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Chapter 13
Felton was not enjoying the ball in the slightest. Everything around him was stunning and elegant, halls dotted with sprigs of holly and mistletoe. The ballroom was winter-themed, with hangings of white and silver; three large chandeliers glistened above. Gilt dripped from the candle sconces on the patterned walls, the dance floor was a seamless slab of Italian marble, and waiters weaved through the gathering with flutes of champagne.
Tossing back another glass of drink, Felton prayed that the bloody ball would end, or the men who undressed Esther with their eyes would fall into the chasm of hell.
His gut tightened as he caught sight of Esther, in the middle of the ballroom, surrounded by a circle of admirers, most of them male. She was laughing, wearing a gown that made Felton want to strip off his jacket and find four more to cover her with.
The dress was a dream of pale soft blue-green silk, with seed-pearl dotted here and there to give the subtle, swirling effect of snow drifting down. The bodice left her shoulders bare, clinging to her bosom and tightly cinched waist, while her full skirts cascaded to her matching dark blue slippers.
When he had first watched her descending the staircase to greet their arriving guests, Felton had felt affixed to his spot on the floor, struck through with a lightning bolt of awareness. Esther was beyond gorgeous, and the contrast of her cool skin and passionate red hair cascading over her shoulder caused his blood to heat.
She was doing her role as a gracious hostess—he knew that—but Devil and damnation, did the men around her have to look like rabid wolves on the prowl? He wanted to march over there and claim her—but then, was she his? Cursing under his breath, he snagged another glass of champagne and stewed in his unwarranted possessiveness.
He knew one kiss did not give him rights to her, mainly when he knew that kiss was done to seduce her for the wrong reasons. Felton had to pretend the men did not bother him. He should be pleased that Esther was glowing under their interest—but he wanted her to shine underhisattention.
Felton did not know when he could take her aside to confess all he had done—but was this the time? Could he break her heart on the happiest day of the year?
His eyes flicked over to her, and turmoil raged inside; the caustic mix of shame, guilt, lust, and protectiveness had him feeling everything but happiness, and he wanted to snarl in frustration. He wanted to march over there, lift her over his shoulder and carry her out; he was not going to cause a scandal and give their damned guests something to titter over tea for days to come.
Felton looked over to see a lord kissing her gloved hand, and the delicate glass was nearly crushed under his fist. Throwing back the rest, he placed the glass on the tray of a passing waiter and turned his back to the spectacle that made his blood boil.
I must tell her the truth. Maybe explain that I did not want her to know my real name because of the situation between her brother and my sister. That I did not want her to make the wrong assumptions because of my name?
The excuse felt a little flat even in his mind, and Felton felt at a loss to find the correct words. What would he say when the right moment came about?
While raking over his mind to find the words, the gentle touch on his arm almost made him flinch, but he managed to turn and face Esther with a forced smile—a smile he knew she saw right through.
“If you scowl any more, your face will be fixed that way,” she teased lightly.
Sighing heavily, Felton covered her hand with his, “Pardon me for not liking the way those men were panting after you like dogs in heat. I—” he grimaced, biting back the words he wanted to say, “—wish they wouldn’t.”
Esther cocked her head to the right and smiled, “You have nothing to worry about. I hardly notice them anyhow.”
Extending his arm to her, Felton felt pleased when she took it, and they walked to the dance-floor. “You are radiant, Esther.”
A faint blush tinged her cheeks, “And you carry a rather menacing debonair air to you with this all black.”
“Not true,” he said, briefly touching his cravat. “This proves you wrong, and again, thank you for such a lovely gift.”
She turned in his arm and rested her fingertips on the stark white cravat and the silver pin in it with a smile, “I found myself flailing in finding a good gift to you for all the presents you gave me,” she said. “Nothing felt right; nothing of mine that I picked up, no bauble, no trinket, nothing felt fitting. I had to find something and a master tailor on Bond Street and Rundell were the answer.”
Taking her hand, Felton replied, “You were not beholden to repay me. I gave those gifts because…” an itch on the back of his neck, the prickle of eyes on them, had Felton pulling away. “…please, let’s find somewhere private.”
“I know the best place,” Esther said while turning and walked with him to a small balcony off the north end of the ballroom. They passed the refreshment area, now steaming new delicacies, and Felton paused to grasp two glasses of water for them.
The balcony was cordoned off with thick burgundy drapes drawn, and the doors flung open to them. The balcony was glassed in with panes frosted from the cold outside.
Felton rested the glass on the window’s ledge then turned. “I gave those gifts because it is tough for me to express emotion. I have had to stifle my feelings for years, especially fear. If the enemy saw a flicker of fear on my face, my life would already be over—and suppression became a habit. I wish I could put words to the emotion in my heart—but it is going either divine intervention or the passing of time, and I—” he breathed. “I do not know which will be first, just as I fear that you will not bear with me during it all.”
His words were rough with emotion; he saw it resonate with Esther. Her hand lifted then dropped, “Arthur—”
God, I suddenly hate that name.
“—did you just somehow say… you would like to be with me?” She finished with disbelief ringing in her words.
He swallowed over a tight throat, as Felton felt that he might be digging his own grave. “In so many words.”
To his shock, he saw the bead of tears in her eyes. Esther placed the glass down and rested her hands on his shoulders. “I know, dear God, I see how you struggle. And you need to know that I translate your gifts, Arthur. Hold my words as true, as long as you need me; I will be there for you. I—I love you.”
