by Stacy Reid
No notion. She would be made to suffer the humiliation of vicious gossips for months, and the simplest act could revive it for years to come. But with him…there would be no intimacy or opening for sentiments. In fact, Edmond was resolved to stay away from her bed. But she would be a duchess.
Edmond grimaced. Was he truly the better choice?
…
Adel’s eyes were gritty, and she was unable to stop yawning. She had fled from the duke to her room but had been unable to sleep. Nor was she feeling brave enough to venture downstairs. She could not marry Wolverton or Lord Vale. She’d scribbled a hasty note and entrusted it to the maid assigned to her, to be delivered to Mr. Atwood with utmost discretion. The clock outside in the hall chimed, and she glanced down at the small pocket watch that belonged to her papa. It was almost time to meet Mr. Atwood in the orangery, if he had indeed received her directions. She was resolute in the way forward—they would have to elope.
There was a knock on the door but before she answered it was opened, and in strolled Evie.
Hurt tightened Adel’s throat. She had been unable to dwell on her closest friend’s betrayal. To see the ravages of tears and torment now in Evie’s eyes did not soothe Adel in any manner. Evie deserved to feel wretched, no matter how uncharitable it seemed. Adel forced herself to take a deep, steadying breath. “I never knew the Duke of Wolverton had offered for you.”
Evie already had red eyes filled with tears. She rushed forward and Adel jerked away. Evie faltered, then clasped her hands together. “I became aware of his offer only last night,” she said hoarsely.
“And you acted with wanton selfishness. Instead of rejecting his offer, you did everything to derail my chance at happiness.”
Evie flinched. “In my fear and panic I was thoughtless, and now I must suffer the consequences of losing the affections of my dearest friend. Please forgive me.”
“No.”
She gasped, but Adel remained unmoved. “I know why you did it.”
Evie paled.
Adel clasped her fingers together at her front to stop them from trembling. “You have been in love with the Marquess of Westfall since I made your acquaintance these two years past. The prospect of marrying anyone else must have been terrifying. But did you not see that you robbed me of the same opportunity of wedding the man I held affections for? Though I rail against it, I fear deep in my heart I must marry the duke, or my family will never be able to recover from such a mess. He is so unlike Mr. Atwood, I cannot see how we will have a happy—or even a slightly happy—situation. The duke’s charms upon closer acquaintance are sorely lacking. He is severe, cold, Evie.”
But his kisses are divine. Adel ignored the traitorous reflections.
Evie’s face crumpled and silent tears streamed down her cheeks. “Westfall and Wolverton are the closest of friends.”
Adel closed her eyes. That would have been unbearable, but it could not excuse Evie’s action. Adel had trusted her friend absolutely.
Evie’s throat worked. “I could not bear to wed the duke, knowing as his duchess I would have cause to entertain his closest friend. I tried to speak to Mamma and all my pleas fell on deaf ears. I cannot imagine a world without belonging to Westfall…and I thought since you had no such similar affections for Mr. Atwood, I…”
Adel stiffened. “I would not wed a man I have no regards for!”
Evie shook her head, her green eyes pleading. “You care for Mr. Atwood, but I love Westfall. At the crest of each dawn I think of him. He is my friend, my confidant, but I also yearn to be his lover. He makes me ache, and my heart belongs to him. He kissed me once, and I still feel the press of his lips against mine, the heat of his body, and the strength of his arms.”
Heat climbed Adel’s cheek. Mr. Atwood never roused such longing in her; but surely in a few more years it would bloom? But the duke did make your blood stir. It was as if the very devil himself whispered the traitorous thoughts to her.
Evie moved farther into the room. “I own to the love I have for the marquess, but it does not excuse my behavior, Adel. I was rash and so foolish. I am not sure what I imagined would happen, but it was not this. All the guests are speaking of you being in the duke’s chamber. Mamma says by next week all of London will know, and the tattle sheets will speak of nothing else for months,” she ended on a harsh sob. “I wish I could go back in time and undo my thoughtlessness,” she said with heartbreaking sincerity.
Tears pricked behind Adel’s lid. For as long as she knew Evie, she had been in love with the marquess who mostly treated her as the younger sister of one of his closest friends. The marquess seemed like he had no thoughts of considering marriage, and Evie was not sure if it was on account of the mysterious scars that roped half of his face, or just the general contempt that seemed to leak from him whenever he mingled with polite society. Though it pained her to acknowledge, Adel was filled with relief that Evie did not have to marry Wolverton and be consigned to such a distressing situation. But Adel would not say so; the sting of the betrayal was too fresh and deep.
“Have you seen Mr. Atwood?”
Evie shook her head.
“I must go to him,” Adel said glancing on the watch. “I hope he has not heard the rumors.”
Evie exhaled softly. “Will you marry the duke?”
Did she have a choice? “If Mr. Atwood is willing to elope, I…” Adel swallowed the sob rising in her throat. “I do not know what I am feeling or thinking. Only a couple hours have passed since I entered the wrong chamber. I do not want to see my family ruined beyond all measure. If I were to elope with Mr. Atwood would that not be the outcome? Would I not be compounding the disaster? Yet I cannot imagine my life with a man I have no knowledge of, one who has said I should not entertain the notion of future love between us. One who looks at me with nothing but emptiness in his eyes? I see no admiration…only a resolve to be honorable. We are ill-suited.”
Evie gasped and sympathy filled her eyes. “I sincerely sympathize with your distress, and I am so very sorry,” she whispered.
So am I.
It took a lot of courage and ingenuity on Adel’s part to enter the orangery unseen. It was barely eight in the morning, but several guests were already up. She was grateful most were still abed, no doubt tired from the late night’s entertainment. Adel colored, remembering how she had added to their amusement.
She pushed open the glass door and espied Mr. Atwood in the far left corner. Her heart soared. Surely it was a good omen he had made the effort to meet with her. At the sound of her footsteps he spun to face her, and Adel was distressed to realize the exhilaration she normally felt at seeing him was decidedly absent. Images of the duke’s cold mien filtered through her thoughts, and she gritted her teeth until they ached. “Mr. Atwood, I am so relieved you were able to slip away. Thank you.”
He nodded stiffly, his normally smiling face stern with disapproval.
Her heart sank. “I am not sure if you’ve heard—”
“I did!” he snapped. “And I will be made to be a laughingstock for it was known I courted you.”
“Mr. Atwood, I—”
“It is on everyone’s tongue how you compromised the duke. I must admire you for setting your cap so high.”
A pang shot ’s heart. Surely he didn’t believe her capable of such wanton social climbing. “I most certainly did not. I thought I was slipping into your room, Mr. Atwood,” she said honestly. She had thought such a confession would have soothed him, but instead he stiffened.
“Did he take your virtue?”
She blushed. “Nothing happened.”
The smoky taste of lips flavored with the hint of brandy, the feel of his throbbing heat…had been incredible, but instead she focused on what she would lose today. Mr. Atwood’s face was becoming more mottled, and disappointment was settling into her stomach. Every instinct was shouting that if Mr. Atwood truly had genuine feelings for her, he would have acted upon them, and they would now be making plans on h
“A few minutes are all it takes,” Mr. Atwood growled in obvious agitation. “To think of that mad bloody scoundrel touching you, kissing your fair lips is enough to make me want to call him out.”
Mad bloody scoundrel?
Her heart lurched. “Don’t be silly. His Grace is innocent in all of this. Everyone seems to be forgetting I thought it was your room. Don’t you see, Mr. Atwood? I thought if we were caught in a compromising position, father would make us wed.” She took a deep breath. “There is no avoiding all that has happened, but the question is, do you still wish to marry me?”
A sharp pang of loss cut deep into her heart. If she were to marry James, the chaotic need the duke had aroused in her body would never be experienced. She angrily pushed such thoughts aside. She had already betrayed James with her body’s reaction to the man; she would not do so with her thoughts.
He froze, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he seemingly struggled to swallow. “We cannot, Adel, I—” He thrust fingers through his hair in obvious frustration.
She firmed her lips to prevent their trembling. “I see. I never realized society’s opinion was so very important to you. You were so eager to wed me, and Papa was so against our union, I thought if the countess knew I had been alone in your room even for a second, she would encourage Papa to see us wed. Entering the duke’s room was a horrid misfortune.”
A florid flush climbed his face. “I cannot even think of continuing to press my suit! Everyone knows you were in his room, and it has already been suggested you may be enceinte. If we were to still wed, I would be forced to defend your honor at every instance.”
Forced to defend my honor…yet a stranger was willing to place the proverbial noose around his neck to save her reputation. Adel’s heart fluttered at her assessment. “Why should we allow the whispers of small-minded people to dictate our lives?” she demanded, though her heart kept plummeting.
He looked away from her, steadfastly refusing to meet her gaze. “They are crucial to my success. The house is already rife with talk of the duke having had you,” Mr. Atwood muttered. “I should not be speaking to you of such delicate matters, but it seems it is unavoidable.”
What delicate matters? “What are they saying Wolverton made me do?” It should not be important, but she strangely cared.
Red splashed across Mr. Atwood’s face and Adel was nonplussed to realize he was blushing.
“They are saying you have been his mistress,” he said harshly.
Mr. Atwood must know such a ridiculous assertion could not possibly be true, but the facts would not be believed. Once society spoke of it, he would find it an affront.
“I see,” she said softly, distressed and annoyed in equal measure to feel tears rising once more to the surface. “I feel as if I have aged a decade in just a few hours,” she gasped, fighting the urge to cry. “I feel so ridiculous. Society’s opinion is far more important to you than I am. I have been silly enough to willingly take steps that might bring ruin to my name, because I thought the tendre we had formed was worth so much more than a cold union.”
Perhaps the duke was right; sentiments in marriage were for the fool-hearted. She had been so certain Mr. Atwood adored her as he’d professed on several occasions.
He grimaced, and then turned soulful eyes to her. “You are so beautiful, Adeline.”
Her eyes widened. Never had he referred to her with such intimacy before, or referred to her as a beauty.
He continued gruffly, “For a long time I felt undeserving of you. That someone as wonderful as you would want to marry me. You enjoy fishing, you listened when I spoke of my work and my dreams of becoming a barrister.”
Regret settled on his face and Adel felt a tight knot forming in the pit of her stomach.
“I cannot marry you, not after you have been caught with the duke. I do not even believe we can be friends. The duke has sworn off marriage, and everyone speaks of the fact that he will abandon you. Your reputation has been irreparably damaged, and you may tarnish mine by association.”
She flinched and he tugged at his cravat. Before she could inform him that the duke had done the honorable thing, Mr. Atwood hurried past her.
“I am sorry,” he murmured as he darted away.
Adel was too stunned to even turn to watch him leave. Years of friendship and expectation had been reduced to a hasty dismissal and good-bye. She closed her eyes. What was she to do now? Would the duke even still want to marry her, after her earlier rejection? She did not have to marry him, she could flee to the country and use her modest inheritance from her mother to try and open a bookshop after the scandal died away. Although her infamy might very well cause patrons to flock to her establishment. She wondered if she should change her name and hope for anonymity to hide her from society’s censure.
And what of your sisters? Though Helena and Beatrix were her stepsisters, Adel loved them wholeheartedly. If she were ruined, the scandal would follow her for years, her sisters would also suffer the consequences. With stiff movements she turned around and walked from the orangery toward the main house. She would have to marry. The idea of wedding Lord Vale was unbearable, and certainly no other man would be interested. She would have to wed the duke…if he would still have her.
Chapter Eight
The rousing strains of the orchestra did little to soothe Adel’s nerves. Life had continued for the guests of Pembington House, and it was only her world that had been shattered. The ball was in full swing, and her stomach was in knots as she descended the wide staircase. Adel had worn the turquoise muslin gown trimmed with gold embroidery for tonight’s ball. She’d not wanted to attend, but Papa and Lady Margaret had been firm, they would not hide as if they were ashamed. The ton was quicker to smell blood when in retreat. Adel became the focus of several pointed stares, and though she had stoically prepared herself for the chatter, the swell that rose in the ballroom was shocking.
“There she is!”
“She has some nerve showing her face. I thought her family would have bundled her away by now, for the shame.”
“She is quite beautiful isn’t she? It is easy to see what tempted the duke.”
The assessment so startled her, she glanced in the direction of the voices and witnessed three gentlemen staring at her. She recognized the Marquess of Westfall amongst them. He insolently caressed her length with his tawny golden eyes, and a smile tugged at his lips, drawing her gaze to the mess of scars running from his forehead down to his chin on the left side of his face. His manner was so bold and outrageous Adel flushed. She had no idea what Evie saw in the reprobate.
“Beauty?” The marquess drawled. “I doubt Wolverton touched the chit. She was simply being a mercenary bitch, and will no doubt expire from shock when he ignores her.”
A sob clawed from the depths of her being and spilled from her throat at the blatant insult.
Mercenary bitch.
His eyes flared and gleamed with something similar to regret, then an expression of icy disdain settled on his face. The men with him appeared so shocked by his vulgarity that it left them silent.
“That is very unsporting of you, Westfall,” one of the men muttered, looking discomfited. “Perhaps Wolverton will offer for her.”
“Why ever would he do such a ghastly thing?”
Tears pricked behind her lids, and she gave Westfall her back and walked away. Westfall was Wolverton’s closest friend. Had the duke shared with the marquess his true opinion of her mistake? Adel so badly wanted to scamper away and plead with her father to depart the house party. Surely her presence would only fan the embers of scandal more. Surely out of sight would be out of mind.
“I wonder if he will take her to be his mistress.”
“I’ve been told she was already his soiled little dove.”
With false calm she waited near the terrace windows. No one greeted her, and dance after dance were announced and no one had approached her. They only stared. Even Mr. Atwood made a concentrated effort to direct his attention elsewhere and those of society in the Gladstone ballroom took note. She sucked in a breath when Lady Margaret entered and instead of coming over, chose to make the rounds. Adel had just decided to leave when a sudden ripple of conversation washed over the assembled throng. The too loud murmurs began at the far left side of the ballroom and crested in Adel’s direction.
“It’s the duke.”
“Wolverton?”
“Yes…it seems as if Viscount Eldridge has won the wager. He swore the duke would make an appearance tonight and Lord Westfall bet twenty guineas he would not!”
Several ladies actually turned so they could see as he descended the stairs. He looked handsome, clad in black trousers with a matching jacket and silver brocade waistcoat. His dark hair was tamed, and Adel fancied she could see the piercing silver of his eyes from where she stood.
“Will he go to her or cut her?”
Adel felt sick at that whisper. She had rejected his offer. And he had no notion that she had tried to speak with him earlier, but had been told he had been out riding. What if he ignored her for the duration of the ball? That would cement in society’s eyes, that she was soiled and unworthy. Firming her jaw and straightening her spine, she scanned the crowd. Satisfaction curled inside her that many were unable to meet her gaze for long. It was a small triumph but she welcomed it.
Many greeted him as he came off the final steps. Lord and Lady Gladstone were one of the first to approach him, and they smiled and chatted as if nothing were amiss. After a few minutes the duke inclined his head and walked away. The crowd parted as he moved with purpose not toward her, but away.
Adel’s heart pounded and in desperation she went to the refreshment table and collected a punch glass.
“He is cutting her.” A whisper to her left reached her ears.
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