Page 35 of For a Lady's Irresistible Gaze

“And for the finishing touches,” Felton handed her some sticks. “His arms.”

Taking the sticks, Esther giggled and stuck both on either side, then stood aside to admire their creation, “I think, My Lord, that we have successfully made the worst looking snowman in the history of our land.”

Standing beside her, Felton cocked his head, “I don’t think it is that bad.”

But then, the top half of the snow-creation begun to slide, taking the head with it, and before either Felton or Esther could react—it toppled over and splattered on the ground.

“…I stand corrected,” Felton replied dryly as he gazed at the heap of mulch. “It is a disaster.”

Giggling, Esther leaned into his side, and Felton found that he liked having her at his side. He refrained from resting a hand on her back as his glove was wet but shifted a little so she could still rest upon his side. Esther twisted her head to look at him, and Felton found himself frozen where he stood, gazing into her glimmering eyes.

The urge to kiss her lips gripped him hard, but instead of meeting her lips, brushed his mouth across her temple, and mourned that he was not able to taste her lips, “Shall we go and skate, My Lady?”

“We shall.”

Extending his hand, Felton leaned in his ear, “About that Christmas Ball of yours…”

***

That evening, as Felton sat before the fire and nursed a glass of wine, he thought about what he had pledged to Esther earlier that day, about attending her family’s ball. He had not brought up the subject of Vauxhall because he had to know what Catherine would say.

Esther had proven herself an adept skater, moving over the Serpentine River's ice at Hyde Park like she had been born with skates on her feet. They had an enjoyable time, but the best one was the moment she had nearly fallen, and he had caught her, spinning her on her skates just a little and hearing her laugh joyously.

Now that he was away from her, he kept debating on what to do with Esther, and though his emotions about her were changing into something more—and dare he said tender—but again, he had never planned to love anyone. If Catherine told him that the Duke had broken her heart, nothing would stop him from avenging her.

There was still no notice from his Mother about Catherine coming home, so the best he could do was wait. Felton was piercing through his plan—a rash, foolish one, to be sure—but as he had already started it, all he could do was to see it through.

He had not thought of the lasting effects; as he was bound to be in London for the rest of his life, how could he avoid running into the Duke? And then, what would he say? Was he Arthur Morgan, or was he Felton Gale? Moreover, how long could the seduction of Lady Harewood have stayed a secret? And worst of all, if he had failed this harebrained quest, shame would have fallen on his family thicker and blacker than oil.

He had to tell the Harewood family the truth inevitably, but he needed to say it to Esther first. He imagined that she would be the most understanding and would not hate him for it. Felton was not sure that the Duke, on the other hand, would understand that he had done all he had, because his sister had been wronged.

If all things went well, he would apologize and leave, and hopefully, there will be peace between the families, what again if that did not happen, he would take all the blame and leave his family.

But what if things went right? Could this arrangement between Esther and me become something good?

Felton wanted to believe it, but it was going to be hard to do so because he had spun a thick and tangled web of lies. Sometimes he wondered who he indeed was, Felton Gale or Arthur Morgan?

No matter how he twisted the problems around, none of them straightened themselves into an answer, and he had come to accept it. He soon put the empty glass away and went to the bedside, peeling the banyan away as he went.

Under the thick blankets, Felton’s hand drifted to the scars on his chest and abdomen, tracing over the horrid scars. His body was another reason he had told himself that marriage was not for him—what woman would like to wake to the collage of scars on his body?

No one is who, which is why I should do what I can to help my family then move off to live alone.

The dour emotion kept his heart cold through the night and to the next morning. And when he woke, the feeling swam to the forefront of the mind, but it did not burn did not scar him as much as it had last night.

Felton was not alarmed about the sudden change, and it was probably for the best to know and acknowledge that he had dug himself into a hole, and it would be a damn hard thing to climb out of it.

Felton felt a bit numb when he sat up, but did away with his sheets and went about his morning routine, jaded. After only drinking one cup of coffee and trying to ignore the dates on the newspaper—December twenty-first—he headed out, taking a horse out to London. He had nowhere particular to go, but he was restless and could not stay still.

Two stark options about his situation were in his mind; if Catherine told him she was hurt, he would grit his teeth and repay the family the full amount of grief they had given her. If Catherine were not as hurt at all, he would come clean to Esther, apologize and try to mend something that was made on lies.

The truth was, Esther was haunting him. He could barely think without his mind snapping to her, and his dreams had taken a curious turn—instead of bombed fields and shattered ships, he saw alabaster skin and lust-filled green eyes. He woke up with his body thrumming with lust and a cock-stand harder than steel.

He had not acted on the temptation to pleasure himself because it felt wrong knowing where he stood with the lady. It was perverse to use her forpleasurewhen he had planned to use her forrevenge. In Green Park, he found himself doing a few runs to keep his mind focused on anything but Esther, Caroline, and the Duke.

Changing direction, he headed off towards his home because if he went to his mother’s house and Catherine was not there, he was liable to go to Bath and find her himself. But as soon as she came home, he would be on his mother’s doorstep.

He arrived at the apartment and, after sending the horseback to the stable, went inside while brushing snow from his lapels.

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