And behind Bethany—the last man she wanted to see.
Lord Manningham.
“My lord. What a delightful surprise.” Felicity’s mother was on her feet, shifting a glance to Felicity and looking rather pleased with this turn of events. “It’s Lord Manningham-Tissinton, Felicity.” She raised her brows at her daughter as though to say, ‘Wasn’t I just telling you there were other gentlemen out there?’
Manningham’s height and physique were even more imposing in the confines of their modest withdrawing room. Staring at the carpet, Felicity rose and then dropped into a curtsey. “My Lord.”
She couldn’t see his face without looking up, but she felt his presence.
Acutely.
It was impossible to dismiss the fact that she’d welcomed him between her thighs—dear god, begging him to—
“His Lordship offered to escort us this afternoon. Growing weary of my brother’s besottedness with Charley, I imagine.” Tabetha laughed, and then her eyes flew open wide, apparently realizing what she’d just said and to whom she’d said it.
Bethany winced. “My lady, you are looking well today.” She addressed Felicity’s mother in an attempt to change the subject, completely unaware of the part the viscount’s unexpected presence played in Felicity’s turmoil.
“I tire easily, though, my dear. I’ll likely take to my bed again tomorrow. But such a delight to meet with the three of you today. My lord, won’t you sit down?”
“The weather is gorgeous, Fel.” Tabetha didn’t waste any time on formalities. It wasn’t as though there was anything particularly unique about a visit from her dearest friends. Aside from Manningham’s presence, that was. The younger girl lowered herself into the only single chair in the room while Bethany took the seat beside Felicity’s mother, leaving Manningham nowhere to sit but beside Felicity.
“I’m looking forward to spring,” Felicity answered, sounding almost unnaturally cheerful as she addressed the room in general.
“You really ought to come walking with us.” Bethany frowned. She’d apologized more than once over the past week for her brother’s faithlessness. And she was tapping her fingers against her thumb—a peculiarity she displayed whenever she was less than comfortable. “Please?”
“Go ahead, dear,” her mother answered for her. “No doubt this mild weather is merely teasing us, and one last winter storm is just waiting to blow in. Perhaps the sun can add some roses to your cheeks.” She tugged at the bell pull and, when Mr. Nelson appeared, ordered him to fetch her daughter’s wrap and bonnet. “Susan will know what she needs,” she added as though the man hadn’t performed this task hundreds of times in the past.
But before he could leave, another knock sounded from the front door. Within moments, their small withdrawing room was buzzing with enthusiasm when Lord Chaswick and Mr. Spencer invited themselves to join the outing.
“Thought you’d have all these ladies to yourself, eh, Mantis?” Mr. Spencer joked with his friend.
“Westerley’s tied up with his future father-in-law, and Greystone had business to attend to, so we’ve come in Lady Westerley’s barouche. Seeing as it’s just warm enough to keep the top down, how does everyone feel about a trip to the village?” Lord Chaswick’s charm was most persuasive.
“That sounds marvelous!” Tabetha, of course, was already on her feet.
“I’ll fetch your things, my lady,” Mr. Nelson disappeared.
It seemed they would be going for a drive.
Felicity didn’t need to turn sideways to know Manningham was watching her.
“You are amenable?” He, it seemed, was the only one who didn’t take her acquiesces for granted. All the colors in his eyes were noticeable with the afternoon sun slanting into the room.
“It seems I have no choice,” she answered.
“But of course you do.” And for a moment, she felt as though they were discussing something entirely different than a journey into town. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t attempt to persuade you otherwise.”
His voice, low and quiet, sent a shiver down her spine.
“Please,” she said in a low tone, grateful for Tabetha’s exuberant chatter about, of course, the weather.
Manningham dipped his chin, and her gaze flicked to his mouth. What conversation did a lady make with a gentleman under such circumstances?
“Horses will be getting impatient. Shall we?” Mr. Spencer edged toward the door.
Within five minutes, all six of them were standing outside beneath a bright blue sky, this time discussing various strategies for arranging their group to fit a four-person barouche.
Did men not consider these details?
