Several months later

London

 

 

 

 

 

It was not considered the wedding of the season. In fact, hardly anyone knew Scarlett and Owen were engaged, let alone that they had gotten married in a small church outside of London on a rainy, nondescript autumn day.

Scarlett’s walk down the aisle had not been heralded by trumpets. Rose petals had not fallen from the eaves. A long hand sewn veil trimmed with lace and pearls had not covered her face. In fact, she hadn’t worn a veil at all.

Just a plain blue muslin dress to match Owen’s eyes.  

When the ceremony was over all of the guests gathered at Bow Street to celebrate over warm cups of tea and blueberry scones. Scarlett had made Bow Street her home while she and Owen searched for more suitable living quarters. While she wanted a townhouse near Grosvenor Square, Owen was determined to find a single home within walking distance of Bow Street.

They were both still learning how to compromise.

One thing they did not need to compromise on, however, was their love. It poured out of them with every glance, every smile, and every wayward touch of their hands as they circled the room accepting well wishes from their closest friends and family.

From the far corner Felicity watched as Owen absently turned his head and kissed Scarlett’s brow. With a wistful sigh she sipped her tea. Would another man ever look at her like Owen looked at Scarlett? She liked to think it was possible, but her future seemed much bleaker than it once had. After all, who would want a mother of two children with no dowry and a reputation destroyed by divorce?

No one.

The answer, she feared, was no one.

Of its own accord her gaze wandered to where one Mr. Felix Spencer stood talking to a well-dressed man whom she assumed to be another Runner. Try as she might, she had been unable to stop thinking about Felix – or their kiss – since he jumped out the window and disappeared seemingly into thin air. This was the first time she had seen him since that fateful day and he looked every bit as roguishly handsome as she remembered.

He was dressed formally for the occasion in a black tailcoat that was a bit tight around the shoulders, indicating he’d borrowed it from someone else. Beneath it he wore a crisp white linen shirt and tan breeches that were tucked inside black leather riding boots. His cravat, which had been neatly folded and pinned during the wedding, was now dangling down on either side of his neck, exposing a V of golden skin.

When Felicity felt a faint tingling at the nape of her neck her gaze flew up to his face… and her cheeks bloomed with color when she realized Felix was looking straight at her. She glanced swiftly away, but it was too late. He had caught her staring and they both knew it.

There is nothing to do now, she decided reasonably, except to fall into a deep dark hole and disappear forever.

But of course she couldn’t do that. Not with Henry and Anne depending on her. So instead of cowering – something she’d found herself doing much too often as of late – she lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and forced herself to walk over to where Felix and his companion were standing.

“Miss Atwood.” Felix’s eyes danced with amusement as a knowing grin lifted one side of his mouth. “I wondered if I would see you here. Grant, might I introduce you to Miss Felicity Atwood. A close friend of the bride, if I am not mistaken.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” Grant murmured politely as he bowed over Felicity’s hand, his manners as flawless as Felix’s were crude. “If you’ll excuse me, I see someone over there I must speak with.” And then, quite suddenly, Felicity and Felix were alone.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she demanded, her entire face turning a deep, dull red when his amber-colored gaze slowly traveled the length of her body from the top of her bonnet to the tips of her boots.

Felix lifted one eyebrow. “Like what, love?”

“Like we are – like we are intimately acquainted,” she hissed after a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure no one was within hearing distance.

A second brow rose to join the first. “Here I thought that was exactly what we were.” 

“We had one kiss” – but oh, what a kiss it had been… although she certainly wasn’t going to tell him that! – “and nothing more.”

“You know what I say, love. Quality over quantity,” he drawled.

“Oh!” By sheer force of will she managed not to stomp her foot. “Mr. Spencer please behave yourself.”

“Now that’s one thing I try to avoid at all costs.” He stepped closer, crowding her back against a table filled with platters upon platters of blueberry scones. “Have ye been thinking about me, Miss Atwood?”

Every night.

“Certainly not.”

“Liar,” he said softly.

“Mr. Spencer–”

“I desire ye, Miss Atwood.” His eyes narrowed on her face, his voice dropping to a husky purr that felt like velvet against her skin. “Do you know what I do with things I desire?”

“N-no,” she managed to gasp as a spark of heat ignited between her thighs.

“I take them.”