“I very much doubt a kick will be necessary, Billings, but thank you for checking on their progress.” She almost pitied the boy as he scooted out of the room, giving Severand a wide berth.
The man in question stood straight as a royal yeoman. “Forgive me if I was too bold, but it’s important that you are fed. That you maintain your strength, especially considering the stress you’ve been subjected to.”
She lifted a shoulder, oddly touched that her nourishment meant something to him. “You saved me from having to be bold. And, if I’m honest, I am rather hungry.”
Finding his presence intense after she’d only just caught herself harboring inappropriate thoughts about him, Felicity turned to her bookshelf, sliding her novel in its place.
“May I ask what you were reading?” His question was cautious, almost shy, which stymied her.
This man had an air of someone who asked permission from no one. He was built roughly, with barbaric dimensions. He addressed her staff with unerring composure and confidence.
Even when he moved, it was with the motions of a man who claimed the ground he stood upon and dared anyone to challenge that claim. Who owned and carefully chose his actions to flawless effect.
Addressing her, however, seemed to cause him a bit of bother.
“I’m reading The Gilded Sea by Daphne Crane.”
“I’ve not heard of that one,” he admitted, again sounding oddly sheepish.
Damned if it didn’t charm her.
“It’s a romantic adventure,” she pressed on. “I’m positively absorbed.”
“That was evident.”
How long had he watched her? Felicity’s mouth dried at the thought. Could a man as observant as he have noticed the wicked effects her novel wrought upon her?
“A-are you much of a reader, Mr. Severand?”
“I’m voracious.”
That word. In that voice. Dear Lord. She sank back to the chaise, pressing her thighs back together and folding her hands over her lap to keep from squirming.
What was wrong with her?
“What-what is it you read?” she queried, hoping he’d take the conversation so she could recover some of her wits.
“I like a bit of adventure, myself. And comedy. Satire. Notably, Hugo and Verne. Most recently, Wilde.”
“Oscar Wilde?” she exclaimed. “I have heard he’s working on a new play. Do you have plans to see it?”
“I’ve… never been to the theater.”
“Oh.” She didn’t know what to say to that. Though he seemed dressed rather well, it was altogether likely that the theater was a luxury he might not afford.
He said nothing. And she cast about to fill the silence.
“Might I offer you an aperitif, Mr. Severand? Brandy, perhaps?” She stood, happy to busy herself at the sideboard.
“Do you have cognac?”
My, he said that word with such a flare. She wondered if he knew French.
What an enigma this man was.
“Indeed.” She took the decanter and uncorked it, trying not to seem too curious.
Too eager.
Because she was.
“Tell me a little about yourself, Mr. Severand. This job isn’t taking you away from a family, I hope. A wife? Children?” She poured him a generous drink and splashed some into a glass for herself.
She’d never tried cognac before. It wasn’t done for females to partake in polite society. But something told her Mr. Severand wouldn’t like to drink alone.
And wouldn’t judge her if her choice in libation matched his own.
“No family.” The tone of his answer could have dried up the Nile.
Beneath a pang of sadness for him, was a distressing little spurt of relief. She’d not like the idea of taking a husband away from his spouse and children to spend his days— his nights— with her.
Yes, better that he not have a wife.
She much preferred that.
Felicity set his drink on the table, strategically knowing that he’d have to peel his back from the wall and sit across from her in order to drink it.
“Please.” She motioned to the chair he’d occupied earlier, before settling herself in her chaise across from him.
He took his seat just as carefully as before, leaning forward to claim the drink and tossing it back in one mighty swallow.
Felicity sipped at hers, blanching a bit at the startling burn. It wasn’t at all unpleasant though, as the heat spread across her tongue and down her throat, lingering for several moments.
The aftertaste reminded her of baked apples.
“Miss Goode,” he hesitated. “I can’t help but wonder why you engaged my services without speaking to the other applicants for comparison. The choice seems…”
She mentally catalogued all the words he didn’t say. Idiotic. Ridiculous. Impetuous. Foolish.
Sighing, Felicity abandoned her drink for a moment, needing to recover from her initial sip. “I suppose I should warn you of this before you learn it on your own. I am… an infuriatingly absurd woman. I often find myself irrationally fearful in the presence of strangers. In fact, I’ve dreaded this day since I posted the advertisement, because I’d have to meet with so many new men— er— people. The very thought exhausted me. I didn’t sleep one wink last night.”
“That doesn’t make you absurd, especially considering your recent ordeal—”
“That’s just it.” She changed her mind and retrieved her glass again, taking a bolder sip than before. “My attack has little to do with it. I’ve always been this way.”
His grip tightened on his glass, and he leaned forward a little, clarifying the impression of dark, deep-set eyes and a serious mouth. “What are you afraid of, Miss Goode?”
She released a wry sound from the back of her throat. “I fear nothing of consequence and everything beneath the sun. Saying the wrong words, for example. I dread the trivial and the inevitable, such as appearing silly and weak in the presence of gruff and capable men.” She motioned in his direction with a wry smile.
She ticked her fears off on her finger. “I fear the improbable, such as the sky falling or the streets flooding, or being hit by lightning in a storm. I fear losing those I love the most, even though that’s unavoidable. I fear dying. I fear living. Most recently, I fear that someone might burn my
