He shrugged. “What can I do? It explains why Philippa went to such lengths to trap James, I suppose, but how the devil am I supposed to prove that her baby isn’t his?”
Christine shook her head. “I have no idea.”
“You realise what this means, of course. If she did become impregnated at that blasted masquerade, then King could be the father of the next Duke of Southsea.”
“Yes.”
“Indeed, yes. And wouldn’t he just love to have that secret hold over us all.”
Adam left Christine’s in a grim state of mind, his worst fears confirmed. James couldn’t have fathered Philippa’s baby, and she’d used his bereavement as a means of preventing her own disgrace. Adam was in danger of exploding with an anger as impotent as James himself apparently was.
He might be almost certain, but how the deuce was he supposed to prove it? If James himself harboured doubts it would be one thing. But he was clearly not only enamoured of his new wife but delighted at the prospect of impending fatherhood. Given his incapability, Adam now understood why.
It was also clear why he’d hesitated to offer for Philippa before he left for the Peninsula. He must have subconsciously recognised the wild streak in her that had ultimately landed her in trouble. Bertram Dennett had become intoxicated by his father’s endless supply of money, which he frittered away without a second thought. His friendship with Adam gave him access to the top echelons of society. It was a world that would otherwise have been closed to him, in spite of all his money. It was then that he abandoned all attempts at self-control, culminating in his almost being called out by an outraged husband. Not content with that, he ran up enormous gambling debts and developed a tendre for a notorious actress.
Adam was so taken up with his thoughts that he almost failed to notice his mother’s gig half-hidden in one of Chamberleigh’s loose boxes. So, Florentina was here again. His curiosity piqued, he gave no indication that he’d seen the conveyance. He took Rochester’s reins from the waiting groom, mounted up and rode away. Then he hid himself behind a nearby stand of trees and waited.
The gig appeared five minutes later, driven at a brisk trot by Florentina. Adam kept a long way behind but soon realised she was heading for the northern perimeter of the estate, a section that wasn’t in use at this time of the year. Just that morning he and Fowler had discussed the dilapidated cottages there. Before he left to join his regiment, Adam had left instructions that they should be restored for use by some of their tenants. Philippa had countermanded those orders and the work had yet to commence.
He halted Rochester and tied him to a strong branch. Florentina brought the gig to a halt in front of the cottages and climbed down. She reached back under the seat and extracted what appeared to be a hamper. It was obviously heavy and she struggled to lift it down.
Adam crept up behind the cottages and peered in through the half-boarded window of the establishment she’d entered. He heard rapid Spanish being spoken, even before he observed the occupants. His suspicions on high alert, he looked through a crack and discerned Florentina crouching between three young girls and a lad of no more than eleven or twelve. He understood Spanish and easily followed their conversation.
“It won’t be much longer now,” Florentina assured them. “We’ll soon be able to move you somewhere more comfortable.”
“This is a better than what that horrible man wanted us to do,” one of the girls said.
“Yes, indeed, you won’t be put in that position again.” Florentina sounded resolutely determined as she handed out bundles of food wrapped in damp cloths. “Just remember not to venture out of this cottage before it’s full dark. And don’t go so far that you can’t get back here quickly if someone should pass by. Too many questions will be asked if you’re seen, and that will put us all at risk.”
“Yes, we understand.”
Adam had seen enough and returned to Rochester before there was any possibility of Florentina reemerging. These people had obviously been rescued by Florentina and Christine and, presumably, others. But from what? And why was Florentina prepared to play the part of the courtesan in order to protect them?
Chapter Eight
Her Grace’s dresser helped Florentina into her gown of emerald sarsenet. Trimmed with festoons of silk and tied beneath her breasts with a tasselled ribbon, it made her feel feminine to her fingertips. The bodice was cut low, and the lightweight, close-fitting skirts whispered about her legs so softly that they might almost not have been there. The thought of seeing Adam for the first time since the disastrous episode in the summerhouse made her feel sick with nerves, and she was grateful for the boost to her confidence the gown afforded her.
Even so, the uncertainties continued to multiply. She wrinkled her nose at her reflection, finding it difficult to remain still whilst Edith put the finishing touches to her hair. She wore no jewellery because she no longer possessed any. All of that had been left behind when she fled Spain. But she did have a beautifully painted fan with mother-of-pearl sticks, a gift from the dowager. She picked it up, grateful to find an occupation for her nervous fingers.
“My dear, you look lovely.” The dowager beamed in evident satisfaction when Florentina presented herself for inspection. “You will be the belle of the ball.”
“I don’t think that will endear me to the duchess, ma’am.”
“Oh, it wasn’t the duchess’s good opinion I had in mind. Now then, we ought to be making our way to—”
“Lord Fitzroy, Your Grace.”
Neither lady had heard the butler enter the room and Florentina had little time to prepare herself before Adam’s imposing figure filled the doorway. When she found the courage to turn her eyes in his direction, the sight of him in his dress uniform deprived her of the ability to breathe. If she’d thought him handsome before, that was nothing to the way he looked now. She was transfixed and knew she was staring like a simpleton. She gulped, attempting to moisten her dry throat, conscious of her heart pounding at double its usual rate.
“Good evening, Mother. Mrs. Grantley.” He swept an elegant bow. “I am come to escort you both to the Court.”
“Why, Adam, what a delightful surprise!” The dowager reached up to kiss her son’s cheek. “How thoughtful of you. And how handsome you look. Did I not say that he would, Tina?”
“Indeed, ma’am.”
Somehow Florentina found her voice, gulping yet again as she became conscious of Adam’s searing gaze resting on her face. And lower. The situation called for some light and witty comment, but she couldn’t think of anything appropriate to say. The dowager’s eyes flitted between them, and her amused expression reminded Florentina that she was still gaping at him. She quickly averted her gaze.
“You need not have put yourself out on my behalf, my dear,” the duchess said.
“It’s no trouble whatsoever.”
The dowager ran her fingers across the long skirts of her son’s green coat. The skirts, fronted with white cassimerei, joined a circle of black velvet embroidered with silver. His waist was circled with a crimson woven-silk sash, and a ceremonial sword dangled at his side. A pelisse with fur trimming was casually slung over his sword shoulder and held in place with a decorative chain. His hair was as tousled as always, the scar above his eye lending his rugged features added distinction.
But for all his splendid attire, it was his expressive eyes, alight with amusement, that held Florentina’s attention. She’d never seem him looking more relaxed, or in better humour, and she wondered what had happened to put him in such a congenial frame of mind.
“I’m so proud of my brave son.” The dowager kissed him again. “But I fear you’ve had a wasted journey. Philippa won’t want us there so early.”
“But I want you there, Mother.” His tone of firm conviction brooked no argument. “Both of you.” He looked directly at Florentina, his gaze once again lingering upon her features for a little too long. As they did so, his lips turned up in a sinfully tempting manner,
causing Florentina to blush even more deeply.
“Well, Adam, I only hope you know what you’re doing.” The dowager gathered up her reticule and shawl and took his proffered arm.
“Don’t I always, Mother?”
“Modest too,” Florentina muttered, loud enough for him to hear.
The dowager kept up a steady stream of conversation as they strolled across the park, to which Florentina was obliged to attend but didn’t contribute. Speaking about trivialities—or about anything at all—would have been beyond her at that point. But Adam answered his mother’s questions in a relaxed tone, seemingly as much at his ease as Florentina was agitated.
She was ashamed of the sensations that swamped her senses whenever she considered their ill-fated tryst of the previous evening. She thought about it now as they passed the summerhouse and the feeling spread through her entire body, heating her face. Adam looked down at her and winked. Since his mother was present, she valiantly resisted the urge to kick his ankle.
When they reached the steps to the Court, Florentina took a deep breath and strove to banish her salacious thoughts as she prepared for the ordeal to come. Her fingers tightened on Adam’s arm.
“Courage, I won’t let anyone bully you,” he said with an intimate smile.
Kennedy opened the door before they’d ascended the final steps.
“Good evening, Kennedy,” the dowager said. “How’s your sore knee?”
“Much better, I thank you, Your Grace.”
“Good. Mrs. Bentley’s herbal remedy was beneficial then.”
“It cured the malady almost at once, Your Grace.”
Adam chuckled. “I dare say it did.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?” The dowager tapped her son’s arm.
“Only that Kennedy has my sympathies. Whenever you tried to inflict such vile cures upon Celia and me when we were small, we discovered that our ailments miraculously disappeared.”
“That’s probably because they didn’t exist in the first place and you were inventing them in the expectation of avoiding your lessons.”
“Very likely.” Adam laughed. “I can see now that we didn’t stand a chance of fooling you, Mother.”
“With five children to my credit before you came along, Adam dear, do you imagine I hadn’t learned a thing or two about infantile stratagems?” The dowager smiled at her son as he disappeared into an anteroom. “Now then, where’s James?”
Philippa materialized, looking lovely in cream shot silk, but not especially enamoured to see the dowager. “Mama, you are precipitate. I hadn’t expected you to come—” Adam reappeared and her tart tone gave way to one of welcome as her eyes greedily traversed the length of his body. “My, how handsome you look, Adam. I’m so glad you are come early. We can enjoy a quiet family interlude before the guests arrive. Oh, Mrs. Grantley, you are come too.” Her eyes flashed now with a very different emotion. “I hadn’t thought you would—”
“I invited Mrs. Grantley to join us.” Adam spoke with deceptive casualness. “I presumed that was what you would wish since she does reside here.” He lifted a brow, his expression full of innocent guile. “Did I somehow get it wrong? Would you have me walk her back to the dower house and wait with her there until a more social hour?”
Florentina was obliged to smother a smile as Adam flung down this challenge with the ease of a man accustomed to being obeyed. She got the impression there was a dispute of some sorts raging between Adam and the duchess. There was certainly brittle tension rippling between them.
“Of course not,” Philippa said tersely. “You are welcome, Mrs. Grantley.”
“Is James down yet?” Adam asked.
“Yes.” Philippa’s eyes shot daggers at Florentina who, encouraged by Adam’s support, did her best to bear the scrutiny with every appearance of calm indifference. “He’s in the drawing room.”
“Ah, the conquering hero!” The duke’s tone was hectoring as he addressed his brother. “Evening, Mother. And Mrs. Grantley.” His expression was far more welcoming than his wife’s as his eyes lingered on Florentina. “You look exceptionally well tonight, m’dear.”
Florentina curtsied. “Thank you, Your Grace. And I’m pleased to see you looking a little better.”
“Oh, I dare say it will all be too much for me but…” He shrugged. “Philippa insisted that we had to welcome the hero home, so what could I do but agree.”
“You mustn’t tire yourself, James,” the dowager said.
“I shan’t let him do that.” Philippa emphasised her authority in a manner Florentina thought insensitive and unnecessary. “Now then, Adam, why do we not ask Kennedy to open some champagne? If this isn’t an occasion for celebration, then I don’t know what is.”
Philippa took Adam’s elbow and steered him slightly apart from her husband. Florentina watched her drinking in his features with an expression of open avarice and felt a modicum of sympathy for his plight. She had firsthand knowledge of how spiteful the duchess could be if she didn’t get what she wanted. And, unless Florentina was greatly mistaken, what she wanted with single-minded determination was Adam.
Adam tore his eyes from the line of emerald love knots guarding Florentina’s décolletage and followed Philippa across the drawing room. Florentina’s elegant ensemble was unfussy to the point of being plain but he’d never seen her look lovelier. Not even in the scarlet gown she’d worn for him the previous night, her lack of a corset on that occasion implying something he was irrationally delighted to discover she was not. This was the real Florentina Grantley. Beautiful, shapely, spirited and completely natural. The only thing missing from her attire was emeralds at her throat and ears. And his would be the privilege of one day presenting her with those trinkets.
The nature of that resolve brought him up short. What in the world was he thinking? Admiration was one thing but the expenditure of a vast sum on jewellery for a lady he barely knew implied something else entirely.
“Adam.” Philippa’s voice recalled him to her conversation. “I was just now asking your opinion upon my idea for an al fresco luncheon later in the week.”
“Regrettably I can’t enter into any such engagement. I have business matters awaiting my attention that I’ve already neglected for too long.”
“Then surely they can wait a little longer.” She pouted. “I’ve barely spent five minutes in your company since you arrived. I might almost think you’re deliberately avoiding me.” Her pout gave way to a capricious smile that lit her features and reminded him of the woman he thought he’d once known. “I must have my share of your company whilst you’re here.”
He bowed. “I shall endeavour to make myself available to you.”
Her smile wavered. “You make it sound like a chore.”
“I believe I hear the first guests arriving.”
Philippa muttered something unladylike and moved away to do her duty.
Adam was in great demand that evening. His appearance was exclaimed over by the young ladies, who batted their eyes as they fingered his uniform and swamped him with a barrage of inane questions. He took their silliness in his stride but all the time he kept Florentina in the periphery of his vision. She was surrounded by the young bucks who were supposed to be entertaining the ladies currently plaguing him. And all the while Philippa hovered like a predatory spider, a circumspect smile on her lips as she kept him firmly in her sights.
He could handle Philippa. But could Florentina see through Bertram Dennett’s very obvious ploy to detach her from the rest of the company? He had to fight the urge to spirit her away from Philippa’s presumptuous brother. Dennett must know what role she played within the family and consider her to be fair game as a consequence. Wrong, Dennett. Lay so much as one finger on her in an inappropriate manner and you’ll have me to answer to.
Much to Adam’s frustration, he was unable to rescue Florentina. Several of the older gentlemen demanded full accounts of his exploits on the peninsular and his view on the battle
of Corunna. He was in the midst of an abbreviated account of that conflict when he noticed a new arrival and his words stalled. Never would he have supposed that Philippa would have the effrontery to invite Lord King to the Court. By there he was, as large as life, looking thoroughly pleased with himself as he greeted his hostess. As though sensing his eyes upon him, King turned in Adam’s direction and made a mocking bow.
When dinner was announced he was pleased to see that Dennett was required by Philippa to escort another young lady in. But his relief was short-lived. His sister-in-law, with the deliberate spite he was starting to recognise in her whenever she didn’t get her way, had allocated Florentina to Lord King. He felt fit to burst with anger but could do nothing about the situation other than keep a weather eye on the dissolute rake, who appeared to be going out of his way to charm Florentina. Adam was called upon to escort Lady Hutchins and wasn’t surprised to find himself at the opposite end of the table to Florentina, seated directly to Philippa’s left. Florentina was stuck like a delicate and delectable flower between King and Dennett.
Eventually the meal came to an end and the ladies withdrew. At last Adam could relax. His mother would take care of Florentina until he could do so himself. When he followed the rest of the gentlemen into the drawing room, he swore beneath his breath. To him impromptu dancing implied some young lady playing the piano badly, the rugs being set aside and a few energetic country dances that required little or no physical contact with one’s partner. But the doors to the adjoining salon had been thrown open to create a larger space, and Philippa had engaged an ensemble to provide music. It quickly became apparent that as guest of honour, Adam couldn’t avoid playing his part. Resigned to his fate he did so with good grace, still keeping half an eye on Florentina. She was being whirled about in a lively quadrille, partnered by that rogue King, who had a decidedly predatory look in his eye.
Adam danced with all the ladies. Philippa was precluded by her condition from dancing, for which he felt grateful. But his gratitude was short-lived. After an hour her musicians struck up the opening stanza of a waltz and he saw her bearing down on him. She’d obviously been waiting for this moment but Adam was more concerned about the gaggle of hopefuls surrounding Florentina. He cut a swathe through the throng and bowed before her.
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