Not wanting to let Felicity get too far ahead, Felix extended his stride and caught up with her just as she and the kittens reached the far edge of the Serpentine.
The glittering blue lake was crowded today, filled with a hodge-podge of small sailboats, rowboats, and pond yachts being pulled along on strings. No one swam in the water – despite the hint of spring in the air the ice had only thawed a few weeks ago – but the shoreline was filled with an assortment of men, women, and children, a few of which had taken off their shoes, rolled up their stockings, and were tentatively dipping their toes in the water.
“Going to go for a swim, Miss Atwood”
Holding fast to her children’s hands, Felicity turned all three of them around to face him.
“Mr. Spencer,” she sighed, and the exasperation in her voice had him swallowing back a grin. “Here I thought we had lost you. Thank heavens you are still with us. I simply do not know what we would have done if you had gone away and never, ever come back.”
Her sarcasm did not discourage him in the slightest. Felix had always liked a good challenge, and he was enjoying this one immensely. For all her attempts at dissuasion Felicity might as well have been waving a red flag in front of a bull.
“You’ll have to try harder than that to lose the likes of me, love.”
“More’s the pity,” she murmured under her breath.
Felix just grinned.
“Have you ever raced a pond yacht, Mr. Spencer?” Unaware of the rising tension between the two adults, Henry gazed longingly over his shoulder to where half a dozen boys were running alongside miniature replicas of sailing vessels complete with masts and rigging. The small yachts cut effortlessly through the water, their white sails billowing in the breeze as they raced towards the finish line: a tree branch that extended over the lake, its budding green leaves just touching the water.
“Have I,” Felix scoffed. “Lad, you’re looking at the Ponding Champion of 1787.” He didn’t see any reason to mention that the common man’s version of Ponding and the aristocrat’s version of Ponding were two entirely different things. Far as he was concerned a boat was a boat. Who cared if it was made out of old wood and newspaper or glossy mahogany and hemp? Just as long as it floated.
“You were the Ponding Champion of 1787,” Felicity said dubiously.
“Aye, that I was. Even have a trophy to prove it.” The fib floated off his tongue with the effortless grace of someone who was adept at telling half-truths. The fact of the matter was that he did have a trophy. Of sorts. No need to reveal it was made of battered tin and frayed ribbon and had been given to him by his own mother. Not when Henry was looking at him as if he’d hung the sun in the sky with one hand and the moon with the other.
“Really?” The boy’s eyes widened to the size of two copper pennies. “I have a Cricket Sloop. Fastest one you’ve ever seen!” His face abruptly dropped, bottom lip puckering out as his fair brows pulled together. “I mean I used to have one,” he muttered, peering up at his mother who gently squeezed his shoulder.
“We’ll get you another, darling. And we shall come here every day to race it.” Even though Felicity smiled, Felix could see evidence of the strain she was trying to hide in the thin lines stretching out from the corners of her eyes. He couldn’t say he was surprised. Given the complexity and cost of materials, Ponding was a very expensive hobby. Far too expensive for the likes of a single mother with two hungry mouths to feed.
Once again he cursed Ashburn for being a heartless bastard. It was one thing for the viscount to leave his wife, but what the devil had he gained by disowning his children? They’d done nothing wrong. The least he could have done was given Henry his damned toy boat before he tossed the boy aside like a bucket of scraps.
“Come to think of it,” he said, rubbing his chin, “I might still have my sloop. She’s a bit smaller than your Cricket, but give her the open water and a fair breeze and there’s nothing that can catch her. You wouldn’t be interested in testing her out, would you lad? We’d probably have to polish her up, but with some spit and shine–”
“Yes!” Henry waved his arms up and down with all the enthusiasm of a young bird trying to take flight. “Yes, yes, yes!”
Felix chuckled. “Best ask your mother, lad.”
“Mum, can I? Can I, Mum? Please?”
“Mr. Spencer,” Felicity ground out between her teeth, “a word. Henry, watch your sister. Closely,” she warned with a wag of her finger before she wrapped her hand around Felix’s wrist and pulled him off the path towards a long row of summer lilacs that were just beginning to bloom.
“Dragging me off so ye can have your way with me?” he asked hopefully.
“Hardly.” When they were out of earshot of the children she released his arm and whirled to face him. Delicate pink buds surrounded her head; a perfect foil to the fire flashing in her eyes. “I wanted to warn you against making promises you have no intention of keeping. It is one thing to play games with me, Mr. Spencer, but you are not to do the same with Henry and Anne. They are not pawns to be used at will. They are children. Innocent children who have already been through enough. Do I make myself clear?”
Anger clashed against anger as the tight leash Felix kept on his temper loosened ever-so-slightly. Having been raised by a man whose moods were as dangerous and unpredictable as the tides, he’d vowed to himself at a young age that he would never become his father. No matter the provocation he would not hurt those closest to him. But eyes the color of burnished wheat were not the only thing Cornelius Spencer had given his son and at Felicity’s words Felix felt the all-too familiar burn and bite of his temper as it swelled dangerously close to the surface.
Had she accused him of lying he wouldn’t have batted an eye. Had she accused him of any number of sins he would have happily admitted his guilt and then committed them all over again. He wasn’t a saintly man, nor would he ever pretend to be one. But there were some things even he wouldn’t do, and Felicity’s implication that he was using her children as pawns was an insult to what little honor he did possess.
“Is that what ye think I’ve been doing?” he growled. “Playing games with ye?”
“That is exactly what I think you are doing.”
“Well ye couldn’t be more wrong. I might not be a good man, but I’m a sure sight better than that.”
Felicity bit her lip, gaze dropping down to her long, shapely fingers encased in soft leather gloves. Her fingers curled into themselves, the tips pressing against the curve of her palms before she expelled a deep breath and flattened her hands along the sides of her skirt. “Then what are you after, Mr. Spencer?” Those violet eyes peeked up at him beneath a sweep of ebony lashes. “What do you want?”
“You.” If they were alone he would have pinned her against the sweet smelling lilacs and kissed her breathless. Instead he restrained himself to a scorching stare that left no doubt as to the wicked thoughts dancing inside his head. “I’m after you, love, and I mean to have ye. But I won’t be using the little ankle-biters to do it. When ye come to me – and ye will come to me – it’ll be because ye can’t spend another living moment outside my arms.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t really have a pond yacht, do you?”
“Never did,” he said cheerfully. “At least not the sort ye would recognize. But I’ll get one, and I’ll see to it Henry beats all those young pups so badly they whimper home with their tail between their legs.”
“But – but why?” she asked in bewilderment. “You’ve only just met him today. He doesn’t mean anything to you. We don’t mean anything to you.”
Felix could have told her it was because he saw a bit of himself in the boy. He could have mentioned his own childhood and the pain he’d suffered at the hands of his father. He could have said she filled something inside of him that he hadn’t even known was empty. But he wasn’t a man in the habit of laying his soul bare, and so he just said, “Because I wanted to.”
A left caught in her hair when he crowded her back against the sweet-smelling lilacs. Her gazed darted to the side. “Mr. Spencer, people are–”
“Hang ‘em.” He caught her wrist, his hand skimming up her arm until he felt the frantic beat of her pulse. She might have been able to hide what she was feeling behind an ivory wall of quiet stoicism, but the rapid pounding of her heart was not so easily disguised. “Who cares what they think? Let the prissy bounders stare all they want.”
She looked at him as if he’d suddenly sprouted a second head before she snatched her arm away. “I do, Mr. Spencer. I care. Which is why I cannot have you doing – well, whatever it is you are doing!”
“I’m protecting ye.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I do not need protection from you or any other man, thank you very much.”
Felix knew what pride looked like, and Felicity was so filled with it she was close to bursting. Having lost nearly everything but the dress on her back he supposed her dignity was the one thing she had left. And he wasn’t about to take it away from her.
“Courtin’ ye, then.”
“Court-courting me?” An incredulous laugh spilled from her lips. “Oh Mr. Spencer! You cannot be serious.”
Felix scowled at her reaction. And then he scowled at his own scowl. Buggerin’ hell in a whore’s handbasket, he cursed silently as realization dawned. Devil take him, he really was being serious. And if that wasn’t a swift kick in the arse he didn’t know what was.
“What if I am?” he said.
Felicity’s laughter stopped abruptly. “About – about courting me?”
“Aye.”
“You cannot be,” she said, looking flabbergasted at the very idea. “Stealing kisses, showing up unannounced, and following me around Hyde Park after I distinctly asked you to leave does not a courtship make.”
“Then what does?” he demanded.
She shook her head. “I – I don’t know.”
“If ye know what a courtship isn’t, then ye have to know what it is.”
“I have not been courted in a very long time. I do not remember.”
“Ashburn courted ye.” It wasn’t a question, but rather a statement. One that immediately caused Felicity’s gaze to shutter.
“Yes,” she said in a clipped tone that made it clear the subject of her husband was not one she cared to discuss. “He did. I really must get back to the children. I think it best if you allow me to go now, Mr. Spencer. Without following.”
This time when she tried to squeeze between his hard chest and the lilac bush he let her pass.
But he had no intention of letting her go.