The Second Shot (The Dueling Pistols) (37 page)

"Yes?"

"You stood like that in the moonlight and stared out the window. What were you thinking then?"

"Then? That it would be harder to leave in the morning, coming from your bed."

"Because you were tired?"

"No. Because I didn't want to go. I knew what pleasure I was forsaking." It wasn't as simple as all that. He'd been filled with emotion and didn't know what to do with it. There had been anger that he had to leave that morning. And sadness as well, and regret that he would only have that one night to sustain him for how many years, no one knew. He'd been almost afraid of the depth of his love for Felicity, and yet filled with joy.

"I thought you were beautiful standing in the moonlight. I looked at you a long time."

His hand stopped moving on his scarred thigh. "Not so beautiful now."

He heard the rustle of sheets, and she drew up behind him, pressing a kiss against his shoulder. "More. Is that something I can do for you?" Her hand slipped down over his. "Does massaging it help? I see you do it a lot."

He felt humbled by her willing acceptance of his scarred body. Her tendered offer of massage awed him more than her willingness to become his lover, if that was possible. He wanted, craved, her love, yet he wasn't sure what she was giving. The sex or something more.

He could feel the satin of her skin pressing against his back, the silky brush of her hair against his arm, the soft, womanly scent of her. He didn't know what he meant to say, but what came out was, "Felicity...you must not break my heart."

Her felt her go tense. "But I am good at breaking hearts. No doubt I broke Layton's."

She turned away and moved back toward the rumpled bed. He stared out at the moonlight, sure he didn't want to hear about her marriage. He limped back to the bed and sat down. He reached out and stroked her hair. "Did you mean to?"

"No! Absolutely not." She looked at him, her dark eyes filled with unshed tears. "I meant to love him—I really did—but I could not, because you had my heart. But I thought I hated you, because you had ignored my being with child and told me to stay home. Layton hated me for not being able to love him."

She knelt on the bed beside him. She reached out with both hands and tentatively kneaded his sore thigh. "How much pressure?"

He put his hands over hers, stopping her. Then he gestured toward the bed. "So what does this night mean, Felicity?"

"It means I was ready to have an affair with you." She bit her lip and watched him with shadowed eyes.

"I have decided to go to India, after all."

She ducked her head and moved away. The silence stretched out in a long, endless dearth. Finally she spoke. "Would you marry me before you leave, this time?"

Her voice sounded tinny and hollow and barely controlled. And it wasn't what he expected to hear. "You are not with child."

"And I thought you prevented that for me." She swiped at her face, but since she was facing away, he didn't know for certain that she was crying until she sniffed.

"It is what you wanted, isn't it?" He reached for her shoulder, but she jerked away. "Why the change, Felicity?"

"Because I don't need Lord Algany or anyone like him trying to snatch my son so I might marry them."

She sounded angry. She moved off the end of the bed and grabbed the first article of clothing she stumbled across—which happened to be his shirt—and she pulled it over her head. She stalked across the floor, her long legs eating up the carpet, his shirt hanging down only to the top of her thighs. "I had thought that perhaps we could try once more since you obviously care about Charles. I thought you wanted to be around to raise him even were willing to marry me so you could be around him. I thought"—she gestured toward the bed— "that
that
meant something."

It meant everything, it meant too much. "Mayhap I am like Layton."

She swiveled and stared at him.

"I want everything or I want nothing."

She stepped closer to the bed. "You will have everything." She hesitated, pushing her palm against her forehead. "I have enough money to buy you anything you want."

"I don't want your money." He looked at his scarred thigh.

"What do you want, then?"

"Your affection, your regard, your respect."

"You have it."

"No, I don't. I saw how you looked at me in the green room when Miss Lungren was mortally wounded. I saw what you thought. I saw your horror and"—it hurt to say it—"your repulsion."

"I've never seen a death like that. Of course I felt ill."

"Killing is what I do."

"I know that." She stood at the foot of the bed, her arms, with the sleeves hanging over her hands, crossed in front of her.

"It is about the only thing I am good for. I couldn't even rescue my own son from a roof, because of this." He hit his leg. "I had to watch a woman do it."

"So what bothers you the most—that a woman had to do what you thought you should do, or that you couldn't go out on the roof yourself?"

"That I was not able."

"How ironic that a wound received in honor makes you feel less than honorable."

He looked at her. He hadn't thought of it in that light. She'd put one knee on the bed. She uncrossed her arms and put her hands on the bed, and began slowly moving toward him.

"I know that you ended it quickly for Miss Jocelyn. I suppose she would have taken a long time to die. I would not have thought that so terrible, since she poisoned three people to death. I just wasn't prepared to watch her slit open like a fish."

"And the sight of what I did will haunt you forever."

Felicity crawled a bit closer. "I should imagine you have many more haunting scenes etched in your head than I do."

So many echoes of screams, sights of dead and dying men, that he didn't know if he was human anymore. She would never know how broken he felt.

"Is my love enough?" she asked softly.

"What?"

"Enough of what you want?" her eyes were bright with wary fear.

"You are frightened of me. I don't want you frightened of me." Had she said she loved him? No, she'd asked if her love would be enough. Of course she didn't love him. How could she when she was scared of him, frightened by his actions?

Her lower lip trembled, and she ducked away from him. "Not so much of you, but of submitting to your will, as the law and church require. You cannot understand what it is like, being a woman, having no rights, no control." She plucked at the coverlet. "Yet, I hoped maybe you could find it in your heart to love me again. I know that you want to be with Charles."

"I've never stopped loving you. But I have nothing to offer you. No fortune. No prospects..."

She laughed. Oh what was wrong with her?

"Nothing, but the one thing I want. I have everything money can buy, but I want your love, and all my money in the world cannot buy me that. All I ever wanted was you...and, well, Charles because he's part of you."

She wanted his love? He reached to hold her, and she turned into his arms and clutched him to her.

"Tony, if I had it all to do over, I wouldn't have written the letter telling you I was with child."

His heart plummeted to his stomach.

"I would have gone to Spain or wherever you where and found you."

His heart lifted, soared. He gestured to the opulent room. "You wouldn't have all this."

"Money means nothing when you are miserable. I never meant to break your heart. I never meant to break my own. I love you, and if you love me, what more do we need?"

What more indeed? "More children?" he suggested.

She stiffened. "Mayhap one or two."

He was in the mood to tease. "Sixteen."

There was a long silence before she muttered against his chest, "Three."

"Three it is. Including Charles."

She didn't look up. What reservations did she still have?

"What, Felicity?"

"Is it going to bother you terribly that I run all the Merriwether companies? I know, as my husband, I couldn't stop you from taking over, but—"

"You have a shrewd head for business, and I will not interfere. But you will have to let me do something, manage the estates or some such. I cannot be idle the rest of my life."

"You will never have time to be idle. Loving me and sixteen children will take all your strength."

He tilted her head back and kissed her. "I was gammoning you about the sixteen children."

"I know, but even three children are enough to drive you mad."

"I am willing to take that chance. Marry me, Felicity. I love you and I want you to be my wife—now."

"Absolutely not. I am still in half-mourning. We can wait four months to marry. But can we use one of those sheep things now?"

"Absolutely." He grinned, his heart filled with joy, but he would not let her hem and haw this time. No delays. "Not."

"Very well, I'll marry you as soon as you can get a special license."

"Very well," he agreed, reaching for a condom. "I accept your surrender."

"I have not surrendered!" she said indignantly.

"Then you have settled on a compromise."

"Compromise, that was blackmail."

He breathed in a deep sigh. "We must post the banns. That will give us a month."

"Shall we discuss this when we aren't naked?"

"Naked? You are still wearing my shirt."

At that, she drew it over her head and tossed it on the floor.

"Capital idea!"

Epilogue

Nearly three months had passed, and Felicity was still being sought after as the hostess of the season. She rubbed the ring under her glove as she sat in the rose drawing room with her visitors, waiting for tea to be served.

She was Tony's wife. In the end it had been two impulsive proposals from social callers that made her track him down and demand he go get a special license.

"I have to say, Miss Lungren, you are looking much healthier these days," Felicity said.

Rosalyn smiled. "I guess the poison just needed some time to wear off."

Miss Carolyn nodded. "We are hoping it has no lasting effects."

"And how are you enjoying your new home?"

The two sisters exchanged a glance. Rosalyn leaned forward. "I was quite shocked when Lord Carlton willed me his estate. I was not expecting that, but I find it much more comfortable than living where so much needless tragedy occurred."

"I never want to go back to our home," said Miss Carolyn.

"And you, Miss Carolyn, I hear you and Lieutenant Randleton have posted the banns."

"Yes, well, since all our scandals have been locked away in the closets, he believes I won't be a detriment to his political career."

"I hope that was not stopping him from marrying you."

"Oh, not from wanting to marry me. He swore he would marry me, even if he had to stay in the military to support a wife, but I knew he wanted a political career—and it wouldn't do to have a wife with a murderer in her family, not to mention smugglers. I never would have let him give up his dreams. But since it appears no one will ever know, I finally gave my consent..." Miss Carolyn smiled with a nervous look.

"We certainly will never tell," said Felicity.

"That is another reason we've called. We hoped to find Mr. Bedford at home."

Mr. Bedford, whose arm had healed had just last week clandestinely married her niece. They were temporarily living with Felicity, which seemed to make Diana a nervous wreck.

The tea tray was brought in, and Felicity sent the servant to inquire after Mr. Bedford.

* * *

"Who the devil
are
you?" William yelled at his wife.

"Felicity's niece, Diana Fielding."

"You are not. Then why did you ask me to call you Meg while we were making love? By the bye, no girl fresh out of finishing school knows what you know. And whatever made you think ten thousand pounds was a fortune?"

"It is
a fortune." Her dark eyes flashed.

"'Tis not." William had been duped. Hook, line, and sinker, this woman had baited him, and he'd swallowed the whole line—probably the pole as well. "I owe over half that much, and we could only live a year or two on the rest."

"I could live forever on that kind of money."

"Like this?" he waved his arm around the room.

"Well, no. A bit more simply."

"We can't take the dowry."

"What? Why not?" Diana—Meg, whatever her name was—said.

"Felicity
thinks
you're her niece—but that is plainly a lie."

There was a knock on the bedroom door. William opened it with a heavy suspicion that he had made a fatal mistake. "What is it?"

"Mrs. Sheridan requests your attendance in the rose drawing room."

He nodded and straightened his cuffs.

His wife shot off the bed and shut the door. "Wait!"

God help him, he rather liked the tricks she knew. He flattened himself against the door, trying to avoid touching her, because then they would end up back on the rumpled bed.

"Why can't we take the money? Felicity doesn't need it."

"She provided for you, clothed you, launched you into polite society. You have taken gross advantage of a woman who is not even your aunt by marriage. Is that not enough?"

She dropped her eyes. "Do you want an annulment?"

William pressed his hands against his temples. "I want you to be who you said you were. I want the lies to stop. I don't know right now. I don't know who you are."

"I'm the illegitimate daughter of the Earl of Wedmont."

"Come down from that. He's barely older than you."

"His father. The current earl is my half-brother. Christ, look at him and me. You can tell by looking."

All right, maybe she was. She did look a bit like Wedmont. All right, a
lot
like Wedmont. William crossed his arms. "And what happened to the real Miss Fielding?"

Tears dripped down her cheeks. "She died on the trip back from the Continent. I was nursing her aboard ship because she was ill."

"She just died?" William asked skeptically. Was he facing another Miss Jocelyn?