"I'm fine. See?" She flashed her dimples at him, doing her best to shove her abyss of sadness aside.
He frowned. "That's not genuine."
Felicia sighed. Mason knew her too well. "I'm trying. It's just that ... not having her here makes everything feel incomplete."
"It's natural to miss her."
"Yes. But I'm angry. Her absence is a black spot. Deirdre should be here, and she chose not to be."
"You feel abandoned. I know. You have good cause." Cupping her cheek, he murmured, "Focus on us, on our future. We're going to be happy."
"Yessir." She sent him a mock salute, trying to lighten the mood. "If I didn't say so, you look stunning."
He chuckled. "Thank you. I should go. If Mum knew I'd seen you before the wedding, she would prattle on about bad luck and all that."
"Our friendship is much too thick for us to worry about such things."
He'd supported her through uni after Deirdre's shocking death. With her sister gone, Felicia had faltered, drowning in grief, and she'd lost her scholarship. Mason had arrived, a knight in a white sedan, brought Chinese takeout, and helped her pick up the pieces of her life. After that, they'd gone from close to inseparable.
Now all that stood between them and a comfortable tomorrow was a short jaunt up the aisle in the windowed chapel overlooking the Duke of Hurstgrove's extensive garden, and an exchange of vows as the New Year rang in. In theory, a piece of cake.
But what if things weren't that simple?
"We are very close." Mason squeezed her hand, his gaze direct--disconcertingly so. "Full house, by the way."
Felicia groaned, withdrawing her hand and pressing it to her stomach. "I'm so nervous."
He tensed. "About marrying me?"
She shouldn't be. Good looking, good family, good salary. Her parents, had they lived, would have approved of everything about tonight, even down to the Alita Graham gown. Its modest elegance and the satin ribbon about her waist hinted of a bygone era that fit the wedding's historic location. The three-quarter sleeves suited the late December date. But she couldn't stop wondering if committing herself, even to her best friend, was really a good idea. After what Deirdre had endured, what if she was making a mistake?
No. It was just nerves and sorrow. She had to put them behind her.
"About tripping!" She forced a grin. "This train will likely be the death of me.
Why didn't we elope?"
Mason relaxed and grinned. "Because Simon shows no signs of marrying soon, and my mother wanted at least one wedding to organize. Don't worry. You'll be brilliant."
As he gave her one of those lazy smiles she knew had helped him shag his way through uni, she thanked God it didn't impact her. Then she realized that he wasn't heading toward the door. Instead, he sauntered closer to her, and something in his eyes warmed, darkening in a way she'd never seen.
"Stop frowning, darling. You'll be fine. We'll be fine." The suddenly deep tone of his whisper shivered down her spine.
That I've-had-a-night-of-rough-sex voice was Mason's?
Her eyes widened. Dread flared as he raised a brow and leaned closer, wearing a determined expression. Frozen, she watched as he raised his palm to her jaw, cradling it.
She tried to inch back, but Mason's fingers curled around her nape, staying her. His mouth hovered above hers, his eyes growing sharp with desire.
Oh God! This wasn't what they'd agreed to. This was exactly what she'd feared about marrying him--changing everything. Ruining their friendship.
"Mason, stop. What are you--"
"Shh." He leaned even closer, so close the scent of his aftershave bombarded her.
His smooth-shaven cheek caressed her own. Then he pressed his lips to her jaw.
Mason had kissed her many times. Hello. Good-bye. Always a friendly peck.
Never had his lips lingered, seduced. As if he wanted her.
Felicia sucked in a breath, her heart pumping wildly in panic.
He desired her, after all these years? Yes, logically she'd known they would share a bed eventually once married. They both wanted children, after all. But she'd imagined even sex would be friendly, fun, never seductive or hungry, like Mason's expression suggested now.
Firm lips feathered their way across her cheek. His breathing turned uneven.
Felicia tensed. Anxiety and confusion raced through her blood, chilling her. He urged her closer ... to his mouth.
Felicia started to protest when he silenced her with a firm press of his lips.
Everything inside her froze. For the sake of their marriage, she tried to relax.
With a groan, Mason urged her lips apart. Slowly, he dipped inside, cajoling her with a sweep of lips, a slide of tongue. An embrace of passion. The kiss of a lover.
Never in a million years had she thought Mason felt any true desire for her. The sense of security she'd always felt with him suddenly disappeared, yanked out from under her minutes before their wedding. Relaxing into his kiss was impossible.
She wrenched away and gaped at him, so many thoughts and conflicting feelings bombarding her that she hardly knew where to start.
Mason's breath was choppy. His hands shook. Desire flushed his cheeks as he pressed his forehead against hers. "I've wanted to do that for a very long time."
Seriously?
Yes.
All her life, she'd had the uncanny ability to sense lies. For her, they had an acrid smell that made her slightly queasy. No terrible scent lingered to indicate that Mason had been anything but bluntly honest.
Felicia recoiled.
"This isn't what we discussed. We're ... friends, Mason," she cried as she tried to pull away, form a coherent reply. "We've always been friends. I ... I--"
"We will always be friends. But we're about to be more. I'm sorry if that was too much, too suddenly. We have our whole lives to be together. I won't push you, darling. I know how you feel about love after what happened to Deirdre. But you're no more like her than I am like that bastard she fell for. Let yourself fall in love with me, Felicia." He cupped her shoulders in his hands and stared right into her eyes. "It won't hurt, I promise."
Anger, as fast and hot as lightning, thawed her chill. The last thing she wanted to do today was talk about Alexei, the scum who had destroyed her sister. The fact Mason had even mentioned falling in love ten minutes before she pledged her life to him, when Deirdre weighed so heavily on her heart, ratcheted up her fury--and her fear.
"No. We are friends," she insisted.
"We still are. But Felicia, we're about to become spouses, as well." He caressed her cheek. "I should be able to tell you that I love you."
Felicia's heart stopped. He love-loved her? She sniffed, praying to scent his lie.
Nothing but the slight burn of gas from the furnace. Even without her unusual gift, one look in his melting chocolate eyes told her the answer.
Mason was in love with her.
Bloody hell! How had she missed it?
The air was suddenly gone from her lungs, and she tried to gasp for a breath. "H-how long have you felt this way?"
He hesitated, heaved a reluctant sigh. "Almost from the beginning. I-I wanted to give you plenty of time and space to truly know me, be certain I would never hurt you, before--"
"You think learning that you kept your feelings from me for years doesn't hurt?"
Betrayal and panic overwhelmed her. Her one safe haven had become the very thing she feared most.
What the devil was she supposed to do, now as a houseful of wedding guests awaited them?
He inched forward, cupped her cheeks. Shoving against his chest, Felicia backed away. "Don't. Just ... don't."
"You're panicking, and there's no need. This is me! You know everything about me, from my favorite songs to the sorts of socks I prefer."
Yes, she had known everything about Mason ... except what was in his heart. The fact that he'd spring this on her now made her wonder how much he really understood her or respected the agreement they'd made.
Most women would be thrilled with his sudden revelation, but it terrified Felicia.
She didn't need a psychologist to understand why an orphan would crave a family of her own. She'd wanted one, provided she didn't have to risk her heart. Now? She clenched her fists, dread coiling in her heart.
As she tried to grapple with a world gone topsy-turvy, Mason grabbed her and pressed a quick kiss to her lips, startling her all over again.
She pulled away. "Don't do this."
"I thought I could keep my feelings to myself, but ..." With a solemn stare, he shook his head. "I want all of you, not just the parts you're willing to share. I'm sorry I'm changing everything we agreed to, but with time, I know you'll love me back."
"Mason, I don't think I'm capable of reciprocating and I don't want to hurt you."
"You are capable. In time, you'll see I'm right." His expression softened, imploring her--something his adversaries in court never saw. "The ceremony starts in a few minutes. Please be there with a smile. Everything will work out, I promise. At the stroke of midnight, we'll start a new year and our new lives together."
He pressed a soft kiss to her cheek and left the room. Felicia watched him, anger and fear tangling inside her. For weeks now a voice had been niggling in the back of her head, asking her if marrying Mason was a mistake, and she'd been denying it. He was a wonderful man, would make the most attentive of fathers. They wanted the same things.
How could they lose, right? They'd agreed that love wouldn't enter into the equation. But now ...
What if she ended up hurting her best friend?
Felicia swallowed. That was the last thing she wanted to happen. What the devil should she do to prevent it? Backing out now would pain him. But if she married him to spare him, would he wake up one day, after they'd had a child or two, and realize his love would always be unrequited? How much more would that hurt?
Her first instinct was to break the engagement, but Mason was the first person with whom she shared any accomplishment or problem. The one who told her--before anyone else--of his triumphs and disappointments. Mason's voice was the one she most looked forward to hearing each morning, and the one she needed to hear when nightmares of Deirdre plagued her. If she broke the engagement, and broke his heart, would he ever speak to her again? What would they do without each other?
Her stomach seemed to drop to her toes. She either had to accept his feelings or call off the wedding--and she must decide quickly.
Before she could puzzle it out, Mason spoke in the hallway outside her bedroom.
"Hello, Mother."
"Mason!" the Dowager Duchess of Hurstgrove and Felicia's future mother-in-law exclaimed, shocked. "Were you--" she sputtered. "Did you see Felicia before the ceremony?"
"I did, and she looks lovely. Did you need something?"
His voice made a hundred emotions collide inside Felicia.
Resisting the urge to cry, she crossed her arms tightly over her chest. She'd sought marriage to a friend who would care about her, work with her to build a solid future. A good husband, a nice job until the children came, a house in a quiet suburb, weekends in the park, holidays at the shore.
With a few words, Mason had changed everything. That fact was like a hot knife to the chest. Her future had become a frightening chasm.
"Have you seen your brother?" the dowager asked.
" Half brother," Mason muttered. "The freak."
This wasn't the first time she'd heard Mason's opinion of His Grace. She'd met the man once, just yesterday, so Felicia couldn't comment except to say he deserved his status as England's most eligible bachelor. He was titled, rich, and dangerously good looking. Many women fancied themselves in love with him. For a chance to win His Grace's heart, these stupid cows gave away their bodies and opened up their hearts.
Felicia shuddered to think how many of them he'd crushed under his very expensive boots.
"Mason," his mother chastised. "He is your brother."
Except for their similar coloring and eyes, Felicia would have never guessed it.
The brothers' personalities were night and day.
Mason sighed. "No, I haven't seen him. I told you he wasn't reliable."
Thoughts racing, Felicia bit her lip. If His Grace failed to appear for the ceremony, perhaps they'd have to postpone it. That would buy her time to think about her dilemma with Mason.
"Hello, dear." The Dowager Duchess peeked her head inside the room. "You look lovely, but terrified. Smile."
Felicia glided toward her on numb legs and did her best to comply, though it felt wooden. When Mason edged closer, he saw through her facade. His stare asked what she was going to do. She didn't have a clue.
The dowager turned and wagged a bejeweled finger in Mason's face. "Simon will come, and when he does, you boys will get along. No fighting. Do I make myself clear?"
Mason slanted his mother a long-suffering smile. "Indeed. What shall I tell him?"
"I need him in the sanctuary right away."
"Of course," Mason put a hand to the small of his mother's back and escorted her to the stairs. "I'll send him straight on."
The dowager looked at her younger son over the shoulder of her beaded, pale blue dress. "Come. You're not supposed to see the bride before the ceremony. It really is bad luck."