Page 8 of For a Lady's Irresistible Gaze

Chapter 3

Sitting in his late father’s study and sipping a glass of wine, Felton wondered if Lady Harewood had seen the flowers he had sent. Last night, his fury for the pompous cad had simmered hotter when the Duke had not even graced his sister with a glance of acknowledgement.

Incensed, Felton had pulled Rawden aside and told him why he had asked him to dance with Catherine and the current situation between her and the Duke.

“Now, I just need to even the score. You are colleagues with him, aren’t you?”

“Doesn’t the Duke know you?” Rawden asked anxiously, “You are her sister; shouldn’t he know of you or about you?”

“I left for war two years before he met my sister,” Felton had replied. “Even if he knows who I am, I know he had not seen any portrait of me because I have no patience to sit for such things. I doubt he knows who I am. Just introduce me as Arthur Morgan, and I will take it from here.”

It was there, on the sidelines, he had convened the plot on how to teach that Duke a lesson. Now, with Esther knowing him as Captain Morgan, he knew he had a limited time to seduce her and shame her, just as her brother had done to his sister.

Lady Esther looked like an innocent—all wide-eyed and guileless, but he had seen that glint in her eye, one that told him she was everything but pure.

From the awe on her face when he had mentioned France, Felton believed that she craved action and excitement. And he had enough and more to give her when she decided to break all protocol and come to him.

Looking at the faded plaster on the walls, Felton knew he had to distance himself from his home soon. Luckily, his old apartment in Grosvenor Square once rented to supplement his family’s income, but now uninhabited, was still available to him. He could not continue to live in his old home and risk the chance of Esther coming across Catherine.

“Captain Arthur Morgan…” he snorted after taking a sip of the sweet Spanish wine, “Nice to meet you.”

He had to avoid places like White’s, Brook’s, and assembly rooms as well, so he would not run into the Duke or stumble into someone who knows him from his former life.

Standing, Felton tightened the tied of his banyan and carried the glass to his quarters. He could not delay moving out to London and so set about packing his belongings. While folding his shirts, some that he knew would be bursting at the seams if he tried to wear them, he dryly noted that he had to take an urgent trip to Bond Street for a new wardrobe.

By a few hours to dawn, he had all set in his trunks and de-robed for bed, anticipating the horrible dreams.

I wonder what tonight’s rendition is—the burning in Moscow or the massacre in Vitoria?

Slipping under the sheets, he tried to bring up the best moments overseas, the small stints of peace—but failed. Halfway through the night, the roar of cannons and the agonized cry of dying seamen jolted him awake and kept him awake until past dawn.

Unable to rest, he went to his bathing room, dunked his hands into the cold water resting in the ceramic basin, and splashed the icy liquid onto his face. Battling the images that still lingered behind his eyes, he managed to dispel them and breathed out a sigh of relief.

Grabbing a folded towel, he patted his face dry and went back to the room to tug the drapes open. The weak light dropped on the stacked trunks, ready to be loaded in the carriage.

He moved off to gather his clothing for the day while absolutely refusing to second-guess himself about seducing Lady Harewood. He called for water and by seven, was fully dressed and ready to leave.

Hoping that his mother was up, Felton went to her quarters. She was usually up by this time, telling the kitchen staff what to have for the week’s meals, and then went on to see about her letters in her private drawing-room.

Knocking on the door, he waited for her reply.

“Enter, Felton,” she called.

“Good morning, Mother,” he said while stepping in the room, “I’m sorry, but I think it’s best if I go back to London for a while.”

She stopped in writing and looked at him with confusion, “Now? Why?”

“It’s easier for me to reconnect with my old comrades from the war,” Felton lied.

Lady Dorothea placed her quill in the inkwell and stood, while wrapping her housecoat tighter around herself, “I understand, and besides, you were always a solitary soul. I can see how you would need to be by yourself. All I ask is that you still help Catherine.”

“I will forever help Catherine,” Felton vowed, “And she won’t have to worry about this Duke. I’ll handle it.”

His mother embraced him, “I trust you, Felton. Now, before you go, make sure you say goodbye to Catherine.”

***

The old apartment had not changed much,and he ran his fingers down the dark wooden wainscoting of the bed-chamber. He had already finished unpacking his clothing, and until he could hire a cook and a maid, he was going to fend for himself.

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