Adeline drew in a breath as understanding hit her. Hadn’t Juliet already warned her that society was similar to a small village? A frisson of fear hit her next as she thought about her only secret. She shifted from one foot to the other, taking the weight away from her corrective half boot. She would hate for people to discover her deformity, to treat her the way she’d been treated all her life.
Then again, how would they discover it? The family’s servants were loyal. And, thus far, she had no indication that Wolford would speak of it.
“Forgive me for mentioning this, Miss Pimm, but it would be a disservice to you otherwise.” Thayne’s dark eyes softened apologetically. “A moment ago, as I made my way over to make your acquaintance, I witnessed Lady Falksworth refuse an introduction to Lord and Lady Boswick.”
Adeline waited for him to continue. This couldn’t be too terrible, could it? A refusal for an introduction was so trite compared to what she most feared.
“Refuse? Of all the—” Juliet scoffed and then reached out to curl her hand over Adeline’s arm. “I never liked her. She has far too many birds caged up in her solarium. Hundreds of them kept from flying. Anyone who can be so cruel ought to be banished from society.”
Thayne’s mouth slanted in a small grin as he offered Juliet a nod. “I’ll see what I can do. After all, this title ought to offer some sort of compensation. The banishment of harridans should top the list.”
The cold flash of vehemence in Juliet’s gaze suddenly warmed as she looked at Thayne. It only lasted a moment, however, before she turned toward Adeline once more. “Unfortunately for us, those harridans carry a great deal of influence over society.”
Adeline secured the soles of her half-boots to the floor and squared her shoulders. “The ton can speculate all they like. If my name appears in the Standard, then I shall consider it an adventure.”
“You will do quite well in London, Miss Pimm,” Thayne remarked with apparent approval. “You are so matter-of-fact that you remind me of Wolford. His name appears so often that he hardly notices.”
The thought gave Adeline pause. Liam admitted to a rather hedonistic lifestyle that garnered attention. Yet she would hate for him to endure any more rumors in his condition. “If the haute ton could actually see how much Wolford is hurt, they would think kinder of him.”
Thayne and Juliet exchanged a glance.
“Perhaps in that, there would be a way to ensure that the gossip was favorable,” Juliet said, as if to an unspoken question between her and the marquess. “But make no mistake, Max, this would not mean I am helping you win our wager. I still mean to defeat you.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less, Lady Granworth.” Thayne grinned and inclined his head before taking his leave.
Then Juliet faced Adeline once more. “You must forgive my rudeness. How can I speak of a wager and not explain it?”
Adeline’s curiosity must have been obvious in her expression. Her cheeks heated in embarrassment. “Please. You do not have to explain anything to me.”
Juliet waved off her concerns before she continued. “From your comment earlier, I gather that you have an understanding of the Season’s Original?”
Adeline recalled what Wolford had told her. “When the Original is named, heads turn in their favor?”
“Quite.” Juliet nodded succinctly. “Without too long of a story, one day, Max declared that anyone could be named an Original. I believed otherwise. And thus, a challenge ensued, resulting in our wager.”
“And this has earned you a place in the Standard?”
“Among other things.” Two nearly imperceptible spots of color tinged Juliet’s cheeks before she looked down to adjust the fan chain at her wrist. When she looked up in the next instant, she was perfectly composed once more. Elegance personified. “As for you, we are going to make certain that the gossip is as gentle as goose down by procuring your invitation to the most coveted event of the Season. What do you think of that?”
Adeline’s head was spinning. All of her earlier concerns were gone now. There was so much drama and excitement to feast upon, and this was only her first night in society. “I believe that this is the most exciting opera I’ve ever attended, and it hasn’t even begun yet!”
Liam heard the moment that the door opened below. Three pairs of footsteps followed, Lady Boswick’s, Lord Boswick’s, and then Adeline’s. Mr. Finmore had gone off to bed some time ago, but not before checking in on Liam one last time.
Liam knew he shouldn’t still be here. Earlier, however, Boswick had urged him not to overtax himself in a rush to leave, repeating his concerns over the dizzy spells. Too exhausted to argue at the time, Liam had remained here.
When he’d awoken a short while ago, however, he’d felt more refreshed. With the help of Finmore and Jones, he could have made it next door. Yet the truth was, he stayed because he wanted to hear Adeline tell him about her night at the opera.
And now, a surge of anticipation filled him as those footsteps came up the stairs and to his room.
After a quiet knock, Serge and Bunny entered, overflowing with appreciation for the use of his box. Apparently, Aunt Edith had let the matter slip. He assured his hosts that it was the least he could do in return for all they had done for him. Yet all the while, he wondered what Adeline had thought. But hers was the only face that did not greet him.
His hosts soon bid him good night. A short while later, Boswick’s familiar snoring began, and the house fell into relative silence. At least, until he heard a muffled click of the door latch across the hall.
Or rather, he thought it was a door. His ears perked, straining to capture the faintest sound of a shuffled step, the swish of a skirt, a breath, anything. But in his eagerness all he could hear was the quick drum of his heart and the whoosh of each weighted breath. He stared hard at the door, willing it to swing open.
Then it did, and Adeline stepped inside without even knocking first.
She was radiant. Her eyes sparkled in the low lamplight, emitting a brightness of their own. The pink satin of her gown matched the glow of her cheeks. Long, curling tendrils of glorious hair snaked down, brushing her cheeks.
His breath stalled, caught beneath his solar plexus as if he’d taken a center blow. “How was your opera adventure?”
“Divine, Wolford.” She began to buzz around the room, telling him about his aunt and meeting Lady Cosgrove, Juliet, Thayne, and Mrs. Harwick. A lengthy description of the scenery, costumes and the magnificence of a real opera followed. Then at last, she stopped by his side. “And I just wanted to thank you.”
He had the startling urge to take her hand just now. With his resting on the mattress by her hip, only scant inches separated their fingers. Seeing her so happy made him greedy, he supposed. He wanted to feel the effervescence that bubbled through her. He wanted to be part of it. And suddenly, he wished that he had been with her this evening, watching delight gleam in her eyes.
“Would you like another cheese plate?” she asked, all eagerness.
“I am content for the moment.” Besides, he did not think he could survive another coverlet picnic. And yet, he didn’t want her to leave either. “However, perhaps if my pillow were fluffed.”
She looked at him as if he were teasing her, but played along nonetheless, chafing her hands together. “I must have an innate talent for pillow fluffing.”
If one could possess a talent for such a thing, she certainly did not. Not that he would tell her. Because if he did, he already knew the result. She would leave his side, and he would lose the relief—or whatever this was—he found in her presence. And he had never been one to deny himself necessary comforts.
Then, as she had done before, she leaned over him. Her hands went to either side of his face, pressing into the pillow, the inviting plumpness of her breasts resting on his chest. Enjoying the moment, he closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath that hinted at pear blossoms.
She went still. “Why are your hands at my waist?”
>
Were they? He squeezed his hands and found that, yes, they most definitely were. He also discovered that the satin gown was warm from the heat of her body and fine enough that there was little barrier between his hands and the slender curve of her waist and the slight flare of her hips.
“I’m merely aiding in your efforts by offering stability,” he said, by way of an excuse. Of course, he hadn’t intended to touch her—gentleman’s daughter and all that. Given his pleasure-seeking nature, however, he wasn’t entirely surprised by his wayward hands. Perhaps he should think about removing them before he found them cupped around her breasts. Inadvertently, of course.
“Afraid that I will crush you?” she said with a laugh against his lips. “Well, do not worry, because I have finished. Your pillow is sufficiently plump.”
More than. And lumpy as well, but he did not mind in the least. Especially when he felt her lips against his cheek.
“Thank you, Wolford. I had a delightful evening.”
In the next instant, he didn’t know what came over him. Suddenly, he found his hand at her nape, pulling her mouth to his.
The kiss took him by surprise. It was lips and teeth, fierce and needy. Unexplainable. Apparently he was weak-willed from his injuries. At least that was what he told himself. The only proof belying that was that his grip at her nape and the hand at her waist felt strong and certain. Every drop of blood in his body told him that this was right. Essential. And so he continued to kiss her.
The innocent press of her lips told him that he should take his time, tutor her, ease her lips apart with the gentle sweep of his tongue. Instead, he schooled her quickly, thrusting, tasting, consuming her as if he’d been held captive by monks all his life, and she was the first woman he’d ever seen.
But not just any woman. This woman. Adeline Pimm, whose lips tasted like they were brushed with fine Boswickshire honey and whose flesh had the faintest scent of pear blossoms. Especially on her throat and more still here, in this tender spot just beneath her jaw.
Her inexperience made him feel all the more primitive. He wanted more of her lips. More of the tender exploration of her tongue against his. More of her low, decadent murmurs.
As she kissed him back, he knew there was something different about it. He had a hard time controlling himself. He couldn’t get enough of her. They should not be in a bed, he knew. This was the most dangerous place to kiss her. He could easily seduce her. Already, she lay atop him, the delicious feminine weight of her causing no pain. Her body molded perfectly to his. The softness of her stomach cradled the turgid length of him, and all he could think about was how good it would feel inside of her. He might be too weak to resist . . .
Thankfully, she was strong.
She pulled away and stood beside the bed. He saw what his whiskers had done to her. He’d been a savage. He should feel chagrinned for marking her. Instead, he felt satisfied. He had an animalistic desire to pinken her flesh everywhere. To make her skin tender, as a reminder of where his mouth had been.
“Two adventures in one night,” she said, breathless.
He was having a difficult time breathing too. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve just been kissed by a man with a questionable reputation. I’d call that an adventure, wouldn’t you?”
But before he could answer, she slipped away, exiting the room and leaving him to answer it alone. “No, darling, there is no question regarding my reputation.”
One touch of her lips, and he’d lost his head. Not that he’d minded. He often chose the path of pleasure. But this was different—she was unspoiled.
No matter what her professions might be against marriage, Liam could not entirely believe her. One taste of her passion had proven that much.
Someday she would want to explore that side of her nature. A keen and peculiar sense of certainty filled him with the notion that she would marry. And the bastard she chose wouldn’t deserve her or her family . . .
Liam stilled. Every vein in his body seemed to boil at the thought. Not because he knew Adeline would marry. No. Because, if he didn’t know better, he might believe that he was jealous.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Pardon me, my lord, but there is a Mr. Rendell to see you,” Jones said from the doorway.
From the bed, Liam looked over at the rosewood clock on the mantel and noted that it was well before time for business matters. In fact, it was well before his usual time for waking. “Send him up, please. Thank you, Jones.”
The truth was, Liam had not slept last night either. Not after what he’d done.
He could no longer remain under Boswick’s roof. And given Liam’s past experience with debutantes, he should have been wary of spending any time alone with Adeline. After all, if he possessed strength enough to kiss her the way he had, then he likely would have found strength enough to seduce her completely. Irrevocably.
Minutes later, Rendell knocked and entered the room with his head bent, spouting several my lords and begging forgiveness for the disturbance. Already Liam knew that whatever news brought him thither was not good.
Soon enough, Rendell managed to calm himself.
“It appears, my lord, that your house was burgled sometime in the night.”
“On Brook Street again?” A month ago, the same thing had occurred. Yet for all the destruction of the main floor study and the strewing about of papers, the only thing that had gone missing was a pair of silver candlesticks.
Rendell shook his head. “Wolford House, my lord. Like the previous instance, the study was the primary focus, much of it in disarray. I sent word to Bow Street immediately. An investigator by the name of Hollycott is here now, my lord, waiting below.”
Liam thought instantly of his collection, of what pieces were in jeopardy.
“Lord Boswick ordered a breakfast tray for your lordship. He was also kind enough to do the same for Mr. Hollycott and for me.”
At this, Liam emerged from the list he was making in his mind. He thought of his host. Even besieged by visitors shortly after dawn, his inclination was to see to the comfort of his guests. Boswick was a purely altruistic creature. Knowing this, Liam felt ashamed that his own first thoughts, upon hearing Rendell’s news, had not been on the well-being of the servants who resided in his house.
He tried to make amends with himself by asking after them now. “Was anyone in the house injured?”
Apparently, Rendell hadn’t expected as much from him either because his mouth remained agape for a few moments before he collected himself. Then he cleared his throat. “No, my lord. As before, no one was aware of the burglary until this morning.”
“Very good.” Liam waved him off. “You may go and break your fast. I will be downstairs presently.”
With the help of Jones, Liam managed to dress and make his way down the stairs after a quarter of an hour had passed. He soon found Boswick, Rendell, and a stout, auburn-haired man in a brown coat and trousers. Hollycott, Liam presumed.
There were no breakfast dishes in sight, but the aroma of tea and honey lingered. Liam’s stomach growled.
Boswick introduced him to the newcomer. Hollycott had the rough, square face of a man who’d had a scrape or two in his life and a keen, careful gaze, as if he suspected everyone he met were guilty of a crime. After scrutinizing Liam, he began directly.
“There were several burgled houses near yours, Lord Wolford.” Hollycott spoke with a Welsh accent, baring his upper teeth as he enunciated. “The culprit likely knew the house would be empty and the servants asleep. I understand that this happened not long ago at another of your houses.”
“You must find that circumstance quite frequent. A house in a fine neighborhood burglarized in the middle of the night cannot be a rarity.”
Hollycott’s shoulders twitched in a shrug. “Usually more in the summer when these properties are empty. But what was strange is that the burglar didn’t try to disguise his presence. He left clutter behind at each location. Of course, in your house
, that fact was much more difficult to ascertain.”
“No doubt you are referring to my collection.” Though to Liam it was more disturbing than merely losing an object. He truly enjoyed the pieces in his collection. They were like scholars he could talk to, revealing their history in conversations whenever they met.
“Do you recall what was stolen from the previous burglary?” Hollycott asked. Since he didn’t seem like a man who would have come unprepared without that information, Liam suspected he was being tested.
Rendell began to sort through a stack of ledgers that listed all of Liam’s goods.
“A pair of silver candlesticks,” Liam answered, feeling a measure of satisfaction at Hollycott’s eventual nod. “I’d found it odd at the time that such a mess had been left behind for something that had been in plain sight all along. I’d also heard similar reports from my neighbors—a candelabra, an ormolu clock, a gold snuff box—all inconsequential items.”
“Inconsequential to you, perhaps, but easy to sell and less likely to raise alarms than a fancy painting.” Even though Hollycott kept his tone measured, the cold snap of censure laced his wording. It was sharp enough to lift Boswick’s brows.
“Still, the question remains,” Liam added, “if you were the burglar, why ransack and let it be known? Why not merely take the bauble and disappear with no one the wiser? These houses are not likely to notice immediately otherwise.”
Again, Hollycott offered a nod. “That is one of the inconsistencies I’m investigating.”
“And the other?”
“It has to do with part of your collection. There appears to have been damage to a sketch, along with a shattered glass case.”
Rendell cleared his throat. “I didn’t want to alarm you, my lord. The Turkish dagger above your mantel . . . Someone used it to stab your sketch of the Elgin Marbles. And left it displayed on your desk.”
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