But the gentleman merely stood there, staring at her as though he were lost in a desert and she was an oasis.
“Have I altered that much?” he murmured, a smile creeping across his face. “You have not changed one jot. Still the beautiful creature who haunts my dreams.”
The basket dropped from Felicity’s hands, but he scooped it up before it crashed to the frozen cobblestones. The cold seeped through her skin, wrapping around her like a blanket of ice, and Felicity was unable to do anything but blink. Her thoughts seized, holding her in place as though time itself had stopped at the sight of him.
Alastair Dunn.
“I know this must be a shock to you.” Alastair shifted in place, his smile sliding into his slanted grin that always set her heart aflutter. Once her slow wits decided to believe he was not a phantasm, Felicity was amazed at how little he’d changed since he’d broken her sixteen-year-old heart.
Alastair was like a Gothic character come to life. Broad shoulders and a ready smile with a wicked gleam in his eyes. His dark locks were gathered in that windswept fashion that highlighted the carefree manner of its master. His nose had a new, unnatural bend to it, and time had drawn a few lines around his eyes and lips, but those imperfections only emphasized his handsome features.
“I’ve waited so long for this day,” he murmured, taking a step closer to her.
The movement snapped her free of her astonishment, forcing Felicity to scurry backward, shoving a hand out to ward him away. Words fled her as her thoughts scattered in every direction like down erupting from a ripped pillow. Her brows pulled low and she shook her head back and forth as she turned and stalked away.
“Felicity!”
Whipping around, she held up a rigid finger, jabbing it at him. “Do not speak to me so informally, sir. You haven’t the right.”
Alastair’s expression grew taut as though her words gave him physical pain, but he did not retreat. “There are not words enough to apologize for what happened—”
“You left me in a coaching inn!” Felicity paused, reining in the fire that drove her voice to shrill levels. Sucking in a breath through her nose, she fought to relax her muscles, but they were pulled tighter than violin strings. Casting wild glances around, Felicity saw a few others moving about the street, but none paid her any heed, giving all their focus to their labors. “I spent hours waiting for you to arrive, unable to believe my beau would abandon me in such a callous manner.”
“I am so very sorry—”
“No,” she said, shaking her finger in his face. “You have no right to reappear now. If you want forgiveness, I give it freely. I hold no ill will towards you, but neither do I wish to renew an acquaintance with someone who only loved my money.”
“You do not know the whole of it,” he whispered, his eyes begging her to believe him, but Felicity turned away. Her path would take her in the opposite direction of her carriage, but she’d rather take a circuitous route than turn back to see that snake gaping at her. But then he was there at her elbow, guiding her down the street.
A pair of ladies passed them, and Felicity gave them a passing nod, hoping (though not believing) that they would see nothing amiss in her countenance. Rumors were not what she needed at present. But then, neither was Alastair Dunn.
It was a few more steps before Felicity realized that the fellow had herded her towards the churchyard, away from prying eyes. His voice lowered, a gentle whisper in her ear.
“Please, allow me a few minutes to explain: I did not abandon you.”
Chapter 22
Felicity’s gaze snapped to his, and his eyes gave strength to his words, pleading for her to believe him. Perhaps it was foolish to do so, but Felicity’s feet were not as reasonable as the rest of her, and they followed him, drawing her deeper into the churchyard. They stopped, and Alastair stood before her; his gaze was a caress, taking in each feature as his smile softened. He set her basket beside her and brushed a finger across her cheek.
“I have missed you, my darling.”
Stepping away, Felicity narrowed her eyes. “I did not come here for that nonsense.”
And yet, her heart fluttered, and her breath caught as they stood in the snow. Time reversed, flying backward with alarming speed, and Felicity felt as though she was sixteen once more, stealing away a private moment with the man she loved. Her first love.
Dropping his eyes, he released her from his hold and sighed. “My greatest regret is that I was unable to speak to you before I left Plymouth, but I had no choice in the matter. I tried to send word, but he did everything he could to separate us.”
Alastair’s head lowered, his shoulders slumping. “I have practiced this speech so many times over the years, and yet my words are muddled.”
“Then start at the beginning, and we will go from there,” she said, crossing her arms. “I gather Uncle George confronted you about our elopement.”
He snorted with a wry smile, though his gaze held no mirth. “Confronted would be a mild term for it. That wretched night, dear old Uncle George discovered our plans and thought my love could be purchased for a couple of thousand pounds. When his bribe didn’t win my loyalty, he came after me with a few of his dockworkers and left me a bloodied mess.”
Felicity’s gaze moved to the unnatural bump in his nose, and the fellow nodded. “It took me weeks before I was able to leave my bed, but I went in search of you the moment I could.”
His words were like a song, lulling her fears and worries. Alastair inched closer, his gaze holding hers, and though Felicity searched for any sign of deception, she found none. And she could well imagine Uncle George resorting to violent means if he thought it necessary; he was not one to bother with words when action was required.
“He was always watching you. Always aware of what you were doing, who you were with. I tried to write you, but I can only assume you never received my letters.”
