She almost envied him.
As someone so consistently aware of her own vulnerability, she was struck with awe by his apparent invincibility.
This man fascinated her.
“Look your fill before you make up your mind.” His voice was strung as tight as a bowstring, and his eyes focused on something behind her, as if he could no longer stand to meet her gaze.
“Dear Mr. Severand.” She put a hand on his arm, hoping to convey a modicum of comfort. “Be at ease. My mind was quite made up this afternoon. Your features have nothing to do with it. If anything, I should think you appear as though you wouldn’t hesitate to do your job. I’m more convinced of that than ever.”
He stared at where her hand rested just above his elbow as he quietly said, “There isn’t a force in this city that could go through me to get to you.”
He was being hyperbolic, of course, but for some reason she believed him.
Releasing his arm, she touched her own cheek, both glad and guilty to find nothing there but smooth, unbroken skin.
“Did this all happen whilst you protected someone else?”
“Yes.” His gazed followed her hand with the intensity of a hound begging to be fed.
One of them should have pulled back. There was no reason for him to be standing over her like this. Or for her to tilt her head up a little higher. To step one inch closer. But some spell held her in a strange thrall, blocking out all visceral details that didn’t have to do with him.
If he should press his lip to hers, would she feel the deep groove of the scar there? Did his mouth taste like hers did? Like apples and heat?
The door burst open to admit the efficient whirlwind that was Mrs. Emmaline Winterton, her red hair disheveled, the feather in her smart peach cap drooping, and copper ringlets heavy with rain.
“Please pardon my tardy return, Felicity,” she demanded. “I was detained on the bridge as a cart full of bees— of all the ridiculous creatures— had quite tipped over and bogged everything up! Blighty little beasts went everywhere, and we ran for our lives through rivers of honey. Just look at my hem.” She lifted a hem that did, indeed, appear sticky, baring a lovely ankle boot and a good part of her stockinged calf in the process.
Having hopped away from her scandalous proximity to Mr. Severand, Felicity looked up to ascertain if he’d noted— or appreciated— her companion’s stockings.
Astonishingly enough, his eyes hadn’t left hers yet, and his nostrils flared as if struggling to lift a herculean weight.
Felicity whirled around, aware that her bustle grazed his thighs.
Oh, lord. His thighs. Why did thinking of them make her blush?
Still immersed in the tragedy of her hem, Emmaline forged ahead. “Also, a curiously anxious Billings bade me to inform you that they’re minutes from ringing the dinner gong— I haven’t eaten a thing all day and am famished beyond all— oh, hello.”
Finally, she glanced up to notice that they were not alone.
Felicity rushed to make introductions. “Emmaline, this is Mr. Gareth Severand, whom I’ve engaged as my personal protection. Mr. Severand, allow me to introduce Mrs. Emmaline Winterton, my chaperone and companion.”
Emmaline’s Baltic blue eyes went incredibly owlish as she looked up and up at the stoic Mr. Severand.
This must be the reaction he’d been expecting from Felicity.
Unease and suspicion mixed with curiosity.
Remembering her manners, Emmaline tore her eyes from his face and bobbed a curtsy. “A pleasure, Mr. Severand.”
“Likewise,” he rumbled from behind Felicity, sending shivers and stinging goose pimples thrilling over her flesh. His voice seemed quite two octaves lower than before. If that were possible. Was it because of Mrs. Winterton’s radiance? Her shapely bared calf? Her heavy lashes and brilliant red hair?
Why should it matter if he found Emmaline pretty? She was pretty.
Emmaline retreated toward the door with backward steps, as if she didn’t want to turn her back on the mountainous man behind Felicity.
“Allow me to make myself presentable, and I’ll harass the staff to make sure they set a place for Mr. Severand. Excuse me.”
Felicity turned her chin to her shoulder, glancing behind her. “Shall we pour another drink and go through?” she offered, wary of being left alone with him at the moment. When all of her nerves zinged with a phenomenon both primal and electric.
His lashes shuttered his eyes as he looked away, but not before she caught the heat melting the metal of his gaze.
His tongue moistened a wickedly full lower lip before he answered, “After you.”
Chapter 4
Back before Gabriel’s surgeries, he was careful to never eat in the presence of anyone, not even his brother. The wounds to his cheek and the skin above his upper lip had healed so terribly that he could only open his mouth so far without ripping the scar open.
Since the skin grafts, he could eat with much more ease, but still hadn’t much use for the behaviors and strictures of dining with the upper class.
He’d lived in a mansion not far from here for several odd years, but he took his meals alone in his chamber or in the library, and would have plucked the eyes out of anyone who dared disturb him.
How novel it was to use a dining room for its intended purpose. To appreciate centuries-old tapestries and priceless works of art illuminated by decorative lamps, crystal chandeliers no one bothered to light for such a small affair, and candelabras surrounded by fragrant garlands of fresh flowers.
Though he’d hesitated at the idea of sharing their meal, he found he enjoyed sitting at a long table across from the lively Mrs. Winterton as she chattered and exclaimed with Felicity over an abundance of swiftly altering subjects.
Their voices were a pleasant melody over the low hum of arousal vibrating through him, and while the women were distracted by their conversation, he could contemplate her.
He couldn’t tell exactly what he’d expected when she’d
