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“How lovely. The diversity in Grosvenor Square is one of the things I adore about this area. It’s so nice to walk through the neighborhood and hear several different languages, smell the amazing foods that aren’t English.” She sighed as she peered out one of the windows at the Mayfair streets below. “I will surely miss it if your mother grows weary of my company.”
“Ah, but then my mother might choose to travel instead,” he replied, and she started for he’d followed her across the room. His signature scent wafted faintly to her nose and heightened her awareness of him. “You know how she despises English winters. Then you’ll be immersed in a different culture for longer than a walk. I can certainly picture you enjoying foreign shores.” His grin called attention to his sensual mouth, and all she could remember was how those lips had felt against her, on her person…
“That would be incredible,” Felicity said with a nod as unexpected thoughts danced through her head. Would he consent to accompany them if that happened?
“Don’t put words into my mouth, boy.” Mrs. Grayson shifted on the sofa. “If I’m not of a mind to travel, I certainly won’t. It’s quite an expense, and now there is Luke to think of.” Her gaze was sharp as she looked at her son. “What are your plans for the day? I can’t imagine that you’d wish to cool your heels with two boring women.”
Felicity breathed a sigh of relief when he shifted his intense gaze from her to his mother. Goodness, but the man was potent! Was he thinking along the same lines as she?
“I’m not certain at this point. Perhaps an errand? Or I might meet with my former first mate. There are a few things he and I need to attend.”
“Bah.” Mrs. Grayson waved a hand. Still, her knitting remained in her lap, for she’d yet to take up her needles, which spoke volumes to her state of mind. Why was she distracted? “You should take Miss Cowan to that tea house, for I know you’ve avoided my suggestion these past three days.”
“But Mother, I—”
“I won’t hear another word about it, Bartholomew.” She shook her head so vigorously the lace on her cap fluttered. “The girl deserves some time away from this house. I’ll admit I’ve been running her ragged.”
Felicity’s lower jaw dropped. Seldom did her employer ever acknowledge that. “It’s nothing, Mrs. Grayson. And I do need to finish that letter.”
“Humbug.” The widow narrowed her eyes on Felicity before looking at her son. “Take her to tea. I worry over her health, and I certainly won’t have her crying foul if she contracts a head cold because I’ve kept her busy.”
With a sigh, Bartholomew glanced at Felicity, but the twinkle in his eyes belied the protest he’d given his mother. “Would you care too terribly much to accompany me to a tea house, or even a chocolate café if you’d rather?”
“If your mother truly doesn’t mind my absence…”
“Gah!” Mrs. Grayson waved away her comment. “Go, go! Don’t make me chase you from this house with my cane. I could do with some silence anyway. I’ve a few more decorations to be put up.”
“Where? The whole downstairs is already decked out. There are fir boughs everywhere. I’m beginning to think this a forest.”
His mother snorted. “The bedrooms, of course, and with you two out of the way, I can arrange things as I wish.”
“What the devil for?” With some confusion, he glanced at Felicity. “It’s not necessary.”
“I’m an old woman. I don’t need to explain my reasoning.”
That slight air of helplessness tugged at Felicity’s chest. His mother truly perplexed him. “I’d be delighted to come with you, Captain.”
“Good. A spot of tea sounds like just the thing, and we can enjoy the sunshine along the way. It doesn’t make an appearance enough in England, and I’ve found I rather miss it from my travels.”
“And Bartholomew?” Mrs. Grayson asked. There was a peculiar gleam in the woman’s eye Felicity didn’t quite trust nor understand. Why was the older woman being extra obstinate today?
“Hmm?” With seemingly reluctance, he turned his head to look at his mother.
“Miss Cowan is standing beneath the mistletoe.” She cackled with apparent glee. “You know the rules.”
“Oh, that’s all right. There’s no need,” Felicity protested with heated cheeks. The last thing she needed was to betray how his proximity already affected her.
“Perhaps we should indulge the old bat,” he said in a low voice that wasn’t clandestine enough, for his mother laughed harder. When Felicity gave a shallow nod, the captain moved into her space and easily slipped an arm about her waist. “And it is tradition.”
“I suppose…” Then she sighed when he touched his lips to hers. In his arms, there was safety, security, and the warmth of physical intimacy, all of which she wished to cultivate. Before she could fully begin to enjoy the kiss, he pulled away. Yet delicious tingles played up and down her spine despite the brevity of the kiss. “Thank you, Captain.”
“It’s my duty.” Bartholomew winked and then offered her his crooked arm. “Shall I escort you to the entry hall, Miss Cowan?” As she laid her fingers upon his sleeve, he waved to his mother. “Enjoy your afternoon.”
The tea house was a nook tucked away near the bustling area of Marylebone in an alleyway between a dear little bookshop and a small cartographer’s office. While they indulged, Bartholomew told her about a few stories from his days as a sailor that kept her captivated on the edge of her seat. He was so well-traveled and worldly; he’d seen a thousand things she would never experience, but she could listen to him for days.
“Do you miss the Navy?”
When he shrugged, his jacket pulled tight across the breadth of his shoulders and chest. “Some days, but then on others, I’m glad to have hearth and home, something solid to anchor me.” He refreshed his teacup and then enhanced his beverage with a splash of cream. “Being home is certainly a much easier existence.”
