Chapter 3
By Tracy Sumner
The heat of Charlie’s regard blistered Felicia’s back as she stepped outside the protection of the pine stand.
Charlie.
A nickname bandied about years ago, when she and his sisters were children racing through fields of clover, dirt marring their cheeks, their days free of worry over death, heritage, duty.
A name she’d never dared call him, the heir to a revered dukedom.
Even then, he’d set himself apart at parish dances and in the village when they chanced to meet.
His eyes, just a shade lighter than the crisp, cool waters of the lake at the edge of her family’s property, had always taken her in without remark. Without emotion.
A cerulean challenge she longed to dive into, never to return.
If she’d fancied the Duke of Kenbrook, despite any hope of two families who’d declared war before her birth finding a path to peace through matrimony, this was a youthful folly she’d never again let herself entertain.
Although her gut had once told her, quite forcefully, that he was a boy to be trusted.
The boy was now a man, one attempting to rob her of a parcel of land he didn’t need as much as the Montclairs did. With a quickly drawn breath, Felicia pressed her hand to her chest and took in the scent and force of Devonshire, the home and legacy she had no choice but to safeguard.
Turning back, she crossed to him, refusing to cower and knowing her battle was more with him than that silly oaf, Fernbottom.
She’d seen the duke with ripped trousers after a nasty fall from his mount, seen him smile in the early days, and laugh, boisterously, the one time in town when she’d passed the Rose and Crown and taken a sneaking look inside.
He could be Charlie—in her mind, if nothing else—while she negotiated her family’s future.
The Duke of Kenbrooks and his regal bearing, the tales of his amorous exploits splashed across the scandal rags, the rich hue of his eyes, his knowing smile, those delectable shoulders testing the limits of his superfine coat, could disappear momentarily if she recalled the caring, protective older brother.
She trusted her friends, and his eight sisters’ loyalty could not be utterly misplaced.
He straightened his stance upon her return, bracing himself, his gaze lowering once.
A brief transfer, circumspect, hardly noticeable.
She’d bound her breasts, but there was only so much she could do to hide her curves.
However, they’d never been enough to tempt this man, not one whit.
Other men, certainly, there’d been interest that didn’t interest her. But not him.
The one she wanted.
He dipped his head as she halted before him. “Lady Felicia, I see you’ve decided to return.” His tone spoke volumes about what he thought of her rash endeavor this day.
Her cheeks flushed, every flaw in her character—temper, rebellion, willfulness—rushing forth to warm her skin.
“You don’t need it,” she whispered, deciding the truth was her only hope of salvation.
“Your holdings are substantial when we’re struggling to survive.
I know you can outmatch any offer I put on the table. ”
A muscle in his jaw tensed as his smile withered, proven false with its demise.
“I’m truly sorry about your father, Lady Felicia.
And about any dire circumstances your family is suffering under.
” He came out of a slouch she’d not known he was engaging, his rigid posture forcing her to tip her head to hold his attention.
He was taller than she recalled. “I have a centuries-old duchy to protect. Tenants to feed. A village to help prosper. A reputation to uphold, including a seat in Parliament, where I’m only able to ensure positive change if I protect that reputation.
It’s more than a piece of land, I’m loath to tell you.
And believe me, many days, I wish it weren’t. ”
“It has nothing to do with this senseless feud between our families, a skirmish not of our making?” Felicia’s fingers closed into a fist, and she couldn’t stop herself from thumping him in the chest, right atop his heart, if he had one.
“Nothing to do with you wanting to deny the Montclairs their rightful property? Nothing to do with a duke’s arrogance? ”
His breath caught, a tight rush of air snaking between his beautiful lips. No man should have such a gorgeous mouth, she reasoned as his astonished gaze lifted to hers. His heartbeat kicked beneath her fist, a wild race. “You dare much, sweeting. I’d forgotten this about you.”
She blinked, the ground shifting beneath her scuffed boots. “Forgotten?” She’d not imagined Charles Harrington, the Duke of Kenbrook—Charlie—noticed her at all.
He grasped her wrist while a thousand joyous replies circled her mind.
She was not invisible. Though he didn’t release her.
In fact, he swayed, bringing him a step closer.
“I was watching, you see. Those days when I retrieved Honoria from our hunting cabin, the two of you up to no good. Your friendship with Celeste, Georgiana, and even Rosamund was kept quiet because both families would have been displeased. I wasn’t only protecting my beloved sisters, I was protecting you.
A task, based on your madness, that falls to me again. ”
“But I’m no longer a child,” she said, the statement breathless.
The air surrounding them thickened as it would with an approaching storm.
His regard, no longer cloaked in virtuousness, roamed her from head to toe and back again.
His thumb sneaked between her glove to dust her pulse, drawing her entire being to that tiny, critical spot.
Leaving the rest at his behest, if he chose to take her.
“I’m aware of that fact,” he finally murmured, his own breathlessness lacing his words.
Mere seconds spun away as the shadows shifted, with no one to record the change in awareness occurring between them.
In the distance, Fernbottom called out, shaking them from their reverie.
Dropping her arm, the duke stumbled back in a careless move, unlike him.
A sheet of foolscap from the bundle Fernbottom had been holding blew past, and he captured it quite deftly beneath his polished boot.
“If Loxley sees you in this getup, Lady Felicia, making offers under his purview, there’ll be hell to pay.
” Going to one knee, he grabbed the page and crumpled it in his hand.
“Go, now. I’ll keep the attention away from you until you’ve had time to cross the ridge.
Take the servants' stairs, for God’s sake, and pray no one on the lower levels sees you in this idiotic rig. ”
Her temper thankfully fired to life, kicking aside what she feared was desire, saving Felicia from making an even greater fool of herself by doing something as ridiculous as kissing him. “I won’t give up, Charlie.”
He glanced up, his eyes as deep a blue as she’d ever seen them. “Sweeting, that doesn’t come as a surprise. Actually, I’m afraid I welcome the fight.”