“I like a bit of adventure, myself. And comedy. Satire. Notably, Hugo and Verne. Most recently, Wilde.”
“Oscar Wilde?” she exclaimed. “I have heard he’s working on a new play. Do you have plans to see it?”
“I’ve… never been to the theater.”
“Oh.” She didn’t know what to say to that. Though he seemed dressed rather well, it was altogether likely that the theater was a luxury he might not afford.
He said nothing. And she cast about to fill the silence.
“Might I offer you an aperitif, Mr. Severand? Brandy, perhaps?” She stood, happy to busy herself at the sideboard.
“Do you have cognac?”
My, he said that word with such a flare. She wondered if he knew French.
What an enigma this man was.
“Indeed.” She took the decanter and uncorked it, trying not to seem too curious.
Too eager.
Because she was.
“Tell me a little about yourself, Mr. Severand. This job isn’t taking you away from a family, I hope. A wife? Children?” She poured him a generous drink and splashed some into a glass for herself.
She’d never tried cognac before. It wasn’t done for females to partake in polite society. But something told her Mr. Severand wouldn’t like to drink alone.
And wouldn’t judge her if her choice in libation matched his own.
“No family.” The tone of his answer could have dried up the Nile.
Beneath a pang of sadness for him, was a distressing little spurt of relief. She’d not like the idea of taking a husband away from his spouse and children to spend his days— his nights— with her.
Yes, better that he not have a wife.
She much preferred that.
Felicity set his drink on the table, strategically knowing that he’d have to peel his back from the wall and sit across from her in order to drink it.
“Please.” She motioned to the chair he’d occupied earlier, before settling herself in her chaise across from him.
He took his seat just as carefully as before, leaning forward to claim the drink and tossing it back in one mighty swallow.
Felicity sipped at hers, blanching a bit at the startling burn. It wasn’t at all unpleasant though, as the heat spread across her tongue and down her throat, lingering for several moments.
The aftertaste reminded her of baked apples.
“Miss Goode,” he hesitated. “I can’t help but wonder why you engaged my services without speaking to the other applicants for comparison. The choice seems…”
She mentally catalogued all the words he didn’t say. Idiotic. Ridiculous. Impetuous. Foolish.
Sighing, Felicity abandoned her drink for a moment, needing to recover from her initial sip. “I suppose I should warn you of this before you learn it on your own. I am… an infuriatingly absurd woman. I often find myself irrationally fearful in the presence of strangers. In fact, I’ve dreaded this day since I posted the advertisement, because I’d have to meet with so many new men— er— people. The very thought exhausted me. I didn’t sleep one wink last night.”
“That doesn’t make you absurd, especially considering your recent ordeal—”
“That’s just it.” She changed her mind and retrieved her glass again, taking a bolder sip than before. “My attack has little to do with it. I’ve always been this way.”
His grip tightened on his glass, and he leaned forward a little, clarifying the impression of dark, deep-set eyes and a serious mouth. “What are you afraid of, Miss Goode?”
She released a wry sound from the back of her throat. “I fear nothing of consequence and everything beneath the sun. Saying the wrong words, for example. I dread the trivial and the inevitable, such as appearing silly and weak in the presence of gruff and capable men.” She motioned in his direction with a wry smile.
She ticked her fears off on her finger. “I fear the improbable, such as the sky falling or the streets flooding, or being hit by lightning in a storm. I fear losing those I love the most, even though that’s unavoidable. I fear dying. I fear living. Most recently, I fear that someone might burn my house down with me still inside it.” She paused, clearing a gather of emotion from her throat so she could bring the moment a bit of levity. “Yesterday I most feared that the sheer breadth of my ridiculousness would be revealed to my future personal guard, and here I am exposing it to you voluntarily.”
“You’re saying… hiring the first man who appeared on your doorstep saved you from that torment.” He didn’t state this as a question, but she heard one beneath the words.
Felicity plucked at a seam in her skirts, carefully considering her answer. “I hope you’ll forgive my forwardness, but that isn’t at all what I was getting at. I hired you because… because even though you startled me when we met, you didn’t frighten me.”
“I… don’t follow.”
She wasn’t certain she did either, but here they were. She was about to make herself vulnerable to his ridicule and somehow, she didn’t care.
She wasn’t afraid. For once.
“There is something about your presence, Mr. Severand, that I find comforting. And with a nervous disposition like mine, a reassuring presence is like a rare treasure, indeed. That is why I engaged you on the spot. I… felt immediately safe with you.”
He didn’t answer for a beat longer than she expected. “But… I told you I am a dangerous and violent man.”
“And, as it happens, I am in need of a dangerous and violent man.”
He sat stock-still but for his shoulders lifting and lowering with what seemed like labored breath. He said nothing. Just remained immobile for an increasingly unsettling length of time.
“Does that… Did what I revealed bother you?” she worried.
He set his glass down and stood abruptly, retreating toward the window, beyond which a misting rain dimmed the light of the streetlamps. He stared out into the darkness for a moment, and Felicity absurdly wondered if he yearned to be out where he belonged.
Because he was part of that darkness.
He marched toward the door, and just as she feared he was about to leave, he shut them in and strode back to the adjacent window. “Before we go any further, Miss Goode, I need you to look at me.”
Stymied, Felicity stood, as well. Was he going mad? “I am looking at you.”
“Can you see my face?”
Oh. That. “Not… in exacting detail.”
“You should, before you invite me to attend you in public.” His voice never lifted in volume or octave, but it was threaded with increasing tension. “I do not fit comfortably into a ballroom or a lady’s solarium. You might regret asking me to. I will stand here, and you can approach at your discretion.”
“I don’t see why that’s necessary—”
“Just… come closer.” His tone took on an edge, but was also weathered by something she might have identified as dread mixed with a resigned exhaustion.
“Please,” he amended more gently.
“Very well. If you insist.” Felicity was equal parts curious and cautious. She thought Daniel might have experienced something like she did as he braved the lion’s den.