sense it.
“And yet you are tempted to accept the invitation,” he drawled. “I promise you would not be disappointed.”
She glanced up at him, those hazel eyes of hers ringed with long, sooty lashes. She was so damned lovely, he ached just looking at her.
“You are remarkably confident, Mr. Winter,” she said wryly.
He flashed her his most charming grin. “I have reason to be. Accept my offer and you shall see for yourself. Or stay in your lonely bed tonight, clinging to your duty. The choice is yours, Lady Felicity.”
The gauntlet thrown, he bowed and left her there, standing on the edge of the ballroom.
Chapter Nine
The hour was late.
Felicity should be asleep.
The ball had ended well after midnight, and she had danced and done everything she could to distract herself from the last man she ought to be thinking of and longing for. The most unsuitable man in attendance, as her aunt had reminded her sternly. Auntie Agatha had been most forbidding in her disapproval of the dance Felicity had shared with Mr. Winter.
If her aunt knew the truth of that dance and the words Felicity had exchanged with him afterward, she would have been more horrified. Indeed, she would have likely packed Felicity into the first carriage she could find and forced her back to London with all the haste she could muster.
She could hardly blame her aunt for the warnings she had issued. They were true. Blade Winter was a man who was dangerous to know. Felicity had told herself, again and again, that she must ignore the sinful invitation he had issued to her after their dance. And yet, she remained where she was, lying in the darkness of her lonely bed, as he had called it, wishing she were brave. Wishing she could seize the chance to know passion before duty claimed her.
Yearning for more of Blade’s kisses, touches. For more of him, however she could get it.
Here was her chance before she had to wed a proper gentleman. If only Lord Chilton had inspired a modicum of the feelings Mr. Winter did. But of course, he did not. Was that not the burden of life? Wanting what could never be?
I promise you would not be disappointed, he had said.
Felicity heaved a sigh and flipped to her belly. Mayhap if she would get comfortable, she could surrender to the abyss of sleep and by the time morning dawned, the fires of ardor raging within her would cool.
But when she closed her eyes, his face was all she could see. And the longing inside her intensified to an ache.
Inexplicably, she thought of the conversation she had engaged in earlier at the ball with Mrs. Merrick Hart, née Bea Winter. Mrs. Hart, one of Blade Winter’s half sisters, had been telling her about how she had been the one to chase after her husband, in quite unusual fashion. He had been determined to be honorable and to keep her at a distance because of the business relationship he shared with her brother Devereaux Winter.
I faced a moment, Mrs. Hart had said, where I knew I would forever regret not pursuing my feelings for him.
It had been a bold risk, and Felicity had told her so, marveling at the confidence Mrs. Hart possessed.
Love is always a risk worth taking, Mrs. Hart had told her simply.
Felicity was not in love with Blade Winter. She could hardly be after knowing him for such a short time, could she? On a frustrated sigh, she rolled to her back once more, glaring up at the ceiling.
Still, sleep was relentless in its refusal to visit her. She was thinking about remorse. About being bold. About opportunities, lost and otherwise. Thinking about the way she felt whenever she was with a certain handsome, impossibly unsuitable gentleman.
What if she did not go to him, and she spent the rest of her life regretting it?
Did she dare?
Felicity threw back the counterpane and slid from her bed.
Yes, she did.
She had to.
Before she resigned herself to a life of duty, she could experience passion. Just this once.
Mrs. Beatrix Hart, better known to all who loved her as simply Bea, patted her son George’s bottom, pacing the length of the chamber. Her feet ached from the ball. And from all the hours she had spent in London just before their arrival in Oxfordshire, aiding in the first birthing she had attended since George’s. She had returned to her calling of aiding her mentor, Dr. Nichols, when he had come upon a