Felicia sank back in her seat. Though they traveled farther from danger with every mile, she couldn't remember ever feeling more terrified. "Why me? I'm a nursery school teacher who comes from a family of no import. I have no money."
"I don't give a bloody damn what you do, where you come from, or how much money you make. I want you for you. I want the persistent, logical, sharp woman who asked me a million questions the night I took her away. I want the gorgeous one who surrendered herself to me on the couch."
"But you've had ... dozens? Hundreds?" She flinched. "Thousands of women? I'm not glamorous or sexy or--"
"Not sexy?" he snarled. "Damn it, I have no words for how incredible the sex between us is. I only know that I want more of you and that won't change. Ever."
"You think that now, but what if your feelings don't last?"
He glanced upward, tense, grappling for patience. "If someone didn't break your heart, what the hell happened?"
Felicia drew in a trembling breath. A refusal to answer sat on the tip of her tongue. She didn't share Deirdre's story with just anyone. The pain was too personal, too sharp.
Simon sent a concerned glance at her, and the sincerity on his face made her pause. He had sacrificed so much to save her. He'd risked family dissension, caused a scandal, given up his magical bachelorhood. He'd whisked her from danger twice, and hadn't asked her for half as much, merely for answers. And he was right; she did feel something for him. Those feelings grew by the minute, both warming her and scaring the hell out of her. How could she deny him?
She clasped her hands in her lap and squeezed tightly so he wouldn't see them shaking. "The Saffords adopted me when I was five. My father was a barrister, like Mason. My mother was a self-absorbed socialite who looked forward to club luncheons 129
and galas. I suppose they married because he was wealthy and she was good arm candy. I don't know if his firm frowned on the fact that he had no children or if they thought children would save their marriage. My mother didn't want to ruin her figure with pregnancy. So they visited an orphanage and picked me out, based on a list of desired attributes. Somewhat like shopping for groceries. I was the most beautiful child, my mother said."
"I'm certain you were. But certainly, they came to see how good and intelligent you are."
"She didn't care if I might be sweet, smart, interesting, honest, kind ... whatever.
She mostly concerned herself with whether I looked perfect in Christmas pictures they mailed to their friends and associates." Felicia tried not to sound bitter, but knew she failed. The old hurt never faded.
Simon reached over and squeezed her hand. "I'm sorry, Sunshine."
"At the time they adopted me, they also adopted my older sister, Deirdre. We couldn't be more opposite. She had dark hair like a raven's wing. Glossy, straight. Sleek.
When she smiled ..." Felicia felt her own lips lift as she recalled her sister. "She lit up a room. It's a cliche, I know, but she did. She loved people and life. When she went to uni, she'd come back on weekends and drag me to parties. I was always the wallflower, but by the end of every night, she had men pledging her eternal devotion and women their lifelong friendship. I adored her."
"I can tell." Simon squeezed her hand again. "But why would that make you so violently against love?"
Now the story got difficult. Felicia drew in a steadying breath, praying for strength. "About five years ago, Deirdre met a Russian diplomat's nephew, Alexei. The man had the devil's own good looks. Sophisticated. Beyond charming. Deirdre brought him home for the holidays to introduce him to our parents. He said he loved her." Felicia clenched her teeth, molten fury coursing through her. "I knew he was lying. Deirdre was the only I'd told about my gift, and I begged her to break it off. She insisted they were in love," Felicia spat. "She bloody moved to Russia with the bastard.
"About a year later, she called me late one night, sobbing hysterically. Alexei had left her after admitting that he was married. And had a new mistress. Deirdre had merely been a fling. But he'd grown tired of her. God ..." Felicia clenched her fists. "Her sobs tore at my heart. She begged, told him she loved him. He shrugged and told her to vacate the flat before Christmas."
"Fucking bastard."
"If I knew where to find him, I'd string him up by the balls."
"I don't doubt that," Duke murmured. "I'd help you. What happened next?"
"I wired Deirdre money to return home for the holidays. She came, but Alexei had ripped all the life out of her. She stared at walls with these eerie, vacant eyes. She didn't eat or sleep for days. Just sobbed. I'm certain our parents hoped her heartache would quickly pass. They went skiing for Christmas."
Duke recoiled. "They just ... left?"
"They were very attentive when it came to appearances, grades. We had all the best money could buy. Emotions? They never knew how to deal with those, so they swept them under the rug." Bitterness slashed a jagged gash in her belly. "I took Deirdre to a counselor, set her up with a support group, rocked her when she screamed. Nothing 130
helped." Felicia swallowed, unsure she could even say the next words. She struggled against fresh tears. "Deirdre ... committed suicide a few weeks later."
No avoiding the tears now. They fell in a hard rain as she remembered Deirdre's pale body lying lifeless on the brightly tiled bathroom floor. Felicia slammed her eyes shut and clutched her stomach as the sobs wracked her. "In-never thought she'd swallow a bottle of sedatives. She was my friend, my sister. All I had."
Simon reached over and wiped away her tears. "I'm so sorry."
"Sh-she said that love was the worst thing that ever happened to her. She wished to God she'd never given her heart."
"And you saw what she went through and vowed you never would?"
"Deirdre shielded me from a lot of my parents' coldness and expectations. She deserved happiness, not ..." Felicia couldn't say another word past her tears.
Simon caressed her back, and she curled her knees up to her chest, almost afraid to believe in his comfort. "I understand how much her death must hurt."
" Hurt? It b-broke something in me. I-I miss her s-so damn much."
"I know. But Deirdre wanted you to live. She took you to parties because she wanted you to have fun, meet people. Connect. You're not honoring her wishes."
Felicia clenched her fists, fury pounding in time with the roar of her heart. "You never met my sister. Don't presume to understand what she wanted or thought or believed. She'd want me to be happy above all."
"And are you? Truly? Would you be happy married to a man who couldn't be himself with you, who hid his feelings because he feared losing you too much to pursue the relationship's full potential? And you, refusing to love him but keeping his house and bearing his children--would that really be happily ever after? What would Deirdre have said about that?"
That it was pathetic. Cowardly. Felicia shuddered, burying her tearful face in her hands. "Have you ever had your heart ripped out and--"
"No. But neither have you. You've let no man close enough, have you? What about Tristan? Why did that end?"
Wiping away tears, she shook her head. "I don't know. Does it matter? We had little in common. He was a musician, played long hours. I hated the club scene."
"That's scenery. I'm not hearing a reason."
At the time, it seemed they simply grew apart. But when had their relationship truly ended? He'd asked her to meet his parents, and she'd been uncomfortable. She'd stopped returning some of his calls, hoping he'd understand that she simply wasn't ready for such a step. It hadn't taken long for him to stop ringing her up at all.
"He wasn't the one," she defended.