Chapter 10 #4
As Felicity trailed off, Sara shot him a questioning look. His only answer was a smile. Her brown eyes darkened. “Ian, I’ll speak to you in a moment downstairs. Just now I wish to talk to Miss Taylor. Alone.”
“Of course.” He glanced at Felicity, whose wide eyes and pale face showed her bewilderment. If she only knew what Sara was about to put her through ... He didn’t envy her that, having once or twice been at the mercy of Sara’s matchmaking attempts.
Still, he felt a perverse need to reassure Felicity that he’d keep silent about her identity as Lord X.
He laid his hand on her shoulder, trying not to react to the sheer pleasure of touching her.
“You needn’t worry about my discretion in this matter, nor that of my friends.
I’m sure they can keep the servants quiet as well.
Despite all the talk earlier this evening, no one will discuss this affair with the gossips, and especially not with Lord X.
The man won’t be brought into it, I assure you. Certainly not by me.”
Felicity’s eyes locked with his, and he saw understanding flicker briefly in them. Yes, he owed her that much ... to protect her secret.
But though he didn’t realize it, Felicity was still confused. What was he attempting with this new ploy? He could use this opportunity to force her into marriage, but he hadn’t. Why was he being so truthful with his friends, so defensive of her honor? And so willing to keep her secrets?
“If you ladies will excuse me,” he added, “I’ll leave you to your talk.”
He strolled off down the hall, leaving Felicity to shake her head. “I’ll never understand that man.”
“None of us ever have,” Sara remarked at her side. Gently, she took Felicity’s arm. “Come, my dear, let’s go into your room before more servants happen along and see you standing here in that. Never fear, we’ll help you figure out how to deal with Ian.”
The statement brought Felicity up short. What was there to figure out? She and Ian had made a simple agreement, and she’d told Sara and Emily there would be no marriage. What else was left to discuss?
Yet the two women obviously thought there was something to talk about.
They both stared at her expectantly. Suddenly it dawned on her—they wanted to discuss why she wouldn’t marry Ian.
His reasonable manner and willingness to marry her had convinced them that he was behaving like a gentleman while she was either a fool or a wanton. They wanted to know which it was.
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 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 were right. 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 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? Surely you don’t think one of us—”
“No.” Felicity hesitated. But this was her best course of action, and she would follow it wherever it led. “Not one of you. Me. I am Lord X.”