First, he looked at Drusilla. At her face scrunched up in outrage. Then at everyone around them, looking at her, at her outburst. His face became a flat mask of disdain.
“Drusilla, get ahold of yourself.”
“Do you see what he—”
“It’s hardly Quincy’s fault you’re so clumsy.”
Drusilla stared at her fiancé in disbelief.
“Don’t just stand there. Remove yourself to a retiring room before more people witness your embarrassment.”
“A retiring room? A retiring room?” Drusilla’s volume rose dangerously every time she said retiring room. “This is mulberry silk. Ivory mulberry silk. What do you think I’ll be able to do in a retiring room?”
The stain was starting to spread, sending a pink wave out toward the edges of the bodice.
“Then I suppose you’d better go home.” There was no sympathy in Geoffrey’s tone.
Everyone around them was staring. Geoffrey hated few things more than he hated not being the center of attention or being the center of attention for the wrong reasons. Right now, he was experiencing both sensations simultaneously.
Still, Jane couldn’t help but feel empathetic toward Drusilla. It wasn’t her fault. “She didn’t do anything wrong, Geoffrey.”
He whirled on Jane in an instant. “What?”
“She didn’t do anything wrong.”
Drusilla whirled, too. “The day I need your help, Jane Bailey—”
“Who did then? Miss Davenport, whom I explicitly forbade you to associate with?” He said it low, so no one would hear, but the menace wasn’t lost on Jane.
He hadn’t done any such thing. Jane would have remembered. What she would have done if he had . . . she wasn’t certain.
“If it’s not Drusilla’s fault, and it is not Miss Davenport’s,” Geoffrey hissed, “then surely it must be yours for subjecting us all to your clumsy friend.”
It’s Quincy’s fault for trying to grab her. Or yours, for telling him to. The words were there. All she needed to do was say them. Say it, Jane. Say it! “It’s no one’s fault. It was an accident.”
“You know I don’t believe in accidents.”
He didn’t reach out—he didn’t need to. She could feel his hand gripping her wrist even though he wasn’t touching her. Could feel the wrenching of his grip against her skin. The compression of the bones that couldn’t possibly take much more pressure. He’d broken it once on a night much like tonight. What had she done? Torn her hem—that was it. She’d torn her hem dancing, and he’d been so angry.
But that was different. Jane was clumsy. Drusilla hadn’t done anything wrong. Neither had Eugenia.
“She didn’t do anything wrong,” Jane whispered. She wasn’t entirely sure which of them she was talking about.
His face clouded like an oncoming storm, going florid around the edges.
One of the partygoers interrupted. “Miss Lyndon, can I help you with . . .”
Geoff’s expression snapped back to politeness, realizing where they were and who was watching. Once his attention was off of her, panic hit Jane full force, and she fled the ballroom.
• • •
“What is wrong with my mother?”
The moment the door to the sitting room closed, Sebastian was at him with questions.
“Why are you visiting apothecaries? Why doesn’t she have a doctor treating her if she needs medicine?” His brother paced the room in agitation.
“Sebastian . . .”
“And why is the first I’m hearing about it from Jane Bailey at party?” he shouted.
“Sebastian, calm down.”
“Would you? If you were in my place would you be calm?”
“No,” Adam admitted. “But I can’t tell you anything if you just keep shouting.”
His brother slowed, coming to a stop in front of a chair. “All right.”
“Sit,” Adam told him. He took the chair opposite.
It was obvious Sebastian didn’t want to sit, but he did it. A concession for which Adam was exceptionally grateful.
He told Sebastian what he knew. “She has a heart condition. She’s had it for a while. She has doctors, but—I went to the apothecary because I was worried and I wanted to do something.”
“When did you find out?”
“The day I came back.”
“She told—”
“She collapsed in the hallway when I was with her,” Adam interrupted. “She didn’t tell me, and I doubt she would have if I hadn’t found out.”
“Does Father know?”
Adam’s forced his fists to unclench. “Yes.”
Sebastian sighed. “That’s good, then. If he knows . . . that’s good.” They could agree to disagree on how good anything involving their father was. “Why didn’t she tell me?” Sebastian scrubbed his hand over his face.
“Have you given her much opportunity?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” Adam said, “she told me she hasn’t seen or spoken to you in weeks.”
His brother had the decency to look ashamed.
“And when she has seen you, you haven’t exactly been open for a heart-to-heart.”
“She should have tried anyway,” Sebastian argued, sounding like a petulant child.
“Listen.” Adam held up his hands in a placating gesture. “I don’t know why you’re avoiding your mother, and I don’t need to. But find a way to go see her. She misses you.”
Sebastian was very deliberately looking at the carpet and not his brother.
Adam had no intention of fighting fair. He’d made Regina a promise. “And you’ll miss her, if something happens. Which it will, sooner or later. Trust me. You’ll want to have spent as much time as you can with your mother before you lose her forever.”
That was more manipulating than Adam had planned for his evening, and it was likely his brother would like some time to think over what he’d heard. Adam stood up, walking to the door. “If you need me—”
“I’m fine.”
“Ever. If you ever need me, just say so. We’re brothers.”
There were no more words from Sebastian’s bent frame, but he did nod his acknowledgment.
Adam considered it a step in the right direction.
Chapter 10
Adam went back to the ballroom in high spirits, eager to share his triumph with Jane. Unfortunately, when he got there he couldn’t find her. He didn’t see Lady Hawthorne, Pembroke, the viper fiancée, or the odious Lord Quincy either. The only familiar face he did spot was Brandon’s, leaning against a pillar drinking and looking bored.
“Wesley. Thank God. For a moment I thought I might ex—”
“Have you seen Jane?”
“Who?”
“Miss Bailey.”
Brandon’s expression was disturbingly blank.
“Young blond version of the wanton widow you keep flirting with in my company.”
“Oh!” His forehead wrinkled. “There was some fuss? Punch spilled on a dress. She ran outside a little while ago.”
Not again. Just once, Adam would like Jane to have a normal evening. Not for his own benefit, but to prove that it was possible. He elbowed his way to the outside doors without bidding Brandon farewell.
On the terrace, there was no sign of Jane. He raced past people, checking faces. The wigs and white clothing made them all blend together. It was impossible to tell who was who until he was close enough to see their features.
Adam made it all the way to the end of the terrace with no sign of her. He was about to just start shouting her name until she answered when he heard voices coming from a side garden a level down. Following the sound, he found Jane and Miss Davenport standing in a small terrace with a fountain in the center. Jane had her arms pulled in
tight to her body and was pacing short laps in front of the fountain. There was no punch on her dress, so whatever was the matter wasn’t that.
Miss Davenport took his arrival in stride. “Something is wrong with her.”
“What happened?”
“I can’t say for certain, but I believe it was caused by Lord Geoffrey.”
Pembroke again. Adam was getting extremely tired of Jane’s ex-fiancé ruining perfectly good evenings—and rides in the park. “Jane.”
“I don’t think she hears anyone right now.”
That was comforting. “Can you go find her aunt?”
“Do you think that will help?”
Adam drove a frustrated hand through his hair. “It certainly can’t hurt, Miss Davenport.”
She seemed to consider that before nodding her agreement. She left back the way Adam had come.
“Jane? Jane, can you hear me?”
Jane shook her head while she paced. “Shouldn’t have done that. Shouldn’t have done that at all.”
“Shouldn’t have done what, Jane?”
She shook her head again. Adam stepped in the path of her pacing. She jolted to a stop, looking up at him. He thought she might snap out of it for a moment, but then she just put her head down again and stepped around him.
If the previous ball was any indication, she would work herself into a frenzy and then be ill, but there was no telling if that was a normal occurrence for this sort of thing or not. Adam would rather not have her make herself sick if it could be avoided. How had she calmed down last time?
She’d stopped moving. On her next pass, Adam reached out and drew her against his chest. She tried to escape his embrace, but he just tightened his hold and hoped she would forgive him.
“Jane, I need you to listen.”
Her head shook against his chest. “Shouldn’t have. Shouldn’t have.”
Adam was about to chalk it up as a failure when she leaned into him. She was still repeating shouldn’t have over and over, but her arms wrapped around him in return. He held her close. She started breathing in time with him, so Adam took deeper and slower breaths.
The world outside of Jane’s panic filtered through. The gurgle of the fountain. The light rustle of tree leaves. The steady murmur of chatter and violin music coming from the ballroom. Adam closed his eyes. The warmth of Jane. The floral smell of her hair. The light rasp of her breath against his shirt fabric.
“I told him it wasn’t her fault.”
Adam was at a loss, but he realized it didn’t matter. “Was it?”
“No.”
“Then you did a good thing.”
She shook her head against his chest. “He was so angry.”
“That doesn’t make you wrong.” Adam didn’t need to guess which he she meant. “The world doesn’t revolve around whether Geoffrey Pembroke is happy or not.”
• • •
The world doesn’t revolve around whether Geoffrey Pembroke is happy or not.
Of course it didn’t. That would be a silly thing to think, and yet . . .
Jane’s mind latched onto what Adam had said and rolled it around and around.
She looked up at him. His eyes were closed. The torchlight from the path played across the planes of his face. There was a tiny cut on the underside of his chin from shaving. A piece of honey blond hair had escaped his queue and fallen free. Without thinking, she reached up and tucked it behind his ear.
His eyes opened. Their color was lost in the half-light of the garden at night, but their warmth was not. His eyes were curious, little frowns between the brow, but he didn’t ask why she’d done it. He just looked at her.
There was something about his face—about his way. Adam always seemed so calm. So completely in control of himself. There was never a twitch in his cheek muscle. He never seemed like he was on the verge of shouting. Jane wanted it. She wanted to taste it for herself.
The impulse to pull his head down and press her lips to his came from somewhere deep inside Jane. Beneath the panic. Beneath the fear. Beneath the constant worry that she was saying or doing the wrong thing. It all fell away and she just . . . kissed him.
It was different. The scratch of tomorrow’s beard rubbed against her cheek. His lips were firm, not soft like hers. And the skin of his neck was hot below her palm. For a moment they just stood like that, then disappointment overtook the impulse. It was supposed to be blissful and wonderful and . . . special. But this was just two mouths pressed against each other.
Then he moved. His arms shifted, pressing her against him in new ways. His fingers slid up, burying in the hair pinned at the base of her neck. His thumb rubbed gently against her jaw until she parted her lips in response. Another movement, this time to slant his mouth over hers. His tongue and teeth engaged her bottom lip in a duel. Her gasp of surprise was lost as he continued the game inside her own mouth.
Jane moaned. It was like stepping into a steaming bath—soothing and disorienting all at once. Her skin was hot. Her muscles felt tense and liquid in the same moment. It was—
Adam set her away from him in a quick series of movements. “Lady Hawthorne. Miss Davenport. I—”
“Don’t mind us, we’re just leaving,” Aunt Matty said from out of Jane’s view. “Jane, dear. I’ll be at the carriage when you’re ready. Take your time.”
“Is that wise? I believe they were—”
“Double time, Eugenia. Come on. Back to the ballroom.”
The quiet returned, except for Jane’s heart, which was thumping loud enough to alert the entire party. They stared at each other. A scant two feet separated them after Adam had detached from her and leapt away.
“I apologize,” they both said at the same time.
“What? Why are you—”
“It was not my intention to take advantage of the situation,” Adam says. “But I have obviously done so. Please forgive me.”
He had nothing to be sorry for.
“No.”
“Pardon?” Adam asked.
“I won’t forgive you, because you’re not responsible for what just happened. I am.”
“Jane.”
“I kissed you.”
He looked away, dragging a hand through his hair. “You were distraught—it’s excusable. But I should not have kissed you back.”
Jane didn’t want to be excused. She wanted him to kiss her again. “Why?”
Confusion claimed his face.
“Why shouldn’t you have kissed me back?”
If he were anyone else, Jane would have sworn he was blushing. It was too dark in the garden, though, and Adam didn’t get embarrassed. It must have just been a trick of the light. “It’s wrong.”
“Why?”
“Because. It just is.”
“Why?”
“I’m not going to marry you.”
It stung, but it was hardly a surprise. She hadn’t been proposing matrimony when she kissed him. “All right.”
“You of all people should know a man doesn’t kiss a woman like you unless he intends to offer for her.”
A woman like you. What sort of woman was she? Jane thought she’d known, but . . . she’d kissed Adam knowing full well they were only friends, and she wanted to do it again.
“You didn’t kiss me. I kissed you.”
“But I kissed you back!”
They weren’t getting anywhere this way. “I kissed you. I don’t regret it. Given the opportunity, I think I would do it again.”
His mouth dropped open.
“I don’t know what sort of woman that makes me, but perhaps it’s not the sort you thought.”
“Jane.” He sounded like he was about to argue.
“You don’t need to respond. Just consider what I’ve said. I have a great deal of considering to do as well. Now if yo
u’ll excuse me, my aunt is waiting for me.”
Secretly shocked at her own boldness, Jane turned and walked away—leaving Adam to gape after her in the garden.
• • •
I kissed you. I don’t regret it. She just walked away from him, like the issue was resolved. Like a major line hadn’t just been crossed—and while she was clearly distraught from an encounter with Pembroke. How did she not see what horrible advantage he had taken?
It was obvious she was still reeling from whatever had happened. He would call on her tomorrow, they would both agree it was a terrible breach of conduct, and neither of them would think about kissing the other ever again . . . As if it would be that easy, but Adam resolved to make it so. He would forget all about the silky strands of her hair under his fingertips and the incredibly vivid images that went wild in his mind at the sound of her moan.
He would forget. They were just friends. He was a horrible, despicable cad.
The ball was still in full swing when he went back and found Brandon.
“Did you find your young miss?”
Adam didn’t want to talk about that. “Any interest in leaving here?”
“Plenty, but the libations here are free.”
“If you take me anywhere but here, the night is on me.” He had a little money left still. Not enough to live on, but plenty for a night out to forget kissing an innocent girl while she was traumatized.
Brandon clapped his hands. “What will it be—the esteemed company of the lovely ladies of Park Place or a rowdy night at Tom King’s Coffee House?”
“Tom King’s.” A brothel was the last thing Adam needed. “What are the chances we’ll get into a fight?”
“Extremely high. I’m not well-liked, and you have a proud look to you.”
“The denizens of Tom King’s don’t like people who appear proud?”
“Not in the slightest. They’ll knock the proud right out of you.”
Adam laughed as they left the Montrose estate. Brandon had a carriage on loan from one of his many paramours, so they were saved the burden of hailing a cab.
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