Chapter Sixteen
Tristan woke with a start, the dream he’d been having so vivid he didn’t recognize his surroundings.
Flick was pressed to his side, arm slung over his chest and still asleep.
He looked down at her profile, his heart settling as he watched her breathe.
In his dream, he’d been calling for her.
She was on the other side of the north field, feeding the coos bunches of wild grass and waving at him with a big smile.
But he couldn’t hear and no matter how far he walked, he never got any farther across the field.
He shifted, unable to tell the hour without his pocket watch.
The rain had stopped at least, but the room was cold, the fire having sputtered to embers.
Tristan reluctantly wiggled out of their snug cocoon and padded to the hearth to throw on a log to warm the room before she woke.
But when he turned, she was sitting up and rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
She smiled and bit her lip as her gaze wandered over his naked form. Tristan sauntered back toward the bed, knowing he was a fine specimen of a man, and her hungry gaze made his cock thicken.
“Keep looking at me like that and you’ll never leave this room again.”
“Maybe I don’t want to.”
He chuckled, but then he looked around his drab lodgings.
She deserved so much better than this. He sat on the bed, his back to her.
He shouldn’t have taken her to a bed like this, shabby, uncomfortable.
At least it was clean and free of vermin, but still.
She put a hand on his back, and he turned to face her.
“You have to go back,” he said.
Her sleepy, playful smile faded. “Do I?”
“Yes. I can’t keep you here. We both know that.”
She pulled her hand away and pulled the blanket up to her breasts. It was so thin he could see through it and shame curdled his gut.
“What is there for me to go back to?”
“The rest of your clothing for one. A proper bed. Warmth. Hot meals. Fresh water you don’t have to pump and heat yourself.”
“Those things come with a price.”
“Everything does.”
“My heart doesn’t. You can have it. For free. I can live on very little.”
Tristan ground his teeth. Didn’t she see she deserved more than that, that she deserved to not be a pauper’s wife?
Bloody hell, he hated this. One minute he swore that he could never let her go, that he’d rip his own heart out than see her with another man.
But then the next . . . he wanted her to have all the things he couldn’t give her.
“For the time being you have to go back,” he said. “We figure it out from there.”
“Together?” she asked, her eyes pleading.
“Aye. Together.” Who was he kidding? She belonged to him now.
For better or for worse. She would be his in name one day.
In all ways. His guilt would eat him alive every day, but at least he’d have the balm of her love to heal it.
He’d still fight for Lark Hall. Maybe with her at his side, he’d fight harder, find a way to get it back faster than before.
He’d always been a selfish blackguard. Why stop now?
By the time they were dressed and ready to return to the Den, the sun had set.
Tristan hailed a hack, not willing to walk Felicity through London in the dark, even though he knew the way well.
The urge to touch her was irresistible. Her hand, her cheek, her hair.
It was like his heart was preparing for her to leave and it had to soak in every moment.
He was going back with her, and if able, he’d find reasons to stay at the Den, perhaps all night.
With Flick, even if it was just to hold her.
Today had rocked the foundation of his being. He’d thought he knew himself well, could predict what he’d do or how he’d feel in any given situation. But he was wrong. He couldn’t see past his own immediate need, and he knew how dangerous that need could be.
Everything about her stirred his senses. Just sitting beside her in the hack, the rocking bringing their knees together, her hand clasped in his, made him savagely possessive. Entering the Den and letting her hand go would be torture. Men looking at her, talking to her, would make him violent.
He loved her. He wanted her. He was going to do whatever it took to have her. Even if he had to forsake his family to do it. He’d find a way. But first, he had to see Flick safely back to her room and ensure she would stay there.
As the hack rocked to a stop, he took a deep breath and let her hand go. They shared a long look, and she softly smiled.
“Thank you for today. For stopping me. I was too panicked to see reason and think clearly. I can’t imagine what I would have done, where I would have ended.”
“I know the feeling well. Let’s get you to your room.”
He opened the door and stepped out, handing her down. Snug was at the door, holding it open.
“You’ve been absent a while,” Snug said. “Mrs. Dove-Lyon wants to see you right away.”
“Why?” Tristan asked.
“Not you, Mr. Chase. Miss Brandon.”
“Me? What for?” she asked.
Snug shrugged. “Not my business, miss.”
Felicity bit her lip as she stepped away from Tristan.
“Do you want me to come with you?” he asked. He hated the uncertainty that boiled in his belly.
“No. I can speak to her alone. I need to.”
Tristan nodded and followed her in. He walked her all the way to Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s parlor and left her there. He found Titan standing near the cage.
“Did her father return?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Did you propose? That was quite a bit of time you to spent together, presumably alone.”
Tristan glared at him and folded his arms. “Are you implying I took advantage of her?”
“I’m implying that the two of you ought to stop fooling yourselves. You could have a life away from this den. A real life.”
“It’s not that easy.”
He smirked. “It isn’t? I had no idea.”
Tristan ground his teeth at Titan’s goading. “I wish it were. But no. We all have our reasons for being here, none of them because we enjoy catering to members of the peerage.”
“Aye. But it could be worse.”
“It could always be worse, but that doesn’t mean any of us have to settle for less than we deserve.” He wasn’t going to do that to Flick.
Titan narrowed his eyes at him and flexed his scarred hand. “What are you going to do?”
“Probably something stupid. Who knows.” Tristan turned away. He had to think of a plan.
Felicity knocked softly and walked into Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s office and caught sight of her lowering her veil, but all Felicity saw was a pale cheek. There was a woman under there. A beautiful one.
“You were looking for me?” she asked.
“I have wonderful news. Mr. Chase found you, presumably?”
Felicity tucked her head down and fussed with her plaited hair as she blushed. “He did.”
“Where have you been? I don’t fault you for running. This situation is ghastly upsetting. I acted as swiftly as I could, and I want to assure that I will move you out of the club tonight.”
“You will?”
She nodded decisively. “As secure as my establishment is—and it is secure—you’ll feel restless and timid since that event, and we can’t have that.
I’ve called in a favor, and you will have a proper chaperone in a respectable household until the date of your wedding, which will proceed with all haste if you agree. ”
Felicity felt like something punched her in the stomach. “My what? Did you say wedding?”
“As I said, I’ve been moving chess pieces, and you have an offer of marriage, my dear. An excellent offer.”
Felicity couldn’t draw a full breath. She plopped down in a chair next to Mrs. Dove-Lyon. The faces of the many men she’d met filtered thought her mind, too quickly to focus on or remember their names.
“Lord Hugstead,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon continued. “I appealed to him immediately, informed him of your precarious situation, and assured him that as long as he offered for your hand, you would be safe. He recommended a period of courtship, and I said I’d leave that up to you, should you agree.”
Felicity couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “He’s met me one time.”
“Yes, but you made an impression.”
“Of what, desperation?”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon folded her hands on her lap. “My dear, men do not approach arranged marriages with emotional expectations. Marriage is business. We will have a contract in place assuring both parties of their desired expectations.”
Felicity shook her head. This was madness. She felt sick and leaned over her knees.
“Miss Brandon, are you ill?”
“Yes,” Felicity moaned.
She stared at the toes of her boots and a coal scuttle appeared before her.
“I’ll summon Milly for some peppermint tea. We can continue this conversation tomorrow when you are settled with Lady Amelia.”
Felicity lifted her head. “I’m going to stay with Lady Amelia?”
“Precisely.”
“What about Tristan—I mean, Mr. Chase?”
“What about him?”
“Will he still be my escort?”
“Mr. Chase can escort you if you need the security.”
“He’s my friend,” Felicity said meekly. He was so much more than that, and it hurt to whisper what her heart wanted to shout. “Everything is happening so fast. I don’t know what to do.” How was she going to stop this? She couldn’t marry Hugstead. Not now. Not ever.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon sat on the chair beside her and twisted toward her. “I can’t pretend to imagine all the things you’ve gone through of late. I’ve my own past to contend with at times. Memories become specters if we don’t put them to rest. You can’t move forward, Miss Brandon, unless you take a step.”
“But . . .”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon reached out and put her hand over Felicity’s, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“He’s a good man, you know. For all his darkness and intrigue, he’s smart, ethical where it counts, and loyal. He’s in dire a situation himself, but he likes to hide his secrets well from others.”
Felicity knew she meant Tristan. “He told me about his brother and wanting to earn back his home. How much does he have left to repay?”
“Too much. He’ll be in my employ for some time yet unless a miracle happens.”