“Why to see if you'd do, of course.”
Suddenly she was afraid. She took a step back and bumped into a table, making something rattle. She couldn't even find the words to challenge him. Her comprehension seemed to have disintegrated in the space of a kiss.
“Don't you want to know why?” he asked.
“For heaven’s sake, Bracken,” came a familiar voice from the hallway. “Just tell the girl.”
Felicity almost groaned aloud. The Siren. That was the last thing she needed, she thought in despair. The woman was more glorious than even those ankles promised. Blond, voluptuous, with deep blue eyes and a birthmark by her mouth, for heaven's sake. The sight of her managed to douse any fire Felicity might have thought she felt, leaving her quite miserable and even more confused. At least the strength flooded back into her knees.
“Tell mewhat?” she asked, already knowing she didn't want to know.
“Genève,” Lord Flint objected, not smiling anymore. “You are not helping.”
The siren's smile was even more glorious. Did anyone truly have such straight white teeth? Felicity mourned, instinctively running her tongue over her left canine, which slightly overlapped its neighbor.
“Well, you're not doing all that well by yourself,” the beauty drawled. “Ask him again, my dear.”
Felicity closed her eyes, awash in humiliation. “Very well, if it will get me out of here. What, my lord,” she asked, “is this mysterious bequest?”
He chuckled. “Why, me, of course.”
Felicity's eyes flew open. “I beg your pardon?”
“I am usually more fond of blonds,” he admitted. “But I imagine I could learn to like brunettes quite well.”
Felicity stopped breathing altogether. “For what?”
She just hoped her voice sounded as ominous as she intended.
It obviously didn't. He was smiling again, his head tilted as if assessing her reaction, his hands back on his hips. “Well, marriage, of course.”
She knew she was staring, but suddenly she felt numb and stupid. “Marriage.”
He had the nerve to laugh. “You didn't think I'd want you for a mistress, did you?”
Felicity had never once fainted in her life. She didn't then. She reared back and slapped the laughing lord as hard as she could. And when he stumbled back, she stalked off, the sound of the siren's throaty laughter following her down the corridor.
Chapter 2
Felicity was furious. She couldn't quite see well enough to get her clothing folded into her bag. She also had to keep interrupting her work to swipe at the tears that streamed down her face.
“Drat...!” She hated even more that she couldn't weep like a lady. “Blast..!” She gulped and sobbed and hiccupped. And she had no reason. She had known all along, really, that this was a mistake. That someone was making micefeet of her life for no discernible reason.
Marriage. To a duke's son. Howfunnythe farce must seem to them. A true Sheridan play, right there in the family manse.
“Damn!”
If she could only get her cloak to fold properly, she could latch the pestilential bag and be off. Where, she wasn't certain. She wasn't even quite sure in which direction Gloucester lay. But she would find it if it killed her. Better to be found frozen in the snow than stay another minute to amuse a bored lordling and his familiar. Although, she ruefully had to admit, it would be difficult to freeze in September.
If only she understoodwhy. Why her? What could she have possibly done to deserve such treatment? Who could have seen something in her that would suggest to them that she deserved to be humiliated and shamed this way? Who decided she should be the object of such a great joke?
“He didn't mean to insult you, you know.”
Oh,blast. The very last thing she needed.
The Siren stood in the narrow doorway to her room like a lily at the edge of a midden. Felicity dropped her head, her hands still clutching the faded blue woolen cloak that still spilled out of her bag.
“I have no idea what the duke is thinking,” the woman said in her soft, languorous voice, “but he really is intent on having you marry his son. Bracken told me all about it on the way down.”
