Felix had always liked Hyde Park. It was a busy place, the bridle paths overflowing with a jumble of gleaming black carriages and women in plumed hats and men with trails of cigar smoke in their wake. It was also the one place in London where commoners could rub shoulders with nobility and aside from a few scandalized glances and the occasional disapproving ‘tut tut’ of an old dowager, no one said a word.

He’d been telling the truth when he said he used to come to the park as a young lad and watch the horses prance by. But his father had never taken him.

A drunkard with a mean right hook and the devil’s own temper, Cornelius Spencer had never been much of a father. Or a husband for that matter. Felix considered himself lucky to have escaped his childhood with only one broken arm and a scar above his right brow where, in a fit of rage, the old man had thrown an empty gin bottle at his head.

When Cornelius finally died of consumption no one had mourned him. Felix was the only one to attend the funeral and that was because he’d paid for it. It had rained the entire bloody time and after the first shovelful of dirt had been dumped onto his father’s wooden casket he’d walked away and he’d never gone back.

When his mother followed her husband to an early grave Felix had seen to it that she was buried in a small, quiet graveyard on the outskirts of the city. He couldn’t save her from Cornelius in life, but he’d be damned if he forced her to remain beside him in death.

Now, aside from an older brother he hadn’t seen in years, the Runners were the only family he had left. Despite being closer to thirty than he was to twenty, he’d never been inclined to marry. A mistress was demanding enough. He couldn’t imagine a wife. All the complaining and the incessant whining…no bloody thank-you. At least when you were done with a mistress you could toss a fancy piece in her direction and send her on her way. But a wife was with you until death.

Or divorce, he thought silently as he looked ahead to where Felicity was walking hand in hand with her two young children.

She hadn’t told him about the divorce herself, but he had eyes and ears, didn’t he? As well as a keen sense of observation. He’d seen the way people looked at her. Even in the middle of the park they stopped and stared and whispered behind their fancy gloves and expensive silk fans.

They whispered about a scandalous affair with another man. They whispered that green-eyed, blond-haired Henry looked nothing like his father. And they whispered that Lord Ashburn was better off without a harlot for a wife.

It was nearly impossible for Felix to reconcile the woman they described with the demure lady he had stolen a kiss from on a warm summer’s day. One with porcelain skin and dark silky hair and the saddest eyes he’d ever seen. But if there was one thing he’d learned as a Runner it was that every rumor held a seed of truth. The seed may not have been easy to find but it was always there, buried away in the dark and the damp, feeding on secrets and shame.

Felix would find out the truth eventually.

He always did.

“Are we detaining you, Mr. Spencer?” Stopping abruptly, Felicity peered back at him over her shoulder, a tiny frown flirting with the delicate edges of her mouth. With a cheerful grin Felix extended his stride.

“Not at all. Just admiring the view.” His gaze dipped pointedly to the slightly rounded bustle on Felicity’s light green walking dress. She may have been a small woman, but her curves were there if one only knew where to look. And Felix always knew where to look.

Pink blotches appeared high on her cheeks when she noted the direction of his stare. Snatching up a handful of her skirt she whirled to face him. The children, distracted by a pair of ducks, wandered to the side of the path.

“Mr. Spencer,” she hissed, violet eyes flashing.

“Aye?” he said with an innocent tilt of his head. He loved that it was so damn easy to get under her skin. Teasing her made him feel like a young lad again tugging on the red braids of Franny O’Connor. She’d been his first kiss, Franny had, and the memory was a dear one.

Since Franny he’d kissed his fair share of women…and done quite a bit more than just kiss. He may not have had a title or a fancy estate in the country, but what he lacked in capital he more than made up for in roguish charm. Truth be told he’d never met a woman he couldn’t have eating out of the palm of his hand within a matter of minutes…until Felicity. She was a puzzle, that one, comprised of intricate layers he was thoroughly enjoying peeling back.

On the outside she was shy and demure. A proper lady through and through. But beneath her timidly reserved façade was a woman with a spine of steel and the fierce heart of a lioness who would do anything to protect her cubs. Was it any wonder he’d been unable to get her out of his head since their first meeting? Even if Captain Steel hadn’t asked him to check up on her and the little ankle biters he would have still shown up on her doorstep. Particularly since her doorstep was in such an unfavorable part of London.

A scowl darkened his countenance.

What the bollocks was she thinking, renting a flat in the East End? The place was ripe with pickpockets and thieves and ne’er-do-wells.

He would know.

He used to be one of them.  

“Mr. Spencer!” This time Felicity punctuated her words with a hard stomp of her foot. 

Felix blinked. “What the devil ‘ave I done now?”  

“You’re still staring.” More color flooded her cheeks. “At – at my bosom.”

So he was. “And where else would I look?”

“You could look at the flowers.”

“Never liked flowers.”

“What about the clouds?”

“If you’ve seen one cloud you’ve seen them all.”

“The trees are rather lovely. The cherry blossoms–”

“I despise the color pink.” 

Her loud sigh of exasperation made the corners of his mouth twitch. “You are insufferable!”

“Because I don’t like the color pink?”

“No. Because – because – oh, you know why!”

“As I’ve been nothing but cordial from the very first moment we met, I cannot say that I do. Care to enlighten me, love?” He grinned down at her. Who knew making a woman blush could be so delightfully arousing? Felicity’s cheeks were the color of an apple ripe for the plucking. Were they not surrounded on all sides he would have yanked her against his chest, buried his hands in her hair, and devoured her mouth in one satisfying bite. The mere thought of tasting all that sweetness mixed with a little bit of tart made his blood heat and the muscles in his abdomen clench.

Completely oblivious to his mounting desire, Felicity regarded him as one would a particularly bothersome gnat. “I would be more than happy to list every single one of your faults, but we haven’t all day,” she said sharply. Turning her back on him, she called out to her children. “Anne, Henry, come along! Leave those poor ducks alone. You haven’t any bread crumbs to feed them.”

“But they’re my fweinds,” Anne protested.

“I know darling, but they’ll be here next time. We will be sure to bring – no, don’t try to pet it!” Felicity sprang forward as Anne let out an impressively loud wail. Plopping down on her bottom, she tearfully held her hand up for her mother to inspect while Henry watched on with the long-suffering expression of a boy who had seen this scene play out many times before.

“My fweind bit me,” Anne sniffled.

“Well you should not have tried to touch him.” Felicity’s tone was firm, but the kiss she placed on Anne’s finger was gentle. “There. All better. Can you stand, please?”

Anne looked up at her mother in confusion. “But my fweind bit me.”

Felix muffled a snort of laughter. He’d never particularly liked children, but he found these two to be surprisingly charming. With her dark curly hair, violet eyes, and angelic smile, little Anne was a miniature replica of her mother while Henry had Felicity’s strength and courage.

His grin dimmed as he thought about what a cold-hearted bastard Lord Ashburn must have been to turn his own blood away. Even if the rumors of Felicity’s infidelity were true – which he highly doubted – the viscount had an obligation as a father to see to it that his children were well cared for. Instead he had washed his hands of them through divorce and disownment, an act so callous and cruel it made Felix’s blood boil.

Didn’t Ashburn know what sort of monsters preyed on young, unwed mothers? Especially outside the gilded walls of Grosvenor Square. Or maybe he did know and that was precisely why he had done it. Felix’s lip curled in a sneer. There had never been any love lost between himself and the gentry and this only confirmed why they deserved his disgust.

Despite all their money and their titles and their big houses they were catty little badgers, never satisfied with what they had. Always wanting more. Wanting better. Wanting the best. And never afraid to step on the shoulders of those dearest to them to get it.

Without consciously thinking about what he was doing, he walked to the side of the path and crouched down beside Felicity. He felt her give the tiniest of jumps when their knees touched, but for once his focus wasn’t on her.

“Look over there,” he told Anne, pointing across the lane to where a lady dressed in a sharp green riding habit sat upon a finely-boned mare. “Do you know what color that horse is?”

Anne turned her head and squinted. “Bwown?”

“That’s right, lass.” He could feel Felicity watching him with all the intensity of a hawk, waiting to swoop in and rescue her daughter from his treacherous clutches at a moment’s notice. Ignoring her, he gave Anne an encouraging grin. “Its body is brown. But do you see how its mane and tail are black?”

“Uh huh,” the child said uncertainly.

“That makes it a bay.”

She mulled this over for a moment. “A bay?”

“Indeed.”

“What colow is that one?”

“A chestnut.”

She pointed again.

“A gray.”

“A gway.” Any lingering concerns about her feathered ‘fweinds’ and injured finger faded away as she repeated the word softly to herself. Then she peered up at Felix with those big violet eyes and gave him the sweetest of smiles before she popped to her feet and went scampering off.

With a quick, searching glance at Felix, Felicity gathered her skirts and dashed quickly after her wayward daughter. “Anne! Anne, do not go out of sight. Henry please get your sister – no, don’t eat that!”

Felix sat back on his heels, an amused grin curling his mouth as he watched Felicity chase her children around the vine covered trunk of an old oak. When they came around the other side of it all three of them were laughing. Anne was giggling so hard there were tears in her eyes and even Henry was wearing a grin that stretched from one ear to the other. As he watched Felicity pick up her daughter and swing her around he felt a deep, unfamiliar pang inside of his chest. Like someone had taken a hammer and cracked his heart wide open.

Bloody hell.

That hurt.

Felix’s jaw clenched as he stood up. He had come to Hyde Park to ensure Felicity and her children weren’t set upon by muggers or pickpockets. And – if he were being completely honest – to steal another kiss if the opportunity presented itself.

One thing he hadn’t planned on?

Falling in love.

He never had before. Not fully. Oh, he’d come close a few times. Once with a French courtesan who’d had the most amazingly talented tongue and a year later with an opera singer whose flair for the dramatic had extended into the bedroom. But he had never been stupid enough to take the full plunge. Why would he? Love was for fools and poets. Not for thieves turned Bow Street Runners. Especially ones with a history as dark as his own.

Yet if his traitorous heart could be believed that was precisely what he was in danger of doing. And not just with Felicity, but with the whole lot of them. The cat and the kittens, such as it were. Which was so utterly ridiculous he couldn’t help but laugh.

He was a scoundrel, a rake, and ne’er-do-well with a reputation that made men think twice before they crossed his path. He’d wooed countless women. Had any number of lovers. Claimed some of England’s greatest beauties as his mistresses. Yet here he was, fawning over a woman who wanted nothing to do with him and two children that were not his.

“What is so amusing, Mr. Spencer?” Balancing Anne on her hip and keeping a restraining hand on Henry’s shoulder, Felicity approached him with one ebony brow arched high.

Felix just shook his head. “Irony, Miss Atwood. Irony.”