London, England 1793
#####
Lady Felicity Overwatch, widow of the Earl of Smoak, a renowned beauty of the English ton and member of a clandestine network that helped smuggle aristocratic Parisian children into Britain and away from the violent, bloodthirsty mobs of the reign of terror that currently swept France, stood at the edge of the crowded ballroom and tried not to show her distaste for the decadent waste of elite society.
How could so many people stand by and dance and laugh while so many lives were being snuffed out in the most heinous and callous of ways in a country not far from their own? Entire families, who had committed no offense other than to have been born into French gentry and wealth, were sent to the guillotine under thunderous cheers of revolutionary masses.
For the last year, after losing her beloved husband Arthur to a sudden and unexpected sickness, Felicity had wanted, no, she had needed something to aspire to. A higher cause. And she had found it by helping a covert group, run by an elusive and mysterious leader known only by his symbol, the flower called the Scarlet Pimpernel. No one knew his true identity, but he was extremely clever and amazingly good at what he did. He, with the help of others like herself, helped save countless innocent lives.
She shivered at the memory of the first time she had seen the man. After months of discreetly mentioning her sympathies with the plight of those being persecuted, she was approached to help. Her cliff-side residence, in the remote seaside corner of Dover, was to be used as an entry point, one of many secret arteries of the network, to help bring the orphans into Britain. Felicity had made sure to be in attendance, at the first arrival of the delicate goods, to ensure that every specification she had been sent, via a letter signed only with the melted red wax seal of a flower, was met.
And there he was, walking ashore in the dim moonlight, through the shallow waves of the small, hidden cove located under the cliffs of her manor house, tall and virile, dressed all in black with a sword hanging at his side like a wicked pirate. A cloth mask was tied over the top half of his face and short cropped hair, only revealing a strong masculine jawline, full sensual lips and two piercing blue eyes that conveyed his displeasure at her unplanned presence. His arms had been full of two small children who even in their sleep clung to him like the savior he was.
He had gently handed one of the little boys to her and as the warmth and weight of the exhausted child melted against Felicity's chest he said, with a perfect mix of reprimand and teasing, "This is an unexpected pleasure, Lady Smoak,"
His deep, husky baritone, caused the rest of her body to ignite with a heat she had never felt before. Never. Not even with her beloved Arthur. The lenses of her unique silver framed eye spectacles, fogged over just a little bitty bit, before she was able to pull herself together enough to respond.
"I only wished to make sure everything went as you requested. I could not bear it if one of the children did not make it to safety. I meant no harm,"
He did not respond, simply looked at her as if taking measure of her heart, and ultimately coming to the conclusion that she was sincere.
He said not one word more to her, but as he delivered the last child to the men he had stationed at her home and glanced back at her, as he boarded the small boat that had rowed him ashore, he tipped his head to her in acknowledgement and appreciation.
And that one encounter had sealed Felicity's fascination with the Scarlet Pimpernel.
####
She was jostled out of her musings by the boisterous movement of the ballroom's revelers and had to straighten the diaphanous silk layers of her roman styled gown that proclaimed her Aphrodite, the goddess of love, beauty and pleasure. It was too revealing for her personal taste, with so much of her skin exposed, but it had been all that her hand maid could come up with at the last minute. Her long blonde hair was styled high upon her head with a few loose curls that rested upon her chest. She was one, if not the only woman that moved in society, who was known to wear corrective lenses in public and she frowned as she thought of all the vanity that made that fact, so.
The annual costume ball, hosted by Lord Oliver Queen, the Duke of Starling, was always packed to capacity and Felicity had reluctantly decided to attend to keep up appearances as a carefree English Lady.
Felicity looked around the room, its gaudy decor overwhelming her senses, and did not see the Duke of Starling with his usual group of eager to please him "friends." The man was an enigma to her and a man she had the most conflicting feelings about. From the first, it had always been that way. At her coming out ball three years earlier, she had been instantly attracted to his indigo blue eyes, charming smile and tall, athletic build until...he spoke, and therein lay the problem. He was a charismatic and handsome man, yet, peculiar. With each absurd, flowery and high-pitched word and inane riddles without answers he muttered, revealed a soul that belonged to a ridiculous fop of a dandy who was only concerned about gossip, the indiscretions of those around him and the latest fashions, which he wore to an unabashedly fanciful and lace-filled extreme. He probably owned more powdered wigs than she did.
But Felicity swore, at the oddest moments over the years...she would catch the briefest flashes of cunning and intense intelligence, frustrated boredom and...loneliness in his stare. Perhaps she only wished to see more to him and they were figments of her imagination because she would blink, and his trademark laugh and flamboyant turn of phrase, "sink me," would remind her of what and who he really was. A man, not meant for her.
Although he was blessed with a face that made a woman's body crave and want things, his frivolous nature had guided Felicity away and towards a better man in Arthur. Arthur had been much, much older, but gentle and kind. They had not been blessed with any children and with no living male descendants, Felicity had inherited his fortune. One to rival the Duke of Starling's as a matter of fact.
Felicity sighed with disinterest and decided to find a peaceful corner to wait out the evening till it was appropriate to leave. She found her way through the crowd and walked through the hallways till she found a quieter wing of the house and entered through a set of french doors that brought her into a stunning floral solarium.
The scent of oranges and a multitude of exotic flowers welcomed her as she walked through the beautiful indoor garden and she felt at ease for the first time in a long, long time. She stretched on her toes to smell a blossom that hung from a tree branch and then her abrupt, scream of surprise was muffled under the hand that was placed over her mouth and pulled her into a secret room off the edge of the conservatory.
She struggled against the hard, muscular body that towered over her from behind and the fingers that kept her from making any further sound as the hidden door slid closed in front of her and sealed them away from the faint voices in French that could be heard coming closer.
"Steady now, I won't hurt you," was whispered to her, and she instantly recognized the baritone. The softness of the lips that had grazed the shell of her ear made shivers of awareness run through her body.
The Scarlet Pimpernel. What was he doing here?
His arms tightened and drew her closer so that she was surrounded by his heat and solid strength as both of them listened to the hushed conversation unfold on the other side of the wall.
Felicity's futile struggling completely ceased after she realized who the whispers belonged too and tried to catch every muffled word spoken in the other room. Bits and pieces of the conversation painted a picture of what was going on. They were two French operatives sent to spy on and gather information amongst the English and were on the trail of who they thought was the Scarlet Pimpernel. They had followed a shadowy figure into the manor as the Duke's annual costume ball was in full swing. French spies and the Scarlet Pimpernel? Why wasn't Felicity terrified?
She was plastered against, head to toe, soft curves against sculpted granite, the Scarlet Pimpernel. A man, she did not know the identity of, and blood thirsty spies sent to destroy and kill him where just feet away. Yes, she was scared, but why wasn't she truly afraid? Instead of uncontrollable fear, she was excited and energized. And the steady cadence of the Scarlet Pimpernel's breaths and heartbeat and the way her body fit perfectly within the cradle of his arms, made her feel safe. Absurdly and crazily, safe.