Felicity shook her head. Safe? Who would have ever thought anybody could be safe under the auspices of Miss Chase? For the longest time Felicity had thought she was being punished for something.
Aunt Winnie nodded her head once, sharply. “Well, at least they taught you to be a lady. It will be easier passing you off.”
Felicity decided that she had had quite enough. “You needn't pass me off,” she said and stood. “Iama lady.”
And with a quick bob of a curtsy, she turned and walked out.
She was halfway down the hall when she heard another crack of laughter. “She'll need every bit of that spine for what's coming, if I'm any judge.”
Oh, excellent, Felicity thought, trudging up the stairs. That was just the encouragement she needed.
Lord Flint hadn't merely assigned her a room, she admitted as she stepped back into the brightly-decorated sitting room connected to her bedroom. He had provided her a sanctuary. And if Aunt Winnie was correct, she was going to need it.
Just to make sure the rooms really were a sanctuary, she turned the key to the hallway and locked the door. Then she walked through to her bedroom and locked that door too. She wasn't quite sure why it was so important. She thought Sukie was correct. She did not risk injury in this house. Even so, it might just be wiser to make sure nothing intruded on her peace. Especially a too-handsome almost-fiancé with the most delicious dimples she had ever encountered.
Making one more test of the locked door, she finally relaxed and turned back to her bed. Which was when she realized how bone-tired she was. Too much running about today, too much uncertainty and surprise. Too much emotion—panic, anger, grief, hope, caution—all in one day. Heavens, she hadn't allowed herself that many emotions since she'd graduated from Last Chance and stepped out into the world. It simply didn't pay to let yourself be that vulnerable.
Sukie had obviously already been in the room. Felicity's worn, white cotton night rail was carefully laid out on the turned-down bed. Felicity thought she had never seen anything so inviting in her life.
Oh, and there underneath was her music. Mozart’s “Turkish March” fromSonata 11, the perfect piece for limbering up proficient fingers. She wondered where the staff had found it. They wouldn’t have bothered with something sitting on the piano, which was where she’d thought she’d left it.
She shrugged. Oh well. At least she had it back. She would simply need to remember to collect it from her room next time she practiced.
Picking up the sheets, she slipped them into the dresser drawer. Then she reached around to untie her dress and couldn't help grinning. She bumped into two separate lumps in her pocket. A potato and a roll. Just in case. Pulling them both out, she hid them behind the clock on her bureau. Then she finished readying herself for sleep.
* * *
Flint was standingin the wrong hallway. He knew that. His rooms were in the west wing. This was the north. But when he saw Miss Chambers stalk out of the sitting parlor, he instinctively followed a ways behind, wanting to make sure she was all right.
He had just reached the door to her sitting room when he heard the lock close with a very definitiveclick. It stopped him with his hand raised to knock. Should he knock anyway and demand to know what was wrong? To see whether his aunt needed some taking down?
Another lock clicked from the bedroom door to his left. He found himself smiling. If that wasn't a statement, then he didn't know what was.
And yet, still he didn't leave. He could hear her moving about in her room, soft whispers of fabric and softer mutterings. He imagined her readying herself for bed, pulling out those medieval torture devices that held her hair back until it flowed down her back, thick and shiny and touchable. Did it curl or fall straight as a waterfall? Would she sit to brush it or simply weave it into a braid? Would it feel like silk in his hands?
And then that misshapen nightmare of a frock. What really lurked beneath? He knew she had curves. But in what proportion? Did she wear stays? Were her hips as lush as they seemed, a fair match for her pert breasts?
“Seduce her if you must,” his father had said.
Suddenly the idea had merit. His body certainly thought so. Just the thought of having those delicious breasts in his hands had him hard as a stone.
He frowned and turned away. Too bad he still had a semblance of a conscience. It would have been one thing to seduce somebody like Gen, who knew the rules and would have participated with enthusiasm. Felicity Chambers did not. Not only that, she did not hold the kind of position in society that would buffer her from condemnation
The terrorism of uncertainty.And he was about to make it worse. He didn't have to make it that much worse.
Chapter 8
Two days later
“Where is your riding habit?”
Felicity looked up from the last of her morning eggs. “Why yes, it is a lovely morning, thank you.”
He had been away the day before, seeing to some problem with a local dam. It seemed odd that he would disappear right after making such a point of her staying, but she imagined unexpected things happened on estates just as much as in cities. She had filled her own time getting to know the staff and deciding which responsibilities she would temporarily take over and which to leave to Aunt Winnie.
She was actually amazed how much she'd enjoyed it. How comfortable she felt slipping into a role she had trained for and never expected to occupy. It was foolish, but she couldn't help growing even more attached to Hedgehog Haven and all its denizens.
And then, to secure her regard more surely than any gift might have, she had claimed the music room. A grand harp stood in the corner of the quietly classical ivory and burgundy room. The lovely pianoforte took up the window, out which she could see the pastureland rolling away to the wood. Reclaiming the sheet music from her room, she closed the door and spent several hours losing herself in Mozart. The rest of her world might be in upheaval, but Mozart's precision and emotion calmed her more surely than tea and biscuits.
