct her, but couldn’t bring himself to naysay a kind widow.
His heart had been hard for as long as he could remember. Hard and cold and withered.
“Thank you.” He lingered at the banister at the bottom of the stairs, studying Mrs. Pickering for a moment. If she had anything to do with the nefarious goings on in this house, he’d never trust his instincts again. “If you had to guess how poison could have made it to the kitchens, who would you say was the likely culprit?”
The woman’s dark eyes misted with remorse. “Can’t imagine a one of us doing such a thing. Especially to poor Miss Felicity. Ask any of us and you’ll get the same answer; whoever hurts that angel of a girl deserves to go to the devil.”
“In that we agree.” He turned to climb the stairs.
“Mr. Severand?” Mrs. Pickering called after him.
“Yes?”
“Thank you… for keeping her safe. I wish she could find a man like you rather than those dandies her father would have her stuck with. The two of you would be a right blessing of a master and mistress.”
Gabriel snorted. “You and I both know I’m not worthy enough to lick her boots, Mrs. Pickering.”
“That’s part of why you’re ideal.” She made a caustic gesture. “Most men think they’re God’s gift to women, when it’s actually the other way around. Someone should be so lucky to catch her heart, and that heart was in her eyes when she looked at you tonight.”
He wished she wouldn’t have said that. “You know that if she took up with a man like me, she’d lose everything. You, this house, her security.” Her innocence, what fragile peace of mind she possessed, her reputation and good name. Possibly even her soul. “Good night, Mrs. Pickering.”
“Goodnight, lad.” She sighed, before her words followed him up the stairs. “These Goode girls have all learned that some things are worth giving up…”
Not for the likes of me.
Chapter 12
The creak of a floorboard tore Gabriel from a troubled sleep.
Bolting upright, he listened to the dark. Seconds ticked by in silence, and just as he’d begun to wonder if the sound had been in his dreams, he alerted to movement on the stairs.
Leaping up, he pulled on his trousers, punched his fists into a shirt, and seized his pistol.
When Gabriel killed, he’d rather the death be silent. And wet. But he would take no chances with her life, when swift and lethal violence might be more efficient.
Pressing his ear to the door, he heard nothing on the other side, so he burst out and drew down one length of the hall, then the other.
All was silent and still.
He went to her room. Hesitated, and then remembered that hesitation got people killed.
Bursting in, he found her bedsheets rumpled.
And empty.
“Felicity?” He searched every dark corner of her room. In the wardrobe. Checked the windows, finding them locked.
The sound of a door echoed from downstairs.
He leapt into the hall and flew down the staircase in time to see the edges of light disappear from the back of the house. Spinning toward the hallway, he spied a tiny glow in the courtyard through the glass panes in the back entry. He reached the courtyard in seconds.
The glow had dimmed, now that it was contained within the glasshouse.
A lone lantern cast vague shadows of leaves and blooms on the cobbles, interrupted by the motions of a girl in a white nightgown.
Lowering his weapon, Gabriel looked up to see flashes of Felicity as she fluttered around the greenhouse like a trapped butterfly.
When he wrenched open the door, she whirled, eyes wide with a terror he’d never before seen, brandishing a trowel at him as if it were a rapier.
Relieved to find her alone, he stepped inside, the flagstones cool beneath his bare feet.
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