They stood together, looking up and down the crowded thoroughfare. He even handed her the hatbox and package so he could wave his arms over his head, not minding how he looked half a fool, causing Ada to giggle.
Then he took to saying, “there he is!” as a carriage approached, and then “evidently not” when it passed them by.
He did this three times until, smiling at his teasing, she whacked his shoulder with her reticule, and he dissolved into laughter.
“What a display!” said a woman’s voice nearby. “Lord Vile, himself, laughing like a lunatic!”
Chapter Twenty
Ada whipped her head around to see a well-dressed woman with a man wearing a top hat at her side, both with matching disapproving faces. They had stopped on the sidewalk to gawk.
Making sharp eye contact with the woman, Ada expected them to move along.
Instead, the lady took a step closer. “I don’t know whether to feel sorry for you, young lady, or scorn you.”
Feeling Michael stiffen at her side, Ada said, “I beg your pardon?”
At the same time, Michael added, “Madam, whoever you are, it isn’t your place to pass judgment of any kind, neither pity nor scorn.”
The man in the top hat tapped his cane upon the pavement to get Ada’s attention.
“Are you ignorant of this man’s reputation?” he asked. “Do you, perchance, need our help?”
“Or are you one of Lord Vile’s doxies?” asked the woman loudly. “In which case, you should take a step backward and get into the gutter where you belong.”
“Here, now,” Michael said, stepping between her and the odious woman. “I suggest you hold your tongue and move along.”
“Oh, really?” The woman glanced at the man, most probably her husband, then back at Michael. “You are telling me to move along?”
“Actually, no.” Michael’s tone had gone quietly menacing. “Not until after you apologize to this lady.”
“A lady, is she?” the woman sniffed.
“I warn you, madam,” Michael said, then to the man, he added, “Is this your wife?”
“She is,” he said, puffing up his chest. Ada wasn’t sure if he was doing so out of pride or in anticipation of an insult.
“My sympathies to you, then,” Michael said.
Ada nearly smiled as the woman stamped her foot in outrage while her husband’s face reddened.
“May I suggest you rein her in,” Michael added, “as she is making a spectacle of herself? Not only that, with her girth, as you can plainly see, she is blocking our fellow citizens.”
“Oh!” the woman exclaimed.
“How dare you!” said the man.
“I do dare, sir! What’s more, I am demanding an apology, or you and I shall settle this like gentlemen.”
Ada watched the stranger’s face pale at the implication of a duel. However, his wife only smirked.
“Lord Vile thinks he’s a gentleman,” she said. “How absurd!”
“He has better manners than you,” Ada said, stepping around Michael’s protective arm to face the harpy. “You don’t know me, yet have insulted me here in public. You have shown plainly who is the guttersnipe!”
“Are you defending Lord Vile?” the woman asked.
Ada put her face close to the woman’s. “Simply because Lord Alder allows the gossips to demonstrate poor manners with name calling, it does not give you leave to do the same. In my company, I will not tolerate such discourtesy. If you wish to see vileness, madam, I suggest you go home and peer into your looking glass.”
Then Ada looked at the husband. “What’s more, Lord Alder is an excellent shot, almost as good as he is with a sword.”
After a long moment in which the man considered Ada’s words while his wife raised her chin ever higher, he muttered, “My wife meant no disrespect to you, madam.”
His wife nodded, then realized what he’d said. “What are you saying, Horace?”
“He is trying to save himself from being slain,” Ada told her pointedly, at which the woman blanched.
“My companion is correct,” Michael added. “Also, you are still blocking the passers-by.”
Michael’s driver pulled up and jumped from the dickey to the street, opening the door. “Ready, my lord?”
Ada let Michael help her into the carriage, while she could feel waves of rage emanating from him.
Before he climbed in behind her, he paused and addressed the husband.
“My condolences to you for having such a shrew of a wife. At least you may rest assured, she will never fall prey to the likes of me. I only ever pursue attractive ladies, either in face or in manner.”
He entered the carriage, and the driver swiftly closed the door on the distasteful scene, including the couple’s outraged faces.
They stared at each other for a long moment, and Ada shook her head.
Michael reached over and took her hand.
“I’m truly sorry.”
“Don’t be silly,” she said. “You can’t help the rudeness of other people.”
She was still trying to get her thoughts straightened out and come to terms with having defended Lord Vile. What had happened to her desire to bring him to his knees?
“You stood up for me as any proper second would at a duel, and I thank you for that. Obviously, though, I wish it hadn’t been necessary. My previous bad behavior has touched you, which I never would wish in a month of Sundays. For that, I am truly sorry.”
“Pish,” she said. Yes, she certainly had stood up for him. Why?
“Pish,” he echoed, offering her a sheepish grin.
Staring at the handsome man before her, holding her hand, apologizing, smiling, she found her head was spinning.
“So how would you have fared? In a duel, I mean?”
He offered her a wry grin. “You may have exaggerated my abilities a little. I am more than a fair shot, but I haven’t picked up even a fencing sword in years. Perhaps I should get back into practice.”
Then he withdrew his hand from hers, leaned back, and pulled out his flask. After taking a sip, he offered it to her as he always did.
Shaking her head, she stared out the window, perfectly aware he continued to drink until they reached her home.
Maybe if he cleaned up his reputation and stopped seeing other men’s wives, as she’d heard from Maggie, then he wouldn’t need to worry about his abilities with a sword. But that was not her problem.
When they stopped, he jumped out first and helped her down before reaching back into the vehicle for their belongings.
It was obvious he intended to come inside, and she didn’t mind. He followed her into the parlor, and Harry and his nanny entered a moment later, along with Dash.
“There he is,” Michael said in a booming voice. “The little man.”
To her amazement, Michael bent low, and father and son greeted one another with a hug. Then Harry hugged her tightly and held on.
“Sorry, for intruding, missus. He was ever so excited to hear you return.”
Ada stood straight, keeping her hand on Harry’s head.
“Nonsense, Nanny Finn, it’s fine. My son can always come and see me.”
In another minute, though, Harry was pushing away from her and shouting about a biscuit, running from the room and taking his entourage, both woman and dog, with him.
“He has a lot of spirit,” Michael said.
“Indeed,” she agreed, then realized what she’d said, and they both started to laugh.
“Shall we have a drink?” Michael asked.
“Tea?” she offered, knowing it wasn’t his intention.
Sure enough, he wrinkled his nose. “I was thinking more a glass of madeira. It is nearly the hour.”
Whatever hour he had in mind, it was always near it. She hesitated a moment, and then rang for wine. However, after it was brought to them and she watched him relish his first taste of it, she said, “You drink too much.”
He froze, glass in hand, star
ing over the rim at her.
Then he cocked his head. “Do you think so?”
“I do, in fact.”
“Do you care?” he shot back so quickly she nearly answered without thinking.
Yes, she thought. Of course, I care. You are my son’s father. You have become my friend.
Yet all she did was shrug and sip from her own glass for her answers were too disturbing to contemplate.
She cared about Michael Alder, quite apart from him being Lord Vile, the object of her vengeance. If she examined her feelings thoroughly, there was now a soft spot in her heart. Sighing, she stood up and went to the bell pull.
“Will you stay for dinner?” she asked.
“That is the most apathetic dinner invitation I’ve ever had. Complete with a long-suffering sigh.”
Ada couldn’t help but laugh.
“Will you anyway?”
“Yes,” he agreed.
She told Mr. Randall there would be a guest for dinner.
“Shall we look at our purchases?” Michael asked. “Since we had to endure that odious couple to get them, I hope they are worth it.”
He handed her the hatbox from Mrs. Randall’s millinery.
“You first. Let me see what you consider to be a lovely hat.”
Feeling a little embarrassed, Ada pulled off the lid and drew out a pale violet silk structured bonnet dressed with rich purple ribbons with small yellow silk flowers adorning the brim.
He seemed to be considering it. At last, he said, “I believe that does qualify as a lovely hat. Do you want to put it on and show me how it looks?”
“No, thank you.” She didn’t think it would be appropriate to mess up her hair by showing off her new hat. But for a long moment, she held it above her head so he could see it properly, then she put it back in the box.
“What’s in your package?”
“Actually, it’s yours,” he confessed. “Or rather, I bought it for you. Open it, please.”
He’d bought her a present?
Peeling back the brown paper, it revealed felt stuffing to protect the contents and under it was more brown paper. She tossed the stuffing aside and worked on the next layer.
“Oh!” she exclaimed with delight at seeing a framed print of the Crystal Palace.
“I hope you like it.”
“I do,” she said, staring at the intricate pencil drawing, which had been colored in. “It looks so true to life. Such a beautiful structure.”
He fairly beamed at her.
“Your happiness makes me happy,” he said.
He was gushing. What’s more, he sounded as if he was quite sincere.
Tears pricked her eyes. This man had now given her two of her favorite things, Harry and this print. And Dash, for that matter.
She didn’t even mind when he refilled both their glasses, even though she’d taken only a few sips of her wine whereas he had drained his.
“Where will you hang it?” he asked, sitting closer beside her so their thighs touched.
As he took it from her hands and placed it on the table in front of them, she thought for a second about hanging it in the library. Then, without warning, he took her face in his hands and kissed her.
Surprised at this sudden turn of events, Ada stiffened until he hummed against her lips.
Relaxing at once due to the pleasant sensation and opening her mouth to his tongue, she let him kiss her and continue to kiss her until there was a tap at the door.
“Dinner, madam,” said Mr. Randall, not even raising an eyebrow at the close proximity of his mistress to her guest.
It was futile to try to scoot away or pretend they were having a game of charades.
“What was that?” she asked as they rose to their feet.
“What?” He blinked innocently at her.
“That humming you did at the beginning.”
The right side of his mouth turned up in a charmingly crooked smile.
“Did you like it?” he asked.
“I’m not sure.”
After picking up both their glasses, he nodded for her to proceed him.
“Then I will continue to do it until you are sure,” he said to the back of her.
She smiled, rolling her eyes while he couldn’t see her doing so.
*
Michael bypassed White’s and went straight home from Belgrave Square. After a glass of brandy, he went to bed, realizing he actually felt as comfortable in Ada’s house as he did in his own. In fact, more so because she was there, with her glow of warmth, so different from the cool person he first thought her to be.
She had a beautiful laugh.
She had a beautiful everything, for that matter. Even that hat, which had puzzled him since it seemed like every other hat in a milliner’s window. When she held it over her shining golden hair, however, it transformed into a glorious creation.
“You are besotted,” he told himself.
He hadn’t felt this way since Jenny Blackwood. No, that was a lie. He’d never felt this way before or since. He’d admired Jenny more than any other woman he knew at the time. Moreover, he was certain he would have loved her, positive he could have been a good husband.
With Mrs. Ada Kathryn St. Ange, though, he was already half in love if the fast beating of his heart whenever he was about to see her was any indication. Moreover, he desired her with a bone-deep yearning he’d never experienced. He’d fully intended to treat her as an innocent, to court her properly, but once they were alone again in her parlor, he’d simply had to kiss her.
He wanted to do so much more, of course, but there was a scintillating thrill in simply holding her sweet face and pressing his lips to hers. He could have done it for hours if Randall hadn’t interrupted.
After dinner and after Harry had come running in for his own hug and kiss wearing his pajamas, with an exhausted-looking nanny waiting in the doorway, they’d played cards. Ada had taken delight in beating him at Écarté, and he’d equally enjoyed watching her play her trump card and win.
Each time she laid down a winning hand, she gave a little victorious wiggle of her body, which led his brain to think of other enjoyable pursuits.
Still, he was content. He, who for a very long time never went more than a night or two without enjoying a woman’s touch, almost as an exercise in pride to prove he could. Truly, bedding women had become routine, another thing to do in the evening after drinks and cards, and billiards and more drinks. Not as routine and mundane as bathing or combing his hair, but not the exciting act it used to be.
And now, he was content to play cards with the most desirable woman he knew and, of course, to kiss her.
Groaning, he realized content was not exactly the right word. He was fairly bursting to get her into bed again, having enjoyed a sampling of her at his parents’ home. In the back of his mind, however, he had an inkling he might like a far more permanent arrangement than he’d at first dreamed of.
Tupping her, even once, had seemed like an admirable goal. Now, offering for her hand seemed like a better aim. The notion of joining their lives so they could enjoy each other daily brought him nothing but happiness.
Except what had happened that day might happen again. In fact, he was confident it would. They would be out in public and some dunce would decide to hurl insults. Ada would be tarred with the same brush, simply for being near him.
Strangely, she hadn’t seemed to mind. But would she ever consent to be the wife of Lord Vile?
If any woman would, it seemed it would be her. So strong and calm when faced with adversity.
He drifted off to sleep imagining Ada as Lady Michael Alder, and little Harry also taking his name.
*
“You seem quite distracted, Mrs. St. Ange.”
Ada looked up from her notes, nodded at Clive Brunnel, and considered her situation. This was the time when she had intended to give him the bad stock tip to pass along. Michael so trusted Mr. Brunnel, if he told him to put everything into one commodity,
he would. She could ruin him on a whim.
She’d dreamt of it for years. Even in the throes of painful and terrifying childbirth, she’d imagined Lord Vile’s destruction.
“What shall I tell him to buy?” Mr. Brunnel asked.
Hesitating, she looked at her list. It was so easy, but at that precise moment, she hadn’t the stomach for it. Maybe if he wasn’t the heir to the Alder earldom, maybe if his family weren’t counting on him for their future happiness. If only she hadn’t met Camille from whom only yesterday, she’d received a letter asking if she could visit Belgrave Square when she came to London.
They ended their meeting with her advice to purchase stocks in the wool market, which Mr. Brunnel would pass on to Lord Alder immediately. Safe, solid, with no danger of loss.
If she must delay his financial ruin with her sudden trepidation, perhaps she could, at least, bring to a close their romantic association. He definitely seemed smitten with her. Without doubt, very soon, Michael would declare his feelings, and then… then she could break his heart and thrust him from her life forever.
So why, when he invited her to go riding on Rotten Row the next day, did she acquiesce with pleasure instead of stoic resignation?
When they set out, the day was fine, and Hyde Park was crowded with nobility on horseback.
Ignoring anyone who looked at her sideways, perhaps recognizing her companion as the dastardly Lord Vile, she wondered at the difference between his former actions and the way he’d behaved since he’d first stooped to pick up her packages.
“You have done nothing recently to warrant the nickname with which you’ve been saddled.”
“Truly, I have not,” Michael agreed with a careless shrug.
She shook her head at his complaisance. “Is there nothing you can do to restore your good name?”
He laughed. “I suppose if it bothered me enough, or the lady I am with,” he added, “then I would consider what I could do, if anything. Does it bother you?”
“Actually, no. It was more for your sake that I wondered.”
Beastly Lords Collection Page 90