Which made absolutely no sense.
Felicity was possibly the most skittish woman of her acquaintance, especially in the company of men. And this one, this mountain of masculinity, was possibly the most imposing fellow she’d seen since… well, in at least a year.
She should be a catastrophe of disobedient nerves. But she wasn’t.
At least, not more than usual.
If you would follow me, Mr.…” As she swept over the marble floors toward her parlor, she realized she hadn’t even asked his name.
“Severand. Gareth Severand.” His answer came from closer than she’d expected.
My, but he moved swiftly and silently for a man of his size.
“I’m Miss Felicity Goode.”
“I know who you are.”
She let out a nervous chuckle. “Of course… of course you would know from whom you are soliciting a position-- how silly of me.” She propped open the door to the parlor and gestured to a chair by the far window. “May I take your coat?”
“It’s not necessary.”
Felicity tucked into a chaise a very respectable distance apart from Mr. Severand, who folded himself into the wine-hued velvet chair with some caution, as if testing the structural dependability of the object before settling his entire bulk into it.
“Well,” she began, abruptly losing what little confidence she possessed. “If I’m honest, I can’t say I exactly know how to go about hiring personal protection.”
At those words, he straightened, instantly more alert than before. “Let’s start with why you need it.”
“Right. Well… I erm…” She scratched at the hairline below her ear, smoothing at the tickle of hair as it stood on end.
She was alone with a dangerous creature, and her body knew it.
“As you may or may not be aware, my parents were the Baron and Baroness Cresthaven. They passed rather suddenly in a carriage incident on the Continent last year.”
“I had heard. I’m sorry for your loss.”
For a man who knew her not at all, he sounded remarkably genuine.
“Thank you. You are kind.”
“I am not kind.”
This was said so low, Felicity thought she might have misunderstood him. Or imagined he’d said it in the first place?
Deciding to let it lie, she continued. “Well, it turns out, before they left for the Riviera, my father amended his will. As he had no male heir, his title and the country seat of Cresthaven Abbey, of course, go to a distant cousin. But all my father’s liquid capital, his shipping company, and various investments and holdings have been inexplicably bequeathed to me, of all people, with one very specific caveat.”
“Which is?”
“Now that my year of mourning has passed, I must marry into the aristocracy immediately. At the very least a viscount, or so the documents dictate.”
She could feel, rather than see, his frown long before it was reflected in his voice. “Treacherous as the noble marriage market may be, I do not comprehend how I can assist you in that arena.”
Felicity fiddled with the cuff on her sleeve, toying at the grey pearl buttons before pushing them through the little loops of midnight blue silk. “You are right. Of course you are. Finding a husband will be my lamentable responsibility, alone. But you see… the day before yesterday, I attended a lecture at Hornbrook Hall for the London Horticulture and Botany Society. The study was of night-blooming plants, so attendance was required late into the evening. The weather was pleasant when we adjourned, and I was overheated from the closeness of the room, so I decided to walk the handful of blocks here, rather than take a hackney.” She swallowed over a lump in her throat and suppressed a tremor at the memory.
“Before I made it home, I was… accosted by a lone assailant.” She pulled the cuff of one sleeve back to uncover the finger-sized bruises on her wrists.
Mr. Severand surged to his feet, knocking his chair backward.
“What the bloody hell was done to you?” The demand was not a roar like that of a lion, but more the low and lethal warning growl of a jaguar.
All the more penetrating for its resonance.
Astonished by his reaction, Felicity tucked her wrists into her body as if to protect them from his unanticipated rage. “Not very much, if I’m honest.”
In the grand scheme of things, she’d been through worse.
“Tell me,” he demanded.
“Well… he wrenched my arm and shoulder behind me and pulled at my— my hair.” She smoothed at the back of her scalp where it still smarted. “He ripped my spectacles off and stepped on them.”
With one hand, Mr. Severand jerked the chair upright, but he didn’t claim it. Instead, he paced in front of the far window and stood like a sentinel against the sunlight. “What did he look like? Did he say anything? Where, exactly, in the city were you—?”
“Do sit down, Mr. Severand.” She rushed to soothe him even as her own heartbeat accelerated. “It was not my intention to distress you.”
His shoulders rose and fell with a tangibly difficult breath. And then he turned and reclaimed his seat as she bade him, though she didn’t have to see the lines of his body to sense the palpable hostility emanating from him.
Perhaps answering his question would help.
“To be completely honest, I didn’t get a good look at him. He told me that I did not deserve what I had. That he was going to take it from me. He sounded— a bit older. Not like an enfeebled elderly sort of fellow. But someone perhaps fifty or sixty. Mature and… and somewhat maniacal.”
“Did he—” The sentence cut off as if his throat wouldn’t allow him to say the words. “Did you suffer any other injuries?”
“No. Fortunately,” she rushed on, compelled to appease him. “The brigand was frightened away by some rather drunken noble lads staggering from one sort of trouble to the next. He ran into an alley and disappeared.”
When he said nothing, she continued. “I returned home that night, unbelievably agitated, only to find this.” She extracted a scrap of paper from the pocket of her skirts, unfolded
