Page 31 of The Dangerous Lord

“Yes, Miss Taylor had a most monstrous headache,” Sara hastened to say. “You should have seen her earlier. She nearly fainted while we were out walking.” Sara’s apologetic glance at Felicity held a wealth of meaning. I’m sorry I didn’t know you were here. I’m sorry I had to invent a headache to explain your absence at dinner.

It touched Felicity, increasing her already enormous guilt over misleading the countess about what had happened the night of the ball. Felicity hadn’t meant to mislead her. When Sara and Lady Brumley had caught her at the writing table in her room penning her angry column, she’d tried to get rid of them.

But it had been fruitless. Felicity should have known that the kindly countess wouldn’t let a woman’s tears go unremarked. And when in a burst of angry feeling, Felicity had implied that Ian had done more than kiss her, Sara’s inordinate indignation had made Felicity want to bite off her tongue. But she hadn’t dared take back the words, not in front of Lady Brumley.

Still, she hadn’t expected Sara to banish Ian from the house for it. Apparently, Felicity had underestimated the countess’s fierce sense of protectiveness toward all unmarried women. After several discussions about reform and the community the Worthings were building on a remote island, Felicity knew the woman better, and now she understood precisely how Sara must have regarded Felicity’s claims about Ian. Which only tripled her guilt. And her reluctance to admit the truth to the woman.

Well, at least she could support the countess’s story now. “I did have a headache. But after I slept a while, it abated, so I wandered downstairs to find a book to read, and I discovered this lovely little card room.”

Emily, the other countess present, glanced at the barren fireplace, where servants now layered cords of wood with kindling. “You shouldn’t have sat here without a fire, Miss Taylor. You might catch a chill to add to that headache.”

Belatedly remembering that Emily had a penchant for physic, Felicity murmured, “I didn’t want to trouble the servants. And I don’t take chill easily.”

“All the same,” Sara said firmly, “we don’t wish to disturb your solitary pleasure. We’ll understand if you’d like to retire with your book now⁠—”

“Retire?” Ian interrupted in a crisp tone. “We’ve finally gained her company and you’re banishing her to bed? That’s inhospitable of you, Sara.” He didn’t seem to notice Sara’s look of reproach. “Besides, I’m sure your guest won’t object to spending a few minutes with us. Will you, Miss Taylor?”

Felicity met his gaze, her heart thumping faster at the challenge glowing in his devil’s eyes. He wanted her to stay, which should send her bolting from the room faster than a hare startled by a wolf. Because if she stayed, he would pounce. Somehow he’d strike back at her for her column and her tale to Sara.

Yet if she fled, he’d run her to ground another way. At least here she had Sara on her side. “I’d love to stay, Lord St. Clair, especially now that I’m feeling better. Besides, you’ve taken my book prisoner, so I can’t very well leave, can I?”

“Ah, yes, your book.” Ian held it at arms’ length and read the spine. “The Mysteries of Udolpho by Ann Radcliffe. A novel—how interesting.” He smiled coolly at Felicity. “I must say I’m not surprised to discover that you like fiction.”

Felicity crossed her arms over her chest. “Of course I like fiction. What else would I read when my head pains me? Dry works of science or business?”

Ian shrugged. “At least they’re full of facts and the truth. These novels are some person’s invention, and how can reading false tales help anyone?”

The man simply wouldn’t relent. Felicity snatched the book from him, heedless of his laughing gaze. “Fiction is truth, no matter what you say. Where do you think novelists get their material? From real life, not from some scientist’s speculations about what life might be. Novels can better prepare us for life’s difficulties than ancient history. Indeed, I encourage my brothers to read them whenever possible. They often provide a truer vision of society than all the supposed facts printed in other books.”

“Or in newspapers?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.

As his gaze locked with hers, full of meaning, full of threat, her fervor drained out of her. This was it. His next assault. She waited for it with heart pounding.

He turned to where Jordan and his wife were finding seats around the card tables. “Speaking of newspapers, Jordan, I brought a number back from London for you. I’ll have them brought in now. I have an interesting article to show you.”

Felicity’s knees went weak. Her column. It had to be. But if he’d seen it, why would he want his friends to read it?

Thankfully, Emily protested Ian’s suggestion. “I thought we were going to play cards. That is why you suggested we go to the card room, isn’t it?”

Ian had suggested it? Oh, of course. Her heart plummeted as she noted the servants who scurried about lighting candles and making the room comfortable. The party’s move to the card room had been no sudden impulse. He’d planned this “accidental” encounter, the devil. He must have discovered her whereabouts from a servant during dinner. So this truly was it. Their next battle. And she wasn’t ready.

“Well, isn’t it, Ian?” Emily repeated. “I do so want to play whist. I seldom get the chance.”

Jordan laughed. “You see what happens when you expose a country girl to some fun? She can hardly get enough of it.”

With a cross look, Emily retorted, “You know that’s not the only reason. There’s never enough people here in the country to play, since Gideon dislikes the game so.”

“Confoundedly stupid game,” Gideon muttered. He sat in a wingback chair near the fire warming his hands.

“Unfortunately, we now have too many people to play,” Ian said. “We wouldn’t want to leave Miss Taylor out.”

“Oh, don’t trouble yourselves over that,” Felicity said. “I’ll simply continue reading. You four go on with your game, by all means.”

“Impossible,” Ian remarked. “We’ll be noisy, and that’ll restore your headache.”

Glaring at him, Felicity gritted out, “Then perhaps I should retire.”

“No, I insist we cancel our plans. I won’t be responsible for depriving everyone of your company, especially when you’re returning to London tomorrow. Besides, I think you too will find the newspaper interesting.”