Wicked and the Wallflower (The Bareknuckle Bastards 1)

“He deserved it. And more, for what he’s done to you.”

“Grace took to the rooftops last night.”

Devil nodded. “I let Ewan think her dead.” He pulled her close and kissed her temple before looking to Whit. “He’s furious.”

Whit nodded. “He’s left. The watch reported this morning, he rode out from the Mayfair house at dawn.”

Devil nodded. “He’ll be back. He’ll want to punish us.”

Whit lifted the lantern to look at Devil’s face. “Christ, he knocked you good.”

Felicity scowled. “Never has a man needed punishment more than that one.”

He looked at her, then to Whit. “He received it today.”

Whit grunted, seeming to understand whatever that meant. Felicity did not, however, and her temper flared. “He knocked you over the head and locked you in an ice hold where you could have died. Whatever you did to him is not comparable.”

“That’s spoken like someone who’s never been desperate for the woman he loves.”

She did not hesitate. “Well, I’ve been desperate to get to the man I love, so I think I have an idea.”

The brothers watched her for a long moment, and then Whit said, “I like her.”

Devil grinned, then winced at the movement. “As do I.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re bleeding from the head. There isn’t time for liking me.”

“There will always be time for liking you, Felicity Faircloth.”

With Whit’s help, they moved Devil up into the warehouse, and then out into the courtyard, now bright with sun.

Felicity was already calling for John. “We need a hack! Or something—Devil needs a surgeon, immediately. And a decent one, not some lumbering fool with a bloodletting box.” Instead of moving to help, however, John rocked back on his heels, a wide smile on his face.

Felicity’s brow furrowed in confusion. “John, please.” And then she turned to follow the direction of his gaze, to find Devil standing perfectly still, ten paces behind her.

She flew to his side, her skirts billowing around them both. “What is it?” she said, running her hands over his arms, his shoulders. “Are you hurt somewhere else? Is it your head? Can you stand?”

He grasped her hands in one of his and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Stop, love. You’ll make the boys think me soft.”

Whit grunted. “The boys already think you soft when it comes to her.”

“Only because they don’t think I’m worthy of her.”

“They know you’re not worthy of her.”

Felicity shook her head. “What is wrong with you both? He needs a doctor!”

“I need you, first,” he said.

“What?” He was mad.

“You came back for me.”

“Of course I did. I love you, you imbecile.”

Whit coughed a laugh, and Devil pressed another kiss to her fingers. “Well, we’re going to have to work on you questioning my intelligence a bit.”

“I don’t question your intelligence,” she said. “I think you’re brilliant. Except for when you think to suggest that I don’t know my own mind.”

“I love you, Felicity Faircloth.”

She smiled. “When we are married, do you intend to call me by both of my names?”

“Only if you ask me very nicely.” He leaned in close. “I think I’ve loved you since the moment I found you on that balcony, having picked the lock and found your way from the light to the darkness.”

“To freedom,” she said, softly.

“That night, in your bedchamber, I jested about rescuing the princess from her tower—”

“You did that,” she interrupted.

He shook his head. “No, love. You rescued me. You rescued me from a world without color. Without light. A world without you.” He brushed a thumb over her cheek. “Beautiful, perfect Felicity. You rescued me. I wanted you from the start. It was only a matter of time before everything—everything—was second to me wanting you. To me keeping you safe. To me loving you.” Tears filled her eyes as he continued. “And all I wanted was your happiness. Mine was nothing compared to yours.”

“But my happiness is tied to yours. Don’t you see?”

He nodded. “I can’t give you Mayfair, Felicity. We’ll never be welcome there. You’ll always have gone slumming, no matter how rich we are.” He paused, lost in thought, and then said, “But I’ll give you everything else. The wide world. You have only to ask.” His beautiful eyes glittered in the sunlight. “You rescued me from the past. You gave me a present. And now . . . I wish you to promise me the future.”

“Yes,” she whispered, unable to keep the tears from spilling over. “Yes.”

He stole her lips in a wicked kiss that left them both breathless, and Whit grumbled, “Find a bed, will you?”

Felicity pulled away, a blush high on her cheeks, and said, “Just as soon as we find a doctor.” She moved to leave the yard, to head for the street.

“Wait,” Devil said. “I could swear that you insisted we marry down there, in the darkness, while you were saving my life.”

She smirked. “Well, you were quite cold and are suffering from a head wound, so I wouldn’t be so certain that you heard what you think you heard.”

“I’m certain, love.”

“Women do not typically propose to men. Certainly not women like me. Certainly not men like you.”

“Women like you?”

“Wallflower spinsters. Forlorn Felicitys.”

“Lady Lockpick, did you or did you not ask me to marry you?”

“I believe it was less asking and more telling.”

“Do it again.”

Her blush turned to flame. “No.”

He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Please?”

“No.” She pulled away from him and kept walking.

“So traditional,” he scoffed. And then, after a moment, he called after her. “Felicity?”

She turned back to find him on his knees in the brightly lit courtyard. She took a step toward him, already reaching for him, thinking for a moment that he had fallen again.

He clasped her outstretched hand and pulled her closer, until her skirts were billowing around him. She froze, staring down into the face of the man she loved as he said, “I haven’t much. I was born with nothing, was given nothing. I haven’t a name worthy of you, nor a past I’m proud of. But I vow here, in this place that I have built, that used to mean everything and now means nothing without you, that I will spend the rest of my life loving you. And I will do all that I can to give you the world.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want the world.”

“What, then?”

“You,” she said, simply. “I want you.”

He smiled, the most beautiful smile she’d ever seen. “You’ve had me since that first night, love. Now tell me what else you want.”

She blushed.

Her heart pounded when he removed the band from his ring finger, immediately transferring it to her thumb, following the kiss of warm silver with his own kiss, to the metal and then to her knuckles. There would be a wedding, no doubt, but this moment, here, in this place, felt like ceremony, blessed by sunlight and air.

And when the husband of her heart rose to his feet—towering over her with broad, beautiful shoulders, his hands coming to her cheeks, cupping her jaw, tilting her face up to his—Felicity gave him the kind of kiss a queen of Covent Garden gave her king.