He looked down at the woman in his arms. With her long, flowing hair and doll-like features, she had the air of a pixie. So guileless, a look of expectancy on her pretty face. “What’s your name, lass?”
“Felicity.” She gave him a broad smile, and he felt his heart crack.
Felicity. Was it a cruel joke? He’d not felt true joy in decades, and in his lap he held a woman with the name Felicity.
Come for him? He couldn’t fathom it.
Perhaps.
Perhaps for another, more like.
Chapter 4
“This is not particularly what I’d describe as fleeing London.” Ormonde looked around nervously.
Felicity couldn’t understand the problem. They were taking a lovely stroll around the fringes of what Will had told her was Hampstead Heath. But, despite the acres of greenery and tranquil ponds all around, the red-headed man flinched at the sight of every new person who passed by.
“We are simply three taking the air,” Rollo responded flatly.
“Why did we come to this godforsaken place anyhow? A stroll in the park?” His eyes flicked to Rollo’s cane.
It was pretty, carved from a stretch of honey-colored wood, and Felicity didn’t understand why her Viking had been so grumpy about getting it.
“You of all people . . .” Ormonde shook his head. “We’ll be three taking to the dungeons if we don’t leave soon.”
Dungeons? She frowned, trying to remember her history, but academics had never been her thing. She knew England and Scotland hadn’t exactly been lovey-dovey in the old days. What does he mean, dungeons?
She eyed the two men. They acted like they were on the run. Ormonde looked nervous, impatient at the pace Rollo was setting.
But Rollo. She sighed. William Rollo. So handsome. And the new silver-h andled cane only made him look more dashing. Her frown blossomed into a smile as she deduced that her One True Love must be some grand and misunderstood nobleman.
“I am quite capable of strolling,” Rollo snapped.
Ormonde attempted good- natured reassurances, but Will cut him off. “I needed this”—he waved his cane with revulsion—“and we needed a place where we could speak safely as well. A small village Hampstead might be, but aye,” he admitted, “it’s true, Cromwell’s ears are everywhere. You have the right of it.”
“I . . .” Ormonde stopped in his tracks. “Wait. I do?”
Though Ormonde’s freckled cheeks broke into a grin, Rollo’s response was grave. “Three heading north in a carriage will raise too many brows. I think you should divine that boat you so long for. I shall more appropriately clothe this one”—he gestured to Felicity—“and hire a carriage.”
Clothes—thank God. In a whispered exchange, Rollo had handed their horses off to some wizened villager who’d disappeared and promptly reappeared bearing the clothes she now wore. Just the mention of it had her furtively scratching at the waist of a skirt she’d swear was made of burlap.
Now if only she could find herself a rubber band. Her hair was driving her batty. Or a headband. Hell, she’d settle for an old scrunchie.
“I shall be back in Perthshire by month’s end.” Rollo’s jaw tightened. “But I’ll not join your . . . club. Though I long for the restoration of King Charles II as much as you, I’ll leave games of intrigue to you and your Sealed Knot Society men.”
Ormonde was silent for a moment, then gave a brusque nod. “I understand. Though if it’s intrigues you fear, I don’t see why you persist, Will.You’re one of the most honor- bound men I’ve known, but she”—his eyes went to Felicity—“she far exceeds the responsibilities of a gentleman.”
“You are saying she is not of my concern?”
Ormonde nodded vigorously.
“I’m standing right here, guys,” she chimed, but they both ignored her.
“Then it is not of your concern either,” Rollo stated with finality. He looked at Felicity, his eyes locking with hers for a heartbeat. Her heart swelled.
She’d known she’d found herself the one.
Okay, if she had to admit it, the whole situation was a little weird. She glanced around the park. It was like Jane Austen-land. A couple walked on the path ahead, and the woman carried a darned parasol. And it was the fourth one she’d seen all day.