Kissed by Starlight Read online

  Sir Elswith bent his head a little closer to hers and dropped his voice to an insinuating whisper.”No, I’ve not wasted my time. Got an eye to the ladies, always have had. Always had a simple rule, though: Go for the ones that know what’s what. Simpering misses and innocence never been my cup of tea. M’God, you’ve got lovely skin ... so smooth.”

  Felicia did not like him breathing so hoarsely in her ear. When she tried to move away, his blunt fingers tightened on her arm. “Girl like you, though, just my sort! Man like me can appreciate a spirited creature like yourself. Spirit and fire, that’s what I like in my horses and my women....”

  “As I am not likely to be either...,” Felicia began, feeling her flesh literally creep.

  “Now then, that’s what I mean! Wit, bit of style. Though why you wear these nun’s clothes ... You should show off that figure, my girl, you should flaunt it! Wipe Lady Stavely’s eye, don’t you know?”

  “Sir Elswith, I realize you mean to be kind, but you should not say such things.” She squirmed to free her arm but he only stepped in front of her and grasped her other elbow in the same way.

  “Kind? Not a bit of it! I may be a bit older than you but I’m not some old dodger that can only summon up a puling ‘kindness’ for a strapping girl like you!”

  With a suddenness that frightened her, he let go of her arms and clasped her to his chest. More from instinct than from experience, Felicia put her head down, evading the kiss he sought to steal. She felt his wet mouth on her cheek and neck.

  “Sir Elswith—stop!”

  She brought her foot down hard on his boot. Though her slipper could not have made much impression on him, he did stop, and stepped back. “Damn, you’ve scratched the leather, you witch!”

  He peered down at the glossy black boot. “No you haven’t. Good God, girl, they were new but a month ago! You might have damaged it beyond repair.”

  Catching her breath, Felicia found sarcasm. “My relief is enormous. Now if you’ll be so kind as to tell me exactly what it is you think you are doing, mauling me about in this way?”

  “Come now. Don’t play off these airs; they’ll get you no forwarder with me.”

  He advanced; Felicia instinctively retreated. Pushing his rumpled hair off his face, Sir Elswith said in a wheedling tone, “I don’t mind these games, but let us play them after we’ve settled the matter. I prefer a business footing to my affairs.”

  “Affairs?”

  He glanced in the direction of the house. “You can’t stay here with that woman, and the thought of you going off to herd a flock of orphans is absurd. Why ...” He laughed. “Why, a lively beauty like you’d be bored in a week! You come with me; I’ll show you Paris, eh? Buy you the clothes to show you off, maybe a few trinkets if you deserve ‘em. I’m not a rich man, by any means, but I know how to reward a lady for her good nature. I’d be a good first step for you, introduce you around. Why, I’d not be a hair surprised if you leave me to go off with a duke; damn me if I don’t think so.”

  Felicia narrowed her eyes, confused. One instant it sounded as though he were offering her a season in Paris, the next as though he were making a most improper suggestion. “Sir Elswith, may I ask one favor?”

  “Knew you’d see it my way ... Least I can do for the daughter of an old friend ...” When he stepped toward her, his arms going out, she jumped back, holding up her hands.

  “Wait! I’m very confused. You’ve never shown any signs of being ... being in love with me....” She knew no other words to describe his behavior, though this was like no wooing she’d ever imagined.

  “But I am, my girl. Passionately...” His pointed tongue flicked over his thick lips.

  Perhaps she was having delusions again. Compared with this, though, statues coming to life were delightful. At least, Blaic’s eyes had been cool.

  “But first the gardener and now you ...”

  “Gardener? What gardener?”

  “One of the men who work on the estate made me a similar offer not half an hour ago. Less lavish, perhaps.”

  Sir Elswith’s face darkened. “You tell me which one and I’ll thrash him! Lusting after his betters! A thrashing’s too good for the scoundrel!”

  Felicia decided not to make the attempt to understand why the same offer from two men should differ merely because of their class. She felt just as unclean after either encounter. But perhaps Sir Elswith could explain why the encounters had taken place—that is, if she could keep him from trying again.

  “I don’t care to tell you his name,” she said after he repeated a demand for it. “But pray tell me why you are suddenly so eager to solicit my—my favors.”

  Sir Elswith looked a little embarrassed. “It’s not because I didn’t think you were a cuddlesome armful before. Don’t want you to think that! No sooner had you grown up than I knew if I could only get you for myself... but your father had a damned, dirty look in his eye whenever I could have made a chance for myself.”

  “And now that he’s dead ...”

  “Just so. There’s no doubt you’re in need of a protector. But you’ve got to give to get, don’t you know? Why don’t you give me a bit now, eh?’’

  Once again, she held up her hand to stop him, though she had to skip nimbly backward to avoid his grasping hands. A few more steps, she knew, and she’d be trapped against the Zeus-bull’s flank. Sir Elswith knew it too, judging by the gloating gleam in his gray eyes.

  Felicia would know the answer to her next question even if it meant suffering another attempted kiss. “But what is it, specifically, about me that makes you .,. and the gardener ... act this way?”

  “You tell me that gardener’s name and I’ll spread his insides all over his flower beds! Annoying you like that! Next thing you know they’ll be demanding rights like the Frenchies do!”

  “Never mind him. What do you see in me?” Was it her mother’s bad blood they saw?

  Sir Elswith smiled, much as a lion must grin before he devours a gazelle. “You’ve a mirror in that house, Felicia. Take a good look in it tonight.”

  “My face is plain, sir. I have been told it often enough.”

  “Oh, you’re no raving beauty! Though I’ve always been partial to blue eyes with dark hair. My first love . .. well, there’ll be time and to spare to tell you of your predecessors, eh? You were asking about your figure.”

  Felicia glanced down. She saw what she always saw. Her lace fichu, the only white on her unrelieved black dress, lay across her bosom, concealing the upper slopes of her breasts, which were pressed tight against the edge of her bodice. The scarf never would lie smoothly. The knot would always fly up, making the trailing ends flip and flop as she walked.

  Looking up, she saw that Sir Elswith had sidled closer. “You are a lovely creature,” he said, whispering again. “Such a figure, like one of these images your father loved so. That Venus there behind you, for instance.”

  “That’s Europa....”

  “Look at her, though. Look at how she’s got what you’ve got. Lovely high breasts—real firm ‘uns—and that trim waist curving down. And hips! Any man worth his salt likes them full ‘n’ round that way. I wager that under that skirt you’ve got the kind of hips that make a man want to get on his knees to worship!”

  He suited his actions to his words, dropping to his knees and making a grab for Felicia. But he miscalculated her appalled reaction and found himself instead sprawling in the gravel at her feet. Felicia, who had leapt out of the way not unlike a frightened gazelle, stared down at him in horror. If he had struck his head on the edge of the plinth ...

  Her relief when he grunted and pushed himself up on his arms was complete. When she saw his face, however, that feeling fled. “Good day, Sir Elswith,’’ she gasped, and hurried away before he could get to his knees.

  She hurried into the house without speaking to anyone and locked her door when she reached her room. With any luck, she reasoned, Sir Elswith was too dirty and battered after his spring at her to mak
e a further appearance in the house.

  Felicia poured water into a basin. Washing and drying her face and hands, she caught sight of herself in the mirror. She looked strange to her own eyes. Her hair was half-tumbled, her eyes huge with surprise.

  She walked to the mirror and tilted it so as to show all of her person. She smoothed back the extra fabric at the waist of her black dress. Her corset strings never needed to be tightened past the comfortable point, for she had indeed a slender waist. She’d always been grateful for that, as she avoided much pain, but she’d never thought of it as an attribute that would drive men mad.

  Untying her fichu, she flicked the scarf onto the bed. “Item: high breasts. Item: slender waist. Item: hips?” She pulled her full skirts back to outline that part of her body.

  “Really, men are very strange,” she said, cocking her head to the side. Her body swelled out here, curved away there, only to swell out again farther down. It was just as it had always been.

  She looked like a woman, no different from Cook or Lady Stavely. Perhaps she had a little more on top than her father’s wife, and no one would call Cook’s waist slender— too many years of good service had gone by for that.

  Shaking her head at her reflection, she said, “If I must choose between being mistaken for a wanton and suffering insanity, I wonder which is better.”

  The rest of the day was a trial. She could not hide in her room forever. She found herself feeling more secure around statues and shy of men. Even Justice Garfield, seventy if he was a day, seemed suddenly to possess the leering eyes of a satyr when he bowed over her hand. She found herself blushing when offered tea by the youngest footman, no more than sixteen.

  “It’s not like Sir Elswith to be so abrupt,” the Justice said, shaking back his sleeve for a pinch of snuff. “I trust you won’t hold it against him.”

  “No, indeed,” Lady Stavely said. “He’s been so very thoughtful. A most understanding gentleman.”

  Felicia didn’t have the heart to suggest that Mr. Ashton might be even more understanding. She felt as though her skin were unusually sensitive to every glance. It was almost possible to envy Clarice, who ate small pink cakes with the boundless appetite of a small child, quite unaware of her physical body.

  After a moment or two, however, Felicia noticed that Clarice’s body was about to force itself upon everyone’s attention. She stood up and crossed to her half-sister’s chair. “Come with me, dearest.”

  “I—don’t feel good.”

  The lovely face was pale. A line of sweat dampened the hair at her brow.

  Noticing her daughter’s distress, Lady Stavely started from her chair. The little table beside her rocked, spilling her teacup onto the carpet. The tea ran out in a brown pool, unnoticed. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “Too many cakes,” Felicia said, firmly and rapidly assisting Clarice from the room.

  After the unpleasant aftermath, Felicia held Clarice on her lap and rocked her for comfort. Quite suddenly, the younger girl said, “You won’t leave me?”

  “No. I’ll stay until Nurse comes up.”

  “Someone said you were going to leave me.”

  “Who said it?” Had one of the servants overheard that interview in the small salon? Surely Lady Stavely wouldn’t risk disturbing Clarice before it was necessary. Though Felicia had little regard for her father’s wife, she did allow that Lady Stavely was truly fond of her daughter. Sometimes it seemed Clarice was the only thing of which Lady Stavely was fond.

  “Clarice, who said I was leaving you?”

  “Don’t know.” The fair face was fretful. “Don’t leave me, Felicia.”

  “I won’t.” The comforting promise fell too easily from her lips. Felicia tried to amend it. “That is, I won’t before I must.”

  “Don’t like ‘must.’ Nurse says. ‘Must drink milk. Must eat peas. Must go to bed.’ Don’t like ‘must.”

  “No one likes it. But sometimes, things happen and we must do the best that we can.”

  For a long time that night, Felicia paced up and down before her dying fire. It was impossible to stay here; even Sir Elswith had seen that. But how could she leave Clarice? What other tie of blood did she have in all the world?

  She remembered perfectly how her mother had disavowed owning any relation. Whether it was true that there simply was no one or that her mother had been disowned didn’t matter. If there’d been anyone she could have turned to in those last, horrible days, surely her mother would have reached out to them. Lucy Starret had not wanted her former lover to be burdened with their child. But when her coughing had reached the point where she could gain hardly any breath, she had written Lord Stavely. She had never expected him to come himself.

  But there would be no rescue now. Felicia had only herself to rely on. Unfortunately, she was not so natured that she could think only of herself. If Clarice were well, then she could go. If Clarice could only be the girl she’d been before—brave, headstrong, not only able but willing to stand up to her mother’s autocratic ways ...

  Felicia folded her arms on the mantel and, feeling as though she’d aged a hundred years since this morning, rested her stinging eyes against one of them. But it did no good to shut her eyes. The moment she closed them, the hungry gaze of Sir Elswith appeared, outlined in red. She was not so naive as to believe he’d given up all hope of her. For the next week, she’d have to be very careful whenever she believed herself to be alone. It wouldn’t do to have another interview like today’s. If anyone had seen or overheard it, her reputation as an utterly brazen woman would be assured. Or, horrors! what if Sir Elswith or William Beech repeated it!

  Suddenly, Felicia realized she was not alone. The scrape of a shod foot on her floor, the slight deep cough as of a clearing throat, the glimpse of movement out of the corner of her eye, told her that a man had entered her room.

  “Really!” she exclaimed, spinning around. “This is the outside of enough! Get out....”

  The words died on her lips. Tall, his fair hair caught back in a leather thong, his body solid and broad, her delusion stood before her, smiling.

  Chapter Four

  “Oh, no,” Felicia said, sounding surprisingly calm even to herself. “No you don’t. You get out of here before I scream.”

  He held up a placating hand, stepping forward. “Peace, my lady. I mean you no harm.”

  “I don’t care if you do or you don’t, you can’t stay here!” She trotted past him to open her chamber door an inch. All was dark and quiet in the corridor beyond, but that was no security.

  “They are all asleep,” he said, turning to follow her.

  “Good. Then you can leave without disturbing them. You might want to take those boots off, though. They’ll make a ghastly clatter—how did you get in here, anyway?”

  “My boots make no noise unless I want them to.” He was resting his hands on his narrow hips as though he had all the time in the world. “Even if I were as noisy as a marching legion, they would not wake.”

  Felicia realized she’d been thinking of him as a man, not a mirage. “You didn’t...”

  Flinging open the door, she hurried down the corridor to Clarice’s room. Felicia opened the door, sure she’d see a nightmarish sight by the light of the single candle that burned all night on the table. Clarice lay curled on her side in her narrow white bed, while the dressing room beyond rattled to the sounding brass of Nurse’s snores. Breathing a sigh of relief, Felicia paused to smooth the tousled hair back from Clarice’s smooth brow.

  Turning to go, she all but collided with Blaic. She threw her hands up to avoid touching him, for she was in no mood for human contact. Though willing to believe that in her distraction she’d not noticed his footsteps following her, she remembered his boast.

  “Make your boots noisy!” she demanded fiercely, then shot a glance at Clarice. She had not stirred, but that was nothing new. Any child who could sleep through the trumpet blasts resounding but one door away could sleep through
anything!

  Blaic studied the sleeping girl with interest. “She is some relation to you?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  The man frowned and turned his head toward the dressing room. “Peace,” he said.

  Instantly, those sounds reminiscent of an elephant’s mating season died away to silence. Blaic repeated his question.

  “What have you done?” Felicia asked as she hurried to open the other door.

  Nurse slept flat on her back, her arms twisted around her body. Her resemblance to a corpse laid out for burial was unnerving. Yet the meager bosom rose and fell to deep, regular breaths, though in complete silence.

  Then the flat, deliberate smack of footfalls against a hard floor echoed through the room. Nurse’s pallid eyelids flickered. Felicia had only an instant to order “Shush!” before the woman opened her eyes.

  “Miss Felicia? Is anything the matter?”

  “No, Nurse. Nothing. It’s only ...”

  Sadly, the older woman said, “I expect I was snoring again.”

  “No you weren’t. Not at all.”

  “I wasn’t?”

  “No. I’m sorry I disturbed you. Pray, go back to sleep.”

  Slightly disoriented, the nurse lay down again, huddling under her blankets. With any luck, she’d put the incident down to a dream, a comfort Felicia felt rapidly disappearing from her own mind. Leaving the door only slightly ajar, Felicia shrank back into her sister’s room.

  Blaic said suddenly, “What is it?”

  Felicia pressed a vehement finger to her lips, giving him a warning look. Though he must have whispered, his voice seemed to echo. She hissed, “The nurse woke up!”

  “Impossible!”

  “Shush!”

  He stared past her at the door, a strange, intense look in his eyes. Felicia felt he could see through the painted wooden panels to the room beyond, and perhaps into its occupant.