Deborah Hale - Lady Lyte's Little Secret

By the time the carriage had recommenced its journey northward, Felicity’s weeping had quieted to a volley of sniffles. Still, she made no effort to distance herself from Thorn. Greedily, he drank in the touch and scent of her, all too conscious of how much he had missed her in the short time they’d been apart.

Might the trouble he’d taken to ride to her rescue have changed her mind about terminating their liaison prematurely? he wondered as he cradled Felicity in his arms.

Hard as Thorn tried not to be enticed by that will-o’-the-wisp of false hope, he failed.

She ought to push Thorn away, order him out of the carriage or, at the very least, rail at him for frightening her half to death. But as her carriage sped on toward Newport, Felicity found herself unable to take any of the actions she ought.

There would be many long years ahead for her to manage without the warm, steadfast comfort of Thorn Greenwood’s embrace. For the present, she needed it more desperately than she had needed anything in a great while. And Lady Felicity Lyte was not accustomed to denying herself anything she needed.

She could not remember ever being so badly frightened. Her heart kept up its rapid flutter in her bosom, and despite a good warm wrap, she began to tremble.

“There, there.” Thorn stroked her arm.

Was it her imagination, or did he press a fleeting kiss on the top of her head?

“Are you all right, Felicity? Or did I speak too soon when I told your servants you were unharmed?” The tender concern that radiated from Thorn’s tone and touch soaked into her heart like warm ointment.

Pride would not allow her to accept comfort for the most grievous wounds life had inflicted upon her. No matter how she might crave it.

“You spoke aright, I suffered nothing worse than a nasty shock.” She sniffled. “Have you a handkerchief I can ruin?”

She would have hated anyone else who’d witnessed her break down into hysterical tears. Perhaps she would hate Thorn for it in the cool light of day when she could see how the betrayal of weakness had diminished her in his eyes. But for this sweet, dark moment she would allow herself the dangerous luxury of relying on a man.

“A handkerchief?” Thorn shifted her a little so he could pry his coat open and rummage in the pocket of his waistcoat. “I believe I have.”

He pressed the folded square of linen into her hand. “There. Do your worst. That’s what laundry’s for.”

“Thank you,” Felicity managed to squeak. The gentle fumbling brush of Thorn’s hands had set her flesh atingle.

She wiped the last residue of moisture from her eyes, thankful that by the time Thorn could see her clearly, the worst ravages of her silly tears would have faded.

If that was vanity, well, so be it. She could not abide having an attractive man see her at less than her best.

As she blew her nose, masked by the forgiving darkness, a thought struck her. “Are you all right, Thorn? After bringing down that awful man…then the way I went at you. I am so sorry. I can’t imagine what got into me.”

“You were only doing your best to defend yourself.” Thorn chuckled. “And making an admirable job of it, too. I don’t believe I took any lasting damage, though.”

A few blows from her wouldn’t have done him any harm, of course. But if that odious highwayman had managed to get off a shot with his pistol…Felicity would never have forgiven herself if Thorn had been injured on her account.

“Well?” she prompted him, bracing herself for the reprimand she probably deserved. Thorn Greenwood seemed like a man who could deliver a stern scolding when one was called for.

“Well…what?” He sounded genuinely puzzled.

“The dressing-down you’ve been rehearsing in your mind ever since you left Bath.” Felicity blew her nose again. “Where is it?”

“Oh…that.” Thorn gave a wry chuckle which succumbed to a deep, weary yawn. “It’ll keep until morning. For now, I believe we’d both be better served by an hour’s sleep if we can get it.”

The poor fellow, he must be perfectly exhausted after spending the evening in search of his sister, then the last several hours in pursuit of her.

“You talk sound sense, as always, Mr. Greenwood.” Felicity made a halfhearted attempt to rise from Thorn’s lap. “No doubt you would rest more comfortably without the burden of a blubbering woman to squash you.”

She would likely benefit from putting some distance between them, too. It was difficult enough to keep regrets at bay without the sensation of his arms around her to remind Felicity what she would soon be missing.

“You’re no burden.” With gentle insistence, Thorn drew her back into the protective circle of his arms. “Besides, I’m apt to sleep more soundly for the reminder that you are out of danger.”

“In that case…” Felicity settled back into Thorn’s embrace. “I’m content to remain where I am.”

More than content, in fact. Though she did not dare tell him so.

“Thorn?”

“Yes?” He sounded halfway to sleep already.

She shouldn’t pester him with questions, Felicity chided herself, but she so liked the sound of his voice. “Wherever did you get a horse to come after me?”

“From St. Just.” Thorn patted his pocket. “I’ve got blunt, too. Won it in a card game.”

If Thorn had confessed to stealing the money, Felicity could not have been more surprised. “I thought you never gambled.”

“Never did till tonight.” His words had the slurred, dreamy quality Felicity had heard so often in the past weeks when he’d held her close after their lovemaking. “Don’t know the devil about cards. It may have helped that I was the only sober fellow at the table.”

“Perhaps a little beginner’s luck?” Knowing full well she shouldn’t do it, Felicity could not stop herself reaching up to brush her knuckles against Thorn’s side whiskers.

“Perhaps.” He whispered the word as if it was the sweetest of endearments.

Then, before Felicity could withdraw her hand, he tilted his head to catch her fingers between his shoulder and his cheek, nuzzling them in a chaste gesture of affection that brought a lump to her throat.

She forced her question out past the obstruction. “How could you possibly stake yourself in the sort of bankrupting card game Weston St. Just favors?”

Thorn’s head snapped up again, flinching from her touch in a way he had not flinched from her earlier attack. “I’m not a complete pauper, you know.”

His fortune—or rather his lack of it. Even as she regretted her question, Felicity could not stifle a twinge of annoyance. How many years had she tread with bated breath around the subject of her late husband’s want of prosperity?

At least Thorn Greenwood was making an effort to repair his family’s fortune. And by a more principled means than simply marrying the first available heiress.

“I didn’t say you were a pauper. Most men don’t carry a great deal of ready money around in the middle of the night, that’s all.”

Thorn did not answer at once. Had he fallen asleep, Felicity wondered, or was he too offended to reply?

“I have an old watch and a signet ring,” he said at last, as if confessing to a crime. “St. Just managed to convince the other players they were worth something.”

His admission stung Felicity in a vulnerable spot, just as her question about his gambling stakes must have done to Thorn. She knew very well the watch and ring to which he’d alluded. What price they might fetch from a jeweller, she could not guess. Yet they were priceless to Thorn—a reminder that he belonged to an old family of good breeding.

Despite her fortune and the title for which she’d paid so dear a price, Felicity knew many people still scorned her as an upstart tradesman’s daughter. Suitable only as a mistress for a respectable gentleman like Thorn Greenwood, but never a wife.