“You are asking this question hypothetically?” Greys inquired.
“For an acquaintance. No one you’d know.”
“What reasons did this lady give to thisacquaintanceof yours for declining his proposal?”
Had she declined him outright? Mantis searched his memory of their conversations and could only surmise that indeed, she had. He’d simply refused to accept her answer as final.
“She doesn’t want to enter marriage out of duty. Said she was weary of the notion.” More than weary. He remembered that quite distinctly.
Greys turned to stare at Mantis. “To what extent has she been ruined? I’ve not heard of any recent scandals.” He shook his head. “Ruined. Ghastly word for it. Damned lucky of us not to have been born female.”
“Indeed,” Mantis agreed. Then, on a more serious note, admitted, “quite thoroughly.”
“Not one of Westerley’s sisters?” Greys gave up his laconic demeanor to shoot the accusation across the space between them.
“God, no.” He would never. Mantis shook his head. “I--my er,acquaintancewould have to have a death wish to do something so asinine.”
“True,” Greys exhaled. “But your friend, he ought not to give up. If she wants romance, he must walk her in the garden, take her strolling through one of Vauxhall's darkened paths. Some ladies prefer a romantic drive in the park. He must send her all those flowers, or chocolates, or whatever it is she prefers. And when he finally proposes, he must do so in a manner guaranteed to make her swoon, declare his undying affection and all that nonsense.”
“He should lie to her? In the name of honor?” The advice sounded plausible—if the woman in question was anyone other than Felicity. Especially now, on the heels of Westerley’s betrayal.
“If thisfriendof yours went so far as to take this lady’s innocence, my guess is that…your friend… has feelings for her. Once he acknowledges those, in all likelihood, he’ll discover marrying her is what he wanted all along.”
Mantis stiffened. He’d lain with her because… he’d wanted to. And presented with the opportunity, he’d taken it.
“One of the Mossant sisters?” Greys persisted.
Mantis didn’t answer.
“The eldest Somerset gel?”
“Leave it.” Mantis had said too much already. “It was hypothetical.”
“Bollocks.” Greys slid back into his lazy demeanor. “You’re such a tease.”
“Oh, but you make it so easy.” Unwilling to discuss the subject further, Mantis pointed at some bulls grazing behind a fence near the road. “Twenty pounds if you snag an apple off the tree behind them.”
The bulls looked ancient, but bulls were bulls. And the apples… Mantis grinned. The dare was not a fair one, really.
Then again, not many of their wagers were.
“There aren’t any apples this time of year, you ass,” Greys responded. “But if you’d care to bring me a blossom for fifty, I’m more than happy to take you up on that.” Greys glanced over at Mantis, brushing a non-existent speck of dust off his jacket. “Strike that. You’re too much of a goliath for me to have to carry into the village. I’d rather not ruin my clothes with your blood. Because I’ve no doubt, even the slowest bull would have no difficulty goring you.”
At the insult, Mantis very nearly accepted the bet. A month ago, he wouldn’t have hesitated.
But if Felicity was carrying, he’d be no good to either her or the child dead. And their well-being, beyond even his own mortality, was a sobering thought.
“It’s not that I’m too huge. It’s that you, my dear Greys, are too weak.”
“At least I know how to dress.”
And so it went for most of the journey…
Five weeks later, London
Crouched on her knees, mostly curled up over the chamber pot, Felicity spit and then closed her eyes as Susan wiped the cool, damp cloth across her lips.
“This is not a stomach bug, my lady,” her maid sighed. “Nor is it driving sickness.”
