The Viscount s Betrothal Page 18

  The music stopped and she swept a curtsy. She felt light-headed and reckless, yet one part of her mind was marvelling at the way she was dancing and having such pleasure doing so—one of her darkest, scariest bogeymen vanquished at a stroke. As if reading her thoughts, Adam whispered, ‘I can see two Patronesses staring at us. Were they ones who were beastly to you?’

  Decima shot them a hunted look, suddenly a gawky eighteen-year-old again. ‘Mrs Drummond Burrell and Lady Castlereagh. I was terrified of them. They used to look right through me, but you could see what an effort they found it to ignore something as obvious as me, nevertheless.’

  ‘Right.’ Adam tucked her arm through his and headed for the two formidable ladies. Only the fact that over a hundred eyes were watching the dance floor stopped Decima gibbering with nerves and tugging her arm free.

  Chapter Sixteen

  ‘L adies.’ Adam stopped in front of them and bowed slightly, receiving gracious inclinations of their heads and smiles of welcome. Obviously Viscount Weston was approved of. ‘I am sure you know Miss Ross?’ Decima found herself the object of two critical examinations. It appeared the ladies did not know what to make of her, then her height must have touched their memories.

  ‘Decima Ross?’ enquired Mrs Drummond Burrell. ‘Carmichael’s half-sister?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘Good God,’ Lady Castlereagh murmured, then more loudly, ‘You have certainly…developed, Miss Ross.’

  ‘Miss Ross is a quite wonderful dancer,’ Adam confided, ignoring manfully the pinching pressure of Decima’s fingers on his arm. ‘And she tells me she owes it all to your influence over several Seasons.’

  ‘Our influence?’ Mrs Drummond Burrell was obviously looking back at her recollection of an unsatisfactory débutante. ‘I am sure we never gave Miss Ross any encouragement to dance.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Adam said sweetly. ‘Is it not remarkable how character building it is to overcome ignorant prejudice and discouragement?’ With another, perfectly correct, bow, he walked on, Decima quivering at his side.

  ‘That’s wiped the smug smiles off their old pussy faces.’ He looked down at her, his own smile vanishing as he saw her face. ‘Oh, Lord. Did that upset you? I thought you might enjoy it.’

  Decima fought to keep her countenance and found herself pulled sideways through a curtain and out into the screened portico that overlooked the gardens, sheltered from the February weather by removable panes of glass. At the far end a couple were talking, their backs turned to them, otherwise they were alone in the dim and rather chilly interior. She buried her face in her hands and gave way to her feelings.

  Adam swore violently under his breath as he watched Decima’s shaking shoulders with the sort of blind panic that only female tears can produce in an otherwise courageous man. ‘Decima? Sweetheart? I only meant to put the old cats in their place. Don’t cry.’ He gathered her against his chest and gave himself the luxury of one long, deep inhalation, filling his lungs with the scent of her skin and the floral rinse she used on her hair.

  ‘I’m not.’ It came out as a muffled gasp, he had her squashed against him so hard. Cautiously Adam opened his arms and Decima emerged, flushed and giggling. ‘That was wonderful. Thank you so much, Adam. I would never have dared be rude to them, but now I can just ignore them. That is two bogeymen slain in one evening, thanks to you and that nice Mr Mays.’

  ‘Two?’ Adam produced a spotless white handkerchief—thank goodness for his valet—and regarded her cautiously. ‘And what has Mays got to do with anything?’

  ‘He persuaded me to dance. He is such a kind man, and so tall, I felt perfectly at ease with him. So all in one evening I have got over my fear of dancing and I am not going to worry about the Patronesses, either.’

  ‘I’ve probably scuppered your chances of vouchers for Almack’s.’ He hadn’t thought of that. Nor had he reckoned on her taking a liking to George Mays. Interfering in this predominantly feminine world was more complex than he had counted upon.

  ‘I have already got them, thanks to Lady Freshford. She is good friends with Lady Sefton, who was the only one of them who didn’t snub me all those years ago.’ Decima mopped her eyes with his handkerchief, folded it up carefully and put it on the table beside her. Adam put out a hand and slid it silently back into his pocket. How juvenile, being reduced to treasuring a handkerchief because she had dried her tears on it. Love was turning him inside out. He was even jealous of George Mays, for goodness’ sake.

  ‘I am tall, too.’ The words were out before he realised how ridiculous they sounded, and he was rewarded for his foolishness by Decima’s twinkling smile of understanding.

  ‘Yes, but not as tall as Mr Mays. Or some of his military friends.’ She obviously relented, ‘Or perhaps it is the scarlet regimentals—they do flatter a man so.’

  ‘You, Miss Ross, are rapidly becoming a flirt.’

  Decima sent him a slanting look from beneath long, dark lashes. His heart turned, painfully. ‘I’m not, truly. I’m simply enjoying myself a little before I go back to my comfortable, quiet life in Norfolk.’

  ‘Is that what you want?’ He found her answer to his question was vitally important, as though somehow his whole future hung on it. And that was ridiculous, because if he didn’t manage something impossible very soon his future was all too plainly set out before him.

  ‘I don’t know any more.’ She moved away from him restlessly, her gown swishing across the marble of the floor, her shoulders gleaming white in the subdued light.

  What would she say if he just snatched her into his arms, demanded that she run away with him, now, this minute, and to hell with convention and their duty and whatever society might say? He knew, of course—she would look at him out of those clear grey eyes and remind him of his duty to Olivia. Of his honour. And she would be quite correct.

  ‘I think I want to experience things more.’ Decima stopped, turned and began to pace back. ‘I think I want to do things because I want to, not because my family thinks I should do them. Obviously, I do not want to be difficult.’ She broke off, her full underlip caught by her teeth, and thought some more. ‘Actually, whenever Charlton wants me to do something then I do want to be difficult. Do you know, he wrote and said that under no circumstances should I come to London. I started packing immediately.’

  ‘Why ever should you not come to London?’ Charlton’s motives were of profound uninterest to Adam, but he was enjoying the sight of Decima’s white teeth on the full swell of her lip and the memory of how it had felt to bite it himself. He hitched one hip onto a marble plant stand and folded his arms, waiting to be entertained.

  ‘Other than the fact that I had not asked his advice first?’ Decima laughed, producing an exciting swelling of her bosom. Adam dropped his clasped hands strategically and was thankful for the shadows. ‘I hadn’t thought. Perhaps he thinks I will fall into the hands of an unscrupulous fortune hunter, now I am in control of my own money. Or I might buy dashing gowns.’

  ‘Like this one?’

  ‘It is nice, isn’t it?’ Decima asked with an innocent enthusiasm. ‘I had no idea how difficult it would be to wear, though—I have to keep my shoulders back all the time.’

  ‘You already know I admire it.’ He admired it so much that he was calculating how far she would have to lean forward before he could cup the weight of those lovely breasts in his palms.

  ‘Adam.’ He raised his eyes and found her regarding him sternly. ‘Stop it. I cannot pretend that I am not flattered by your flirting, but it has to cease. Olivia might be a complete innocent, and extraordinarily good-natured, but she is going to notice and I would not have her hurt for the world. What if she thought you were serious?’

  But I am serious. And Decima was right; by being alone with her, he was playing with fire—and both her reputation and Olivia’s happiness could go up in flames.

  ‘We ought to go back.’ Decima looked conscious-stricken. ‘People will be wondering what has becom
e of us.’

  Adam followed her through the curtains with the strange feeling that his senses were heightened. Something gripped his chest in a vice, but it was not, as he had first thought, frustrated desire. This was the edgy anticipation he had felt before each of the three duels he had fought. It was not fear, more the gut-deep knowledge that he had better get this right or the consequences were going to be very, very serious.

  Discreetly, he stood back in the shadow of the curtain as Decima made her way back to Lady Freshford, her dark head easily visible as she moved through the throng of shorter young women. If nothing else, he had gifted her the confidence to enjoy society. Or perhaps he was not even responsible for that. Adam felt his mouth curve as he recalled her decisive voice as she explained her New Year’s resolution.

  The sensation that he was about to duel had not left him. He made himself breathe deeply and evenly. Part of it, if he was honest, was thorough-going arousal, his body telling him it was ready to fight for Decima. The problem was, the only opponent to vanquish was Olivia Channing, and in all honour the only way he could defeat her was to ensure she came out of it better off than they had begun.

  Decima had vanished now. Reluctant to move back into the chattering throng, Adam leaned against the door pillar and thought about her. His body ached with the need to possess her, but this was different from anything he had experienced with women in the past. Ruefully he acknowledged there had been plenty to provide a comparison.

  But always what he had desired had been the physical satisfaction that they could give each other. With Decima it was different. He wanted her in that way, of course, his body was telling him so quite plainly, but what he needed was to look into her eyes as he made love to her, to read her feelings in those depths, to open his soul to her and to glimpse hers.

  This was love, it had to be. He shut his eyes and tried to push back the memory of her wide eyes on his as his weight bore her down into the snow.

  ‘Decima.’ He was unaware of whispering her name aloud.

  ‘Are you all right, old chap? I mean, talking to yourself and so forth?’ Adam’s eyes snapped open and he found George Mays gazing at him with concern on his face. ‘A bit mellow, are you? Only I thought you’d want to know your future mama-in-law is on your trail and wondering where you’ve got to.’

  ‘Marvellous. In fact, wonderful. Thought I’d lost her—such a relief to know she’s still here.’

  George’s eyebrows climbed in incredulity. ‘Really, old chap? I have to say: fiancée—what a cracker. But mama-in-law’s a bit of a dragon in my opinion. Anyways, wanted to mention—thanks for marking my card with Miss Ross, she’s a damn fine girl. Enlisting her sympathy about my height did the trick, just like you said it would. I’ve half a mind to call. In fact, I think I’ll send flowers and call. What do you think?’

  Adam looked at George narrowly. He, Adam, might not be mellow, but Mays certainly was. ‘Why not, George? I am sure Miss Ross would be delighted.’ He slapped his friend on the back and strolled off in search of the Channings, his spirits suddenly lifted. The game was on.

  He stopped a few yards from where Olivia was sitting with her mother, chatting animatedly with a young man Adam assumed was her next dance partner. She looked up and the vivacity drained from her face, leaving only the perfectly behaved young miss. No. This was not a game, this was at least as serious as a duel.

  Decima was perfectly aware that her attention was distracted over the very late breakfast she was sharing with the Freshfords. They were all heavy-eyed from the events of the night before. Caroline had tried to sleep, but had been too excited by her first proper ball, her mother was showing signs of the strain of the event on a lady who was on the shady side of forty-five and Henry looked…well, grim, Decima decided.

  She studied his hooded eyes, the hard set of his mouth and his lack of sparkle, and concluded that a pile of Caro’s bills must have landed upon his desk that morning. It was all she could think of to explain it, although it was unlike Henry to fret about money. Henry was a wealthy man who believed in making his wealth work. Decima knew all about the investments in canals and coalmines and even in the new-fangled steam-powered machinery.

  She gave a mental shrug, dismissing the problem for the moment, and went back to brooding on Adam. Part of her was pleased that he had seen her looking her best, that she had danced with him and had succeeded in managing her unruly emotions when she was alone with him. Decima was confident that he had no idea that she felt any more for him than friendship and gratitude for rescuing her.

  But how to resist his flirting? Or the effect his steady gaze had on her heart? Decima cut into her ham and eggs and took herself to task. If someone had asked her, as she had sat at Charlton’s breakfast table that day after Christmas, if she would be content to be independent, confident, enjoying all that London had to offer her, she would have answered with an unhesitating yes. If that same questioner had asked her if she expected to fall in love, she would have laughed in their face and maintained that the summit of her ambitions for happiness was her independence and the company of her good friends.

  Decima sighed and Henry’s deep blue gaze shifted from a moody contemplation of the paper to her face. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Just counting my blessings,’ Decima answered with a smile.

  ‘It didn’t sound like it.’ His mother and sister had their heads together over a fashion journal. ‘Shall we walk after breakfast?’

  ‘Yes, that would be pleasant, I would welcome the fresh air. Shall I see if your mama and Caro…?’

  ‘No.’ Henry shook his head. ‘I want to talk with you alone.’

  When Decima came downstairs an hour later, dressed for walking, she found him fidgeting moodily around the hall. ‘The park?’ she queried, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm as they went down the steps.

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘Henry! Shall we go into the park?’

  ‘Yes, very well, provided your friend Weston isn’t exercising his horses again.’ Henry, normally easygoing to a fault, sounded positively hostile. Decima watched him out of the corner of her eye as they negotiated the Park Lane traffic.

  ‘Did you enjoy yourself last night?’ she asked casually. ‘Caro had a great success, I thought. She is so natural and vivacious, yet with such a touching shyness. I am sure she is going to take.’

  ‘Mmm.’

  Now what to say? ‘Are you intending to go to the Haydons’ soirée this evening? I said I would, but I don’t believe I will stay very late, not after—’

  ‘Are you still in love with that fellow Weston?’ Henry demanded, cutting across her in mid-sentence. Decima doubted he had even realised she was speaking.

  ‘Yes,’ she blurted out before she had time to recollect herself and wonder that she should so expose herself. It had been one thing to confide in Henry when Adam was a distant figure. Now her friend knew only too well that the object of her desires was very publicly attached to another woman.

  ‘Then what is he doing engaged to Olivia…Miss Channing?’ Henry took a savage swipe at an innocent weed with his cane.

  ‘Intending to marry her, I imagine,’ Decima retorted tartly. ‘He has no idea—I sincerely hope—that I have any feelings for him other than friendship.’ She shot Henry a swift, frowning glance. ‘And I want it to stay like that.’

  ‘Is he in love with her?’ Henry persisted.

  ‘Well, of course he is! Why would he marry her if he is not?’ Decima demanded. She sounded no more certain, to her own ears, than she felt. Adam showed no signs of deep love for Olivia. He treated her with coolly respectful politeness, was obviously squiring her about attentively and appeared to be able to tolerate her mother, but there was no heat in his eyes when he looked at her, no depths of tenderness in his voice when he spoke of her.

  ‘It cannot be for her money,’ she added. ‘And although her family is perfectly respectable, I am not aware that she has any connections that might be desirable. A vis
count is hardly likely to be in need of such in any case.’

  ‘Do you think she loves him?’

  ‘No.’ Decima spoke without needing to think about it. ‘No,’ she added more thoughtfully. ‘I think she is in awe of him and very shy. But he is a marvellous match for her.’

  ‘I would say she is terrified,’ Henry observed so dispassionately that Decima would have been quite taken in, if another unfortunate plant was not decapitated as he spoke.

  ‘Surely not? What is there to be frightened of?’ Decima looked at her friend incredulously. ‘Adam has the most even temper—look how he coped with all the problems when we were snowed in. Why, Charlton would have been in a flaming rage after an hour, and I am sure even you would have been somewhat put out.’

  ‘He has high rank, doubtless major households to maintain…’

  ‘Olivia has been raised to be a gentleman’s wife. She might be nervous of the responsibility—but afraid?’

  ‘Quite, that was my feeling,’ Henry agreed with her. ‘I was wondering if perhaps…physically…’ He stopped speaking and walked on in silence.

  ‘Granted Adam is very tall, and Olivia very tiny…’ Decima began, still thinking about how Olivia might feel, confronting such a large specimen of masculinity, especially when he was not in a particularly conciliatory mood. Then her imagination caught up with her and she found herself wondering, not for the first time, what it would be like to lose her virginity to Adam Grantham.

  Alarming, she decided. She found herself blushing from head to toe. Surely Henry wasn’t referring to that aspect of marriage?

  Tentatively she ventured, ‘If you mean that she might be afraid of the, er…marriage bed, I am sure Olivia is too innocent to be worried about that.’

  ‘Of course she is,’ Henry said vehemently. ‘I’m not making much sense, am I?’ he added, sounding wretched.