Emily Greenwood (16 page)

Alice and Lydia had each brought a doll, and soon the dolls were the fairy queen’s devoted handmaids, who were to go to a fairy ball Felicitania was holding that night. The three whiled away the afternoon making leaf dresses for the dolls and fancy shoes of braided grass, and they laughed and imagined together. Away from the adults and talk of things that could only distress her, Felicity felt happy. Carefree, as she had wanted to be that day.

The afternoon shadows were growing long when James came and scattered them, growling and moaning, pretending he was the ghost of the stream. The little girls jumped and shouted and giggled hysterically and ran about, with a grinning James running after them. He “wooed” and waved his arms at them, chasing them among the trees and hedgerows for several minutes, until the girls and their pursuer collapsed in a pile near Felicity.

When they had caught their breath, Alice sat up.

“Uncle James,” she said, her small, light brown eyebrows set in a serious line, “ghosts don’t come out during the day. You are silly,” she pronounced.

He was lying on his side in his white shirtsleeves with his long body stretched out, his head propped up on his elbow and his black hair tousled from chasing the girls. He put on a look of disappointed astonishment, and Felicity couldn’t help giggling.

“No!” he said in mock seriousness. “But how can we know what ghosts might do? Don’t they have free choice about when to haunt?”

“Of course they don’t,” said Lydia soberly in her high little girl’s voice.

Alice agreed. “Everyone knows that ghosts only come out at night. They like the darkness.”

“But what if they are thirsty?” James queried seriously. “Can they have tea?” His laughing dark brown eyes were now all concentration as he considered the problem.

“Nooo!” wailed both girls, giggling and rolling in the grass with glee at the delicious ridiculousness of this adult. When they had recovered their seriousness, Alice said, “They can’t eat and drink or pick up things, except haunting things, like chains.”

“So they wouldn’t, say, dump a pile of soot on your floor?” He flicked a glance at Felicity, raising his eyebrows. Her lips twitched at his teasing.

“W-e-e-l-l,” said Alice thoughtfully, “I suppose they might, but it doesn’t sound much like a ghost thing. Just messy. Sounds more like something a naughty goblin would do.”

“I see,” James said, nodding seriously. “A naughty goblin. I think we must have one of those at Tethering.”

“Oh yes, probably,” agreed Lydia. “Mummy says we must have naughty goblins at home because our clothes always end on the floor and our toys aren’t put away and we’re sure it’s not our fault.”

James glanced at Felicity, one eyebrow quivering upward in mirth. “What do you think, Queen Felicitania? Can ghosts do whatever they like?”

His eyes were dancing with laughing light, and she threw a handful of violets that she had absentmindedly picked at him. She should have known he would be good with children; he had been happy enough to play games with her.

“I think,” she said, getting up and shaking out her dress, “that it’s time for tea. And Aunt Miranda’s birthday cake.” Her hair was still loose, and she realized it was well sown with dainty weeds, but she would not have dislodged them for the world, no matter how wild she now must look. Leaving James to bring the girls, she made for the clearing, where the tea table had been set up under the shade of a tree, as if her life depended on it.

James watched her go, her flowery golden curls bobbing and her skirts whipping as she walked briskly away. Almost as if she were escaping from something, which was ridiculous, since they’d been having a perfectly pleasant time here with the girls. Quite a bit more fun than he’d had all day, actually. He’d forgotten how pleasant and easy life could be in the country; he really hadn’t taken any time to smell the roses these last three years. In general, perhaps, he forgot about rose-smelling. But Felicity made him remember. She was so easy and fun to be with, at least when she wasn’t trying to be disagreeable. Apparently today she had put her dastardly schemes aside—she hadn’t said or done anything to torment or embarrass him all day.

Yes, he thought, helping the girls up and escorting them, one on each arm, to where the tea things were set up, he liked this part of the country. For a moment he wished he could forget all his plans and just stay at Tethering. Life was so pleasant here, airy and light and fun, yet strangely compelling. He allowed himself to imagine the delights of late summer and fall, when there would be the festive doings of the orchard harvest. And the pleasure of Felicity’s company.

He shook his head, wondering at himself as he deposited the girls with their parents and collected a cup of tea and some cake from Fulton. He sat down alone under a low-branching, leafy tree near where the blankets were arranged and reminded himself that the subtle, sweet pleasures of Tethering would surely be fleeting. After all, the beautiful Felicity Wilcox could not remain unattached forever. But James didn’t want to think about the future, when she’d probably marry the damned vicar. And if she didn’t, there’d be someone waiting behind him. James even suspected his own cousin Hal of wishing to deepen his acquaintance with her, for all she was of such minor gentry.

Felicity was sitting some yards away from him, on a picnic blanket with Hal and a petulant-looking Lila. The sunlight was shining in Felicity’s long, loose, dark gold waves. He was struck with a desire to bury his face in its beautiful, silky mass. She was wearing another one of her funny, home-dyed mourning dresses, and he found himself wishing he could see her in a pretty gown for once. She was laughing at something Hal must have said, and even from where James was sitting, he could see that her hazel eyes were merry and bright. She was so lively, so lovely.

Lila caught the direction of his gaze and smirked at him. He suddenly wondered how he could have ever been attracted at all to Lila. She was a beauty, but that was all. Underneath, what did she have but the manners and interests of every other woman of the
ton
: fashionable clothes and the latest entertainments? He was suddenly glad he would soon be in Spain again and away from fashionable people. And away from Tethering Hall and Felicity Wilcox, which were beginning to take on far too much meaning. Because the only meaning she could possibly have if she were going to be in his life would be as his wife. Being with her even today and not being able to touch her was already enough of a torment for him.

Watching her now as she sat in the dappled sunlight, he imagined kneeling behind her, pulling her to him, exposing the angle of her neck and kissing all along it. In his mind he placed his hands on her round breasts, allowing their fullness to expand his fingers.

Her loose hair, the freed golden waves, bounced in the wind as he watched, teasing him. He must not touch her, yet his fingers and lips itched to discover everything about her.

With a muttered curse he looked away from the party, toward the stream. He would discover nothing further about how Felicity might feel in his arms because she was an innocent young lady, and getting leg-shackled was the furthest thing from his mind. As appealing as she was, he must make sure there were no more kisses. He pushed thoughts of her from his mind and addressed himself firmly to his tea.

After tea was over, the adults began to make noises about its being time to return to Tethering. Lydia and Alice, however, were crestfallen at the idea of leaving.

“But Mama,” Alice said in as reasonable a voice as she could muster, no doubt aware that whining was guaranteed to put her mother in an ill-humor, “we haven’t been all the way up the big hill yet.” She smiled angelically, and James was certain
he
would not be able to resist such an entreaty. “We did so want to see the view from the top.”

Lydia’s round child’s face looked very sad. “Papa,” she said softly, “I want to climb the hill, too.”

Robert and Josephine shot one another long-suffering looks. They began gently to hush their daughters, explaining that the party had been there long enough and everyone was tired.

“I’m not tired, Josephine,” James announced, standing up and drawing in an exaggeratedly deep breath. “This fresh country air invigorates me.” He grinned. “I’d be happy to take the pixies up the hill.”

His cousin smiled at her daughters, whose faces now looked hopeful. “Why, thank you, James. That would be kind of you, for the girls’ sake.”

“Yes, good idea, James,” added Miranda, looking up from her conversation with Mr. Wilcox.

“Cousin James,” piped up Alice, “can Miss Wilcox come?”

“Of course, if she wants to.”

Alice and Lydia glanced pleadingly at Felicity. “Please come, Miss Wilcox,” the two little girls sang out together. “You want to see the view too, don’t you?”

Felicity looked startled and flicked a glance at James. He shrugged helplessly. Seeing the girls’ enthusiasm, she obviously didn’t want to deny them. “Of course I’ll come.” She looked around at the rest of the party, sitting on their picnic blankets. “Would anyone else like to join us?”

No one wished to, though the party climbing the hill was encouraged to have a good time.

“Very well,” said James, winking at her and taking each girl by the hand. “We shall have to have all the fun ourselves.”

As they climbed the hill, Felicity fell into step beside Alice, who reached for her hand. It was late in the afternoon now, and all seemed warm and lazy. Even the bugs were chirping less often. The big hill that the girls wanted to climb was just beyond the smaller hill where the party had picnicked. James, Felicity, and the girls went over the top of the smaller hill, down the short grassy slope to its bottom, and then began to climb the larger hill behind it. The grass on the taller hill was higher, probably because there were no raspberries there, and so no reason for anyone to have walked on it or cut it back.

The little girls laughed and took exaggeratedly high marching steps to move their legs through the grass and wildflowers that were as high as James’s knees. Near the top a few fruit trees grew in clusters.

Finally they reached the summit and the view of the surrounding countryside was before them. The girls cried out happily and rushed to talk over one another, trying to find the best word to describe it.

“It’s so beautiful,” Felicity said, and he felt a foot taller for having shown it to her.

“Yes, isn’t it?” he agreed. “Have you never been here before?”

She stared out over the scene of hills and bright fields, many dappled with different colored spots of wildflowers, that rolled away as far as the eye could see under fluffy white clouds. It was not just that the scene was the epitome of pastoral beauty, but that they stood at just the right height to see the details along with a wide view, as if they floated above it.

She shook her head. “I don’t remember coming here before. It would be rather a long walk from Tethering, of course, and we haven’t had horses for years.”

That blasted Jonathan and his gambling. He felt fiercely that he would have shaken Jonathan Beresford until his head rung if he had known him then—he would have shaken some sense into him. But then, if Jonathan hadn’t gambled away Tethering, James never would have come here. He would have never met Felicity.

Alice’s voice piped up as she came to stand by the two adults. “May we roll down the hill please, Cousin James?” He looked down the hill, the one side having few trees, and thought it probably would be great fun to roll down. He chuckled, knowing Josephine would doubtless not allow such a thing because it would not be ladylike. Fortunately, he could not be expected to preserve the proprieties.

“Certainly, my dears,” he said cheerfully, “go right ahead.”

Alice and Lydia squealed with glee and positioned themselves along the rise. Their dresses really were rather fine. Felicity raised an eyebrow at him and he held up his hands in mock helplessness. “What can you expect from a bachelor cousin?”

The little girls launched themselves then, shrieking and laughing as they bumped and tumbled. Her eyes on their little rolling forms, Felicity said, “Little girls need to tumble about almost as much as little boys until a certain age.”

“And what about young ladies?” he could not resist asking in a teasing tone. “Do they have some of the same needs as young men?”

She turned to him and he saw that she was blushing, and very prettily too.

“James,” she scolded, “that is hardly an appropriate comparison.”

“Isn’t it?” he asked innocently, ignoring the warning voice that sounded in his head. “But even you are not always concerned with propriety, are you? It’s one of the things I like best about you.”

She looked surprised by his frankness. And truly, he was not sure what was tempting him into it. Ah, but that was not true. He knew very well what was tempting him, as much as he meant to remain impervious to her charms.

Her expression turned dark then, her fine eyebrows drawing together. “Yes, you find me unusual, don’t you? ‘A funny little country mouse’ were, I believe, your words.”

“Ah,” he said. “You overheard my conversation with Lila.”

Her pert chin tipped upward. “It was hardly in private, after all.”

He reached out and cupped her warm, soft cheek. “There is nothing in the least mousy about you, my sweet, except perhaps,” he chuckled, “that you sometimes scurry about at night.”

“Hmph.” She looked away over his shoulder.

“What would you have had me say to her?” he asked softly, seeking, and capturing, her gold-flecked gaze. “That I quite like Felicity? That I find her charming when she is not tormenting me, and even sometimes when she is?” He shook his head slowly. “Lila would have it all over Town in a trice, and the next thing we knew the gossip sheets would have us engaged.”

She stood still, watching him, her eyes no longer defiant but unreadable. From the bottom of the hill came sounds of shouting and playing as the girls rolled in the high grass somewhere out of sight. The rest of the party must be busy packing up, but the smaller hillside separated them from view.

He took a step closer and caught the heady scent of her, of the flowers in her hair and her sun-warmed skin. She was beautiful, so desirable. So very much herself. He was weak, he freely admitted to himself. Later he would remember why standing on an Elysian hill with Felicity was a terrible idea. Later he would call himself all kinds of fool. Young gentlewomen were not to be trifled with. There was no future for them together.

But now was all he could think of. Now Felicity was here, Felicity who was far too often on his mind. Felicity, who had been trying her best to drive him away but had succeeded only in gaining his respect for her pluck and daring and sense of fun. And for her uniquely creative, if sometimes devious, mind.

He didn’t just admire her, though. He wanted her. Her luscious figure was driving him to distraction. The day was warm, but that was not the reason he was burning.

“You know,” he almost whispered, “you owe me something from yesterday.”

“I do?”

“Yes, Mirabelle owes me a kiss, a forfeit from her game.”

At the mention of Mirabelle, she looked wary. She leaned away from his hand and he let it fall.

“You already kissed Mirabelle,” she said, her hazel eyes regarding him suspiciously.

“That wasn’t a proper kiss,” he replied. He leaned toward her until he was close enough to feel the warmth of her outward breath against his lips. “This,” he whispered against her mouth, “is a proper kiss.”

***

The instant his lips touched hers, Felicity let every thought of “no” float freely away.

His flesh was against hers, warm and soft. She opened to him and his tongue drew her response, as if she even needed coaxing. His hands, warm and large, came up to trace the length of her neck and the curve on each side where it met her shoulders, an area bared by her frock. She kissed him back eagerly, urgently, and her arms went across the breadth of his ribs and came to rest against the flexed muscles of his back, which she could feel under the fine cloth of his coat.

Oh, if she had ever allowed herself to dream of a Galahad, James—with his dark male beauty, his charm and confidence, his ability to turn everything to a success—would have fit exactly.

He coaxed her backward, their steps matching each other’s, so that they came to stand under an old cherry tree. The low-hanging branches surrounded them, creating a sun-dappled green alcove. In the distance below them, the little girls’ laughter pealed faintly.

“Sweet heaven,” he murmured against her mouth, then pulled gently away. Before she knew what was happening, he was standing behind her, kissing her neck with a sensuousness that trickled and rushed down to the core of her. His hands rubbed inch by snug inch up her sides, molding themselves along her waist and stopping to cover her bosom, one hand on each breast. Languorously he rubbed his flexed fingers over the cloth where her nipples had grown hard. A small cry of pleasure escaped her. His desire pressed firmly against the back of her, discernible through the worn, softened fabric of her gown.

“Oh, James,” she exhaled shakily, leaning back against him, sure she would slide to the ground if she didn’t.

“Felicity,” he whispered back raggedly. “Your curves are driving me to madness,” he said against her ear. He groaned, a soft growling sound. “Stop me. Walk away.”

“But I don’t want to.” She closed her eyes. Her limbs were weak with desire as he continued to swirl his fingers and palms over her breasts.