Or perhaps it was just him.
Axel. He was a large, almost gruff sort of man, but he was not insensitive.
Still holding her hand between his, the tip of his thumb drew lazy lines along the back of her wrist. The air between them grew heavy, and the memory of that night infused her thoughts. The memory of him kissing her, of him holding himself above her and then pressing inside of her.
She’d anticipated pain. Had she initiated it as some sort of punishment to herself?
But it had not been like a punishment, even the painful part. She’d expected to feel degraded, used, but instead, she’d felt worshipped by him. And it had been… wonderful.
Until the guilt set in—and the shock of what she’d done had sent her reeling.
But during… Felicity tightened the muscles in her thighs as the moment's restful mood transformed into awareness.
Protected.
He squeezed her hand.
“Everything is going to work out. I promise.”
But she couldn’t depend on his optimism.
“I hope so.” She was unable to simply trust in the future. She’d done that before, and look how that had ended.
Denied
“Iwas beginning to think this day would never come.” Susan was tidying their chamber while Felicity paced from the window to the door and then back to the window again.
“I needed to be sure…” Felicity murmured.
Axel had arrived over half an hour ago. From what the housemaid had told them, her father had welcomed the viscount into his study almost immediately. Her mother ought to arrive at her door any minute now, saying the viscount wished to meet with her downstairs.
What was taking so long? Her concern heightened with each minute that passed.
Her father could not possibly deny Axel the opportunity of offering for her. She was five and twenty, for heaven’s sake! There was no guarantee that anyone as suitable would come along… besides, her father was the one who’d given up her betrothal to Westerley…
Only, that wasn’t the real reason her engagement had ended.
Westerley had been in love with someone else.
She inhaled, happy to note that her heart didn’t hurt at this admission as it had initially.
In fact, the pain she’d felt from his rejection seemed relatively insignificant now—now that she was expecting another man’s child.
The door sounded from below, drawing her gaze down to the street.
Was Axel leaving? But… if he was going, that meant…!
She turned and flew to the door, down the stairs, and without bothering to knock, burst into her father’s study. “Why is he leaving?”
Her father finished writing his signature on something and set his pen aside before looking up from his desk to acknowledge her.
“Manningham-Tissinton? You knew he was coming then? You cannot seriously believe I would have allowed him to offer for you?” Her father seemed utterly unconcerned at her dismay.
“It is my life. I ought to be allowed to decide for myself who I wish to marry.” This was not the first time she’d had a meaningful discussion with her father in this room—so very masculine in its furnishings.
However, it was the first time that she had ever argued with him there.
Or anywhere.
