She needed to breathe.
She needed—she pushed open a terrace door at the same time a sob tore through her.
She needed Jules.
He was never going to be hers. Felicity would never be his countess, nor would his sisters be hers in truth.
Lord Westerley had thrown her entire future away in order to marry someone he hadn’t known for even a fortnight.
Cold air hit her face as she stumbled across the patio and headed toward a dark and narrow path—away from the pitying stares, away from Jules and Miss Jackson, away from her father.
It was quieter here. Felicity could summon her poise and calm her racing heart, or what was left of it, anyhow.
Clawing branches dangled in her path and she pushed them away, barely noticing the thorns catching at her face and arms. One of them tore along her cheek, but instead of slowing her progress, she hurried along with even greater desperation.
Who was she running from? Herself? She kicked at a branch in her path and would have kept right on going, but…
As though the universe wished to add insult to injury, she tripped over an overgrown root, her momentum throwing her forward onto the ground. Now, along with her heart, her palms and knees were stinging as well.
Pushing herself up, she cursed when something prevented her from doing so—she was caught. Thorns on the offending branch had thoroughly embedded themselves in the delicate material of her gown.
“Blasted little buggers! Release me at once!” It was stupid to think the plant would listen to her request, but that did nothing to keep her from pleading with the unsympathetic shrub. “Let go!” She turned and then twisted, but the more she fought the clawing stems, the greater they took hold of her beautiful gown. “Please?”
Wandering outside without a chaperone had been a mistake. In fact, it had been most improper of her. Felicity needed to return to the ballroom before anyone noticed her absence.
The bush had seized her hair now, too, tugging at her coiffure. She moved to brush an errant curl out of her face but instead paused to stare at her hand.
It was shaking.
She deserved this for fleeing, for breaking the rules. She should have known better than to run away so she could give in to a bout of self-pity. “Nothing good ever comes from losing one’s dignity,” her former governess’ voice silently taunted her.
“My lady?” A gentleman’s voice called out softly. “Felicity, is that you?”
She held her breath.No one must see me looking like this!She’d rather spend all night removing each thorn one by one than be discovered looking so untidy.
And rumpled.
And frazzled.
Heavy footsteps sounded closer. “Felicity?” With nowhere to hide, she flicked a few leaves off her bodice, patted her hair, and twisted her face into a perfect smile.
“Hello,” she addressed the very large shadow of a man approaching her.
“Oh, hell.” He crouched down. “What are you doing out here?” Illuminated by the moonlight, Felicity made out the scarred face of Lord Manningham-Tissinton—or Mantis, as many called him—as he stared at her with pity in his coffee-brown eyes.
“Please, go away.” She straightened her back, ignoring the desire to cover her face to avoid his searching gaze. But of course, she would be discovered by one of Westerley’s best friends.
“Needed some air, did you?” His eyes weren’t strictly brown, not really. The moonlight revealed green and blue and even a few specks of gold.
She lifted her chin but then flinched when one of the thorns pricked her scalp. “Yes. The card room, it was… overcrowded—too many…” She forced her voice not to tremble. “What with all the excitement of Westerley’s announcement.”
“And you were so caught up in the beauty of the night that you entangled yourself in one of Lady Westerley’s prized rosebushes?” He wasn’t laughing at her. At least she didn’t think he was.
“Yes. I was—er—studying the constellations.”
“True.” He tipped his head back. “Cold nights are often the best ones for stargazing. Almost wish I had my telescope.”
“Indeed.” Ensnared as she was, she’d all but forgotten the cold until he’d mentioned it. She hugged her arms in front of her. “You study the night sky?”
