The woman was a marvel. An absolute marvel.

While Felix would have preferred to tell Lady Manheim exactly where to shove her hoity opinions, Felicity had managed to put the vicious bitch in her place without so much as batting an eye. It’d taken all of his self-restraint not to jump in – especially after Lady Manheim brought Henry into it – but he’d kept his silence because he knew Felicity was not the sort of woman who wanted, or apparently needed, a man to fight her battles for her.

“That was bloody entertaining.” Grinning ear to ear, he wrapped his arm around Felicity’s waist and pulled her snug against her side as they walked through the middle of Wayfair Square, an eclectic jumble of old London and new where shopkeeper’s sold various wares out of carts and tents. When Felicity squirmed in protest he merely kissed her cheek and tightened his grip. “Did ye see her face when ye dangled her husband’s lady piece right in front of ‘er? White as a ghost on All-Hollow’s Eve.”

“Mr. Spencer, please let me go. There are people watching!”

“Hang ‘em,” he said cheerfully, but he did loosen his arm enough for her to slip free. She tugged discreetly at her bodice to straighten it before she glanced up at him. Biting back a grin, she tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow.

“She was rather angry, wasn’t she?”

“Furious.”

“I used to be her friend, you know. We attended all the same social functions. Knew all the same people. I was never cruel like she was. Like she still is.” A shadow fell across her countenance. “At least I never thought I was. But isn’t there cruelness in standing by and doing nothing while the strong prey on the weak? I should have done something. I should have stood up to her.”

“You stood up to her in the gardens,” he pointed out. “I watched you do it.”

“Yes, I suppose.” But she did not sound very convinced.

Given that he could count on one hand the number of times she’d shown him any true vulnerability, Felix did not take her tender feelings for granted. Felicity may have been delicate in build but she was strong at heart. The strongest woman he had ever met. If she was willingly admitting a weakness then perhaps it meant she was finally starting to open up to him. To trust him. To show him a part of herself that she hid from the rest of the world.

“Everyone has done things they’re not proud of.” Guiding her around the edge of a trolley cart weighed down with baskets, he stopped the vendor from approaching with a steely-eyed glare that had the portly man hastily backtracking. “The devil knows I’m more guilty than most.”

“Because you are a thief?”

Cheeky woman.

“Was, love,” he corrected. “I was a thief. Or as I prefer to call it–”

“A connoisseur of fine things.” Her mouth curved “Yes, I remember.”

A warmness filled him at the sight of her smile. He liked nothing better than to see those beautiful lips of her bend with happiness. To his mind she did not smile nearly often enough. If she was his – when she was his, he corrected silently – he would give her a reason to smile every day, every hour, every minute. He’d wake up to the ringing sound of her laughter in the morning and fall asleep to it at night. There would not be a moment that went by when she did not feel loved and cherished beyond reason. If he did not know for a fact that it would send her running for the hills, he’d tell her as much right to her face. But while she may have been strong, she was also easily spooked and needed to be handled with care and finesse instead of brute force.

It reminded him of a story his mother had told him when he was a boy. A magical story about a young man, and a kingdom, and a sword stuck in a giant rock.

For years and years men full grown tried with all their might to yank the sword free, but the harder they pulled the deeper the sword embedded itself into the stone. Then along came a lad, spindly in build and innocent in heart, who instead of trying to pull out the sword by force decided to coax it free by revealing his true intentions. Not to control the sword or use it for violence, but to have it at his side as an equal to bring about peace.

Now, Felix knew he was no more a spindly lad with an innocent heart than Felicity was a sword stuck in an old rock, but there were still parallels to be found. If he wanted her love, he could not take it by force. She needed to give it freely, without threat or coercion. Only then would he have what he desired most: not jewels or gold or shiny baubles to slip into his pocket, but the heart of the woman he loved. It was the one – the only thing – his nimble fingers could not steal.

“What can I say?” He flashed her a devilish grin. “No one’s perfect. Not even me.”

“You are not perfect?” Her tip-tilted eyes widened in feigned surprise. “I find that very hard to believe, Mr. Spencer.”

“Aye, I know,” he said gravely. “But it’s the truth. I’ve my faults, same as any other man. Or woman for that matter. We’re human, love. We make mistakes. It’s what we do. But what we learn from those mistakes...well, to my mind that’s what matters.”

“Yes,” she said after a thoughtful pause. “Yes, I suppose you are right.”

They continued through the busy square, lingering at any cart that happened to catch Felicity’s eye. When Felix saw her gazing longingly at a green silk scarf he tried to purchase it, but she gently stilled his hand when he reached into his pocket for a few shillings.  

“No. It is a lovely gesture, but one I could not possibly accept.”

“It’s a scarf.” A bit insulted, he withdrew his hand from his pocket and crossed his arms over his chest. “Not a bloody ruby. It won’t bankrupt me, love.”

“I know that.” Yet her mouth settled in a mulish frown all the same. “But I do not want you to spend your hard-earned money on me. It is something I want. Not something I need.”

“Aye, I know.” Exasperated, he picked up the scarf and waved it in the air. “Which is why I want to buy it for ye. Devil take it woman, can ye make nothing simple?”

How was he supposed to woo her, to charm her, to bloody well court her if she put up a wall every time he tried to do something kind? Felix may not have known a lot about courting a lady – the woman in his past hadn’t needed much in the way of courtship aside from a few heated glances and a slap on the arse before they’d jumped in his bed – but he did know it involved long walks and purchasing pretty trinkets. Having done the first (which he’d found surprisingly enjoyable), he was keen to do the second. So why the hell couldn’t she just let him? He’d known love wasn’t easy – one of the reasons he had always avoided it like the plague – but damned if he’d known it was going to be this bloody frustrating.

“Please put the scarf down, Mr. Spencer.”

“Or what?” he challenged.

“Or you are going to ruin what has otherwise been a splendid outing.”

“Because I want to buy ye a gift?” he said incredulously.

“When I wish to buy myself something frivolous I will do so. Until that time comes, I do not need you – or any man – to purchase it for me.” She folded her arms and lifted her pert little chin, violet eyes filled with a gleam of stubbornness he recognized all too well. “I can provide for myself, Mr. Spencer.”

“I never said ye couldn’t.” But Ashburn had, Felix realized as his anger gave way to understanding. Perhaps not in so many words, but Felicity’s husband had shown through his callous actions that every dress she’d owned, every piece of jewelry she’d worn, every bloody chair she’d sat in – none of it had ever been hers. Not really. Because when it mattered, when it counted it most, she had been thrown to the wolves with little more than the clothes on her back.

And even those hadn’t belonged to her.

Created by men of power to give themselves more power, the laws of marriage dictated that anything a woman owned became the property of her husband the moment the vows were read. If she were lucky and her husband generous, she might be given some pin money, but everything she purchased, from hair ribbons to hats, was the legal property of the man she’d married. In the eyes of the law, a wife was a possession instead of a person, with no more rights than a horse. And by all indications Ashburn had been a cruel master.

“I am not him,” Felix said gruffly. “When I give ye a gift I won’t be askin’ for it back.”

“To whom are you not comparing yourself, Mr. Spencer?” Any traces of vulnerability were gone, replaced with the thin veneer of indifference Felicity used when she wanted to shield her emotions. She knew precisely ‘to whom he was not comparing himself’ but she was telling him, without telling him, that she did not care to discuss it.

Well bollocks on that, Felix thought. He was going to buy her the scarf whether she wanted him to or not, and then they were going to put Ashburn to rest once and for all because he’d be damned if she looked at him and saw that bastard’s face instead.

Couldn’t she see he was different? Didn’t she know he would never take advantage of her? Hurting her would be the same as hurting himself. 

“Ye know exactly who I am talking about. That spineless slug you had the misfortune of calling a husband.”

Felicity immediately stiffened and withdrew, just as he suspected she would which was why he had neatly positioned her between the table and his own body. When she tried to brush past him he closed his fingers around her slender wrist in a loose manacle that was ready to tighten if necessary.

She stopped and glared up at him, her flashing eyes reminding him of the amethyst necklace he’d nabbed from the Countess of Swarthmore. It had glittered in his hands when he’d held it up to the moonlight, warm pulsing heat trapped between icy cold diamonds.

“Mr. Spencer, this is neither the time nor the place,” she said tersely. 

“It wasn’t the right place at your flat. It wasn’t the right time at the park.” He scratched his jaw. “Tell me love, just when is the right time and the right place to tell ye that I’m not Ashburn?”

Her lips parted, although whether they did so in surprise or anger he couldn’t be certain. “I – I know that you are not him. You are nothing like him. That is why I–”

“Ye what?” he pressed when she fell silent. “Ye what, Felicity? Tell me.”

“I cannot. Not yet.” Her long, shapely fingers curled inwards, forming a fist. “I am not ready yet. I thought I was. I thought – but no. No.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When her lashes flickered and she looked up at him her gaze was clear, sharp, and focused.

And sad, Felix noted as he felt a hollow pang inside of his chest, like a spoon being beaten against an empty barrel. She still has the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen.

What was it going to take to fill those eyes with love and light and laughter? To have her look at him with joy instead of trepidation? To embrace the future instead of constantly fearing the past? He knew she’d been hurt. He knew she was still hiding secrets from him. He’d seen the pain in her eyes. Pain that had not come from a broken marriage, but something deeper. Something darker. If he could have picked up a sword and slayed all of her demons he would have done so without hesitation, but he wasn’t a knight, and Felicity wasn’t a princess, and there were some demons that could only be slayed from within.

“My focus needs to be on my children,” she said matter-of-factly. “Not on impractical romantic pursuits. Perhaps in a few months, or a year–”

“If ye think I’m going to wait for a bloody year then ye are sorely mistaken.” Time may have healed wounds, but it wasn’t going to take away her hurt. Left to her own devices she’d spend so long figuring out the correct path to take that she’d grow roots and plant herself right where she was.

Time? The lass didn’t need more time. She needed to confront her past and then she needed to be swept off her feet and carried away before that logical mind of hers knew what was happening.

He was ready to do his part. Had been ready from the first moment he’d tasted her lips, truth be told. But he could carry her across the bloody ocean and every step he took would be worthless unless she came to terms with what haunted her.  

“I see.” A quiver of disappointment found its way into her voice. “Well of course I could not expect, or ask, you to wait for me. That would be absurd.”

Felix released her wrist to run his hands through his hair. He pulled at the ends, grinding his teeth as he struggled to rein in his frustration. “Do ye have to try to be vexing or is it a natural talent ye were born with?”

“I–”

“If I had to I would wait a hundred years for ye,” he said, effectively rendering her speechless. “Then I would wait a hundred more. But I’m not going to have to. Ye are going to come to me, love. Sooner rather than later. And when ye do I’ll be waiting.”

She studied him beneath a swell of dark lashes, her tip-tilted eyes as serious as he’d ever seen them. “I cannot promise you anything, Mr. Spencer.”

He brushed his hand across her cheek, thumb lingering on the delicate curve of her jaw. Had he ever felt anything softer than her skin? “I don’t need promises. I just need ye.”

“And if you had me?” she whispered. “What then?”

He met her gaze unflinchingly. “I would never let ye go.”

 

I would never let you go.

Felix’s words still echoed in Felicity’s head five nights later as she struggled to sleep. On either side of her Henry and Anne were deep into their dreams, little chests rising and falling in rhythm with their soft snores. Three hours had passed since they’d tumbled blissfully into slumber and yet she was still wide awake, cursed with a racing mind and a bewildered heart.

It had been nearly a week since Felix had taken her to the gardens. Nearly a week since she realized she was falling in love with him. Nearly a week since she let her past fears and doubts cast a dark shadow over her present. Yet despite her time apart from Felix – or more likely because of it – she could not stop thinking about him.

During the day her children were a welcome distraction. Heaven knew they kept her so busy she would hardly think straight. But at night, at night when she stared up at the ceiling, Felix was the only face she saw when she tried to close her eyes. He was the only voice she heard. And he was the only one she yearned for. In the quiet darkness, with Henry and Anne fast asleep, she yearned for Felix with her whole mind, body, and soul.

I would wait a hundred years for ye.

He’d stolen her breath with those eight little words. But had he been speaking the truth? She had no reason to believe him...but he had also not given her a reason to doubt him. At least not yet. But didn’t she know better than anyone how deceptive men could be? How they took, and took, and took, never giving anything in return.

Ezra had taken her home.

Her reputation.

Her dignity.

And Rodger...

Rodger had taken her body.

Coldly.

Mercilessly.

Without a single concern for anything but his own pleasure.

When a cold chill worked its way down her spine she gently untangled herself from her children’s heavy limbs and padded silently out of the bedroom, careful to leave the door open a crack so if Henry or Anne woke they would not have to wonder where she had gone. Then, gathering a shawl around her shoulders, she went to the window and perched on the edge of the sill to stare broodingly out into the night.

Nary a single cat stirred in the inky darkness. Nor a person for that matter. After a certain hour anyone not looking for trouble locked their doors, dimmed their candles, and remained tucked away until dawn. But while outside the flat everything was still and quiet, inside of it Felicity’s mind had never been busier or her thoughts louder.

She wanted to believe Felix was different. She wanted to give herself permission to love him. She even thought she had, until he’d tried to buy that damned silk scarf and all of her old doubts and insecurities had come rushing back to the surface. And she’d remembered her promise to never put herself in a position where she could have everything taken away from her ever again. Yet if she gave herself to Felix, if she allowed herself to love him, that was precisely what she would be doing.

As his mistress she would be at his beck and call, relying on his money and his generosity to sustain her. As his wife she would be little more than chattel. Either way, if he changed his mind – if he decided he no longer wanted her, or another woman pleased him more – she’d find herself cast aside with nothing to show for her pain but another broken heart.

Wasn’t it better, then, to remain alone? Of course being alone meant being lonely, but at least nothing could be taken from her. Not the flat she was desperately trying to turn into a home, or the meager possessions she’d managed to steal out from under Ezra’s nose, or her poor beleaguered heart. Her fingers tightened in the scratchy folds of her shawl, drawing it more closely around her shoulders as if it might somehow offer protection against her troubled thoughts.

Her heart would be safe if she was alone. Her heart could not break if she was alone.

I would never let ye go.

“But you might,” she whispered softly, her warm breath fogging the glass as she stared blindly out into the darkness. “You might and if you did I don’t know how I would survive it.”

She wanted Felix. She could no longer deny her own feelings, nor the strange, wonderful, frightening attraction they both shared. But she wanted him with the certainty that he would never hurt her.

Unfortunately, love did not come with a guarantee.

On a sigh of bitter confusion she began to draw her leg up against her chest, only to have it hit the floor with a hard stinging slap when a woman’s scream suddenly tore through the night.

Eyes wide, cheeks pale, Felicity jumped down from the sill and ran to the bedroom. The children were still sound asleep, blissfully unaware of the horrible bloodcurdling screech that had raised every hair on the nape of their mother’s neck.

It was nothing, she tried to tell herself as she stood by the fireplace wringing her hands. Nothing but a cat.

Except it hadn’t sounded like any cat she’d ever heard before.

Just to be careful, just to be safe, she reached for the tin box she kept on top of the mantle and took out the knife she’d hidden inside. It was the same one she’d tried to use on Felix, and even though it was small, the sheer weight of it in her hand gave her the courage to walk to the door and press her ear against the grainy wood.

The goose pimples dotting her arms began to recede when the only thing she heard was the erratic pounding of her own heartbeat. Perhaps her overwrought emotions had made her imagine something that wasn’t there. Yes. Surely that was it. But just as she started to turn away another terrified scream tore through the night, even louder and closer than before, and this time there was no mistaking it for a cat.

“Help!” Fists beat against the door, rattling it on its hinges.

Felicity jumped back, her heart leaping into her throat as she muffled her own scream with the palm of her hand.

“Someone! ‘E’s goin’ to kill me! For the love of – no. Git away. Git away, I said!”

“It is time to stop running, whore, and face your fate.” A man’s voice. Cold. Empty. Merciless. “Do not worry, I will make it quick. Which is more than you deserve.”

Stop! Felicity wanted to cry. Stop! Get away from her! But the words were frozen in her throat, just as they had been seven years ago. Every muscle felt locked in place. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak. The only thing she could do was listen. Listen as the woman begged for her life. Listen as the man laughed. Listen to the wet gurgle of a knife slicing through flesh, and the hard thud of a body hitting the ground.

Then the only thing to listen to was the silence.

Heavy, oppressive silence.

The sort of silence that came from the dead.