“I meant what I said when I promised you would never go back to the rookeries.”
“Thanks. I think.” Mickey peered up at him, his head tilted to one side as if assessing his chances. “You’ve got a rare temper on you.”
“So I have. But I can control it, mostly. Notice I didn’t kill him.”
“Pity. I don’t like that cove.” Mickey had recovered his sangfroid, and his accent. “He’s sly. You know? Oh, and I got something else for you. You seemed interested in it.” Digging his hand in the deep pocket of his coat, Mickey came up with a small, gold object, no bigger than a guinea. It gleamed in the moonlight.
Adrian took it and replaced the brooch with a real guinea. Mickey didn’t bite it. He shoved it in his pocket. “Much appreciated. See? If I’d taken your coins I’d be fifty guineas in pocket and some bits of paper I couldn’t redeem. This way, I get it back a coin at a time.”
“So you do. And my sponsorship.” The boy was quick, honest by his own standards and knew how to hold his tongue. He made a useful companion. He could also pass unnoticed in many places, due to his speedy assimilation of accents and styles. He could ape anyone, from a beggar to a duke.
“Thank you for the brooch,” Adrian said, because he believed in credit where it was due.
Chapter 7
Another day, another ball. Unlike the ones Livia had attended previously, this was the full-blown extravagant affair. Other balls had been smaller, limited, but Lady Calman had thrown open her doors and invited everyone in. Her daughter had snagged a duke, and her second daughter needed another.
Livia had to go if only to face down the critics. The story of the duel had spread around town at the speed of lightning. At least her name was somewhat obscured, but Livia had no doubt they’d fought over her. That wouldn’t add to her reputation, but at least it put her squarely in the “scandalous Shaws” camp. Finally, she belonged. They might have known, people said, blood will out. She’d actually heard one woman say that today, at the Royal Exchange, until she’d seen Livia and her mother approaching.
For that reason, Livia doubted she’d meet Preston—Adrian—there, but the first thing she saw when she glided through the doors in the wake of her mother was his grace. Resplendent in royal-blue velvet, his buttons gleaming richly. She’d wager they were real gold, marching up one side of his coat and even more, slightly smaller, on his red and gold embroidered waistcoat. His linen was on point, and lace foamed at his throat and wrists. Anyone would think he was a civilized member of society.
He was talking to the aforementioned young lady in search of a duke. Everyone in society knew Lady Calman wanted a duke for each of her three daughters. Earls wouldn’t do. That was the ultimate in idiocy, since Livia could think of at least three earls who had more wealth and influence than most dukes, but if Lady Calman wanted to fill her lottery card, then she was welcome to do so.
Just not with Adrian. Her duke.
Oh Lord, she was in trouble. When had she begun to think of him in those terms? She was a fool, she castigated herself harshly. The news of the duel was all over London, but she could not blame Adrian for that. She’d heard from people she trusted to tell her the truth, and they said that Jeffrey had started it, he’d been the person to use her name.
Still, both men had visited a notorious gaming hell.
While she appreciated the defense of her name, the fact Livia doubted he wanted her any more than he wanted Miss Horwich, currently smiling and simpering at something Adrian had just said. Yes, simpering. What was more, Livia had rarely seen anyone do it so well. Miss Horwich, second daughter of Viscount Calman and all of eighteen years old, could give lessons in the subject. Not that Livia wanted to take any. She had never felt the desire to simper. Especially when Adrian smiled and lifted Miss Horwich’s hand to his lips, as if she’d done something really clever.
Irritated by the display, Livia turned away, and shocked Lord Wigmore with the dazzling brightness of her smile.
Five minutes later she found herself dancing with him. A minuet, moreover, where she would have to keep the same partner throughout the dance. Lord Wigmore, a jolly man of generous proportions, attacked the dance with vigor, prancing where he should have glided, bowing so low he nearly knocked heads with her as she curtseyed.
Even her immaculate training in society manners, even a lifetime of living with these people did not help Livia now. At Lord Wigmore’s first gallop, she forced her snort down, swallowed it, but when he followed with a leap not unlike a cat pouncing on a mouse, a giggle escaped her.
Turning her head, she caught the too-perceptive gaze of Adrian, dancing with pretty Miss Horwich. The last person she wanted to share a joke with. Turning to her partner, she dodged aside as he planted his foot on the polished and chalked dance floor. The boards sagged under his weight. She would not call his lordship stout exactly, but he had the bulk that suggested he rarely missed a meal.
Made worse by his choice of pink satin for coat and breeches. Perhaps he’d have appeared to advantage in dark green, something more subdued. At least then he wouldn’t clash so badly with her shade of peach. Everybody not dancing was watching—their gazes bored into her back, creating hot spots that made her want to shrug to get rid of them.
She was too well bred for that. But when he stood on her skirt, and the sound of ripping fabric rent the air, an audible gasp escaped her lips. Forcing a shaky smile, she began to back out of the situation when he began to apologize profusely. “Believe me, it is nothing, my lord. A mere accident. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go and repair—”
She didn’t get a chance. Reaching out, Lord Wigmore wrapped his hands around her upper arms, dragging her close. Far too close. His wine-scented breath filled the narrow space between them. “I am so sorry, Lady Livia. I am far more accustomed to the hunting field. I will, of course, replace the gown, but allow me to help you.” The gleam in his eyes didn’t bode well for whatever he had planned. In fact, she was almost certain he had trodden on her skirt deliberately.
“My mother is in the other room. I will find her.”
As she turned, another pull on her skirt sent her tumbling forward. Hands out to brace her fall, Livia gasped when a pair of strong arms grasped her waist and lifted her.
Adrian gently set her on her feet and immediately released her. After a short bow, he scanned her face, his eyes wide. “Are you well?” He turned to his dancing partner, but she had wisely retreated to the edge of the floor, back to her mother, putting distance between herself and the disturbance.
“Yes, yes, I’m sure. I’m fine.” She wasn’t. Her heart thrummed hard, and she wanted nothing more than a glass of wine and a quiet seat somewhere.
The viscount was blustering. “I could carry you to your mother.”
“Sir!” Her face flaming, Livia spread her fan and covered her burning cheeks. “As if you could do that.”
“Would you allow me to escort you there?” Adrian smiled, meek as a lamb.
Rather than allow the viscount anywhere near her, Livia nodded and took his arm. “If you please.”
Everybody was staring. Livia hated being the center of attention. This meeting was playing into their hands, and their tongues. Adrian had fought a duel over her and now he came to her rescue at a ball. She tried to move gracefully as she walked across the dance floor, but she stumbled before she recovered and bit her lip against the pain.
“I regret the disturbance,” Adrian said to the young lady he’d been dancing with. “May I seek the pleasure of your company another time? I would escort Lady Livia to her mother.”
Miss Horwich’s mother had swiftly caught up to them.
“She went into the supper room,” Lady Calman said, tight-lipped. “Of course you must do so, sir. Lady Livia, I can put a room at your disposal if you wish to use it. Up the stairs and turn right. Take the first door along the corridor. It is a guest room and
you are welcome to stay there as long as you wish.”
So Livia’s stumble had not escaped her. Of course it had not. “Thank you.” In truth she would welcome the use of a quiet room.
The supper room was next door. Taking his time, Adrian led her there. Leaning close, he murmured, “You’re hurt.”
“Just a wrench. I’m sure it isn’t serious.” Although she tried to keep her air of calm, Livia couldn’t stop the tremor in her voice.
He paused, then stepped forward once more. Quickening his pace, he took her through the supper room and out of the suite of rooms put aside for the ball.
A small staircase led up. Without hesitation, Adrian bent, tucked his arm under her knees and lifted her.
She could hardly scream. That would create even more attention. Anxiously casting her gaze around, she discovered nobody in sight, but he was halfway up the stairs by then. “What are you doing?” Keeping her voice low took effort.
He glanced at her. “You heard her ladyship. You’re going to rest and I’m taking a look at your injury.”
“Sir!”
“Hmm?” He refused to speak again until he’d shouldered open the door and entered a room dominated by a canopied bed draped in apple green. He dumped her on the bed. Squeaking, her voice gone, Livia hoisted up her hoops so she would not reveal everything to his marauding eyes, and winced.
“You are hurt.” He went down on one knee, lifting her skirts to reveal her satin-clad feet. He made swift work of the buckle on her left shoe, easing it off gently. “This needs some cold water.” Getting up, he glanced back at her. “Don’t move,” he commanded.
Still taken completely aback by his high-handed actions, she had enough sense to realize he was not about to leave her alone or call for her mother. Who was not in the supper room. She must have gone the other way, to the card room.
The sound of water being wrung out of a cloth brought her to her senses. He would put that thing on her delicate silk stockings and ruin them. Either that, or he’d reach for her garter, and Livia was not at all sure she wanted his hands that high up her legs.
With a little fumbling, she managed to get the garter undone, only to meet his amused gaze, a smile lighting his face in an irresistible way. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I try to retain my gentlemanly behavior.”
“But if you did, you would not have brought me here. And you would not have fought Sir Jeffrey in a duel in a—whorehouse!”
“A gaming hell,” he corrected her calmly. “The whorehouse is a side business. I was playing cards. I did very well too.” His lips opened, as if he would say something else, but he refrained. He began again. “But he should not have cast insinuations on you and he should not have mentioned your name. I merely punched him.”
“I heard there was swordplay.”
“There were, but we did not hurt one another with them.” His glance betrayed his amusement, a smile and a gleam of his eyes. “I stopped his impertinence. I’d call it an undignified brawl. Do not worry.”
“Worry? About men fighting over my honor?” She gave an indelicate snort. “In a gaming hell? Dear God, if I wasn’t ruined before I am now.” Honor she didn’t have anymore, come to that. She worried her bottom lip between her teeth. What exactly had Jeffrey said? “You should have let my mother help me. Tongues will wag.”
As he knelt down once more, he shook his head. “They’re already wagging. We’ll talk about that by and by. You were upset, as well as hurt. I couldn’t leave you to the cats downstairs. Don’t ask it of me.”
“What if they’d seen you pick me up?”
He didn’t reply. Gently, he rolled her stocking down. “Did that hurt you?”
Her wince wasn’t from pain. His touch, stroking down her bare skin, shocked her. Mutely, she shook her head.
He eased the stocking off her foot and wrapped the cold cloth around her ankle. “I think you’re right. A wrench. Still, they can be painful.”
“C-could you leave me and find a maid to attend me?”
“Not yet.” He smoothed her skirts down, and she didn’t imagine it; he let his hands linger. She felt the touch as if he’d touched her skin. Her ankle throbbed, but already the pain was subsiding. Getting up, he sat on the bed next to her. She folded her hands together, pleating the fabric under her fingers.
“You saved me from the blatant advances of Lady Calman on behalf of her daughter.”
Despite her good intentions to freeze him out and get him to leave, she smiled. She really should not feel so relaxed in his presence, as if addressing a member of her family, or someone she knew well. But his person and his behavior toward her belied his reputation and she felt strangely safe with him. “Didn’t you know she wanted a duke for each of her daughters?”
He humphed. “She does? Nobody told me. I could no more marry that child than I could marry the Princess Amelia.” One of the King’s unmarried, older daughters, Princess Amelia would marry no one.
“You’d have more amusement with the princess.” Livia bit her lip. “I should not have said that. Miss Horwich is a pretty girl with a sizable dowry. You should consider her. You could mold her exactly the way you wanted her. She’s pretty and eager to please.”
“That would drive me mad in a month. If I marry I want a woman who knows her own mind.”
“Like me?” Something else she should not have said.
“Like you,” he readily agreed.
“But you’re not ready to remarry. You said so.”
He moved closer. “Did I? Perhaps I was too hasty.”
“Oh!” Her heart leaped. Did he mean to propose marriage? Why would he do that? “Why did you come tonight?” A pulse beat in her throat, so hard she could barely breathe.
“To see you.” Reaching for her hand, he took it in his. Something metallic and hard pressed into her palm.
She looked down. “My brooch!” Tears sprang to her eyes as she turned the piece of jewelry over to check everything was there. There it was, the light brown baby hair. Instinctively, she stroked it, then folded her hand around the brooch and, heedless of everything except her gratitude, flung her arm around his neck and kissed him.
Adrian took command of the kiss. He opened her mouth with a flick of his tongue, pausing to trace her lips with the tip before licking gently within. Livia had meant a kiss of thanks, nothing more, but she fell into his caress. He urged her into his arms, to lean her head on his shoulder while he explored her and she explored him back. Relief flooded her.
Yes, relief. After that first kiss on King Street, she’d longed for more. She’d tried everything she knew to forget it, from pretending it never happened, to explaining it away as temporary madness, but nothing had worked. She still woke in the dead of night, longing to feel his arms around her and his mouth on hers.
And now here she was. Exactly where she wanted to be. Exactly where she should not be.
He lifted his lips, gazing down at her from eyes slumberous with desire. “Livia, we should go.”
Anger and pain arced through her when she thought of going downstairs, hiding their interest, pretending nothing happened. “Just a few more minutes.”
Hooking her arm around his neck, she drew him back down. With a groan, he acceded to her unspoken request and kissed her again.
He stroked over her torso. Even inside her trussed-up, boned, and corseted body, she felt that touch as if he caressed her bare skin. Then he did, following the line where her breasts swelled up from her gown, the single frill of lace the only barrier, easily pushed aside.
With a groan, she pushed her body into his hands, eager for more. He drew his lips fractionally away from hers and glanced down. “Yes, oh, you are so lovely. Move with me, sweetheart, let me feel you. Touch me.” He sounded breathless, as enthralled as she.
Livia fumbled for his waistcoat buttons. Why did there have to be so many? His ski
n, so hot, was a layer of cloth away from her, the crisp linen tantalizingly thin. She could see the dark strands of chest hair, the small brown discs of his nipples, but she wanted more. Everything seemed so easy now.
He eased his fingers into the tight top of her stomacher and stays, made her shudder as he caressed her skin. Her head fell back, and his other hand was there, spread over the top of her back, supporting her as he ruthlessly took her mouth again. She attacked right back, exploring his mouth, skimming her tongue over his sharp, white teeth.
She barely heard the click, but her mother’s “Oh, my God!” brought her back to reality with a sickening thud.
Her squeak as she regained her senses was overshadowed by Adrian’s low groan. He touched his forehead to hers, and murmured, “Trust me,” before he pulled away, flicking out his coat as if to straighten it, but also giving her a chance to put her bodice to rights. Shame flooded her, as she became aware of the room filling up.
Adrian glanced back, and finally moved away, but not too far. Picking up her hand, he placed it on his arm. Unfortunately, Lady Calman and her daughter had accompanied them, standing, mouths agape, in the open doorway.
Livia’s mother was at her haughtiest—she lifted her chin and flicked out her fan with a snap, flashing Livia a glare and a warning Livia had seen directed at her sisters before. It was her “Let me deal with this” look.
However, she had not bargained for Adrian. He wouldn’t let Livia move away, although she tugged at his arm. He merely clamped it to his side, trapping her hand. He waited until Lady Calman’s initial outburst had subsided, ending with “I will not have such behavior in my house! Please leave immediately.” She glared at Lady Strenshall. “I regret the necessity, but surely your daughter knows better. Did you not teach her the correct way of behaving?”
Boundless (The Shaws) Page 10