Served him right, God rot the cur.
“Addy, come, get out of the water.” Mother hovered on the shore, holding Adaira’s shawl.
“Here, let me have the puppy. You’ve a hard enough time of it with your soaked gown.” Lord Clarendon plucked the pup from the folds of his cutaway coat.
He angled his head in the direction of her parents. “Go on. Don’t speak of this to anyone other than your parents until I can tell the tale. I’ll put everything to right.”
She blinked at him. “How?” Casting a wary glance at the titillated onlookers, she lowered her voice and said, “I’ve made a merry mess of it.”
“Leave that to me.”
“And me,” Flynn interjected.
The men’s gazes meshed, and a silent communication passed between them.
Adaira searched Lord Clarendon’s eyes. “I couldn’t let her drown.”
She squared her shoulders and jutted her chin out. “I couldn’t, Roark. I had to jump in after her.”
His smile was tender as he pushed still dripping locks off her cheek. “If you hadn’t, I would have.”
The most proper Lord Clarendon jumping into the lake fully clothed? Scandalous.
Adaira stared at him, slack-jawed. “You would? Really?”
“Indeed.” He winked at her “You’re a hero. Now, go along.”
He slanted his head at the shore once more, a lock of chestnut hair falling forward rakishly. The scar on his forehead peeked out between the silky strands. Was his hair as soft as it looked? She’d the oddest urge to touch it and find out.
“You’re staring.” His lordship’s voice was low and gravely.
Drat, she was. She dropped her gaze to the pup he cradled. She’d no doubt, rouged cheeks glowed no brighter than hers at the moment.
Lord Clarendon bent his head to her ear. “I rather liked it.”
A delicious bubble of happiness encompassed her. She grinned at him.
“Here, let me help you.” Flynn waded to where she stood and wrapped one arm around her shoulders, while steadying her with his other at her elbow.
Another pair of boots ruined.
Dash it all, but she was troublesome.
“With Flynn helping me, I can manage the pup, my lord,” Adaira said softly.
The earl rubbed the dog’s head and earned a lick on his hand. He passed Irmgard back to Adaira.
Once ashore, she was immediately surrounded by her family. Mother wrapped Adaira’s shawl around her front, holding it closed at the nape of her neck. Lord Clarendon’s cutaway coat, although it hung past her knees, did little to cover the front of her from the waist down.
Freidrick stomped over to her. Lowering his chin, he demanded, “Give me das hund.”
Adaira straightened her spine, hugging the puppy tighter.
“No.”
She scanned the faces around her. None held judgment or reproach. “You don’t deserve this precious animal. She would have died if I hadn’t saved her. Name your price. I’ll buy her from you.”
“Excellent. If you weren’t going to, I was.” Roark sent Freidrick a fierce scowl. “There’s no way I’ll allow an abusive sot like you to leave here with that pitiable animal.”
He pointed at the pup, then sent Adaira a reassuring smile before wading back to his boat. She cast a pleading glance to her father.
“Please. You cannot let Freidrick have her.”
Father’s gaze warmed, and he nodded. “How much do ye want for the cuilean?”
Seeing the confusion on Freidrick’s face, Father repeated, “Name yer price for the pup. I’ll not have ye saying we stole the dog from ye.”
He leveled Freidrick with a contemptuous glare.
Freidrick’s response was masked by a shriek behind Adaira. She turned, clutching Irmgard. Lord Clarendon carried Mrs. Winthrop to shore. Her arms were clasped around his neck, and her head was pressed against his chest. She met Adaira’s gaze, a triumphant smile on her painted mouth.
Adaira hid a smirk in Irmgard’s doggy smelling coat. My but the earl was strong. He toted Mrs. Winthrop like she was a toddler. No easy task given the woman’s full figure.
A rider galloped into the picnic area. A man Adaira didn’t recognize leaped from his horse and scanned the grove. He handed the reins over to a servant who pointed in the crowd’s direction.
What now? More histrionics? Perfect.
Maybe it would serve to divert some unwanted attention from Adaira.
The newcomer strode purposefully to the lake. He was handsome in a severe sort of way. He made directly for Lord Clarendon, barely sparing Mrs. Winthrop a glance, although his attention lingered on Isobel for a moment.
“Clarendon, I’ve urgent news.”
“Yancy, I thought you weren’t arriving until later in the week.” Lord Clarendon lowered Mrs. Winthrop to her feet. She leaned against him as if too weak to stand on her own.
Adaira rolled her eyes skyward. One would think from the woman’s theatrics, she’d been the one to dive into the lake to save the puppy.
The earl smiled at his guests. “It’s time we head back to the mansion to rest before the evenings activities. Please make your way to the carriages.”
He glanced at the woman clinging to him. “Mrs. Winthrop, I must speak with Lord Ramsbury. Count von Schnitzer, may I impose upon you to escort your cousin to her barouche?”
“Certainly.” His lecherous regard never leaving Adaira, the count extended his elbow to his cousin.
Adaira averted her gaze. The man was a rude cawker.
Mrs. Winthrop reluctantly released the earl’s arm and took up the count’s instead. She touched Lord Clarendon’s shoulder. “Will you accompany me in my carriage on the return, my lord?”
His gaze traveled over Adaira. “Yes, perhaps that would be best. Lady Ferguson, Sir Hugh, do feel free to avail yourselves of my landau. Miss Ferguson should make for Cadbury straightaway and have a hot bath, lest she catch a chill.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Mother smiled her gratitude.
“Here, let me have the puppy, so you can hold the shawl yourself.” Seonaid took Irmgard, and nuzzled her neck. She followed the others to the carriages.
“Let’s do hurry, Adaira. I don’t wish for you to fall ill at the beginning of our visit.” Mother started up the gentle sloping embankment, accompanied by the rest of the family.
“Yes, Mother.” Clutching the shawl, Adaira half-turned to thank Lord Clarendon once more.
Lord Ramsbury stepped nearer to the earl and lowered his voice. “He’s free, Clarendon. Edgar’s been set free.
CHAPTER 22
Freshly bathed and perfumed, the lake’s residue washed from her hair, Adaira stood before the mirror in her chamber. She adjusted the bodice of her gown. Satisfied with the modest expanse of skin above the lacy edge, she fastened an ornate ivory and silver cameo around her neck. She then donned the matching earrings.
A movement on the bed caught her attention. The tiny dachshund attacked a stack of pillows, growling low in her throat as she tugged and pounced at the satin and lace edges.
Adaira grinned. “Little fiend.”
She crossed to the bed, stockinged feet sinking into the plush carpet. The puppy rolled onto her back and wiggled ecstatically on the satin counterpane. Adaira rubbed the dog’s belly. The pup tried to nibble her fingers.
“Irmgard. What a ridiculous name for something as adorable as you.” Bending, she kissed the puppy’s snout. “No, I shall call you Kiki because it means beginning a new life, and this is a new life for you, sweetheart.”
“Here be your slippers and fan, Miss Adaira,” Maisey said, extending the items.
Adaira straightened, and her skirts swished about her ankles. This was one of her
favorite gowns. She’d only worn it once before. The silver beaded embroidery work was extraordinary, especially across the neckline. There was a fairy-like quality to the filmy garment and its gauzy netted overskirt. The air stirred with expectancy as if something enchanted was about to occur.
She smiled at her nonsensical thoughts. She didn’t normally have a penchant for fanciful musings. Whatever had come over her?
A handsome face with sensual lips and unsettling blue eyes.
A delicious shiver skimmed her senses. Yes, that might well be the cause.
She slid her feet into the shoes before taking the fan. “Thank you.”
Kiki let out a whimpering woof. Adaira swiveled to the bed. The pup was curled in a tight ball, her nose tucked beneath her tail. She twitched and snuffled in her sleep.
“Maisey, why don’t you take Kiki below? Ask an under footman to care for her this evening. I don’t want to add to your duties.”
“I don’t mind. She be a wee nipper.” Kiki growled in her sleep and Maisey giggled like a little girl with her first pet. “If she gets to wiggling around too much, there be a couple laddies in the kitchen who’d be happy to play with the tyke.”
After slipping on her gloves, Adaira hesitated, eyeing the cameo bracelet. It was too bulky for her taste, and too big for her small wrist. But Mother expected her to don it tonight.
Setting the clasp, she took one last look in the mirror. A beaded silver ribbon entwined her dark hair, the strands shiny from a fresh washing and Maisey brushing them dry. Several long curls framed either side of Adaira’s face. A rosy flush of excitement tinted her cheeks. Her lips glowed red from constant nervous nibbling as the maid dressed her hair.
Adaira wanted to be at her best tonight. No one would call her a dowd or frump when she faced his lordship and his guests. A stab of unease poked her. What Banbury tale had Lord Clarendon concocted that could possibly excuse her jumping fully clothed into a lake?
The way he’d stared at her this afternoon caused the blood in her veins to sing. Why, she was truly anticipating this evening’s dinner and entertainment. A first for her. Humming a Scottish ditty, she strolled the length of the corridor, then continued on to one of the stairway landings.
Fierce whispering under the other arched staircase brought her up short. Should she continue or return to her room? Or make a great deal of noise? She grinned. The latter ought to do it. She turned, then halted mid-step.
“She locked him in a dungeon?” a high-pitched, outraged female voice asked.
“Yes, but it was a case of mistaken identification. So, I was told by my abigail, who heard it from one of Lord Clarendon’s housemaid, who heard it from his lordship’s valet,” another female replied.
A bored male voice entered the conversation. “How can you be certain it’s true? Most likely nothing but servant tattle.”
“Oh no, Sawyer,” the second female denied. “When we boarded the carriage to return to the mansion this afternoon, my Trask found he was without his cane. He’d left it propped against a tree in the grove of oaks, you see.”
Clothing rustled before she continued. “While fetching the cane, he overhead Lord Ramsbury. He and Lord Clarendon were on the other side of the trees. Ramsbury teased Clarendon about Miss Ferguson getting into another scrape. Clarendon laughed and said, ‘At least she didn’t lock me in a dungeon this time.’”
“‘Pon my rep! It’s illegal to imprison a peer,” a man with a nasally voice exclaimed. “Whyever didn’t someone bring charges against her?”
“I’ve no idea, except her half-brother is Viscount Sethwick.” Squeaky woman again. “After her behavior at the lake, I’m quite convinced she’s an incorrigible tart.”
“I don’t believe she was wearing a chemise. Did you see the way her gown clung to her?” snooty lady two asked.
“Scandalous, I tell you. Whatever is Clarendon thinking, inviting those uncouth Scots to his house party?” sniffed the first woman.
Uncouth Scots? I’ll show them an uncouth Scot.
Pressing her lips together, Adaira clenched her fan, wishing she possessed her crop.
“I quite liked the gown. . .” Sawyer started to drawl.
“Sawyer!”
Adaira heard the unmistakable whump of a person being smacked.
“Let me assure you, Helene will hear of this,” lady two declared.
“Is that necessary, Lady Bradford?” Sir Nasal said. “She’ll get her back up. You know how she is when in a froth.”
“Sir Oliver, you know full well she’s been waiting for Clarendon to propose for nigh on a year,” Lady Bradford scolded.
“He couldn’t very well do so earlier as he was mourning his wife and child,” the first lady offered sagely.
Her voice grated along Adaira’s brittle nerves.
“Helene’s my dearest friend, and it’s beyond the pale. I cannot in good conscience keep this from her,” Lady Bradford said. “She won’t be happy he’s brought a chit of questionable standing into her future home. No indeed. She fully anticipates Clarendon to declare himself, perhaps this very evening, so an announcement can be made at the ball tomorrow.”
The blood singing in Adair’s veins transformed to a gloomy dirge. Lord Clarendon was a widower, and he’d lost a child? How tragic. He was much too young to have suffered such sorrow.
And he intended to marry Mrs. Winthrop?
Adaira’s vision blurred, and she blinked rapidly. They’d make a brilliant match. The widow was the perfect example of haut ton desirability. Cultured, well-spoken, and the epitome of feminine delicacy, fashion, and grace. Not to mention perfectly rounded in all the places a man desired. Precisely the type of woman he’d take to wife.
Not a slender one that chews straw, rides astride, and wears breeches.
A queer ache pinged near the vicinity of Adaira’s heart. Absurd. It was of no import to her. It was compassion causing her eyes to tear. Nothing else.
She edged closer to the balustrade. The gossipmonger’s faces and upper bodies were concealed by the stairs. Why weren’t they with the rest of the guests in the drawing room? Had they just arrived? Craning her neck, she saw Westbrook bidding new arrivals welcome at the entrance.
Returning her attention to the chinwags, she tried to identify them. The men wore almost identical garb—black breeches and shoes with white stockings. No clue there.
The women were a different story altogether. One woman’s gown was a travesty of excessive green ruffles, ribbons, and bows. And that was only from her knees down. Adaira half expected vine shoots to sprout from the skirt and begin creeping along the staircase. The other woman’s gown was elegant in its simplicity. A shimmering champagne color with a gossamer overskirt in the same shade, it screeched sophistication.
The voices faded as the gossips moved away, their shoes clicking on the marble floor.
Lady Bradford’s last words rang in Adaira’s ears.
“You don’t suppose the little upstart has designs on his lordship? Helene will be furious, I can tell you.”
Little more than half an hour later, Roark sat at the head of the immense dining table surveying his guests. A full fifty sat for dinner, resplendent in their formal finery. Their chatter, the clanking of china and crystal, and the occasional shouts of laughter and feminine giggles created a pleasant din.
Candlelight glinted off the ladies’ jewels and the crystal teardrops of the ten evenly spaced polished candelabras on the table.
He sought one guest in particular.
Adaira sat three quarters of the way along the table.
She was beyond breathtaking in gauzy white and silver. In the candlelight, the gown glowed, the effect ethereal and nymph-like. Her earrings bobbed as she nodded in answer to spinsterish Miss Darlington’s question. The cameo teasing the cre
st of Adaira’s breasts repeatedly begged for a leisurely assessment of the ivory mounds.
His fingers and lips itched to touch that same tempting flesh. His groin pulsed against his tight breeches. Never before had he so appreciated the privacy a tablecloth offered.
Not once had she looked his way, at least not that he’d noticed. He had the distinct impression she was out of sorts or perhaps, unhappiness subdued her.
The Earl's Enticement (Castle Bride Series) Page 22