The Dress of the Season by Kate Noble

the property, and thus settled down to read tales of the sea.
    It was so boring, she was asleep in ten minutes.
    Twilight had begun when she awoke, to the unmistakable sound of the front door slamming.
    “Felicity!” Harris’s voice, hoarse and desperate, came with heavy footfalls. “Felicity, are you here?”
    Felicity sat up, bleary with sleep but startled by the noise. She brushed her hair out of her eyes, and answered. “Harris?”
    She could hear him stopping and turning, and within seconds he appeared in the drawing room doorway.
    He looked like nothing Felicity had ever seen before. Gone was the staid, austere viscount, gone was the playful friend she prodded out of hiding. Now, he was a wild beast, hulking in the doorway. His greatcoat dripped with rain, his breathing coming in short, deep gulps. Water plastered his thick hair to his head and his eyes were wide and dark with rage and relief.
    “Where the hell have you been?” he growled, taking three steps forward and meeting her just as she managed to scramble to her feet.
    “Here—” she began, but he overran her.
    “We’ve been looking everywhere for you. The woods, the lake. You said you were going to take a walk!”
    “I did, I walked here—”
    “It took us three hours to figure out you had gone to the river, and only then did Peter Black tell us you had crossed this morning. You could have been hurt, you could have become ill! You can’t do that, Felicity. You can’t just run off like that!” He grabbed her arms, shaking her a little in his anger. “It’s my job to keep you safe, do you understand?”
    “I did not run off!” She finally exploded. “I came here. And I am fine. I even managed to make a fire by myself! Why on earth are you yelling at me?”
    “Because I cannot lose you, too!”
    And he pulled her to him with such fierceness, that Felicity thought her ribs would break with the force of it.
    Her ribs, or her heart.
    Because he crushed her to him then, his lips meeting hers with such strength and passion, it would leave bruises.
    It was glorious.
    Thrilling beyond measure. Water seeped through her clothes as she was pressed against him, a cool shock on her skin. His fingers threaded through her hair, holding her, cherishing her, wondrously. Rough caresses against her cheek, her jaw. Rivulets of water flowing from him to her, in a strange rhythmic waterfall of heat and power.
    When he finally pulled his mouth from hers, she was too shocked to say a word, just let their breaths mingle as his forehead came to rest against hers, his hand stilling gently on her cheek. He seemed drained, lost, when he spoke at last.
    “I cannot lose you, too.” This time it was a ragged whisper, a desperate truth that he had kept bottled inside for so long, it barely held form. Yet, it was there. And Felicity could not comprehend it.
    “I . . . I don’t understand,” she finally replied, meekly. “Harris, I . . . I wasn’t lost.” Her hand reached up, and she touched him. Let her fingers dance with the wet locks of hair, pushing them back over his ears. It was unconscious of her—or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was because she was in his arms, and it felt right. Maybe he needed that gentleness, and she needed to give it.
    But that gentle, innocent touch seemed to break something in him. The cloud over his mind, the focus that had brought him to that point, to find her, suddenly gave way to the outside world, and everything else found its way in.
    He pulled back from her, released her arms as if she burned. Then he gave a short burst of disbelieving laughter.
    “No . . . no, you were not lost, Felicity. I am.”
    He shook his head at himself. Paced the room in fevered strides. Felicity, could only watch, shivering from the transferred wetness on the front of her clothes. He moved like a feral animal, struggling to get himself under control. Finally, he came to a stop.
    He turned to address her. Opened his mouth to speak. But nothing