Moonlight Square: Books 1-4 (Plus Bonus Prequel Novella), page 24
Simon pressed his lips shut abruptly, unaccustomed to being reprimanded in such a firm tone. He blinked, staring back at Jason with brown eyes so like his own.
And then his lower lip started trembling.
“Oh no, you don’t…”
Brilliant, he scolded himself acidly. You’re here ten minutes and already you make the boy cry. What a wonderful father!
“I brought you something. Want to see?” Feeling rather desperate, he rose to get the present. “Close your eyes.”
The prospect of the expected gift halted Simon’s tears before they started.
He must’ve learned that trick from his mother, Jason thought. “Go on, close ’em.”
When Simon had done so, Jason reached up and took the toy off the cabinet and hid it behind his back. “Now open them. Which hand?”
Simon actually smiled. He rolled off the couch and came over to him with a finger tugging shyly at his mouth. The hip-high boy leaned to the right and the left, trying to see behind Jason’s back, but Jason moved away with a grin, preventing him, and trying with all his might to show the son who considered him little more than a stranger that he wasn’t all that bad.
“Hey!” Giggling, Simon kept trying to get it, and Jason kept eluding him.
“What’s wrong? Can’t you find it?” he teased.
He did not want this small, sweet moment to end, for he knew from experience what would happen as soon as Simon got his hands on the gift.
Sure enough, when the boy finally seized the wooden pull toy in the shape of a horse, he snatched it out of Jason’s hands and ran off without so much as a thank-you.
“You’re welcome!” he called after him, but his son pounded off, clutching the offering.
Simon slammed the door to his bedchamber, either to play with the toy by himself or merely to toss the latest trinket onto the pile with all the other useless baubles and amusements that were, in truth, no substitute for what the child really craved.
“I’ll go get him,” Nurse Jane said in distress.
“It’s all right,” Jason said, crestfallen. “I’d say that was one of our better visits, actually. At least this time he didn’t kick me. Let’s not spoil it.”
He made sure Jane had everything the boy required these days, asked where his mother was, and learned that Chloe had trundled off to Brighton on the arm of Lord Hayworth, of all people.
Jason nearly choked at this news, but apparently, the rich, drunken, older marquess had finally found the perfect way to get back at his cheating wife for her many affairs. His taking up with a voluptuous young actress was sure to annoy even the infamous Lady Hayworth, and perhaps give her pause in her endless pursuit of younger men.
But, damn it, Jason did not want the mother of his son getting caught in the middle of Lord and Lady Hayworth’s disastrous marriage. The boy was already confused enough about couples and families…
Gritting his teeth, Jason soon walked out, feeling powerless and utterly depressed by the visit.
His exasperation with Chloe aside, his heart ached for his lonely, angry, disappointed son. Simon surely didn’t understand why his mum was never there, why he wasn’t allowed to live with his father, nor even his baby sister, and he was too young to have the ways of the world explained to him quite yet.
Even Jason knew it would have given both children a greater sense of family and stability if they could’ve at least lived under the same roof. But their mothers had always been rival courtesans in the demimonde, and would not hear of sharing a house with the enemy.
They despised each other even more than they both despised him. Moreover, each woman felt that having given the Duke of Netherford a beautiful, healthy child, a nice house of her own was the least she was entitled to.
Jason couldn’t really argue with that. They always knew how to stifle his protests with tears and reminders that he wasn’t the one who’d had to go through labor, anyway.
In short, he kept his mouth shut and his coin purse open, and gave his former concubines whatever they bloody well wanted. It was all he really could do, considering that at the end of the day, he had no idea how to be a proper, loving father. Where would he have learned this mysterious art?
His own father had been as much of a stranger to him as he was to Simon—and Jason had been the legitimate heir!
Instead, the only pattern he had to follow was the one he had received from his own cold sire—distance and formality—and he hated it. But he somehow couldn’t figure out how to do it differently. How to bridge the gap.
All he ever felt regarding his by-blows was guilty, and the guilt made him want to stay away.
Feeling like hell, he decided to comfort himself by paying a call on Felicity.
Just thinking of her made him feel somewhat better. He wondered what mischief the chit was getting up to today…
When he arrived at her Mayfair address, he jumped down from his curricle and led the horses into the passage to the mews behind her house. He hitched his team to a post there, out of sight. He didn’t intend to stay long, but he did not wish to cause any undue gossip with his repeated visits.
After leaving his carriage out of view, he headed toward the front entrance again, but just as he stepped past the corner of her house, he spotted a phaeton buzzing down the street toward him.
On it sat two of her new admirers from the night of the concert. At once, Jason ducked back and pressed himself against the wall until they had driven by.
The two bachelors continued on around the corner, gawking at her residence as they passed, their intentions clear. They, too, meant to call on her.
Damn. Jason did not feel like sharing her just now. Scowling in the shadows, he waited until the interlopers had passed before striding quickly to her front door.
He believed her would-be suitors had merely driven around the corner, circling the house while they worked up their nerve before coming up to knock on the door.
Idiots.
He did so with no such compunctions. But while he waited for her butler to answer, he glanced around hurriedly, impatient to be let in before the fools returned.
Still no one answered. He furrowed his brow, however, for he could hear voices from inside. Then he heard banging. He knocked again, louder this time, and waited only another moment before grasping the handle and letting himself in. He was, after all, an old friend, and suddenly, he was a bit worried by the noise. Was something wrong in there?
“Hullo?” he called as he stepped into the foyer, taking off his hat. “Anybody home?”
There was no sign of the servants, but as he shut the door behind him, he could hear a commotion coming from down the hallway. “Miss Carvel?”
Venturing into the house, he found the parlor all aflutter. The butler and footman were moving furniture back and forth to Felicity’s impatient specifications, while the maid was up on a stepladder banging a nail into the wall.
Ah, he thought, still rather bemused. At least the hammering explained why nobody had heard him. But he still wasn’t sure what all was going on here. On the center table, furniture catalogs lay open, along with a loop of fabric swatches.
“No, that’s too far.” Felicity waved the footman and butler to the right. “Go back. No, not too much. There! Now for the cabinet.”
When the maid stopped tapping the nail into the wall, she hung up a small botanical print beneath the nature sketch of a butterfly’s cocoon.
“Does that look straight, miss?” The maid glanced over her shoulder to consult with her mistress and suddenly saw him. “Oh—sir!”
“Good day,” Jason said politely.
Felicity whirled around on her heel and suddenly saw him. “You!”
“You,” he countered, raising an eyebrow at this peculiar greeting.
The way her face suddenly lit up with delight at his arrival chased off much of the gloom that had settled over him. At least someone in the world was glad to see him. Jason hung his hat on the coat tree. “What’s all this, then?”
“Come in, come in!” Felicity bustled over, taking his hands. “You’re just in time to help.”
“I am?”
“The fellows here can’t get the cabinet to budge. Roll up your sleeves, Duke, we need your help.”
“Miss!” The butler nearly dropped the oil lamp on the footman’s toe, so aghast was he to hear the young lady ask—well, order—a duke to exert himself. To say nothing of the poor chap’s apparent horror over his own failure to answer the door. “Oh, Your Grace, I am so dreadfully sorry, I-I didn’t hear your knock.”
“Quite all right, my good man.” Jason nodded over his shoulder toward the foyer. “I just let m’self in. Hope you don’t mind.”
“Vous êtes ici chez vous,” Felicity replied brightly with a welcoming gesture about the room.
“Merci,” Jason replied, holding her gaze just a moment too long in amusement. “You might like to know, however, that you are about to receive more visitors.”
Felicity groaned. “Not again!”
“Afraid so. There are two nincompoops driving around and around outside your house. I think they are trying to decide if they dare approach.”
She winced. “Did they see you come in?”
“Certainly not. I eluded them with the utmost cunning,” he said dryly.
“Clever fellow! There were a few others trying to barge in an hour ago. I had Foster here tell them I was not at home.”
“Oh…” Jason suddenly felt awkward. “If this is a bad time, I can show myself out just as easily—”
“No, no, don’t be silly! That doesn’t apply to you.” She slipped her hands through the crook of his elbow and beamed at him. “Old friends are always welcome. Especially ones that I can put to work.”
The butler shook his head at Jason with an agonized look of apology, but he didn’t mind at all. Indeed, he decided on the spot that he quite adored being a part of all Miss Carvel’s domestic hubbub.
Just then, an eager knock pounded at the door, and this time, everybody heard it.
“Warned you,” Jason said with a grin.
Felicity laid her finger over her lips to hush everyone, then waved her hands in front of herself to the butler, shaking her head to make it plain she was not at home.
Foster nodded resolutely and pivoted, marching off to carry out her orders.
“Go and back him up in case they insist on waiting until I am available,” she whispered to her footman.
“Aye, miss. We’ll get rid of them…again.”
“Thank you. Such a nuisance. Oh, and, er, I won’t require either you or Foster for a bit when you’re through.”
The footman seemed startled by this pointed request for privacy with her caller, but he dropped his gaze, sketched a slight bow, and followed the butler.
Jason turned to the lady in charge. “Right. So what are we doing, then?”
Felicity pointed. “Moving this piece of furniture from here to there.”
“Again,” the maid said under her breath with cheeky humor.
“Dorcas! That will do, you saucy thing. Why don’t you run along and fetch us some refreshments. Jason, wine?”
He shrugged. “Whatever you’re having.”
“White wine, and something small to eat,” she told the maid, giving her a look that said, And take your time about it.
“Yes, miss.” Dorcas climbed down off the stepladder and trundled off to her task.
As soon as she had gone, Jason turned to Felicity with a speculative gleam in his eyes.
Alone at last.
CHAPTER 8
Just Once
For a long moment, they just stood there gazing at each other, drinking each other in with a warm and intimate smile.
Coming here had been a good idea, Jason had to admit. But it took everything in him not to reach over and cup that lovely face and kiss those pink, beguiling lips…
Felicity tilted her head, studying him. “What’s wrong?”
“Hmm?” He came back to earth and shook his head. “Nothing. Why?”
“You looked a little glum when you came in.”
Blast it, she was too perceptive by half. He smiled ruefully. “Well, I’m feeling much better now.”
“Because of me?” she exclaimed, eyes twinkling as she stepped back and lifted her chin.
He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Never. Now help me, would you? Here, take off that handsome coat so you don’t rip it.”
“Undressing me the moment we’re alone, Miss Carvel?” he murmured as she moved behind him and peeled his snug merino wool tailcoat off his shoulders.
“I know. Aren’t I incorrigible?” she purred.
He thrilled to the feel of her hands running down his shoulders and then gliding, for no particular reason, down his biceps through the thin, crisp linen of his shirtsleeves.
He liked her touch a great deal. She withdrew to go and lay his coat over the back of a nearby chair.
He turned around to face her and gestured at the chaos in the room. “So what’s all this about?”
“Oh, it’s so exciting!” She dashed back to him and took his hands, pulling him toward the sofa. “Remember how you told me I needed to figure out ways to spend some of my money? Well, it came to me this morning! Look!”
“I thought I was moving furniture.”
“In a moment, yes, but look first.” She tugged him down onto the couch beside her. “I decided to begin my new life by making this house I’ve inherited, you know, more my own. Put my own stamp on it. Not to be rude, but the decor is out of date and, well, frankly a little…old-ladyish, if you will. I want to make it fashionable and new. It’s a wonderful house, in all. It just needs some freshening up. So I’ve decided to redecorate!”
“Is that so?” he murmured, ridiculously pleased she had taken his advice.
“That’s good use of my money, isn’t it?” she asked, waiting innocently for his answer.
He nodded.
“I had a fine cabinetmaker here today to talk about some new furniture, or at least new upholstery on the pieces I inherited. He left these books for me to look through. Chairs, tables, sideboards… And these fabric swatches are just some of the selections I can choose from for the chairs and couches. Isn’t it exciting?”
“Thrilling,” Jason drawled. “Now, if you need any help choosing a new bed…”
“Naughty!” she scolded with a happy little gasp, blushing as she slapped him lightly on the thigh.
Which took him aback and delighted him at the same time.
She seemed to have surprised herself, also. “Ahem, as I was saying,” she continued, “I want it to be nice and bright and airy in here, and I need to get rid of all these knickknacks. They only gather dust and make me sneeze.” She tucked a lock of blond hair behind her ear as she chattered away. “You must give me your opinion on several of my choices.”
He watched and listened to her, entranced.
“After all, you have an excellent eye, Jason. There’s no point denying it, now that I have been to your artists’ house. I had fun yesterday, by the way,” she added, elbowing him fondly.
“As did I.”
Odd, he thought. Miserable as he had felt just a short while ago, now all was right with the world again. And once more, his gaze strayed down to Felicity’s sweet lips.
So very tempting.
He swallowed hard, dragged his stare away, and loosely clasped his hands to keep from reaching for her, resting his elbows on his knees.
“Where’s the Brown today?” he asked, striving for levity despite his rather strangled tone. Craving the ripened, charming woman beside him, he stared blindly at the printed booklet of various chairs for sale.
“With the ladies’ altar guild. They’re planning their next charity effort.”
“Ah.”
“What have you been doing today?” she asked pertly.
He shook his head. “Not much.”
He did not like lying to her, but she seemed to read in his eyes that he didn’t want to talk about it.
“Very well. So tell me which of these two fabrics you like better, then. Don’t mock, this is serious business! For you see, you’ve inspired me with a marvelous new quest, Jason.”
“I have? That one,” he added, pointing at the subtle, pale brocade.
“Oh, good, that’s the one I like, too!”
“What quest?” he inquired.
“Aha, well, once I’ve brought my house up into the first stare of fashion, I mean to begin holding salons and musicales here, much like the Pelletiers, only on a much smaller scale, of course,” she hastened to add.
He studied her in wonder. “Really?”
She nodded eagerly.
He pondered this, thunderstruck, for despite his love of the arts, he had never contemplated such a notion before. All of a sudden, it seemed wonderfully obvious, a tiny glimmer of what was possible if he were married someday.
To the right lady.
He and his duchess could arrange pleasant evenings for their friends, just like Lord and Lady Pelletier did…
“Oh, dear. No response.” Her face fell. “You hate my idea? Is it too presumptuous?”
“No, it’s brilliant. Can I help?” he asked, giving her a boyish bump with his shoulder.
She looked delighted. “Certainly, i-if you like! You could host it with m— Oh, but I suppose that would be too shocking for Society. They’d take it wrong, wouldn’t they? Especially with…you being, well, you.”
“Mmm,” he admitted in dismay.
“You do know they call you the Duke of Scandal, right? Naughty Netherford?”
He twisted his lips at the nickname, dismayed she’d heard it, though God knew he’d earned it.
She laughed at his rueful expression. “It doesn’t bother me! You’ll just have to be my silent partner, then. My right-hand man. Nothing official, nothing for people to gossip about. But your job will be to help lure important guests to my grand occasions! Before you know it, I’ll be all the kick.”
“You already are, love.”
“That’s not me, that’s the money. But thanks anyway.”
