“I cannot believe you did that. I saw it with my own eyes. I saw it. But I cannot believe you did it.” Clasping her hands together beneath her chin, Harriet looked up at Felicity with equal parts astonishment and adoration. “Where did you find the courage?”

Where indeed, Felicity thought? 

“I – I do not know,” she admitted honestly. She still could not believe she had raised her hand in anger, let alone physically struck someone. But when Eleanor began to speak about Henry she saw red, and her arm acted of its own accord. Her palm still stung where it had connected with Eleanor’s cheek, a radiating pain that felt oddly satisfying. Curling her fingers inward to form a fist, she tucked the offending limb behind her back. “I should not have done it.”

Felix snorted. “I think what ye mean to say is ye should have done it a lot earlier.”

“Yes,” Harriet agreed “It is past time someone put Lady Manheim in her place. She’s always been quite mean to me, you know.” A frown pulled at the corners of her smile. “Yet I’ve never done anything to her. At least nothing I can recall.”

“Eleanor is only concerned with furthering her own self-interests,” Felicity said.

Harriet’s head tilted in confusion. “I thought you were her friend?”

“I thought I was as well, for a time. But things change.” She glanced over her shoulder at Felix. He met her gaze, the hint of a smile curling one side of his mouth.

“Aye,” he agreed quietly. “That they do.”

Biting down on the inside of her cheek, Felicity found herself being drawn into the warm depths of his eyes. Framed by short, thick lashes they really were a striking color. Dark pupils surrounded by dusky gold. Like honey sliding into a cup of black tea, the gold deepened to amber whenever he thought about kissing her…rather like it was doing right now. They were standing so close she could smell the soap he’d used to wash his hair, and she couldn’t help but wonder what he looked like with water beading on his sun kissed skin and his muscles rippling in the soft glow of candlelight.

He would be hard and lean, she imagined. His body long and fluid, his stomach taut, his thighs powerful. The fire in her belly burst into flames as she imagined the taste of his lips. The brush of his side whiskers against her throat. The touch of his hand on her breast. He was right behind her. If she just tipped her head back…

Harriet cleared her throat.

Loudly.

“I should probably be on my way. My brother is no doubt looking for me as we speak.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, gaze darting awkwardly between Felicity and Felix. “Erm…it was very nice to meet you, Mr. Spencer.”

His hot gaze trained on Felicity, Felix gave a clipped nod of acknowledgement.

“Interesting,” Harriet said, mostly to herself as neither Felix nor Felicity were paying her one whit of attention. They only had eyes for one another, and even though they were all standing in a very public place it seemed as though the two of them were a hundred miles away on their own private island. It must have been a very nice island, the kind with sandy white beaches and seashells and those silly looking trees with the fruit that hung down in peculiar little round balls. 

“Did you say something, Harriet?” Feeling as though she were waking from a very deep trance, Felicity had to blink several times before she managed to tear her gaze away from Felix.

“I said it is interesting.”

Felicity blinked again. “What is?”

“Well, it’s just that I’ve always wondered what love looked like.” Harriet shrugged. “And now I know.” 

 

Felix enjoyed the second half of the play even more than he had the first, although for an entirely different reason.

Having never seen a Shakespearean play before, let alone one performed by the Drury Lane Company, he’d been captivated from the first moment the actors took the stage and nothing, not even Felicity, had managed to distract him from the spell they were weaving. But now, as Puck delivered his final soliloquy, Felix was not looking at the stage at all. He was looking at Felicity and she was looking at him, her violet eyes dark and heavy lidded with desire.

Did she know she was gazing at him in a manner that invited all sorts of wicked thoughts? If not for the bloody chandeliers lighting up the theater as if it were high noon in the middle of summer he would have taken her then and there. Against the wall. On the floor. In the chair. His entire body throbbed with need, but he still held tight to the rein he’d been using to keep his arousal in check over the past three weeks. He wouldn’t loosen it until they were alone and Felicity finally admitted that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Then – and only then – would he take what he had been craving since he’d first kissed her all those months ago.

Sweet, he thought as his loins tightened with anticipation. She’s going to taste so bloody sweet.

When the play ended and everyone stood to give a standing ovation, Felix gripped Felicity by the arm and they walked quickly out of the box and down the same hall where Felicity had slapped the smirk right off of Lady Manheim’s face.

The blow had been no less than the bitch deserved for what she’d been about to call Henry. If Felicity hadn’t stepped forward then Felix would have, and while he wouldn’t have raised his hand to her - his questionable moral compass stopped just short of striking women - he would have put her spoiled arse in Newgate for the night and seen how arrogant she was come morning.

“What is so amusing?” Felicity queried as they stepped out into the cool night air and paused at the top of the stairs. The marble steps had been lit with torches so women would not trip over the hem of their gowns as they descended to the pavilion below. Ushers stood at attention with glasses of champagne and little crystal bowls filled with fruit should any of the more affluent theatergoer’s desire a drink or a nibble while they waited for their carriage to be brought round. Private coaches and hired hackneys were already lined up around the block, some of them having never left, their drivers forced to sit and wait for hours on end.

“The look on Lady Manheim’s face when ye clocked her.” Grabbing an entire bowl along with two more flutes of champagne - it wasn’t every day Felix was able to experience how the other half lived, and he intended to take full advantage - he offered Felicity a strawberry and a glass. She accepted the champagne but declined the fruit, and with a shrug Felix popped it into his mouth before he handed the bowl back to one of the ushers. The strawberry had been dipped in sugar and it all but melted on his tongue, much as he envisioned Felicity doing when he finally sampled the honeyed sweetness of her delectable little body.

He wondered where he was going to start. Nibbling her ear, or suckling on her toes? He’d leave it entirely up to her, he decided. It did not matter either way. Before it was over there would not be an inch of her velvety skin he had not kissed or licked.

Buggerin’ hell.

Biting back a groan, Felix shifted subtly to the side as his trousers bulged. Had he ever looked forward to lovemaking with such anticipation? Never, he thought silently. For there’d never been an occasion to wait, thus there had never been any time for anticipation to build.

All of the women he’d bedded in the past had come to his bed willingly after only a few days, some after only a few hours. But Felicity was a different sort, and so instead of bedding her he’d courted her with more care and attention than a duke used to woo his future duchess. And to his surprise he had loved every minute of it.

Before he met Felicity he never would have imagined in a hundred years he would enjoy strolling idly through a park, or playing hide and seek with two giggling children, or attending a bloody play at the Lyceum Theater. Just being with Felicity brought him a sense of contentment he’d never felt before.

He considered him blessed just to make her smile or hear her voice or feel the soft weight of her hand on his arm. But he was still a man, a man whose natural urges could only be suppressed for so long.

He’d been following Felicity’s ridiculous rules because she’d asked him to, and because he knew there was still something she was keeping from him.  But with every day that passed his ardor grew more difficult to control. She’d nearly broken him in the hallway when her raw, pulsing desire for him had clouded the air like the finest of perfumes. If he didn’t know any better he would have sworn she had been undressing him with her eyes, but he supposed that was only the wishful thinking of a lust-crazed fool. 

Felix grinded his teeth together. How much longer did she intend to make him wait? He knew she desired him. He knew she wanted him He knew she needed him, the same as he needed her. But she was still holding herself back.

He suspected it had something to do with that worthless cur she’d once called a husband. And the whispers that Henry was not Ezra’s son. His jaw tightened. Something had happened to her. Something she wasn’t yet willing share. Something she did not yet trust him with.  

“I should not have slapped her.” Worrying her bottom lip between her teeth - was the woman trying to drive him mad on purpose? - Felicity peeked shyly up at him, violet eyes filled with a distinct gleam of vindication that was at direct odds with her words. “But it did feel very good.”

Felix grinned. “My wicked ways are finally rubbin’ off on ye.”

She pursed her lips. “I do not know if I would go that far.”

“We can steal her jewelry if ye would like. That sapphire piece she was wearing is worth a pretty penny.”

“Do not even think about it.”

“Just a bracelet then.”

“No.”

“A ring?” he said hopefully.

“No.”

“What’s the fun in that?”

Exasperation tightened the corners of her mouth. “You are not a thief any longer. You are a Runner. Which means you cannot just go around stealing things.”

His grin turned wolfish as he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her snugly against his side, breathing in the alluring scent of her hair. She smelled of honeysuckle, and night, and promises unfulfilled.

“I stole ye, didn’t I?” he whispered into her ear.

She pushed her hand half-heartedly against his chest. “You have not stolen anything.”

“I beg to differ.” He dipped his head to nuzzle the slender curve of her neck. “Ye want me, Miss Atwood. Ye can admit it.”

Even though she stood tall and stared straight ahead, that was an unmistakable quiver in her voice when she said, “I - I am not going to admit anything, Mr. Spencer. The hour is growing late. I have had a wonderful time, but the children will be looking for me. We need to flag down a hackney before they’re all taken.”

They may have been one of the first couples to leave their box, but while they’d been standing at the top of the stairs there had been a mass exodus of the theater. Men and women swarmed the steps and the pavilion below, some of them idly chatting, others indulging in one last glass of champagne, and the rest jostling to queue up for the coaches that would carry them home.

“Your mother put Henry and Anne to bed hours ago. They won’t be looking for ye ‘til morning,” Felix pointed out.

Felicity frowned. “That may very well be, but we still need a hackney.”

“Not if we go to my townhouse.” The arm he had wrapped around her waist tightened, fingers sinking through the thin layers of her cloak and dress to curl around the edge of her hip. “It’s only a few blocks.”

She twisted out of his grasp and met his gaze with narrowed eyes. Torchlight flickered across her face, illuminating the elegant arch of her brows and the stubborn tilt of her chin. “And why would we go there?”

“Ye know why,” he said huskily.

“My rules were very clear-”

“Aye, they were,” he interrupted. “But ye weren’t thinkin’ about your precious rules when I had my hand up your skirt, now were ye?”

“Mr. Spencer, that is quite beside the point!” she hissed, blushing furiously as she looked over his shoulder, but after her transgression with Lady Manheim everyone was giving them a wide berth. Aside from a few side-eyed glances they may as well have been invisible, which suited Felix just fine. He may have enjoyed the play and the champagne, but with the exception of Harriet the company had left much to be desired.

“That is the point, love.” He tucked a dark, silky tendril of hair behind her ear, the calloused pad of his thumb lingering on the soft curve of her jaw. “I want ye. Ye want me. What’s left to discuss?”

“Lots - lots of things!” She looked so adorably flustered that he was tempted to kiss her then and there, but he restrained himself. If things went according to plan there would be plenty of kissing in their immediate future. He’d been patient for this long. What was another few moments? Because the second he had her alone he was going to do a lot more than just put his hand up her skirts...  

“I know ye are afraid,” he said evenly, his penetrating stare seeking out the secrets she wasn’t ready to share. “And I know ye will not - or ye cannot - tell me why. But I won’t hurt ye. And I won’t hurt Henry or little Anne. Ye can trust me, love.”

She shook her head. “I know you would never hurt them. You’ve been wonderful with them. More than wonderful, and they adore you. Henry especially. It’s not that…”

“Then what is it?” he asked when her gaze lowered and her voice trailed away. “Have I not courted ye the right way? Because I only took flowers out of Lady Harcourt’s garden once. Twice.” He rubbed his jaw. “Seven times.” 

“Mr. Spencer!”

“What?” he said defensively. “It’s not as if she’ll miss them. The old woman’s blind as a bat.”

“Which is why she has so many flowers. So she can smell them.”

“Lady Harcourt’s flowers are not the reason ye don’t want to go home with me tonight.”

“No,” Felicity agreed, sucking in on her cheek. “They’re not.” The creamy tops of her breasts peeked out through the triangular opening in her cloak when she drew in a heavy breath. “You were right before.”

“I’m afraid ye will need to elaborate, love.” He winked at her. “Given as I’m right all the time.”

“Incorrigible,” she muttered under her breath. “It was when you were sitting on my stoop with a bloody lip.”

Felix absently touched his mouth. “I remember.”

“You said I was afraid and you were right. But I shouldn’t be. Not with you.” She took another breath, this one deeper than the last before she pressed her palm flat against his chest, right over his heart. It beat steadily against her hand as he stood perfectly still. “Never with you.”

Her violet eyes drew him into a world of shy, sensual promise as the hand on his chest slid lower. “Take me to your townhouse, Mr. Spencer.” Her fingers fell to the button on his trousers, one nail clicking against the polished metal surface. “Take me to your bed.”