by Louise Allen
He was jolted out of his thoughts by Decima. ‘You are in a very strange mood today, Adam.’ She sounded less angry than exasperated with him; he supposed he deserved that. Goodness knew what she made of all this. ‘Promise me you will not jilt poor Olivia.’
‘Do you really think I would do such a thing?’ It hurt, he found, to have her believe he might. What would she say when she discovered what he was planning to do? God, he wanted to take her in his arms and hold her—just hold her, so he could smell that elusive jasmine scent, feel her soft warmth against him. He reached out a hand and caught hers. For a moment she resisted him, then allowed him to lead her to the sofa.
‘No…no I don’t, except that when you act so strangely, I don’t understand you at all.’ She hesitated, looking down at their clasped hands, then gently pulled her own free. ‘Do you love her?’
‘No.’ He could not lie to her about that. ‘No. It is time I married; you heard the views of my family on the subject. Love is not expected when persons of our class wed. You must continue to encourage Bates and Pru if you want to witness a love match.’ He had hoped to distract her by talking of the two servants, but she made a little gesture as though to brush that aside and raised troubled eyes to his.
‘You will be kind to her though, won’t you? Olivia has not had much affection in her life, I think.’ She caught his hand in hers again, apparently unconscious of anything but the need to impress upon him the importance of what she was saying. Adam tightened his fingers around hers, feeling the beat of her pulse. It seemed to enter his body, take possession of his own heartbeat.
She turned her face up to his, searching his expression as though to read the truth in it. Adam fought the urge to simply catch her in his arms and kiss her until she understood how he felt for her. But he had fallen into that trap already, consoling Olivia—there was too much at risk now to dare revealing the slightest hint of his feelings for Decima. She was so close his senses were full of her, of the warm scent of her skin, of the touch of her breath on his skin.
‘Decima, I promise I will do everything in my power to make things better for Olivia than they are now.’
‘Thank you,’ she said simply and he placed his other hand over hers, trapping it between both of his. ‘Adam—’
The door behind them opened abruptly, swinging back on its hinges. Decima started, instinctively reaching for Adam’s lapel with her free hand and he, equally instinctively, turned to shelter her body with his.
Lord Carmichael stood on the threshold, his face red with outrage. Behind him there was a glimpse of the butler and a flurry of skirts, but no one was going to pass Charlton.
‘How dare you, my lord! Decima, come here this instant! I can hardly believe my eyes, to find you here, unchaperoned, alone with a man, behaving like the veriest trollop—’
He did not finish the sentence. Adam had heard the expression ‘to see red’ and had believed it to be merely that, an expression. Now he found, viewing Charlton Carmichael through a blood haze, that it was simple description. He got to his feet, clenched a serviceable right fist and hit the furious baron squarely on the jaw.
Charlton fell back, collided with Starling and the two of them crashed to the floor of the hall, narrowly missing Pru, who jumped back with a squeal of alarm.
Chapter Twenty
‘C harlton!’ Decima tried to push past Adam to where her brother lay sprawled on the floor, blood coming from his mouth, which was opening and closing like that of a landed carp. Beyond him Pru was helping Starling to his feet, only to be pushed away by the outraged butler.
‘Stay there, Miss Ross,’ Adam said curtly. He strode forward, took Charlton by the arm and dragged him to his feet and into the drawing room, shutting the door firmly behind him.
Charlton began to gobble with fury as Adam swung round to face him. ‘I am sure Miss Ross can do without being further exposed to the impertinent stares of the servants.’
‘How dare you!’ Charlton dug in his pocket and produced a vast white handkerchief, which he clapped to his face. Decima realised his nose had begun to bleed. ‘I find you ravishing my sister and you have the gall to assault me, sir! I will have the law upon you—’
‘For defending the good name of a lady who had just been grievously slandered? I will not repeat the phrase that you used to blacken Miss Ross’s character, Lord Carmichael, but no gentleman could stand by and hear a lady so insulted.’
‘I am her brother, damn you!’
‘Then you should be even more sensitive to the lady’s honour, and I would further remind you that she is still present and ask you to moderate your language.’
Adam was managing to sound quite ridiculously pompous, Decima realised, marvelling that he could turn the compromising situation around so that it seemed Charlton was in the wrong. But this was a nightmare—at any moment the Freshfords could return, doubtless half the household was already gathered in the hall, and, idiot though he was, Charlton was her brother.
‘Naturally, it is regrettable that Miss Ross’s attendant should have stepped outside the room for a moment—’
‘Moment? Moment?’ Charlton’s voice was thickening with his nosebleed. ‘My sister was unchaperoned, left alone with a rake! I will see that feckless slut of a so-called maidservant dismissed without a character—’
‘You will do no such thing!’ Decima interjected hotly. Neither man paid her the slightest attention.
‘Are you calling me a rake, Lord Carmichael?’ Adam enquired dangerously. ‘I can hardly call you out over remarks made to your own sister, tempting though it is, but I will have no hesitation in doing so if you blacken my character. Name your friends, my lord.’
‘No!’ Decima pushed past Adam and stood between the two men, unsure which of them was making her the more angry, or why, under the anger, she was feeling quite so excited and disturbed. ‘Stop it, both of you! Charlton, there was not the slightest impropriety in what you just witnessed. Lord Weston, I am in no need of your protection from my own brother, I thank you. I think you should leave. Now.’
From outside the door she could hear the sound of new arrivals on the scene. Starling’s voice was quivering with outrage, she was aware of Pru’s indignant tones and over it all Henry’s firm voice demanding to know what the devil was going on in his front hall.
Decima took a deep breath, stepped around Charlton and threw the door open. Embarrassing though this was, it was better than the risk that it would all end in a fight, either here or on the duelling ground. Under other circumstances Henry’s stunned expression would have been amusing.
‘Sir Henry,’ she said, cutting across all three men, ‘there has been a regrettable misunderstanding. My brother requires some medical attention. Lord Weston is just leaving.’
Adam was regarding her with dangerously slitted eyes. ‘I have no intention—’
‘Of staying, yes, I know, excellent.’ She stared back, willing herself to meet his eyes and not to show any of the emotions that were churning inside her. ‘Please give my regards to Miss Channing. I believe Starling has your hat, my lord.’
There was a long, dangerous silence, then Adam turned to Sir Henry and said, ‘I apologise for being the cause of a certain degree of disturbance amongst your household. Miss Ross, I give you good day.’
As the front door closed behind him Decima pressed a furious Charlton down into an armchair. ‘Henry, I can only apologise. Might I presume to call your housekeeper to see what can be done about my brother’s nosebleed?’
The sound of a throat being tactfully cleared made them turn. It was Henry’s valet. ‘Staples apprised me that the gentleman might require some assistance, sir,’ he said smoothly, as though bleeding and seething barons were a commonplace occurrence in his master’s household. ‘If you would care to accompany me, my lord, I am sure I can make you more comfortable.’ Charlton appeared mollified by the attention and allowed himself to be helped solicitously to his feet. ‘Should I send to your own valet for fresh l
inen, sir?’
‘Yes, yes, do that.’ On the threshold Charlton emerged from the shelter of his handkerchief to glower at Decima. ‘Dessy, I expect you to be packed ready to accompany me home.’ He stomped out.
‘Good God, Decima!’ Henry took her by the arm and almost dragged her down to sit on the sofa beside him. ‘What is going on? I leave you laid upon your bed with the headache and come back to find Starling threatening to hand in his notice, your maid demanding that I go in and rescue you and your brother bleeding all over Mama’s favourite carpet.’
‘I gave Olivia some advice, which I meant for the best, and she acted upon it rather overenthusiastically,’ Decima admitted. Now all the excitement was over, she was feeling more than a little queasy, and guiltily aware that under it all there was the thrill of seeing Adam stand up to defend her. ‘Adam was angry with me, we were discussing it and Charlton arrived. Pru wasn’t in the room and I think Starling was somewhat put out, so he let Charlton in and we were sitting on the sofa and he put two and two together and said things he should not and Adam hit him.’
‘Oh, lord.’ Henry regarded her blankly. ‘It has all the ingredients of a farce, has it not? Luckily Mama and Caro are not back yet. I’ll try and soothe Starling before they do return. Were they on the point of calling each other out?’
‘Adam called Charlton out for calling him a rake. I think he realised he could hardly call out my own brother for insulting me.’
‘He probably is a rake,’ Henry pointed out, reasonably.
‘Well, I expect he doesn’t want to be, now he is betrothed.’ She sighed. Adam had looked magnificent as he squared up to Charlton, and the fact that any well-brought-up lady should have had the vapours at the sight of fisticuffs did nothing to diminish the thrill that the memory evoked.
‘Are you going to go back with Charlton?’
‘No.’ Decima shook her head. ‘No, I will call tomorrow and apologise when we are all calmer. But I’m not going to allow my life to be dictated by my family, however much I have to admit Charlton has justification this time.’
Charlton’s final departure was fraught enough to send Decima back to her room shaking with emotion. Pru regarded her anxiously. ‘I’m sorry if I caused that, Miss Decima, but I thought you’d want to see his lordship.’
‘You meant well, Pru, but I am afraid you must go and apologise to Mr Starling. He was very put out, and I cannot stay here if we are going to upset Lady Freshford’s upper servants.’
‘Yes, Miss Decima.’ Pru hesitated. ‘About his lordship…are you…I mean, is he…? Will it be all right, Miss Decima? He isn’t really going to marry Miss Channing, is he?’
‘Of course he is, Pru!’ Decima swung round from her seat at the dressing table where she had been attempting to redress her hair. ‘Whatever makes you think he might not?’
‘Jethro says he doesn’t love her.’ Pru was scuffing her toe in the carpet.
‘That is not a consideration when the aristocracy marry,’ Decima said repressively, trying to believe it. ‘Making a suitable match is what matters.’
‘Oh. When will you be seeing him again?’ Pru seemed to pull herself together, took the hairbrush from Decima and started to tease out her curls.
‘When?’ Decima was conscious of a strange, sinking feeling. Dreadful as the last few hours had been, underlying them had been the guilty delight of being with Adam, the revelation that he would defend her honour, physically if need be—even the reprehensible pleasure of knowing that she could stir strong emotions in him. ‘I think that it would not be wise to see him again, unless I cannot help but encounter him socially.’ As she thought it through, the illicit excitement ebbed away, leaving her feeling more than a little uneasy.
Charlton was head of the household, her brother, and, however infuriating he was, she had to believe that he had her best interests at heart. He had castigated her for behaviour that, looking back at it, was indeed fast. She had swung from being a shy mouse to behaving with unbecoming freedom which ill-befitted a single lady. Probably she had given Adam a disgust of her. Dismally, Decima blinked back a tear.
Adam strode into the mews yard to find Bates perched on a mounting block, mending a length of driving trace. ‘Saddle Fox.’
‘He’s at exercise, my lord.’ Bates sawed off the end of the waxed thread he was using, folded his clasp knife and shoved it back into his pocket. ‘I told the lad to ride out with Ajax and take Fox on the leading rein, seeing as you said you wouldn’t be riding today.’ He shook out the leather and eyed it critically, apparently paying not the slightest attention to the thunderous expression on his master’s face.
‘How long since?’ Adam ground out. He’d wanted to ride Fox—fight him—as the only way he could think of to expend the aggression that was burning through him. You did not shout at servants, you did not aim a kick at the cat, and you certainly did not go anywhere near your meek fiancée, not when what you wanted was to land another blow on the nose of a pompous, bacon-faced addle plot, and as for his sister—
‘The lad left not ten minutes ago, my lord,’ Bates said placidly. ‘I told him to give them a good workout, so he’ll be at least another hour, I’d say.’ He put aside the trace and picked up another strip of leather and a punch. ‘Is Miss Ross well, my lord?’
‘Miss Ross is perfectly well, thank you, Bates.’ Adam managed not to grind it out through clenched teeth. He tugged off his gloves, filled with an uncharacteristic indecision about what to do next—other than to go back to Decima and tell her he loved her. She would probably box his ears, and he wasn’t sure he would blame her if she did. It was beginning to sink in that if he couldn’t make his peace with her, then his entire strategy for ending his sham of an engagement was in pieces.
‘What?’ Bates had been asking something. He swung round to face the groom.
‘Been in a bit of a mill, have you, my lord?’ Bates nodded towards Adam’s right hand. He looked at it, surprised to find that the knuckles were raw and grazed. ‘You’ll need to put a bit of something on that afore long, stop it scarring. How’s the other fellow?’
‘The other fellow happens to be Miss Ross’s brother.’ Adam felt the anger drain out of him, leaving him tired and depressed. Of course she didn’t love him. Why should she? He had flirted with her, damn near seduced her, gone off and become entangled with another woman and now he was brawling with her brother.
‘Tsk.’ Bates clicked his tongue in disapproval. ‘Not a very good move, my lord.’ He shifted along the mounting block to give Adam room to sit down. ‘Ladies like being rescued from villains, goes without saying, but decking their own family, now that’s quite another kettle of fish.’ He drove a bradawl through the leather, squinted at the resulting hole and threaded his needle. ‘What did she say?’
‘She threw me out.’
‘Ah.’ Bates knotted the twine. ‘What are you going to do now, my lord? I’d be all a mort if I was you.’
‘That just about sums it up.’ Adam took off his hat and sat turning it round in his hands.
‘Don’t reckon she’ll have you now, not unless you can mend a few bridges.’
‘Quite.’ Adam blinked and focused on what Bates was saying. He should have known that the groom could read him like a book, but he could hardly admit the truth of what he was implying. Not yet. ‘I am engaged to marry Miss Channing. Not Miss Ross.’
‘Well, you are now,’ Bates observed cynically. ‘Best see what you can do about getting back on terms, my lord.’
Adam gathered the shreds of his dignity and stood up. ‘And how is your courtship faring, Bates?’
‘She’s a proper handful is Pru, and a right unaccountable piece,’ Bates observed. ‘But I’m not complaining—I’m only trying to court one woman at a time.’
Clear early spring sunshine cheered Decima as she returned, chastened and emotionally bruised, from a morning visit to her brother and sister-in-law the next day. But at least that unpleasant duty had been performed, and, due ap
parently to Hermione’s pleading, she was not going to be cast off and disowned. Provided, that is, she avoided Lord Weston’s contaminating presence like the plague.
She confided something of this to Pru as the carriage rattled back to the Freshfords’ house. ‘So I believe I must take great care, which is going to be difficult as I have no wish to have Miss Channing think I am cutting her,’ she concluded.
‘Oh.’ Pru stared at her, wide-eyed. ‘Then you couldn’t talk to his lordship about something?’
‘Only the merest commonplaces in passing. Why?’ Pru was looking positively dismayed. Now she looked back on the morning, the girl had seemed somewhat subdued ever since she had helped Decima dress.
‘It’s just that Jethro doesn’t think he’ll be able to have that cottage after all. In fact, he thinks he might lose his place if he marries me.’ Pru sniffed bravely ‘It’s a good position, he’s been there for years. I can’t ask him to give it up.’
‘When did this change of heart occur?’ Decima demanded. ‘You were quite happy yesterday.’
‘Jethro told me last night. He’s proper upset, but he said it wouldn’t do to carry on courting, not if he was about to lose his place. He said his lordship was on the high ropes when he came back yesterday. It’s all my fault,’ she concluded dismally. ‘If I hadn’t told his lordship you were at home yesterday, none of this would have happened.’
‘I don’t believe he could be so petty,’ Decima exclaimed. ‘Does he hope to wound me by spoiling things for you, or is he simply so top lofty that he cannot bear to be thwarted?’ She reached up and jerked on the check string. ‘We’ll see about that!’ The coachman’s face appeared at the window. ‘James, drive at once to Lord Weston’s house. He must learn he cannot have everything he wants. Pru, if he remains adamant I will offer Bates a place. I have been intending to increase my stables, perhaps take breeding more seriously. I shall need an experienced groom.’