Wicked and the Wallflower (The Bareknuckle Bastards 1)

“So I see.” He stepped forward, not lifting his gaze. “The blood is rather . . .”

She considered the hoop, then offered, “Gruesome?”

He nodded. “Gruesome.”

“I was angry when I started it.”

Devil had exiled her from his world and rushed off, armed, to Lord knew where. He might be dead.

He wasn’t dead.

Did it matter? He’d sent her home and told her never to return. He might as well be dead for all he was rid of her. She didn’t like the way her chest constricted at the thought. She wasn’t ready to be rid of him. Or the world in which he lived, or the hints of magic he’d shown her.

But he was ready to be rid of her, and here she was, negotiating the terms of a loveless marriage with this strange duke who proposed nothing like magic.

Here she was, alone once more.

“Is this how you show your emotions?” Marwick pressed on, curious, “Needlepoint?”

“I also talk to myself.”

“Christ, girl . . . he’ll think you mad.”

She didn’t look to her father. “That’s fine, as I think him rather mad myself.”

“Felicity!” Her mother threatened the vapors, no doubt. One of the dogs barked and attacked the clawed foot of her father’s desk.

“Dammit, Catherine,” her father shouted at her mother.

“Gilly! Stop it! No biting! Guildenstern! Enough!”

The dog continued.

Arthur stared up at the ceiling and sighed.

The duke did not seem to mind the chaos. His eyes went to the windows again. “Then we are settled?”

She supposed they should be. She looked to her brother, meeting the brown eyes as familiar as her own. Saw the pleading in them. The hope. And she couldn’t stop the irritation that flared at it. “And so we have it. I marry and you live happily ever after.”

Her brother had the grace to look guilty.

“You deserve it,” she said, unable to keep the sadness from her voice. From her mind. “You and Pru and the children. You deserve everything you’ve ever wished. You deserve happiness. And I shall be glad to give it to you. But I’m not sure I’ll ever stop begrudging you for it.”

Arthur nodded. “I know.”

She turned to find the duke watching her for the first time, something more than boredom in his face. Something like longing. Which was impossible, of course. This mad duke did not seem a type that longed. And certainly not for her. For the life of her, she’d never understand why she asked him, “Would you like to see the gardens?”

“No,” her father interjected, his frustration evident. “We’re not done.”

“I would, as a matter of fact,” the duke said, before turning to the marquess. “We can discuss the rope I shall toss you both to keep you from drowning when I return.”

With that, he set his hand to the door handle and opened it to the balcony beyond. Standing aside, he allowed her to exit before he followed her out, closing the door firmly behind them.

Felicity hadn’t gone three feet when he said, “I don’t care for your family.”

“Neither do I, at the moment,” she replied. Then, supposing she should offer a defense, she said, “They’re desperate.”

He passed her, heading for the stone steps leading down into the gardens, clearly expecting her to follow. “They don’t know what desperation is.”

The words were so familiar—an echo of Devil’s rant at the warehouse—but in the wake of the place and man who had said them first, they seemed ridiculous, and Felicity found herself irritated by them. “What does a duke rich as a king know of desperation?”

He turned to her then, something in his eyes unsettling enough to stop her in her tracks. “I know that your father is a marquess and your brother is an earl, and even if they never married you off, they’d fail to understand the level of want that men can achieve. And I know that if they have even an inkling of love for you, they will regret sacrificing you for their own happiness.”

She inhaled sharply at the words, clear and filled with honesty. She opened her mouth. Closed it. Then tried again. “They are my family. I wish to protect them.”

“They should be protecting you,” he replied.

“From you?”

He seemed to struggle with the reply, finally settling on, “You’ve nothing to fear from me.”

She nodded. “Especially since you’ve no intention of our interacting once we’re married. What would I fear . . . becoming lost in your piles of money?”

He did not smile. “Did you expect us to interact?”

The question shouldn’t have summoned a vision of two nights earlier—of the interaction Devil had offered her. Of the kiss that had stolen her breath and her thoughts for longer than it should have. If that was a commonplace interaction between married couples, she had most certainly not expected it. Pressing her hands to her cheeks to will away the flush that came at the memory, she replied, “I don’t know. I never expected any of this.” He did not reply, and she asked, “Why marry me, Your Grace?”

“I would prefer you not call me that.”

She tilted her head. “Your Grace?”

“I don’t like it.”

“All right,” she said slowly, surprised less by the request than she was by the simple way he made it, as though it were perfectly ordinary. “Why marry me?”

His gaze did not leave the hedge at the far end of the garden. “You’ve asked before. The answer has not changed; you’re convenient.”

“And I positively swooned,” she said, dryly.

He cut her a look and she smiled. He did not. “Why do you sacrifice yourself for your family?”

“What choice do I have?”

“The choice that ends with you having the life you wish.”

She smiled, softly. “Does anyone really have that life?”

“Some of us have the chance of it,” he replied, distracted again.

“Not you, though.”

He shook his head. “No.”

She wondered what had made this man—a prince among men, handsome and rich and titled, so lost to his own future that he chose a loveless marriage over the chance of a life he wished. “Have you family?”

“No.” The answer was clipped and unemotional.

She knew his father had died years earlier, but, “No mother?”

“No.”

“Siblings?”

“Gone.”

How tragic. No wonder he was so odd. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I might be irritat

ed with Arthur right now, but I do care for him.”

“Why?”

She thought for a moment. “Well, he is a good brother and a good husband. A good father.”

“I’ve seen no evidence of his husbanding or fathering, but I can tell you he does not seem a good brother.”

She pressed her lips together at that assessment.

Silence fell, until Felicity almost thought he’d forgotten she was there. He watched the hedgerow in the distance, his stare blank. And then, after a long moment, he said, “It must be nice,” he said, “having a partner in the past.”

It was. Arthur drove her mad, and she was irate that he’d kept the secret of their family’s finances from her, even more so that he’d attempted to manipulate her future for it. But he was her brother and her friend, and she had trouble believing he didn’t wish the best for her. Even shrouded in uncertainty, she knew her family wished her well—they hadn’t forced this marriage, after all; she had.

Even though, now, she did not wish it.

Even though, now, she wished for something else indeed.

Even though, now, she wished for a different partner. A different future. An impossible one. But it was not impossible for him, and she felt she had to point it out. “You realize that without me . . . you might still find a partner in the future?”

As though he’d been far away, he returned to her then, and she realized how close he was, recognized the conflict in his eyes, a beautiful golden brown—a strange, unsettling echo of another pair of eyes that had threatened to consume her.

Before she could allow her thoughts to wander to Devil, the duke spoke. “I can’t find her.”

“I am not she.” Felicity offered him a small smile.

“And I am not he.”

No. You’re not.

She took a breath. “And so?”

“And so, banns shall be posted, and I shall send an announcement to the News for Monday.” It was as simple as that. “And in three weeks, you may begin anew, a duchess, with your family returned to money, power, success. On one condition,” the duke said, absently, his attention returned to the hedge. “One kiss.”

She stilled. “Excuse me?”

“I think I was clear,” the duke said. “I should like a kiss.”

“Now?”

He nodded. “Precisely.”