Page 27 of Matters of a Duke’s Heart

Sitting in the center of it all, Spencer thought Felicity looked like a woodland fairy. Some petals had fallen from the flowering tree above, delicately into her hair. Spencer’s breath caught, and he moved forward as if drawn by an invisible force toward his wife.

“Here,” he said roughly. Her eyes alighted on him. He offered the bunch of bluebells. “I have heard you like these.”

She shined with so much radiance that Spencer cleared his throat and looked away as she took the flowers, and he pretended to be very interested in the stacks of sandwiches that were wrapped in cloth. Alexander barreled into the clearing, offering his own bouquet.

“For you, Miss Felicity! Papa was very interested in your favorite wildflowers. I think he likes you! Miss Nightingale says that ladies receive flowers from men who like them.”

“I think you ought to look at what your sandwich has on it,” Spencer muttered, but a smile tugged at his mouth. How could he be grumpy with his son when Alexander sounded so happy? When, so innocently, he was doing what Spencer was not brave enough to do, which was make any sort of advances.

You are cowardly when it comes to matters of the heart, he chided himself. But how could he not be when his heart had been broken by his late wife and he became shunned from society? Still, Sophia was far from his thoughts as he gazed back at Felicity.

She watched him curiously. Her lower lip was caught between her teeth, and his eyes fell upon it. For a second, the woodland around them stilled.

No birds tweeted, the rushing of a nearby creek ceased, and all Spencer was aware of was the fluttering of Felicity’s hair around her face, the soft blush on her cheeks, and how her smile had started to be the very thing he hoped to see when he looked at her.

“We… we ought to begin eating,” Spencer spoke up, breaking the moment.

“Indeed.” Felicity’s voice was higher than normal, and he found that she seemed not to know what to do with herself. Her lack of composure made him smirk, and he did not feel as unsettled.

As they unwrapped their food, Alexander launched into an unprompted discussion about French, and how much he was learning, and how Felicity was helping him far greater than Mr. Hemming.

“Really, Papa, I think you should dismiss Mr. Hemming entirely! Miss Felicity is… is…” His face scrunched in thought again, like it had with the wildflowers. “Miss Felicity m'en apprend plus!”

Spencer blinked in surprise, quickly clapping. “Oh, bravo, Alexander. Well done. That was incredibly impressive. Tres bien.”

His son blinked at him enough times that Spencer realized he waited for an elaboration. “Ah, it means ‘very good’.”

“Oh! S’il vous plate,” Alexander answered happily, and Spencer bit into his sandwich to mask a smile, knowing he’d likely meant thank you, and he had pronounced plait wrong. He looked around at Felicity and Alexander, both of them munching on their food.

Sometimes, Felicity pointed out the French for different items of food, letting Alexander test out pronunciation slowly.

When Alexander had finished one round of sandwiches and a handful of fruit, he tore off into the woods for more wildflowers, promising not to stray too far from sight.

“You did not correct him,” Felicity noted once they were alone. The air seemed heavier around them, as if Alexander had brought to light enough things that neither of them knew how to discuss without the little boy there as a buffer.

“I did not.” Spencer shook his head. “It was not a lesson, nor did he need to be corrected in that moment. I think I once would have.”

“He told me you have done so in the past.” She winced as if she risked saying the wrong thing.

“I am ashamed to admit it, but yes,” he sighed. “I convinced myself that he would say the wrong thing in front of a French diplomat and did not consider that he was still young, and had plenty of time to learn the proper language. All I saw was a risk of him embarrassing himself.”

“You have been easier on him today,” she acknowledged, “and that will get easier. You will hesitate less, think less of what feels right. Over time, it will fall into place. The urge to correct or scold will recede. I must tell you I did enjoy watching you chase one another through the field.”

Felicity’s smirk was so pretty that Spencer didn’t notice that he dropped the strawberry from his grip. Her head tipped to the side, looking at him knowingly. “Vous êtes distrait,” she teased.

“I am indeed distracted,” he laughed. “It is because… because tu es belle.”

Felicity stilled, not expecting the comment, and Spencer quickly tried to find a way to divert the awkward attempt by reaching for another strawberry, but Felicity placed a hand on his wrist.

“Merci,” she answered. “Is it easier? To compliment me in French than English, for it does not seem as… potent? Perhaps you can pretend you have misspoken, made a mistake in translation.”

“On the contrary, French is the language of—” Love. The word got caught in his throat, and he looked away. “Nevertheless, I do not need to feign a mistake in complimenting you. I should have been doing more this.”

Surprise spread over her features, and Spencer felt emboldened by Alexander’s observances, their shared breakfast on the terrace, and how they had already gone through a lot together.

He thought of what Rupert had said regarding him going softer, of how there was a lot of growing closer for a marriage that was only convenient.

Spencer found himself wanting to get closer. He moved now, shifting nearer to his wife. Her eyes flickered over his face as if she might find an answer there as to what he was doing. Spencer swallowed around a lump in his throat, lifting a hand to her cheek to cup it.

Felicity’s eyelashes fluttered.

“I… I confess I have not… it has been some time since I—”

“Please kiss me,” she whispered, cutting off his worries. And the ask—it sent shivers through him, and how could he do anything but lower his mouth to hers. All his worries dissipated as soon as her mouth was beneath his, soft and warm.

Spencer closed his eyes, savoring the way she tilted her head back as if to lift her mouth closer to his. His hand slid from her cheek to the back of her head, cupping it carefully.

Her hair fell over his fingers, and Spencer couldn’t help twirling a soft lock of it around them.

A soft noise escaped Felicity as he kissed her.

It was tender, but it was also a build-up of how often they had looked at one another, a build-up of the silly arguments, and how he had never wanted a wife in the first place, yet Felicity had arrived to turn his life on its head.

He laughed softly into the kiss. “You fascinate me, Felicity,” he murmured, and then kissed her deeper.

He only pulled away when he heard Alexander come trampling back through the clearing, loudly announcing that he found an interesting new type of wildflower, and he giggled at how quickly Spencer sprung away from Felicity.

Her face was as red as his own likely was, and he cleared his throat, turning back to his son. “Oh this—yes, ah, good. These will go nicely with… ah…”

Alexander giggled again. Heavens, Spencer did not know what to do, or where to look, especially when his mouth still felt Felicity’s.

His eyes skimmed over her for a brief moment, finding her ducking her face away from his. Blushing, he tried to refocus himself, but all he could think of was when he could do it again. Throughout the rest of the picnic, he couldn’t stop himself from finding reasons to touch her.

Steadying her wrist when she almost dropped her glass of lemonade, brushing his hand over her waist to nudge her aside so he could pluck a flower from behind her, and catching her wrist when she batted away a flying insect.

Every time, a jolt went through him—the sort of thing he had not felt in so long.

It was nice, he realized.

It was also downright terrifying.