They left the main gaming floor and Helena appeared to direct them to Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s private parlor. Felicity swallowed. Tristan was already left behind. She glanced back at him, and he stayed by the door, his expression unreadable.
“What do you like to drink?” Lord Hugstead asked as he handed her to her chair.
“I prefer not to drink wine, or any alcohol for that matter. What would you recommend?”
He pressed his lips together and his brow furrowed. “If wine and spirits are not your preference, we can have a pot of tea.”
“I would appreciate that, thank you.”
He ordered for them and silently they watched each other.
“Mr. Chase might murder me for stealing your attention. I’d surmise half the men out there would.”
“Mr. Chase is charged with my safety,” Felicity said. “He takes his job seriously.”
“Ah, logical, given your presence in a gambling den.”
Felicity bit her lip. “This is all rather odd, isn’t it?”
“May I ask you a question?”
“Please.”
“I was invited here specifically to meet you, wasn’t I?”
Felicity raised her brows. “You don’t know?”
“Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s invitation was cryptic, as usual. She said I’d meet her special guest, and there was certainly something special about you and your grand reveal.”
Felicity hesitated. What was she supposed to say?
“I’m aware that Mrs. Dove-Lyon engages in matchmaking for special clients,” he continued. “We have a politically advantageousalliance, she and I. Would I be right in assuming you are one of those prospective clients?”
Felicity knotted her fingers together, her palms sweaty. “Yes. May I be so bold as to ask whether you agreed to come here because you are in need of a wife?”
“I wouldn’t define it as a need. She approached me with a solution to a problem I’ve been plagued with, though now that I’ve met you, I think I’m getting the better end of the deal, which isn’t like Mrs. Dove-Lyon at all.”
Felicity blanched. “Am I that solution?”
He chuckled. “No. I’m too busy to look for a wife, to be honest, so her offer to match me was fortunate to my schedule.” He frowned. “Saying that out loud sounds rather depressing.”
Felicity smiled reassuringly. “It depends on what you are busy doing. Some of the men here are here every night—not a worthy use of their time. But you are busy with important issues, or so I was told. You’re involved with charity?”
He brightened. “It is a particular passion of mine, yes, and it is time consuming, negotiating, bargaining, sometimes outright begging for affluent noblemen—who clearly have so much fortune that they can waste it—to give something for the greater good of others.”
Felicity smiled genuinely now. “I’ve done charity work myself, but not to such a degree. I sew, cook, and give medical care to those less fortunate.” She bit her tongue, her fears telling her not to reveal anything about herself, but if this was her one chance, she had to take it, no matter how much it hurt. “My father is a vicar in a small village. We don’t have much to give, but we do what we can to serve others.”
His eyes brightened. “That is all any of us can do.”
Felicity nodded once. Their tea arrived, and they continued to discuss his various charity work. Felicity revealed, vaguely, that her father and mother were still alive, and she had two sisters, and that was it. When their pot of tea was finished, she bid him goodnight.
He stepped closer to her, not scandalously so, but so he could speak quietly.
“Could I be so bold as to ask for your name?”
Felicity wavered. He seemed supremely kind, intelligent, and trustworthy, she was certain.
“I must ask,” he said, “given the nature of my work, why you are here. How... drastic is your reason for needing Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s assistance?”
