The Dangerous Lord (17 page)

Her heart began to thud in her chest. She couldn't even explain, not without revealing what she knew of Ian's character. That would mean revealing her identity.

Very well, she thought defiantly, she wouldn't tell them a dratted thing. Let them think what they wanted of her.

Then she saw Sara's sympathetic smile. She groaned. Sara had championed her earlier tonight. She'd taken Felicity's side for no reason other than friendship. And brazening this out would mean losing that friendship. Ian could make her out to be whatever he wished—fickle, a fool,
even a wanton—and they would believe him because she'd provided no explanation of her own.

She searched her mind frantically for a plausible explanation of her refusal, but could think of nothing. Any reason would require blatantly lying about Ian, and she couldn't do that—not to Sara. Not after what had happened before.

Ian had realized that, hadn't he? The manipulative rat. He was counting on her not to lie or come up with a believable explanation. He was counting on her to brazen it out. Then Sara and Emily would remain on his side, and she'd lose them as friends.

She couldn't win. Not unless she told them the truth. Her spirits lightened suddenly. Yes, the truth—perhaps it was as simple as that. Unburden herself to them, explain everything from beginning to end, and trust to their good sense.

It was risky, yet they were both sensible women. Surely they would understand and stand by her once they knew everything.

The possibility was enticing beyond belief. Oh, to have someone who knew enough to give her good, honest advice. They
could
help her figure out how to deal with Ian—him and his secrets, him and his insistence that she help him find a wife when the very thought of it made her sick with jealousy.

“You really can trust us,” Sara was saying. “Ian spoke the truth about our discretion, you know—we would never gossip about you. And as for Lord X, I can't imagine why he mentioned the man. I don't even know the columnist—”

“Yes, you do,” Felicity broke in. “Lord X has been in your midst all along.”

The mixture of confusion and disbelief on their faces almost struck her as humorous. Almost. After all, they might take her confession ill. They might hate her afterward.

She only hoped they didn't.

“What do you mean?” Emily asked. “Surely you don't think one of us—”

“No.” Felicity hesitated, but only for a second. This was her best course of action, and she would follow it wherever it led. “Not one of you: me.
I
am Lord X.”

S
ara sat on Felicity's bed with her legs tucked up beneath her, unable to pretend nonchalance as she watched the young woman pace the dimly lit bedchamber relating her amazing tale. Sara might have questioned its veracity if everything hadn't fit so beautifully with what she herself had observed in the past few days.

Felicity Taylor was Lord X? All this time London's most notorious columnist had been visiting in her home, and Sara had never once guessed the truth. How astonishing!

She glanced over at Emily, who perched on the dressing-table stool. Emily's occasional nod and encouraging murmur indicated that she sympathized deeply with the young woman. That was understandable—Emily knew what it was like to maintain an elaborate pretense, having been forced into a masquerade last year that had nearly lost her
everything. But then Emily had acted upon peril to her life, whereas Felicity…

Sara shook her head, returning her attention to Felicity, whose bold telling of her story contrasted with the feminine lace of her attire. Felicity was
not
like other young women of society that Sara knew. Then again, neither was Emily. Or herself.

Indeed, Sara did sympathize with Felicity's motives for her actions—the woman's concern for Miss Hastings's future and then her humiliation after Ian had embarrassed her on the balcony. While Sara could never have initiated so public a battle, she certainly would have done
something
to retaliate. For heaven's sake, Ian had toyed with Felicity's affections, then pretended
she
was the wanton. Sara ought to have done more than toss Ian out of the house; she should have boxed his ears, too. Just wait until she got him alone later—he'd get an earful from her!

One thing puzzled her, however. Why had Ian persisted in keeping Felicity's secret about Lord X? Felicity said he had something to hide, but Sara wondered if he had another reason, one more romantic. That possibility intrigued her enormously.

The young woman was staring at her now, a guilty expression on her face. “You must find all this so horrible,” Felicity said, apparently misinterpreting Sara's look of concentration. “You can never know how sorry I am that I misled you about Ian. I still think of it with shame. But I didn't know you then. I couldn't believe you might understand what really happened. And I didn't know how kind you are or how different from most—” She broke off, her embarrassment more than obvious.

“Most what?” Sara prodded.

Felicity swallowed visibly. “Most women of rank. They all treat me with condescension.” She glanced away, her gaze hardening. “They like me to entertain them with gossip or tales about Papa, but when I'm done, they cast me
aside like any other amusement, leaving me to fend for myself with their sons and their husbands.”

“As did I,” Sara said softly.

“No! It wasn't the same. Despite what I let you believe that night, Ian never took advantage of me. Not really. It was my own fault that I…that I…”

“Took his actions to heart? Believed in his kisses? No, that wasn't your fault.”

“But I brought it on myself with my columns,” Felicity protested.

“Which you had every reason to write,” Sara interjected. “I don't blame you in this. I wouldn't like having my feelings trampled on by some careless lord either.”

“Still, it wasn't the same,” she said in a low voice.

“The same as what?”

Felicity crossed her arms over her chest, her gaze downcast. “Those others. The ones I met because of Papa.”

Sara sucked in a breath. “What did the others do to you?”

“Oh, nothing very terrible,” Felicity said hastily, though her arms tightened over her chest. “An unwanted kiss here, a groping hand there, when I got older. I-I was eleven when I began to go with Papa to his patrons' houses and take notes for him.”

A faint smile touched her lips. “He had awful handwriting. He couldn't even read it himself half the time. And I liked going with him to all those grand houses.” Her smile faded. “That is, until I found out what the people in them were like.”

“Not all of them, surely,” Emily put in.

“Oh, no! Just some of the men. It was usually the eldest sons who wanted to ‘entertain' me when Papa was busy with their parents, after I grew old enough to interest them. But I could handle them most of the time. And our footman showed me how to…um…hit them with my knee where it hurt.”

“Good for him,” Sara said, glad of protective servants.

“It was only the fathers who gave me any real trouble. I knew it wasn't wise to rebuff them as boldly as I did their sons, so I had to be more creative in my refusals.”

The thought of a girl fighting off a grown man's advances roused Sara's outrage. “Where were these men's wives, for God's sake? The young men—where were their mothers? Did they not teach their sons any better than to assault young female guests?”

“Women tend to look the other way. Or worse.” Felicity spoke the words dispassionately, but Sara saw the pain she tried to hide. “Pelh—One man's wife who caught her husband…making advances to me blamed me to Papa and advised him to give me a good thrashing.”

“Surely he didn't take her advice!” Sara exclaimed in horror.

Felicity looked startled. “Oh, no, Papa never lifted a hand to any of his children. In the case of my brothers, it might have been better if he had. Papa told the woman she was a jealous old witch with an octopus for a husband, and refused to continue the project.” Her tone filled with self-reproach. “It took him a year to find another that paid as well, and Mama and I worked ourselves to death taking in mending.”

Sara saw bitterness flash across Felicity's face, and her tender heart softened all the more. “So you learned not to complain about the men's roving hands, didn't you? Better to put up with it than be responsible for your family's loss of fortune.”

A wan smile touched Felicity's lips. “As always, Lady Worthing, you are more perceptive than most.”

“Won't you call me by my given name anymore?” Sara asked gently.

“I don't deserve to.” Felicity's face was wrought with remorse as she turned to pace once more. “I'm so ashamed. You've been nothing but kind to me from the day I arrived,
but I abused your hospitality horribly that night on the balcony.”

“Nonsense,” Emily put in with a glance at Sara. “You did what was needed to survive. When men use seduction as a weapon, they leave us with only deceit as a defense. Besides, if I remember what Sara told me, Lady Brumley was also present. You could hardly have let her know what had really gone on.”

“Emily's right,” Sara said. “I don't blame you for misleading me.” Suddenly, an image of Ian glaring at her when she'd thrown him out of the house sprang into her head, making her laugh. “And if ever a man needed his pride pricked, it's Ian. You should have seen his face when I accused him of taking advantage of you under my roof. I've never seen him look so offended.”

“And with good reason.” Felicity's gaze swept briefly to the dressing table. “Although he repaid me amply for that maneuver.”

Sara sobered. “You haven't yet told us what he did this evening after you left the card room and came up here. I know the two of you didn't simply talk. Yet I also can't believe Ian would be so callous as to…I mean, he did not…he didn't—”

“No.” But Felicity's blush belied the words. “He kissed me again. That's all.”

Emily laughed. “If that's true, then Ian is more of a gentleman than my husband ever was.”

“And mine,” Sara added with a chuckle.

Their words seemed to shock Felicity. “But your husbands are so gentlemanly!”

“Oh, they have the trappings of civilized men, to be sure.” Sara reclined against a pillow on Felicity's bed, propping herself up at the elbows. “That's only because we won't tolerate anything less in public. In private, well…” She couldn't prevent the smile that curved her mouth when she remembered Gideon's fierce lovemaking this morning.
“They're wicked as can be, aren't they, Emily?”

“Thank goodness,” Emily retorted, her eyes shining in the firelight.

Felicity halted her pacing, looking from one to the other in complete confusion. “So this evening when I let Ian…when he made me feel…Am I not—”

“Wicked because you felt desire?” Sara shook her head, remembering all too well her self-disgust when Gideon had first stolen past her defenses and made her desire him. “There's nothing wrong in feeling desire, my dear.”

“That's what Ian said, too,” Felicity whispered.

“Still,” Sara added hastily, “that doesn't mean he can make love to you without taking responsibility for his actions.”

Felicity scowled. “Oh, he's eager to take responsibility, even though all he did was…” She blushed again. “Anyway, that's the trouble—he wants to marry me.”

“Yes, he did say that. Which means his feelings were sincere.”

“Or at least his desire was sincere,” Emily added with an edge of cynicism.

Sara regarded her sister-in-law thoughtfully. Emily knew Ian's recent character better than she. Did Emily think Ian incapable of anything but desire? Sara couldn't believe that. “In any case,” she went on, returning her gaze to Felicity, “you refused him. You truly have no wish to marry Ian?”

“None.” Felicity's words held conviction; her expression did not. She began to pace again. “How could I marry a man whose only interest in me is as a mother to his heir? I have responsibilities—I have four brothers to care for and an entire household that depends on me. Ian wouldn't want to take all that upon himself.”

“How do you know? Did you ask him?”

“I don't need to. He only wants me because I can provide him with his heir. And I'm sure he also hopes to rid himself of my troublesome interference in his affairs. He thinks to
do all of it by marrying me. Ours wouldn't be a real marriage, however.” Her tone grew wistful. “It wouldn't be like either of yours, and I want nothing less.”

“Good for you,” Emily said. “Every woman deserves a man who cares about her. But judging from the way Ian looks at no one else when you're in the room, the way only you seem to rouse his fury—and his passions—I think he
does
care for you.”

“The man doesn't know the first thing about caring,” Felicity said petulantly, “or he wouldn't lie to me about that…that
woman
!”

Sara straightened, her interest piqued. “You mean his friend on Waltham Street?”

“Yes! He won't tell me the truth about her! He admits that Miss Greenaway isn't a soldier friend's sister, but he won't say who she is to him. He wants me simply to ignore her existence.”

“Miss Greenaway?” The name nagged at Sara's memory. She touched a finger to her brow, trying to think where she'd heard it before.

With great animation, Felicity hurried to the bed and sank onto the down mattress. “Do you know her? Who is she? Why won't he talk about her?”

Miss Greenaway's identity suddenly flashed into Sara's mind, and she cursed herself for not having remembered it before. “Oh, she's not anyone to concern yourself with,” she said, attempting to cover up her mistake.

The look of betrayal in Felicity's eyes was unmistakable. “That's what
he
said.” She sighed. “But I don't blame you for not wanting to tell me, given my profession.”

“That's not why!” Sara took Felicity's hand, wondering how she'd managed not to notice the ink-stained tips of the woman's fingers before. “I simply don't want you to leap to conclusions about Miss Greenaway and Ian based on my little information.”

“It doesn't matter what you tell me. I
know
she's his mistress.”

“I'm not so sure.” Sara debated a moment. But Felicity deserved to hear the truth, even if Ian wouldn't reveal it. “When I knew Miss Greenaway, she worked for Ian's uncle as governess to the man's children.”

“Then she's an older woman?” Emily asked from her perch on the stool. “If so, she couldn't be Ian's mistress.”

“She's not that old,” Sara said. “She can't be more than thirty-two. Miss Greenaway went to work at the Lennard household when she was only twenty, a few years older than Ian at the time. Edgar Lennard's estate adjoined Chesterley, so I imagine Ian had many opportunities to see her. But I never heard of anything between them.”

“Well, there's something between them now,” Felicity said tersely. “She bore a child not long after Ian put her up on Waltham Street. She
must
be his mistress. I don't know why he doesn't just admit it.”

“There's a child?”

Felicity nodded. “He says it's not his.” Her voice sounded brittle and unconcerned, but Sara could tell that Felicity was anything but that.

A wave of pity for the young woman swamped her. “Then perhaps you should believe him. Ian's an honorable man, despite the impression he's given you. He would claim any child of his, bastard or no. The woman may be another man's mistress, perhaps his uncle's.”

“Why didn't he say that, if it's so innocuous? And why isn't his uncle keeping her instead of Ian?” She swiped at her eyes, and only then did Sara realize she was crying. Felicity jumped to her feet, turning her back to them. “Well, I don't care what Ian does with her. I won't marry a man with a mistress. Other women accept it, but I couldn't.”