he kept locked away, reserved for the females who would welcome his carnal attentions. Yet what he felt toward Fancy wasn’t just pure lust, either.
He…liked her. Liked talking to her and being her friend.
It wasn’t the intense adoration he felt for Imogen. Imogen held his heart and always would. Fancy, however, made him smile…and had a hold on a different part of him altogether.
His cock ached. His bollocks felt full to bursting. He hadn’t been this randy since he was a green lad, and it confused him. Before Fancy, women had fallen into two categories: those he fucked and Imogen. Fancy, with her warm sensuality and innocent dreams, was neither. Despite her sexual experience, she wasn’t the sort of woman he could tup and leave; she was too sweet, too trusting. At the same time, she possessed none of the qualities that would make her a suitable Duchess of Knighton.
Frustration drove him on to the clearing behind the house, the first drops of rain landing. They felt cool and invigorating, and he wasn’t ready to turn back. For once, he wasn’t ready to do the sensible thing. He continued past the meadow toward the pond even as the winds began to gather, his lantern flickering.
Speckled with moisture, he stared out over the dark water. There was primal beauty in the swaying trees, the rippling waves, the teasing flash of the moon through the clouds like a lady’s ankle through her skirts. He breathed in, the scent a world away from the London alleyways of his youth. Here, it didn’t smell of rubbish and human misery, mixed with the rancid tang of the Thames. Nor did it smell of rarefied London, the burning beeswax, flowers, and perfumes. Here, the fragrance was of the earth, forest, and water…of freedom.
An errant thought entered his mind. When had he last felt free?
He couldn’t recall it; maybe he never had.
As far back as he could remember, there had always been some pressing thing that he had to do. Taking care of his maman after the drink ruined her, stealing and fighting in the streets to survive. Then he’d met Imogen and the Hammonds, and new ambitions had taken root in him.
He had no longer wanted to live like a beast. He’d wanted to be rich, cultivated, different than what he was. For Imogen, he’d worked to transform himself into a gentleman.
Although he’d lost her, his ambitions drove him on. Even now, when he was a lord of the realm, he felt that restless dissatisfaction prowling inside him.
When will it stop? When will I feel, if not happy, then at peace?
A flash of white distracted him from the rare moment of introspection. He squinted at the object moving on the other side of the pond. What was it? It didn’t look like a forest animal. Was it…a woman? In a nightgown?
Bloody hell, he thought with a jolt. What is Fancy doing out here—in her nightclothes?
The obvious reason pierced his skull like a metal spike. Was she about to meet with a lover? Had her demurring about Sam Taylor been false? Or had he, Severin, pushed her into the other man’s arms with his foolish, stupid praise of Taylor’s reliability and constancy?
Heart hammering, Severin watched as Fancy disappeared into the thick forest beyond the pond. She was moving as quickly as a doe, like one who knew her path.
To Taylor? Was Taylor waiting for her in some cozy hideaway?
An internal war raged inside Severin, pitting reason against instinct.
Should I leave her be? What business is it of mine if she and Taylor are lovers?
But it isn’t safe for her to be out here alone.
She won’t be alone for long if Taylor’s waiting for her—
But, damnit, she’s mine to protect…
Mine.
Cursing, he sprinted after her.
He didn’t catch up to her until they were deep in the woods. She was walking at a rapid pace, heedless of the blustery winds.
“Fancy. Stop, it’s me,” Severin called. “What is the matter?”
When she didn’t respond, he grabbed hold of her arms, turning her around. Her eyes were wide and unfocused.
“Let me go,” she growled.
A memory punched him. Of his maman, during one of those episodes that had led to her custody in Bedlam. The unrecognizable light in her eyes as she’d looked straight at him—and brought down the knife…
He caged his demons. Fancy wasn’t mad. Something else was going on.
“Fancy, I need you to look at me.” He gave her a gentle shake. “Tell me who I am.”