that…not that she ever thought of him…
Oh yes, she did. Had dreamt of him nearly every night for four years, and right now she couldn’t even find the will to lift her gaze to see him again for fear he’d be like one of those ethereal visions that taunted her.
“Come, my sweet Circe,” the man said as he circled around from behind the stand. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten me?”
Her growling stomach no longer mattered. Her cousins, Aunt Minty, and the rest of London fell into an odd hush as she looked up into a pair of green eyes she never thought she’d see again.
The only thing that seemed to make a sound was the hammering of her heart.
“No,” she whispered. “No, Captain Dashwell, I haven’t forgotten you.”
“I thought you said you could skate,” Felicity said, laughing as she whirled around Thatcher. Oh, good heavens, she’d forgotten the freedom and fun of skating.
“I can,” he said, as his feet went in opposite directions and he landed less than gracefully on his backside. He pointed at the blades strapped to his boots. “These are most ill-fit.”
Felicity couldn’t help herself. She laughed again. “You were the one who offered to dice for them. Perhaps next time you can win a pair capable of keeping you upright.” She laughed again and did another quick turn around his prone figure. “Mine seem to be just fine.” Gliding around him in acircle, she added, “I will point out that our former footman could skate backward.”
“I was skating backward,” he said. “I just went back farther than I’d planned.”
Felicity giggled, and wondered when was the last time she’d done that! Just laughed for the pure merriment of it. There had been very little to laugh about over the last few years. Pippin’s father’s death just before they were to start their Season three years ago had kept her and Tally at their cousin’s side during her mourning period, rather than go onto London with their chaperone, Lady Caldecott, as planned. Then their father’s disappearance, Lady Caldecott’s death, and finally Mr. Elliott’s refusal to allow them to come to Town.
And she’d known that another year, let alone the four more years that Mr. Elliott threatened, would leave them veritable spinsters.
Yet here was this man making her laugh, when truly there was very little to find amusing. So how had he done it? By shaking her out of her proper mold with his ominous words.
… you may find yourself looking out the windows of your gilded prison wishing you’d gone for one last turn around the ice…
Ridiculous, really. For when she was a duchess, she’d be able to afford real skates, rather than ones they rented by dicing for them. Nor would she be constantly worried about filling the coal bin, their larder, or how they were ever going to get gowns enough for even a week of events, let alone an entire Season.
So for right now she’d take Thatcher’s advice. What harm could there be in a little skating? If only her companion would…
“For one thing, you need to tighten the clasp,” she said. “It’s too loose.” Skidding to a stop, Felicity knelt down before him and tugged the leather strap until the buckle held firm.
Having not given a thought to what she was doing, she glanced up the length of him, from his long, muscled legs, to the breadth of his chest, to the dark glittering gaze of his flinty eyes.
“Thank you,” he said, an odd tilt to his lips.
A shiver ran down her limbs that had nothing to do with the cold. This man is going to kiss me.
Kiss her? Heavens, no! Where were these ridiculous notions coming from? Perhaps it was the warmth of his body beguiling her hand where it rested on his leg, sending a shiver of something else down her spine.
Oh , come now , you don’t want to end your days as a spinster who’s never been kissed , Duchess. Do you?
No, she didn’t. But if there was going to be any kissing done, she’d do it with her betrothed. Nearly
Oh yes, she did. Had dreamt of him nearly every night for four years, and right now she couldn’t even find the will to lift her gaze to see him again for fear he’d be like one of those ethereal visions that taunted her.
“Come, my sweet Circe,” the man said as he circled around from behind the stand. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten me?”
Her growling stomach no longer mattered. Her cousins, Aunt Minty, and the rest of London fell into an odd hush as she looked up into a pair of green eyes she never thought she’d see again.
The only thing that seemed to make a sound was the hammering of her heart.
“No,” she whispered. “No, Captain Dashwell, I haven’t forgotten you.”
“I thought you said you could skate,” Felicity said, laughing as she whirled around Thatcher. Oh, good heavens, she’d forgotten the freedom and fun of skating.
“I can,” he said, as his feet went in opposite directions and he landed less than gracefully on his backside. He pointed at the blades strapped to his boots. “These are most ill-fit.”
Felicity couldn’t help herself. She laughed again. “You were the one who offered to dice for them. Perhaps next time you can win a pair capable of keeping you upright.” She laughed again and did another quick turn around his prone figure. “Mine seem to be just fine.” Gliding around him in acircle, she added, “I will point out that our former footman could skate backward.”
“I was skating backward,” he said. “I just went back farther than I’d planned.”
Felicity giggled, and wondered when was the last time she’d done that! Just laughed for the pure merriment of it. There had been very little to laugh about over the last few years. Pippin’s father’s death just before they were to start their Season three years ago had kept her and Tally at their cousin’s side during her mourning period, rather than go onto London with their chaperone, Lady Caldecott, as planned. Then their father’s disappearance, Lady Caldecott’s death, and finally Mr. Elliott’s refusal to allow them to come to Town.
And she’d known that another year, let alone the four more years that Mr. Elliott threatened, would leave them veritable spinsters.
Yet here was this man making her laugh, when truly there was very little to find amusing. So how had he done it? By shaking her out of her proper mold with his ominous words.
… you may find yourself looking out the windows of your gilded prison wishing you’d gone for one last turn around the ice…
Ridiculous, really. For when she was a duchess, she’d be able to afford real skates, rather than ones they rented by dicing for them. Nor would she be constantly worried about filling the coal bin, their larder, or how they were ever going to get gowns enough for even a week of events, let alone an entire Season.
So for right now she’d take Thatcher’s advice. What harm could there be in a little skating? If only her companion would…
“For one thing, you need to tighten the clasp,” she said. “It’s too loose.” Skidding to a stop, Felicity knelt down before him and tugged the leather strap until the buckle held firm.
Having not given a thought to what she was doing, she glanced up the length of him, from his long, muscled legs, to the breadth of his chest, to the dark glittering gaze of his flinty eyes.
“Thank you,” he said, an odd tilt to his lips.
A shiver ran down her limbs that had nothing to do with the cold. This man is going to kiss me.
Kiss her? Heavens, no! Where were these ridiculous notions coming from? Perhaps it was the warmth of his body beguiling her hand where it rested on his leg, sending a shiver of something else down her spine.
Oh , come now , you don’t want to end your days as a spinster who’s never been kissed , Duchess. Do you?
No, she didn’t. But if there was going to be any kissing done, she’d do it with her betrothed. Nearly
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