“Why would I do that?”
Instead of letting her go, he turned her around to face him.
“Because I have a plan,” he said.
“What are you talking about?”
“For you to convince your father to banish Loxley once and for all, you’re going to have to supply proof of his misconduct. And, after speaking with Fernbottom, I’ve reason to believe that once Loxley extends an offer on behalf of your father, I’ll have the proof you need.”
Felicia narrowed her eyes. “But you’ll have the land?”
“And you’ll have control of your father’s estate.”
It was a devil’s bargain. But if she could rid Loxley from their life, she could make the necessary changes to protect what was rightfully theirs.
And yet… “Why would you want to help me?”
Charles let out a long, almost exaggerated sigh before answering. “Because, Felicia, we don’t need to be enemies forever.”
He said that like it was easy, but things between their families were never going to be that simple. “How do I know you aren’t simply playing me for a fool?”
He shrugged. “You can’t. You’re just going to have to trust me.”
But could she? Could she trust this man?
“Why should I do that?”
“Because… you know me.”
And dash it all.
He was right. Still…
“I would have won the bid, you know,” she insisted.
Recognizing the concession for what it was though, all the tension went out of his shoulders. “Perhaps.” His low laugh sent all kinds of inappropriate ideas racing around inside. Ideas she’d never say out loud. “I knew the moment you turned toward me—dressed like a pirate’s cabin boy with too much bosom—that you’d cut off your nose to spite your face rather than let me win.”
Her breath caught. He was insinuating that she didn’t know what she was doing but he had also said… “You think I have too much bosom?” She resisted the urge to fold her arms across them again. Doing that never really worked at hiding anything anyway.
“I think,” he said, stepping so close that she could feel the heat of him, “you have entirely the right amount.”
For a moment, the world tilted.
“I think about it more than I should,” he murmured, brushing a damp curl back from her cheek.
She’d seen his gentle side once, after Rosamond had been thrown by her horse. Charles had carried his sister back to the house, barking orders like a general but murmuring softly to her the whole time.
Felicia had never, ever expected he’d use that tone with her.
And hearing it now, she felt dizzy. “Are… you—”
“You drive me mad, Felicia Montclair. And I don’t know if I want to kiss you or throttle you.”
“If you dare throttle me, Your Grace, I’ll throttle you right back,” she whispered, breathless. “So…”
This wasn’t why she’d come outside.
She should have been furious. Or at the very least, annoyed that, once again, Charles Aubyn Thistlewood Beauregard Fitzwilliam Harrington, the impossible Duke of Kenbrook, had pulled her entirely off course.
