Hadley exchanged a look of apprehension with Miss Emerald that set the hairs on Adalia’s arms bristling. What were the two of them up to? Morgan must have had the same thought, for he chuckled and said, “Perhaps you two should step outside for some fresh air.”
“I’ll go get you another glass of lemonade, Miss Winston.” Hadley scurried away before Adalia had a chance to tell him not to bother. Emerald cast a scathing glance after him before she faced forward, a spurious smile on her face.
Caroline sipped more lemonade then waved her fan about her face.
But it was the dainty man sauntering up to the group that drew Adalia’s attention. The same man who had stared so hatefully at Morgan at the soiree now stopped before them, one hand holding a drink high in the air and the other settled coyly on his waist. This time, however, his spiteful glance barely swept over Morgan before his smile landed on Adalia. “Good day, Morgan. I dare say, do introduce me to your fascinating friend.”
Morgan huffed. “What is it you want, Fabian?”
“Alas, I have told you.” He gave Morgan an innocent look and shifted his hips. “Surely you cannot deny me an introduction.”
“But to what end?” Morgan asked, eyeing the man.
Drayton grinned. “Another request for a duel perhaps?”
Mr. Saville flung a hand in the air, the lace at his cuffs covering his sleeve like an exposed petticoat. Adalia restrained a chuckle at the sight.
“I find it incorrigible that you refuse me the chance to win back my honor,” he announced with flourish.
“I refuse you the chance to die, sir. That is all.”
“Afraid you will lose?” He raised an eyebrow and placed his delicate hand on one hip.
Morgan laughed and fingered the whiskers on his chin.
Emerald’s gaze shifted between Fabian and Morgan. “Oh, leave Mr. Saville alone, Morgan. Perhaps he simply wishes to meet society’s current fancy.”
The way she said it made Adalia feel as though she were a ship passing in the night.
Caroline pressed a hand on her stomach.
“Very well,” Morgan said with impatience. “Mr. Fabian Saville, may I present Miss Adalia Winston. Miss Winston, Mr. Saville.”
Slick black hair crowned a well-shaped head, high rosy cheekbones, and gray eyes flecked in brilliant red that made them seem like fiery embers. He took her hand and bowed to place a kiss upon it. “Charmed, Miss Winston.”
Adalia’s stomach turned. What was it with the men of this elite class? If they weren’t shunning her, they were devouring her with their eyes.
Much like Morgan was doing to the man now—only his devouring was more that of a cougar about to pounce on dinner.
“You cannot keep this treasure all to yourself, Morgan.” Mr. Saville said without taking his eyes off of her. “I insist you accompany me to the horse races this Saturday, Miss Winston.”
Drayton snorted. “A fitting event for a man who can barely mount a pony.”
Mr. Saville’s eyes inflamed. “I am much improved upon a horse,” he ground out through glistening teeth.
Though flattered that another accomplished gentleman wanted to escort her, Adalia’s skin crawled at the man’s invitation. “Well, I—”
“She’s otherwise engaged, Fabian.” Morgan tugged her hand from his.
For the first time since she’d known him, Mr. Drayton smiled. So did Emerald, but her smile was more of the devious kind than stemming from mirth.
Mr. Saville thrust out his chin. “Your lack of civility does you no credit, sir.”
“Then pray, trouble yourself no further over it and go find someone else to be civil with.” Morgan waved him off, but his eyes were on Caroline, whose face had gone pale.
Emerald’s gaze flitted from Caroline then around the room and back to Caroline again like a sparrow looking for a solid place to land. Adalia shook her head. Had Morgan’s friends gone mad? And where had Hadley run off to?
Mr. Saville straightened his shoulders. “I do protest, Mor—”
A soul-grinding moan came from Caroline’s direction. All eyes shot to her as she bent over, gripping her belly. The lemonade slipped from her hand and crashed to the floor, spewing its golden liquid amidst a shower of broken glass.
The huge room, which only moments before was abuzz with laughter and gossip, grew deafeningly silent. A servant ran up to clean the mess while Adalia tore from Morgan’s grasp and threw an arm around Caroline. Emerald stood staring at her numbly.
“Caroline, what’s wrong?” Adalia asked as Morgan stepped to her other side to assist the poor lady to a chair.
“I don’t … know,” Caroline managed to utter before another groan rumbled from her throat. She lifted her head and scanned the flock of eyes—some curious, some alarmed, others annoyed—that took her in as if she were the intermission entertainment. Terror stung her eyes. “Please get me out of here,” she begged Adalia.
“Of course.” Adalia exchanged a look of concern with Morgan as, together, they helped Caroline toward the front entrance.
“Oh no. Oh, heavens no!” Caroline moaned. Suddenly, her chest heaved. Tearing from their grasps, she stumbled toward the door, one hand on her stomach, one hand pushing people aside as she wove through the crowd. One final groan emerged from her throat before she stopped, bent over, and tossed the contents of her stomach into a brass spittoon.
Morgan ordered their coach brought around while Adalia and Emerald hovered over a sobbing Caroline. Well, more like Adalia embraced the lady while Emerald stood by staring at them as if she hadn’t a clue what to do.
Or she felt responsible, somehow.
“Terrible business,” Hadley commented. “Poor girl. Such a sudden illness.”
“Sudden, indeed.” Morgan eyed him. When had his brother ever cared for the feelings of others? And when had Emerald ever offered to get refreshments? And why was Caroline fine one minute and ill the next? After she drank the lemonade. Lemonade that was meant for Adalia. He didn’t want to think so poorly of his brother and his good friend, so he kept his accusations to himself. For now. Instead, he ground his teeth together as the coachman brought their carriage around and the footman leapt down, dropped the step, and opened the door.
Adalia assisted the hysterical Caroline to the carriage as Emerald walked stately by their side, shooing away onlookers as though they were pesky flies.
“It will be all right.” Adalia embraced Caroline before helping her up the step. The poor woman slid onto the seat and gazed out the window, anguish raking her features. “How will it ever be all right?” Her glance took in the surrounding throng. “They will never forget.”
“It doesn’t matter what they think,” Adalia said. “Go home and rest. Call on me if your stomach still pains you tomorrow.”
Caroline nodded and dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief as Emerald joined her in the carriage. “Come along, dear. I’ll see you home.” Her tone held a hint of remorse, so unlike Emerald. “Enjoy the play. I’ll take care of her,” she said to Morgan through the window once they were seated.
“Very well.” He turned to the driver. “Blaney, see that the ladies get home safely, and then you may retire as well.” The footman closed the door and leapt onto the back of the carriage, a lightness in his step, no doubt at the early release from his duties.
Morgan faced Adalia, her concerned gaze still on Caroline as the carriage lurched, then trundled, down the street.
“I believe I’ll join Drayton for the rest of the play.” Hadley raised a brow and gestured toward the theater. “Morgan? Miss Winston?”
Morgan proffered his elbow for Adalia.
She faced him with a sigh. “I’m rather tired. Would you mind if we missed the remainder?”
“Not at all.”
“Good night to you, then.” Hadley bid them adieu and disappeared into the theater.
They walked in silence for several minutes, the sounds of the crowd and the music diminishing. A carriage rattled by. Acr
oss the street, a group of people strolled along, their joyous chatter carried on the wind, which also brought the scent of the bay to Morgan’s nose. He hadn’t been on the brig for weeks, and the longing to be upon the sea swelled within his heart until he felt it would burst.
“Poor Caroline,” Adalia finally spoke, her voice breaking.
They passed beneath a streetlamp. Flickering light glistened over her ebony curls and transformed her skin into shimmering silk. Yet that silk now folded in concern for a lady who had barely given her an ounce of attention. Beautiful on the outside. And on the inside.
“She will recover,” Morgan said.
“From the illness. But not from the embarrassment.”
Morgan nodded. She was right, of course. Society rarely forgot such a social blunder, regardless of whether the act was unavoidable. They would eventually accept her back, but it would be the endless whispers behind her back, the biting taunts that would forever brand her as somehow less than they.
“Caroline seems obsessed with their approval,” Adalia said.
“It is the lot of the landed gentry, I’m afraid. Especially those who wish to make a good match in marriage.”
“Perhaps.” She sighed. “I cannot imagine what brought on so sudden an illness. I must discuss this with Doctor Willaby.”
Morgan would like to know as well. Of course Adalia would never consider any nefarious activity. But Morgan was not so naive. He’d known Emerald since they were children. And Hadley a lifetime. Though he could not imagine either of them being so cruel, their behavior tonight pricked his suspicion. If what he surmised was true, it would have been Adalia suffering now, not only from indigestion but also from chronic humiliation. And it would most likely have ended her willingness to join him in any further society events.
To join him at all, in fact.
And that scared him more than anything.
Adalia took a deep breath and attempted to scatter her thoughts about Caroline. There was nothing she could do to ease her pain, save pray. And that she intended to do as soon as she got home. Perhaps God could use Caroline’s shame to bring her into His loving arms, where she would find comfort and acceptance and freedom from the opinions of others.
They turned down Chalmers Street, and despite the disturbing event with Miss Caroline, Adalia found herself suddenly wishing the night would never end. She could think of no other evening that equaled this one. The Charleston elite had accepted her as one of their own! All save a few. And all because of You, God. All because of Your healing of Elizabeth.
She longed to spread out her skirts and twirl in the street, as she had done when she was a girl and her father would sing and clap and call her his little princess. She had felt like a real princess tonight. The magnificent theater, the play, the gowns, the jewelry, the gentlemen in silk lutestring suits—the opulence. Everyone’s eyes on her. And Adalia on the arm of the handsome man beside her—handsome and charming. Just like a prince.
Surely, she must be dreaming. Only in her dreams would she ever be a part of this fairy-tale world—a world she had, until recently, only glanced at through a window like a hungry, ragged child standing out in the cold rain—a window made of impenetrable glass.
But Morgan had opened the door and invited her in. She smiled up at him now, drawing his gaze, along with his grin.
Sharing a bottle of liquor, two men stumbled toward them. They belted out a ribald ditty then stopped when they spotted Adalia and Morgan. One of them fumbled to remove his hat. She stiffened. Morgan slipped an arm around her waist and led her by them, directing a warning at them with his eyes. A thrill spiraled through her at the protective press of his hand on her back.
Morgan glanced over his shoulder, no doubt to ensure that the men continued on their way, when a man dressed in a white cape crossed in front of Adalia. No. More like he drifted across her path, glancing at her in passing. His face, so calm and serene and perfect, stole the gasp from her mouth.
“For all that is in the world—the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life—is not of the Father but is of the world,” he said, his voice soothing yet commanding like the deep rumble of waves on a shore.
She blinked and turned toward Morgan, asking if he knew the man, but when she looked back, he was gone.
Morgan faced forward. “What man? Those two sots?” He thumbed over his shoulder. “I wouldn’t worry about them.”
“No.” Adalia scanned the dark cobblestone street. Save for pyramids of light beneath the streetlamps, all was dark. “A man wearing a white cape.”
“I think I would have seen such a gaff of fashion.” He chuckled as they approached the doctor’s home. Light danced over the garden from the side window where Dr. Willaby, no doubt, still read his Bible in the sitting room.
Once again, Adalia found herself standing on the first step of the porch, facing a pair of green eyes that were as enchanting and mysterious as a forest at dusk.
“Thank you, Mr. Rutledge … Morgan,” she said, dipping her head.
“Finally.” He flashed a grin and took her gloved hand in his, caressing her fingers.
“I had a marvelous time at the play.”
“Your first?”
“Was I that obvious?”
“Nothing about you is obvious.” He moved closer, still rubbing his thumb over her hand. She could feel his warmth, smell the scent that was Morgan. Any closer and his whiskers would scratch her forehead. He exuded a masculinity, a protectiveness that reached invisible arms around her, making her feel safe … yet, at the same time, raising an alarm that screeched through her, alerting her to danger—a strength that could subdue her without hesitation.
Tugging her hand from his, Adalia took a step back.
He rubbed his chin and frowned. “Why are you frightened of me?”
“Not you.” She shook her head. She could never tell him what had happened to her. “I simply don’t like to be touched.”
He cocked his head, probing her with his gaze before his brows knit. “Someone hurt you.”
Blast the man’s perception. So uncommon for one raised in narcissism. But she could not lie to him. Instead she lowered her chin.
With a touch of his finger, he lifted her to face him. “I would never hurt you, Adalia. And I will kill anyone who does.”
The look of sincerity and intensity in his eyes sent her heart pounding. He ran his thumb over her jaw. Waves that felt like the heat of a tropical sun spread down her neck. Why was she reacting like this? What were these powerful, inescapable feelings? In an attempt to ignore them, she gave him a coy smile. “Such gallantry, sir.”
“Have I finally convinced you that I am no monster?” He placed one boot atop the step. “You did allow me to kiss you once.”
“Not a monster. Perhaps merely a rake. And it was not a kiss.”
“My lips touched yours, if I recall. I believe that counts.”
“I was taken off guard. You pressed your advantage.”
“Yet you did not resist.” He leaned toward her ear, his face inches from hers. “Shall we attempt another, milady? If only to prove to you that I pose no threat?”
Adalia’s breath whipped in her chest. No, she couldn’t possibly. It was one thing to have his lips graze hers and quite another to purposely kiss him. For one thing they were not courting, for another the look in his eyes … Oh my, the look of desire in Morgan’s eyes! She’d seen it before.
Images of Sir Walter intruded into the moment. Visions flashed like morbid vignettes, illustrating her life, her past—who she really was. The malicious folds of his face, his lips dripping with desire. His hands pawing her skin.
She swallowed away a shudder and shot a defiant glance toward Morgan. But his eyes no longer reflected raw desire. Now they gazed at her curiously, tenderly, as if he were gazing at a masterpiece—a precious painting he had no intention of harming. It did much to dissolve her fear. And much to heighten her desire to be loved, cherished, and protected.
Seconds passed as he awaited her answer. Seconds in which her mind waged a battle between right and wrong, dreams and reality, fear and hope. Finally, her thoughts abandoned her altogether as he dropped his gaze to her lips. The way he glanced at them as though they were coated in sweet cream drew the strength from her knees, from her resolve. She opened her mouth to say no. She would absolutely not allow his kiss! But another word barged its way to her lips—“yes.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Morgan’s lips touched hers. A jolt of pleasure spun through Adalia, swirling from her belly, down her limbs, and tingling in her toes until she was forced to lean on him, lest she fall. His whiskers brushed her cheek as he caressed her lips with the tenderness of a man handling a priceless vase. He wrapped an arm around her back and pressed her against him, his passion growing as he drank her in. He tasted of wine and salt and Morgan.
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