Felicity woke the next morning none the wiser as to who had been lurking outside her window during the night. A faint smile touched her lips when she glanced down and saw Henry and Anne nestled on either side of her, Anne with her thumb in her mouth and Henry with his head buried beneath the covers so only a pale tuft of hair was visible.

There were not many good things that had come out of her separation from Ezra, but this was one of them. He had never allowed the children into her bed. It had been one of the few things they’d actually argued about. Now she could do as she pleased and it pleased her to have the children close.

Careful not to rouse them – although she suspected nothing short of a trumpet would wake Henry – she slid off the thin mattress and padded barefoot into the other room, leaving the door open a crack. Then she stood indecisively in the middle of the kitchen/parlor/dining room, bottom lip tucked between her teeth as she studied the dormant fireplace.

On their way back from Hyde Park the day before she’d stopped and purchased a few necessities. Eggs, bread, and the like. But having never actually started a fire of her own she hadn’t any idea how she was going to cook breakfast, let alone serve it as there wasn’t a single piece of chinaware to be had. Something she probably should have considered when she was buying the food.

Blast it all. Could nothing be easy?

Once again tears threatened and once again she pushed them back. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t. She’d faced worse than this, hadn’t she? Overcome more than this. Why, compared to the likes of Rodger Sherwood lighting a fire was like a teeny tiny little rut in a vast, bump riddled road. How hard could it be?

But twenty minutes later Felicity’s face and hands were streaked with soot…and the eggs were no closer to being cooked than they had been when she’d started.

In a rare fit of temper she threw the useless tinderbox across the room. The circular metal tin bounced off the wall and broke open, spilling out the tufts of gray goose feathers that had refused to catch fire.

She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, forcing herself to recite a poem before she went about the task of gathering up the useless feathers. It was something an old governess had taught her to do; a tried and true trick to recover lost patience.

“For did those eyes as planets roll,” she murmured under her breath as she knelt onto her hands and knees and peered under a built-in shelf. “Thy sister-lights would scarce appear – there you are. Got you.” Triumphantly grasping the last feather, she sat back on her heels and dusted off her hands. The sudden creak of a floorboard had her stiffening.

“Easy love,” came Felix’s voice was directly behind her. “I don’t want to startle ye.”

It was too late for that. On a muffled shriek Felicity jumped to her feet and whirled around. “How did you get in here? Never mind,” she snapped. “How easily I forget that you are a thief. Breaking into places is your forte!” 

His grin was unrepentant. “A reformed thief, love. Reformed being the operative word.”

The feather Felicity had gone to so much trouble to pick up fluttered lazily to the ground as she placed her hands on her hips. “What are you doing here, Mr. Spencer?”

“I’ve brought ye breakfast.” He glanced down at his right hand and for the first time Felicity noticed he was carrying a basket filled with all sorts of delicious looking pastries, from blueberry scones to buttery saffron buns. 

“Why would you do such a thing?” she asked even as her mouth watered. 

He looked at her oddly, as if the answer should have been obvious. “I’m courting ye, Miss Atwood.” 

This nonsense again? She thought she’d dispelled any foolish notions of courtship when he’d had her pinned against the lilac bushes. Perhaps she merely needed to be a bit more blunt. “I am not going to be your mistress, Mr. Spencer.”

He rubbed under his chin. “I don’t recall askin’ ye to be my mistress.”

“Because you already have one, no doubt.”

“Would it bother ye if I did?”

Yes.

“No.” She lifted her hands off her hips and crossed them in front of her chest. “Absolutely not. You are nothing more than a swindler, Mr. Spencer, and your mistress is welcome to you.”

Although she did rather hope he left the basket.

“Swindler now, is it?” An unruly lock tumbled across his brow when his head canted to the side. “And what exactly is it that I’ve swindled from ye?”

Common sense, she nearly blurted aloud. You’ve taken all of my common sense.

How dashingly handsome he looked this morning with his hair lightly tousled and the top two buttons on his linen shirt undone, revealing a swarthy V of tanned flesh. He should have been wearing a cravat. No respectable man left the house without one. But then hadn’t she learned firsthand that Felix was anything but respectable?

She had thought – she had hoped – they’d seen the last of each other yesterday afternoon. She should have known better. Like a dog with a bone, Felix was not the sort to give up on what interested him. And for reasons that defied explanation she seemed be what currently interested him.

“It is what you will swindle that concerns me, Mr. Spencer. I know your sort.”

“Do ye now?” he drawled.

“Yes,” she said decisively. “I was warned to avoid men like you before my first season ever began.”

One brow lifted. “Men like me?”

“Blackguards. Rakes. Scoundrels. The name varies, but the intent does not. You use women as playthings and discard them the second your interest wanes.”

“That’s true enough,” he agreed, once again catching her off guard with his candor. Felicity was accustomed to men who hid their dark intentions behind a crocodile’s smile, as Rodger had done. Not ones who admitted their faults as if they were things to be proud of.  

“Well then – then you know why I cannot trust you.”

“Aye, I suppose ye would see it that way,” he said thoughtfully. “But I already told ye I’m not after using ye. Didn’t I say this was not a game? The women I’ve been with before…” He cupped the back of his neck. Squeezed the corded muscles tight. “They were different.”

“Because you wanted to have an illicit affair with them and you want to court me?” she asked, her voice sugary sweet and all the more dangerous for it. Felicity was not a woman who threw vases or screamed or left the room in a dramatic huff when she was angry or wanted to make her point known. Instead she used her words like daggers, slicing with the precision of a surgeon.

“Yes.” He scowled. “No. I – bloody ‘ell, ye are twisting my words. I do want to court ye. I am courtin’ ye.”

It was Felicity’s turn to arch a brow. “I may not remember the exact specifics of what a courtship entails, but I know it does not involve entering the lady’s place of residence without her permission.”

“I brought ye pastries.”

“Blueberry scones do not negate the fact that you picked the lock on my door.”

“And how the devil else was I supposed to get in?” he demanded.

“You could have knocked.”

“Ye would have told me to go away.”

“Yes,” she agreed, “and then this conversation would have never needed to take place.”

“Which is why I let myself in.” He frowned at her. “I might ‘ave never courted a fine lady such as yourself before, but I think you’re supposed to be more grateful.”

Of all the preposterous–

“Have I told you how absolutely incorrigible you are?” she snapped.

“Only once,” he said easily. 

“Which should have been more than enough!” Stunned to realize she’d been close to shouting, Felicity immediately lowered her voice and pointed stiffly at the door. “You were not invited here, Mr. Spencer, you are certainly not welcome, and I need you to leave before the children wake up.”

Felix scratched at the bristle on his jaw. “Here I thought ye would be friendlier first thing in the morning.” 

“You thought incorrectly.” She squared her shoulders, determined to get him out the door before he could charm his way in any further, for in addition to her exasperation she was beginning to feel the stirrings of desire as well.

Before she met Felix she’d never known the two could go hand in hand. Anger and lust. Irritation and arousal. Like two opposite sides of the same coin, there was no telling which one would land on top when the coin was flipped high into the air.

“Mr. Spencer, I really must insist–”

“Ye have soot on the end of your nose.” He stepped forward so quickly and so smoothly that she didn’t have time to blink let alone step out of arm’s reach. His hand touched the side of her cheek. Just a brush of rough knuckles against soft ivory skin, but the spark of electricity it created was nearly enough to send her to her knees.

Oh dear, she thought weakly as desire surged ahead of exasperation. Oh dear, oh dear.  

“Mr. Spencer, you really must–”

“And in your hair.” He lifted a dark silky curl and it wound itself around his finger as if it had a mind of its own.

Traitor, Felicity thought furiously. 

“You – you have to leave.” She was trembling. Why was she trembling? “Now, if you please.”

“But I don’t please.” His husky voice sent a shiver racing down the nape of her neck while arousal pooled in her belly like sweet, sticky honey. He tilted her chin up, tilted his head down. Their eyes met, dazed violet falling helplessly into deep, deep gold. “In fact, I don’t please a’tall.”

Then he was kissing her again, blast him, and this time she was kissing him back.

On a yearning moan she wrapped her arms around his neck, nails digging into skin as she surrendered to the need inside of her. The need to be held. The need to be touched. The need to be wanted. How long had it been since a man truly wanted her? Ezra had stopped so long ago she’d all but forgotten what it felt like.

Felix angled his mouth, deepening the kiss, and Felicity nearly wept from the pleasure of it. Even when Ezra had desired it had never been like this. Nothing she’d experienced had ever come close to this.

She pressed herself shamelessly against him, burrowing into the solid plane of his chest.

Her skin burned where it touched him. Tiny licks of flame that were fueling a smoldering fire between her thighs. She writhed, desperate to make the flames burn higher. Burn brighter. She didn’t want to just feel the fire. She wanted to be on fire.

As if he could sense her mounting arousal Felix growled deep in his throat and shoved his fingers into her hair, sending pins flying in every direction.

Later, she thought dazedly as her lips parted beneath the demanding pressure of his mouth. I will pick them up later.

She tasted coffee on his tongue. Felt muscles hard as iron beneath her fingertips. Heard his sharp intake of breath when her hands slid down the front of his torso to clutch at the tapered edges of his waistcoat. She pulled and he pushed, forcing her back against the wall.

His arms held her captive as he used his tongue and teeth to claim her, nibbling at her bottom lip, the curve of her ear, the sensitive spot where her neck and shoulder met. Her chest rose and fell in time with her ragged breaths and her nipples ached when they scraped against the fabric of her thin bodice.

She wanted to feel the weight of his hands on her breasts. She wanted to feel the weight of his hands everywhere. And then suddenly, so suddenly it felt as though a bucket of cold water had been dumped over her head, she didn’t.

“Wait,” she gasped, pushing weakly against Felix’s chest. “I – I cannot do this.”

Hands shoving her backwards. Mouth curled in a leer.

“This is what you’ve wanted, isn’t it?”

Her voice trapped inside her body. Her arms limp at her sides.

“This is what you’ve been asking for…”

“No,” she whispered. “No. I said NO!”

At her shrill cry Felix immediately released her and jumped back, his tawny gaze filled with confusion as it swept across her trembling frame. “Felicity love, what’s wrong?”

“I said no,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around herself in an effort to contain the helpless quivering of her limbs. “I said no.”

“Aye.” His nod was slow and wary. “That ye did.”

“I…” At a loss for words and unable to explain, she could only shake her head. Dark curls, tangled from Felix’s fingers, tumbled into her face as she peered up at him out of eyes glazed with tears. “I am sorry. I did not – I did not mean to shout.”

Not at him, at least. She hadn’t meant to shout at him. Rodger was the one she really wanted to yell at. But Rodger was dead and Felix was here and she’d spoken without thinking. Spoken the words she wished she’d been able to speak all those years ago when a horrible, despicable man had done the unimaginable.

She had worked so hard at blocking the memory of that morning that sometimes she thought she’d actually succeeded. There were days, weeks, even months where she didn’t think about it. Where she did not lay awake at night staring up at the ceiling and replaying every atrocious second in her mind. Ever touch. Every kiss. Every grunt and groan as Rodger shoved himself into her.

Then something as simple as a touch would bring it all rushing back. Every single horrible minute. And she’d realize it was never going to go away. Not completely. It would always be a part of her because there were some things a person simply could not forget, no matter how hard they tried.

Ezra had never understood that. He had believed it was something she just needed to get over, like a hacking cough or a fear of heights. So they’d both pretended she had forgotten it, and if she froze during their intimate moments, if her eyes turned glassy and she started gasping for air as dark, cloudy waves of panic rolled over her, it was because she wasn’t feeling well. Or because of something she ate. Or because of the weather. But it was never, ever because of what had really happened.

“Ye have nothing to apologize for.” Felix took a step towards her. On a soft murmur of distress she shied to the side and he stopped short, his brow creasing in wounded bewilderment. “What have I–”

“Mum?” Standing in the bedroom doorway with his little fists rubbing at his eyes, Henry’s jaw stretched in an enormous yawn. “Mum, what is Mr. Spencer doing here?”

Feeling dazed and dizzy and not entirely well, Felicity made a half-hearted attempt to fix a smile on her face. She did not need Henry’s frown to tell her the attempt had failed, but it was the best she could do. “Mr. Spencer came to deliver a message from Aunt Scarlett. But he was just on his way out the door. Weren’t you, Mr. Spencer?”

Please, her violet eyes begged. Please, just this once, listen to me.   

“Aye,” Felix said after a long pause where he searched her face for the secrets she was not ready to tell. “Aye, I was on my out.”

“Did you bring your sloop?” Henry asked, his sleepy face brightening with anticipation.

“No lad, not today. Tomorrow maybe,” he said, sliding a sideways glance at Felicity. “Take care of ye mother for me, won’t ye lad? And your sister. See to it she doesn’t get into trouble, or cause your mother any. You’re the man of the house. It’s your responsibility to look after your women.”

Henry nodded seriously, the sloop all but forgotten. “Yes sir. I will, sir.”

“That’s a good lad,” Felix crouched down and ruffled his hair. “We’ll make a Runner out of you yet.” 

“Did you hear him, Mum?” Henry said excitedly after was gone. “Did you hear him? I am going to be a runner!”

“I heard him darling,” Felicity murmured as she wrapped her arms around Henry and drew him tightly against her waist, taking comfort in his warmth and his sturdiness and his boyish grin. Her life may have been crumbling into pieces but her son was happy. Her son was happy, and Felix was partly responsible. It was something to think about. When her head was clear and her heart wasn’t aching and her bones didn’t feel hollow it was something to think about. “I heard him.”