by Louise Allen
‘No, he wouldn’t,’ Decima snapped miserably. ‘I almost let him seduce me at the hunting lodge. He probably thinks I would be pathetically grateful and flattered for the attention.’
‘Whatever his motives, this is completely unacceptable behaviour. I’m going to call him out.’ Henry straightened his cuffs, his brows drawn together in thought. ‘Now, who can I ask to act as my second? It will have to be someone discreet.’
‘No! Henry, you cannot possibly call him out. He never made me any promises, and today I kissed him just as much as he kissed me. I should never have been such a naïve idiot as to think he really found me attractive—it was just the strange circumstances at the time.’
‘Oh yes?’ Henry enquired sarcastically. ‘Being snowed in made you five inches shorter, removed your freckles and gave you a Cupid’s bow mouth, did it? Or perhaps he was dazzled by the snow?’
‘No, of course not. But we were snowed up alone with no chaperon, and it must have been days since he…er…’
‘Unless the man’s a ravening satyr, I am sure he could contain his lust for a week at least before setting out to ravish the nearest female.’ Decima glared at him. ‘And Grantham has no reputation for toying with innocents, either. Pricey mistresses, dashing widows, the odd opera dancer are his style. All perfectly unexceptionable.’
‘Most respectable,’ Decima said between gritted teeth, then recalled asking Adam about his mistresses and subsided with a complete lack of elegance onto the sofa. ‘Henry, you cannot call him out. Leaving aside the risk of scandal and the chance you might get hurt, there is still Pru and Bates to consider. And Spindrift.’
‘What about the mare?’ Henry sounded baffled.
‘I want to breed from her with Adam’s stallion.’
‘And you have discussed it with him? Give me strength, Decima—ladies do not talk about horse breeding with gentlemen.’ He came and sat down at the other end of the sofa and regarded her with exasperated affection.
‘I discuss it with you.’
‘I am the nearest thing you’ve got to a brother and I have given up being shocked by you. At least, I believed I had,’ he added thoughtfully. ‘Feel better now?’
‘Not really. Losing one’s temper is horrid, isn’t it?’
Henry appeared to take this as rhetorical. ‘Tell me about this Miss Channing, then—you might as well get all the misery over in one go.’
‘She’s tiny,’ Decima said, trying not to sound jealous and resentful. ‘Really petite with little hands and feet. And she has blonde hair and blue eyes and a rosebud mouth and skin like cream and she is well behaved and gentle and shy with beautiful deportment—perfect, in fact.’
‘Strewth.’ Henry looked stunned. ‘She sounds amazing. What’s the family like?’
‘Oh, very well-bred—cousins of the Brothertons. The only thing against her is the fact that I believe they haven’t a penny to rub together. A lack of a reasonable dowry is probably Olivia’s only handicap.’
‘And looking like that, it probably doesn’t make much difference,’ Henry observed with an unusual lack of tact.
Whereas the size of my dowry doesn’t make the slightest difference to my lack of attraction, Decima thought bitterly.
‘What do you want to do?’ Henry asked. ‘Go home?’
Two months ago that was exactly what she would have done, Decima realised. Fled and taken her wounds home to lick in privacy. Well, she was a new Decima now and she was not running away from anyone, not even herself.
‘Run away? No, I shall stay here and do exactly what I said I would do—enjoy the London Season without any pressure to be a success or do anything I do not want to do. I hope to be useful to your mama, spend far too much on clothes, go with you to galleries and show off Spindrift in the parks. And with any luck, Pru and Bates can meet and resolve things between them without Adam Grantham needing to know anything more about it.’
‘Good for you.’ Henry held out a hand to help her to her feet. ‘Sounds an excellent programme.’ She must have looked less confident than she had tried to sound, for he grinned, lifted a hand and chucked her under the chin. ‘Chin up, Decima, let’s give polite society something to talk about.’
The first thing she needed to do, Decima realised with a grimace as she went up to her room, was to call on Lady Brotherton. She had lived in the household for so many Seasons it was only polite to visit as soon as possible. No doubt she would hear all about Olivia’s wonderful good fortune from her, but then, it was likely to be much talked about in any case. She had better simply get used to it.
‘Oh, Adam,’ she sighed, sitting down on the window seat and propping her chin on her hand to gaze out at the street. She was a fool, she told herself. What on earth had she hoped for from him? Certainly not marriage, which was the only acceptable way in which she could become more than a casual acquaintance. She’d hoped for nothing, she realised.
Before she had come up to London she had just been thinking about him in a romantic haze as an unobtainable figure of fantasy. He was the man who had awakened all her latent sensuality, had given her the astonishing gift of realising that she was not the freakishly plain girl she had been brought up to believe she was. And as a result she had fallen head over heels.
Or had she? Decima bit her lip in thought. She had been almost instantly attracted to Adam physically, she had liked his sense of humour and his down-to-earth practicality and she had found him so very easy to talk to. Perhaps there was more to her feelings than some sort of pathetic gratitude that a handsome man had paid her attention. She was certainly in love with him. Nothing else, surely, could hurt quite so much? And hurt with a deep longing, not to avoid the source of the pain, but to expose herself to it, over and over again, for ever.
But did it matter whether her feelings were reality or fantasy? Adam could never be hers whatever she thought about it. Presumably other people learned to live with broken hearts—how hard could it be? She caught herself up with a wry smile. She had last thought that about cooking and she hadn’t proved any use at that at all. In fact, Adam had proved to be a much more effective cook than she.
After luncheon she would visit Lady Brotherton, combining duty with the desire to swallow the nasty medicine as soon as possible. Then she could just get on with the rest of her life. Her new, wonderful, independent life, she reminded herself firmly.
Lady Brotherton’s amazement as she greeted Decima should have given her much quiet satisfaction, if only she had not been feeling in such low spirits.
‘My dear Dessy! My goodness, you look so…so…’ She blinked, obviously struggling to find a word that was not completely at odds with every preconception she had ever had about her guest. It proved impossible. ‘Elegant,’ she finally conceded, somewhat breathlessly.
‘Thank you, Lady Brotherton,’ Decima said demurely. That was worth every minute she had endured with Pru fussing over her smart new hairstyle and the severe tight lacing her afternoon gown required. She caught sight of herself in the long glass over the fireplace and forced her shoulders down, making herself relax. Lady Brotherton was in no position to lecture her on posture or anything else now.
‘I do hope you are well, ma’am. And Lord Brotherton, and all the girls, of course. It is Sophie’s year to come out, is it not? She must be so excited.’
‘Yes, we are all in perfect health, thank you, Dessy. Antonia is in an interesting condition, but apart from that they are all out and about—’ Lady Brotherton broke off as the tea tray was brought in. ‘And you are staying with Lady Freshford, I believe you wrote?’
‘Yes, her only daughter Caroline is making her come-out.’
‘Only one daughter. Oh, well, not everyone can have my good fortune. But, Dessy dear, there is the most exciting news—you recall Olivia Channing, my niece?’
Decima suddenly realised she could not claim ignorance of this news. If Olivia said something, then Lady Brotherton would immediately start speculating about what Decima had been doing
with Lord Weston. ‘Indeed, yes. I met her this morning in the street, quite by chance, with Lord Weston. What a fine match to be sure, you must be delighted, ma’am, for I recall how fond you have always been of her.’
‘Indeed I have. Her parents have worked so hard to bring this about.’
‘Olivia has known Lord Weston long?’
‘No, their acquaintance is fairly recent. They met at a house party.’ Why Lady Brotherton was looking uncomfortable about this Decima could not guess, but her speculation was cut short by the arrival of Miss Sophie Brotherton, positively agog with gossip. At the sight of Decima her face fell comically.
‘Oh, I wanted to surprise Mama with the news that you had arrived,’ she complained. ‘But it is lovely to see you. How fine you look, Dessy. Mama, I have seen Olivia and she told me Dessy had arrived—and guess what, Dessy knows Lord Weston! Isn’t that wonderful?’ She turned an eager face to Decima. ‘You see, none of us know him, not really, and we want to know all about him.’
‘You know Lord Weston?’ Lady Brotherton turned a look on her that Decima could only think of as calculating.
‘Yes. Not well.’ Only as well as having stood half-naked in his dressing room while he caressed her body. But then, they had never been formally introduced, so possibly it did not count. Half afraid she was going to giggle hysterically, Decima added, ‘I was visiting Charlton and Hermione for Christmas—you recall I wrote to you from there? I met him during that trip.’
‘Olivia thought you had business together.’ Damn. Now what to say?
‘It is probably something your mama would not wish me to mention in front of you, Sophie.’ Decima grabbed for the only possible half-truth. ‘It is to do with horse breeding. Lord Weston has a sta—’ she caught Lady Brotherton’s eye ‘—a male horse.’
‘Oh, dull stuff.’ Sophie wrinkled her nose. ‘So is there anything you know about him, or is it just horses?’
‘Not really. But Olivia will tell you all about him, won’t she?’
‘She doesn’t know him. I mean, they have hardly had time. They are very distant cousins of some sort and he was kind to her at the Minsters’ house party, but that’s all.’
‘It is not a love match, then?’
‘No,’ said Sophie wistfully.
‘Nothing so vulgar,’ her mother interjected forcefully.
‘But the viscount is so handsome.’ Sophie sighed. ‘It would be wonderful if they were in love. I think Olivia is frightened of him, though.’
‘Nonsense.’ Lady Brotherton frowned at her daughter. ‘Olivia is merely showing a proper reserve. And as for handsome men and love matches—I hope your papa does not catch you talking such foolishness, young lady.’
Decima made her way home with much to think about. It was not a love match, Olivia knew little about her husband-to-be and Sophie thought she was frightened of him.
But what was there to be frightened of? Adam had never shown an irritable or unreasonable side to his character, and the sort of situation they had found themselves in was almost guaranteed to expose such characteristics. Perhaps Olivia was simply overwhelmed by the sheer physical presence of the man. Decima shivered pleasurably at the recollected sensations of being held in his arms, kissed with that much passion and conviction.
But then, she was tall, almost able to stare him in the eye. What would it be like to be possessed by all that maleness if one were a tiny woman? Perhaps that was all it was. Why she should feel the desire to reassure Olivia when the girl was taking the man she loved was confusing. But that desire was there, none the less.
Decima shook her head, wondering at herself. A few months ago these thoughts, the experience that lay behind them, would have been inconceivable. What she needed was to shake the fidgets out of her bones, get back to what was familiar and safe.
Henry was climbing the steps as she alighted from her hackney carriage. ‘Shall we ride tomorrow morning?’ she asked impulsively as he held the door for her. ‘In Hyde Park? Early, so we can gallop and not be told off by all the old pussies. Surely it will not rain.’ Yes, that was it; something she was confident with and could share with Henry.
Adam did up one more coat button against the dank chill of an early February morning and turned Ajax’s head through the Stanhope Street entrance to Hyde Park. The discomfort of getting up at such an hour and riding out just as the reluctant light was penetrating the mist was more than rewarded by the prospect of an almost empty park.
The gelding fidgeted and he held him in check, more for the sake of discipline than anything else, as he scanned the expanse of greensward. Bates had reported that Fox had a loose shoe and the farrier had been sent for. He would have to be taken out that afternoon when the crowds made the prospect of exercising a high-blooded stallion something of a challenge.
The way was clear, right to the carriage road, so Adam let the horse have his head and urged him into a gallop. The cold rush of the wind against his face, the surge of muscle between his thighs and the drumming of the gelding’s hooves was a physical release he hadn’t realised he so badly needed.
He pulled up the reluctant horse as they reached the tan surface of the roadway and made it walk steadily, turning from side to side and changing legs to build suppleness and obedience. The trouble was, that did not occupy his brain or still the restlessness in his blood.
Try as he might, he could not rid his mind of the look of polite contempt on Decima’s face as he had told her of his betrothal. If he had not kissed her, had told her at once of his impending marriage…But no, he had taken her in his arms in a rush of relief at finding her and then, somehow, he had forgotten Olivia entirely.
The fact that he spent most of his waking time wishing he could forget about Miss Channing was no excuse. He had been well and truly caught and, whatever his feelings for his future in-laws, he could not take them out on Olivia. It was his duty as a gentleman to marry her. Which meant that he had to forget Decima.
He had paid off his mistress, knowing that Olivia would be distressed if she ever learned of her existence. How much more would she feel it if she came to suspect his feelings for her old friend?
Decima would go back to Norfolk soon—she had left him in no doubt that she disliked London and society. After all, she had only come up to town because of Bates and Pru.
Ajax snickered, pricking his ears to look down the carriage drive, and Adam saw another horse emerging from the swirls of mist that still hung low over the park.
It was a leggy grey, galloping in defiance of all the rules of good conduct in the park, and on its back, riding as though she was part of the horse, was a tall woman in a green habit.
‘Decima.’
Chapter Fourteen
With the wind whipping her veil tight to her face, Decima glanced back over her shoulder to where Henry, no doubt cursing comprehensively, was attempting to fix a broken stirrup leather. Seeing that Spindrift was in no mood to stand quietly by, he had waved Decima off to have her gallop, but she had no intention of doing more than making a loop round and coming back to his side. It wasn’t fair to abandon him, and, even in a virtually empty park, it was not the thing for ladies to be riding without an escort.
Oh, but this felt so good, to be doing the one thing where she had always felt utterly confident. ‘Drat.’ She spoke aloud as she saw the other rider through the mist. He was seemingly intent on schooling his mount and out of simple good manners she would have to slow down to a decorous trot to pass him.
Spindrift tossed her head at the pressure on her bit, but slowed obediently, only to risk speeding up again when her mistress’s hands suddenly went slack on the reins.
It was Adam and there was absolutely no way to avoid him. ‘Steady!’ Decima brought the mare to a trot and then to a walk, reining in as she came alongside Ajax. ‘Good morning, my lord.’ Try as she might, that sounded cool. She was still angry with him, but the thought he might suspect why was hateful.
‘Good morning, Miss Ross.’ Adam halted
Ajax. ‘We are very formal this morning,’ he observed, with a glint in his eyes that she could not read.
‘It seems appropriate,’ she rejoined.
‘You are angry with me.’ Damn him, why could he not have talked of indifferent things? Now what? To pretend not to know what he was referring to would only made her seem insufferably coy.
‘Are you surprised, my lord? I do not absolve myself from blame—to have returned your embrace was immodest and unwise, but you should have told me that you were engaged. Even if you did not tell me, it was outrageous of you to kiss me.’
‘I had forgotten,’ he said with such breathtaking simplicity she could only stare at him.
‘Forgotten? How could you forget you are engaged to be married? Poor Olivia—it is bad enough that she will have to put up with your mistress, but if she ever suspected that you could forget her so easily, to trifle with another woman…’
‘I was not trifling.’ Ajax shifted suddenly as though his rider had closed his hands hard on the reins. ‘I would never trifle with you. I simply forgot everything because I was so pleased to see you, and then I wanted to know what you were doing in London. If we had not been talking about Pru and Bates, I would have remembered to tell you about Olivia.’
‘Indeed?’ She wanted to believe him so badly. The thought that the man she loved might act dishonourably was intolerable.
‘Indeed,’ he echoed her haughty tone. ‘And, since you raise the subject, I have parted company with my mistress.’
‘Oh, good.’ Decima felt her face relax into a smile, only then realising just how tense she had been. ‘I knew I could not be mistaken in you, Adam. We will forget all about yesterday in your study.’ Not that she ever could forget it: the last time she would be in his arms, the last time his lips would crush down on hers, stealing her heart along with her breath.
The ironic twist of his lips filled her with a sudden doubt that he would forget it either, but she pushed the thought away. Provided Olivia never guessed for a moment that there had ever been anything between them, that was all that mattered.