Page 61 of Matters of a Duke's Heart
Suddenly, arms caught her when she realized she had finally succumbed to her legs’ weakness, but as soon as she caught scent of leather and that fern plant from Spencer’s study, she wrenched herself away from her husband.
“Felicity, what is—”
“Stop,” she hissed. “Just—do not. Do not speak to me right now.”
“Felicity, I am confused. What has happened?”
Lifting her eyes to him, she glared as viciously as she could through her hurt. She saw how the look struck him. Good, kind, dependable, boring Felicity Merriweather, getting attention from men because she was so prim and proper. Being plucked from a list for being an ideal ton lady. Being the lady somebody chose to have as a convenient wife.
Not somebody worthy of a sweeping, grand romance.
Had Felicity been right all along? She was not truly going to get that dream, and she had merely fooled herself these last several days into thinking that things were changing. Her, with her auburn hair and green eyes.
Lady Helena and Lady Sophia with their matching features, the duke’s ideal type.
“Take me home.” Her tears threatened to spill, but she refused to let them. “Just—just take me home, please.”
“Of course,” he said quickly. Without more questions, even though she saw them flooding his concerned expression, he guided her back, and she let herself be tugged from the ballroom. All the while, Spencer looked around as if he could spot thecauses of Felicity’s anger, but all he had to do, really, was look at himself.
Humiliation followed her into the carriage, and Spencer dropped to his knees before her as they took off for Bluebell Manor. He reached for her hands, but she clasped them in her lap tightly.
“Speak to me,” he urged. “I beg of you, Felicity, please. Whatever happened? Is it Radcliffe? Wexley caught him lurking—”
“He spoke to me,” she admitted in a snap. “But I also had the unfortunate pleasure of speaking to your ex-lover, who you apparently did not remember to tell me about, which is peculiar because she had plenty to say.”
“My ex-l… Felicity—”
“I do not want to hear an explanation,” she whispered, turning her face away from his. Even though the desperate, helpless look on his face tore her into two for she had never seen him look so vulnerable, she kept her wits about her. Barely.
“Tell me how to fix this,” he murmured, reaching for her again. His fingers rested uselessly on her wrist. “Please, Felicity, let us speak through this.”
She shook her head. “I cannot right now.”
Spencer lingered as if hopeful she would change her mind, but all the while her eyes remained on the scenery changing from London’s streets to the countryside.
***
Shut away in her room, Felicity processed everything. With her humiliation lessening, she focused on trying to make sense of it all.
Was Spencer truly attracted to her, or had he somehow just tricked himself into thinking he was due to what she was doing for his son? Was it actual attraction, or mere happiness at seeing her fulfill her duty? They had shared kisses, dances, had flirted and teased one another. She had…
She had intended to invite him into her bed that night.
Now, her face burned with the thought of it, but she clutched that. Her marriage could not be over.
Lady Helena could be bitter, or she could be right, or she could be both. Felicity did not know, but when she opened the door Spencer was there, sat on the other side of the wall.
Surprised, she stepped back as he scrambled to his feet.
For a moment, he did not look like the older duke he was, but perhaps the shy, hopeful young man he had once been. Her heart softened as he composed himself, brushing back his loose hair.
“Felicity,” he said quickly before she had a chance to speak. “Lady Helena and I were… involved, yes, but it meant absolutely nothing to me. I broke everything off with her long before I even met you in your father’s drawing room. Heavens, even before we met in the Vauxhall Gardens.”
Her eyes were hard on his, the softness gone again. “Is it true you were lovers?”
“Felicity.” His voice cracked.
“Tell me.”
