Page 32 of Matters of a Duke’s Heart

“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 the causes 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.”

“I have a son,” he told her. “You must know—”

“I am not speaking about Lady Sophia. I know the marital duties a woman must go through.”

At her cold comment, Spencer flinched. “She did not do it out of duty.”

“And Lady Helena?”

“I—I was overwhelmed by the ton, and by grief, and what they were saying about me. She was a social outcast for being too much of a climber in ranks. She flirted and wooed every man, and I—Felicity, I wanted to feel less of a shell. That was all I had felt since Sophia’s death. Lady Helena… she was—”

“Fun?”

“Different,” he corrected carefully. “But she was not for me as my wife.”

“No, your wife was on a list,” Felicity murmured distantly. “Is that true?”

Guilt flooded Spencer’s face. “Felicity, it is not as heartless as that sounds.”

“Clinical,” she said instead. “Methodical.”

“Yes,” he agreed, his face tightening into a scowl.

“Yes, for you know how it was between us. A very formal, transactional arrangement, but we—we have each changed, have we not? I confessed as much to you the other night in my study. You have changed me. My heart was cold, it was most certainly cold with Lady Helena, but with you I am warm again. Do you not see that? I did not think I could feel such affection after Sophia left me night after night, not until I truly began to see you.”

“And when you see me,” she said slowly, “do you see me, or do you simply see the woman you need to raise your son?”

“I see my wife,” he told her. “I see a strong Duchess of Langdon. I see you, Felicity.”

Her eyes met his, her lower lip wobbling.

“Then come to me,” she whispered, stepping aside, out of the doorway.

“Come into my bed tonight and—and show me I have nothing to fear from Lady Helena’s past with you.

” Her throat tightened. “Show me I am more than just a duty-bound, convenient figure in your life.”

Her stomach clenched with unbearable nerves.

This was not how my first night was meant to go, she thought desperately, half wanting him to decline, and half wanting him to sweep her up in passion he claimed to not be able to avoid.

I wanted to be overwhelmed with love and desire, be guided to bed by my doting husband, to truly experience pleasure in its most elaborate form.

“I cannot.” Spencer’s rejection dully hit her in the chest. “I cannot, for I do not think you want—”

“Then leave.” Felicity’s voice was barely a murmur, barely making it past her tight throat. “Leave me be and spare me further humiliation.”

“Felicity, it is not that I do not want—”

She had already hurried back into her room and slammed the door behind her. Falling to her knees, she cried into the side of her bed, aching and embarrassed.