years out of fashion, could easily have given him away. The fact that he didn’t keep a carriage should have confirmed any suspicions.
In all likelihood she had known his situation before she’d ever approached him with her intriguing, potentially scandalous invitation to become her lover. A wealthier fellow might have taken offense.
Oh, just spit it out, man!
“My father left rather considerable debts behind him when he died, several years ago. I have been making good headway in settling them and have every hope of seeing my family prosperous again, one day.”
Thorn addressed himself to the doorjamb, several inches above Felicity’s head. “At the moment, however, I find myself short of ready money. Since we both have an interest in seeing your nephew and my sister prevented from marrying, I suggest we join forces. If you will finance the journey, I will spare you the bother of undertaking it by going in your stead.”
At some point during his little speech, Felicity had let go of his hand. Thorn held himself tall and tense as he waited for her answer. He still could not bring himself to glance down into her eyes, lest he see some gentle mist of pity in them to complete his humiliation.
The seconds stretched taut as a fiddle string, until Thorn feared something must snap with a harsh jangle.
It did.
In a single swift motion that left him agape and unable to stop her, Felicity pounced for the lamp, plucking it from his hand. Then she darted back over the threshold of her bedchamber and slammed the door.
Before Thorn could break from his paralysis to push it open again, a solid-sounding bolt snapped into place.
“Felicity!” He hammered on the locked door. “What’s the meaning of this?”
Her voice drifted out to him, cool and composed. “I think that should be obvious, sir. I regret I must decline your generous offer.”
Thorn heard scurrying footsteps and whispers from the first floor. Some burly young footman might arrive at any moment to evict him from the premises. He wondered that Lady Lyte’s servants had shown him so much forbearance until now.
He ceased knocking and lowered his voice. “Did you not listen to a word I said?”
“Listened, considered and made my decision,” came Felicity’s somewhat muffled reply. “I appreciate your offer to go in my stead, but I have elected to undertake the journey myself. I’m sure you overestimate the difficulties involved.”
“I’ve done nothing of the sort, in fact—”
“Mr. Greenwood, please!” Her voice sounded exhausted of patience. “I have made up my mind, and I will not be swayed, least of all by your bluster. Time is of the essence, and I have any number of preparations to undertake.”
And I need you to get out from underfoot. She didn’t say it, but the implication hung in the air, as palpable as the stench of glue rising from a hatter’s workshop.
“I pray you will spare your dignity and mine by letting yourself out quietly. Otherwise I shall be obliged to ring for one of my servants to escort you from my house.”
Inside her bedchamber, Felicity strained to catch Thorn’s answer as she tossed clothes into a case.
His arguments for being the one to go after Oliver and Ivy had been most compelling. She’d very nearly yielded to his logic. One final consideration had induced her to refuse.
Thorn Greenwood possessed too soft a heart, and his reasons for wanting to prevent this foolish marriage were far less urgent than her own.
What if, having intercepted the young lovers, Thorn allowed the pair to convince him that they were truly in love and fully understood the consequences of their actions? As if they could understand.
He’d probably relent, sanction their union with his blessing—even give the bride away. Then they’d all three return to Bath and present her with a fait accompli. What could she do about it then?
Felicity pushed down the little mound of clothing and snapped her case shut.
Thorn might have legal influence over his sister, but she had financial influence over Oliver, and she would not scruple to exercise it if necessary. This whole elopement put Felicity in mind of a high stakes card game. One in which she had by far the most to lose. She did not dare let her hand be played by proxy.
Still no sound came from beyond her door.
“Thorn, are you there?”
A moment’s hesitation. “Yes.”
He had such a pleasant voice. Not too high in pitch, not too low. A fine rich resonance. She would miss it.
“Did you hear what I said?”
“Yes.”
She needed to get dressed but somehow she could not bring herself to remove her clothes with Thorn so near at hand. Not even with a good stout door locked between them.
“Goodbye, then. I promise I’ll fetch Ivy back to you safe and sound as soon as I can.”
“If you’re so intent on going, Felicity, will you at least take me with you?”
Thankfully, there was a locked door between them. If she’d been obliged to look into his eyes, her traitorous lips might have given him a different answer. “No, Thorn.”
“I realize it could be awkward under the circumstances, but you and I are civilized adults. Surely we could travel together for a day or two without…”
Felicity grasped the bell pull and jerked it vigorously.
“What you propose is out of the question, Mr. Greenwood. Now, please, please go.”
She heard rapidly approaching footsteps out in the corridor, then Thorn’s voice. “Very well. I’ll leave.”
Whether those words were addressed to the servants or to her, Felicity could not be sure.
While she waited for the commotion in the corridor to subside, she took a seat at her dressing table and began to do her hair. Beneath her hairbrush, folded in a neat, prim rectangle lay a length of starched white lawn.
Thorn’s neck linen.
Felicity’s fingers trembled as she fondled the cloth. One of her maids must have come across it while tidying the bedroom.
This was the first time Thorn had left so much as a collar button or a watch fob behind to betray his presence. In the early days of their liaison, he’d been fastidious about undressing. With far fewer garments to shed herself, Felicity had taken pleasure in watching and admiring him as he removed his clothes.
As time had passed, they’d become increasingly eager. Helping one another out of their clothes had become a tantalizing prelude to lovemaking.
Stroking her cheek with Thorn’s cravat, Felicity detected no cloying whiff of sweetwater, only the bracing scent of plain soap and the subtle musk of a man. As vexing moisture rose in her eyes, she dropped
