Doomsday Brethren, Book 04: Entice Me at Twilight (31 page)

She swallowed her emotions. With every word and deed, Simon demonstrated his devotion. He took care of her in every way. Would a man with no feelings for her trouble himself to do that? No. That trembling part of her again asked how long his love could possibly last. Her head knew forever was the right answer. Her heart balked for every night as a child when she’d cried in her bed, aching with longing for someone to love her.

Only Deirdre had cared about her, and anguish pummeled Felicia when she remembered walking into the bathroom and finding the only person she’d ever let herself really love dead and cold. At Deirdre’s funeral, she’d held in the furious tears until everyone had gone. With a stab in her heart, she still recalled wading through grief for the next days and weeks, but no one really reached out to her. Even Mason hadn’t insisted she grieve. He’d pushed her to resume a normal life and hadn’t tried to make her face the feelings she’d known she couldn’t deal with alone.

But Simon … if he knew she’d never really let herself cry for Deirdre, he’d be stunned and appalled and insist she do so now.

How could she not love such a man? It was impossible, and her heart knew it.

“I’m trusting you.” Her voice shook as she put her hand
in his.

He’d likely interpret her words to be about the evening, but it meant so much more. She was too afraid to tell him, but Simon was smart. He would figure out soon that she’d all but fallen for him.

Minutes later, the limousine stopped. Felicia peered out the window. Brown Hotel, another exclusive place for the rich and famous. The driver opened the door, and Simon climbed out. Immediately the press swarmed, shouting lewd questions that rattled her. He ignored them.

Placing her shaking hand in his outstretched one, she clutched her bag with the other and stood on wobbling legs. Flashbulbs went off, one after the other, until the effect was like a strobe light. She clutched his arm.

“Relax,” Simon whispered. “They can’t do anything to you.”

She took a deep breath. He was right. But there was no doubt these vultures had seen the pictures. What were they saying about them? Her?

Felicia turned to him, frowning. “If they can’t do anything, why are you so watchful?”

“There may be trouble tonight.”

“Mathias?” Horror crept through her voice.

“Perhaps. Just remain cautious and stay close to me.”

They pressed slowly through the shouting paparazzi. Cameras and aggressive gossipmongers blocked their way, but thankfully, they were soon at the door, striding through the palatial, expansive lobby, winding their way to an over-the-top ballroom that shouted exclusivity and money. Everyone around them glittered with diamonds and silks, sparkling teeth and perfection. Felicia stopped in her tracks. She recognized actors, politicians, pop stars—a virtual who’s
who of British wealth.

This was Simon’s world, and he looked very comfortable in it. Even without all the magical and Mathias problems, their relationship would be a challenge. She went to work every morning in something faded and cotton, trainers and ponytails. Simon never wore anything less than perfectly pressed designer couture. She winced.

“I don’t belong here.”

“Don’t be silly,” he murmured. “I don’t like all this pretentious crap, honestly. But you must look comfortable, or they’ll eat you alive.” He gestured to the other guests.

A gasp nearby startled Felicia. Within moments, the room began to buzz. Stares swerved their way. Felicia felt their dissecting gazes and shifted restlessly, wishing for a hole to hide in.

Simon wrapped an arm around her and nuzzled her, whispering, “You look gorgeous. Elegant. Their opinions, whatever they are, don’t matter. Take a deep breath. We can last a few hours.”

Felicia took a deep breath, swallowed. Simon needed her to play her part. If they were going to keep the press buzzing, she had to look happy and in love, not scared to death.

“Sorry.” She pasted on a smile and turned to him. “Better?”

“Hmm, not yet, but we’ll keep working on it.” He snagged a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and thrust it into her hands. “Drink.”

She wasn’t terribly fond of alcohol, but this was light and sweet and a surprising godsend. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Let’s dance.”

“I’m not very good,” she admitted.

“Good thing I lead and you follow.” He smiled.

The orchestra played an old and romantic standard,
Someone
to Watch Over Me
. How apropos. Felicia swayed in Simon’s arms. Here, she felt safe, warm, despite paparazzi snapping pictures through the windows and guests staring. For a few perfect minutes, the world shrank to just her and Simon, dancing sublimely close, his heart beating against hers.

With a pass under his arm, Felicia felt light, happy. He was, not surprisingly, very light on his feet. A firm but smooth leader. He dipped her low, and Felicia bent over his arm.

Only to see Mason storming their way. She scrambled upright and turned to face him, butterflies colliding in her stomach and guilt coursing through her veins.

“What the hell is going on between you two?” Mason snarled at his brother, glancing once at her with open anguish.

Something in her chest crumpled. No doubt, she’d hurt Mason, perhaps even broken his heart in the way she most feared having hers broken. She felt two inches tall.

“We’re dancing.” Simon carefully shifted Felicia behind him. “And unless I’m mistaken, you’re not on the guest list.”

Fury contorted Mason’s face. “You son of a—”

“Mason,” she said gently, stepping closer to him. “I tried to call. I want to talk calmly about this.”

He turned a furious glare on her. “The fact he carried you off to ‘rescue’ you, and you what, fell into his arms?”

The room turned deadly silent. Felicia gaped for something to say. “Mason, I
am
in danger and—”

“Really? From whom? Are you going to tell me the waiters are armed?”

She hesitated, wondering how to explain Mathias without revealing magickind. Mason’s face tightened brutally in the silence.

“It’s complicated.” Simon stood between them protectively.

“The only danger to her is
you
. Look me in the eye and tell me you didn’t fuck her.”

Felicia recoiled. He spit the words with contempt, his face a snarl. It wasn’t concern, but resentment. She hardly knew what to say.

“It’s none of your bloody business,” Simon insisted. “You don’t ever talk about her that way again. She’s terrified of her own feelings, and she invested six years in trusting you. After Deirdre’s death, sharing any part of herself wasn’t easy. I know you know that. If you really care for her, are you going to humiliate her in public now?”

Simon’s words melted everything inside her. She clutched his hand tighter.

Betrayal distorted Mason’s face, but he shook his head. “No, I’m not going to humiliate Felicia. But I have the ability and authority to make you regret ever crossing me.”

Mason turned and motioned to someone at the door. Moments later, two men wearing distinctive tall, dark blue helmets came at them with purposeful strides. Felicia’s stomach clenched. The Metropolitan Police.

The one on the left, wearing a commander’s badge, stopped in front of Simon. “Simon Northam, Duke of Hurstgrove?”

“Yes.” He froze.

The sergeant beside him whipped out a pair of handcuffs and slapped them around one of Simon’s wrists. “You’re under arrest for Felicia Safford’s kidnapping and rape.”

F
ELICIA GASPED AS THE
officers whirled Simon around and cuffed his hands behind his back. Around her, the room buzzed as surprise and malicious interest swept through the crowd.

Rape?
“You can’t do this!” she protested to Mason.

But he could. As the prosecutor and the barrister drafting the charges, he would have latitude the average citizen wouldn’t. He could say anything he bloody wanted, at least until someone talked to her and looked at the tabloid pictures. Then, any fool would know the truth. Right?

Or could Mason turn Simon’s proceedings topsy-turvy, forcing him to prove his innocence? Apprehension gripped her chest.

“We have a warrant for his arrest,” the sergeant pointed out.

“Can we do this elsewhere?” Simon hissed. “This is a benefit dinner. There’s no need to keep the cause from making money so that you can make an example of me.”

The sergeant speared Simon with a hard stare. “Are you admitting your guilt?”

“I’m refusing to air legal laundry in front of an audience.”

“Wait!” she demanded. They had to see this was all wrong. “I’m Felicia Safford.”

The commander turned to her. “Are you all right? Do you need medical attention?”

Medical attention?
They truly believed she’d been attacked? “No, of course not. I’m fine.”

The older man sent her a kindly glance. “Then we’d like you to come with us and tell us what happened. We won’t let anyone hurt you anymore.” He glowered at Simon. “Let’s go.”

God, everything was happening so fast. If they took Simon away, her protection would go with him, yes. But she was more concerned about him. She cared for him far too much to let anyone take him from her.

She swallowed, realizing the enormity of her feelings for him. They’d crept up on her and crowded in. He’d barged into her psyche, making himself almost as necessary to her as air.

She loved him. Dear God. How had that happened?

The policemen shoved Simon through the stunned crowd, out the door to the front of the hotel, past the paparazzi. Anxiety, incredulity, and dread rushed through Felicia as she ran after them, through the barrage of questions and flashbulbs. Mason chased after her, shouting. But she didn’t slow. Somehow, she had to get Simon out of this mess.

As the peelers moved to place him in their car and refused her entrance, she grabbed the sergeant’s arm. “Stop! You’re making a mistake!”

He cast a curious glance between her and Mason, who now panted beside her. “You can tell us your side of the story at the station.”

The sergeant pushed Simon in the waiting police car and pivoted away. Felicia darted for the limousine, shaking all over, the press following. Damn, she must keep herself together.

A glowering Mason followed in his sensible sedan.

Nail-biting minutes later, they all arrived at the station. The two officers ushered Felicia into a small interview room, then left. She paced, wondering how long it would be before they allowed her to see Simon.

Mason must have convinced someone to let him in because he barreled into the little room moments later and grabbed her arm. “I filed these charges to help you. Now is
your opportunity to tell the truth, Felicia, without Simon to coerce you. You didn’t leave our wedding voluntarily with him.”

Not for anything would she admit that now.

“You’re using your position to prosecute your own brother?” She felt betrayed on Simon’s behalf. She understood how Mason could feel as if his brother had wronged him, but how could Mason do
this
?

“No, to
protect
you,” Mason insisted. “Make certain he’s punished if he forced himself on you.”

Simon had gone to another woman and engaged in something less than sex to avoid forcing himself on her, his own mate. “He would never do that.”

Mason’s face thundered into a frown. “He’s seduced you. Did he tell you that he loves you? Don’t put anything past him. He’d charm his way into your affections merely to turn you inside out. Felicia, whatever you think you know about him, he’ll break your heart and he’ll relish it. His ‘feelings’ for you …” He shook his head. “They’re all about hurting me.”

Two days ago, she would have believed it and run scared. After all, she’d known Mason for six years, and Simon a mere three days. Now, she suspected that if she asked Simon to cut out his own heart and serve it up for her on a platter, he would.

“Aren’t
you
trying to hurt him with this stunt?” she demanded.

The door to the interrogation room opened, and the two arresting officers walked in, minus Simon. They frowned at Mason.

She jerked her arm from her former fiancé’s grasp. “Where is he?”

“Hurstgrove is in custody,” the sergeant growled. “Pending
interrogation.”

Felicia shook her head. “This is a huge misunderstanding.”

“Is it, now?” The commander sent her a searching gaze. “Not according to Mr. Daniels.” Then he frowned. “Sir, you shouldn’t be talking to the victim until I question her. I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

Mason raised a brow. “I’m both the prosecutor and her fiancé. She’s been hurt, and I’ve just recovered her. I’m not leaving.”

“Simon never hurt me,” she insisted.

The commander hesitated, and Mason kept on. “You know me. I would never do anything to jeopardize this investigation.”

The older man sighed, clearly not liking it, but he nodded and turned Felicia’s way again. “Did the Duke of Hurstgrove carry you away from your wedding against your will?”

“Is that what everyone thought?” She pretended an amused laugh. “Ridiculous.”

The older man’s bushy gray brows slanted down ominously. “Mr. Daniels claims that, after kidnapping you, His Grace forced you to engage in sexual activity against your will.”

Felicia was almost afraid to turn and look at Mason. Now, she had to choose publicly. With one word, she’d likely ruin her relationship with her best friend forever. Inside, she wept, hating that she’d come between brothers. But there was no choice.

“No, he didn’t force me to do anything I didn’t choose to.”

She looked Mason in the eye. His eyes slammed shut, and the pain on his face was a stab to her chest.

“He
carried
you away from our wedding,” Mason insisted.
“I watched him. So did dozens of others. I’ve brought their statements.”

Felicia forced herself not to flinch. “I went willingly. He only carried me as a romantic gesture and so that my shoes wouldn’t be ruined by the snow.”

“Your bloody shoes?” Mason railed. “You’d only met Simon the day before. He was a virtual stranger. You were furious with him.”