by Dorothy Mack
Adrienne froze in place, then rallied her courage. She stared pointedly at the hand on her arm. “Je crois que je n’ai pas le plaisir de votre connaissance, madame,” she said with unsmiling civility.
Her words had no effect on Lady Tremayne except that she removed her hand. “You may spare your breath to cool your porridge, Miss Castle. I recognized you the moment you smiled, despite that ridiculous wig. There cannot be three such dimples anywhere else in Brussels. What are you doing in this place, and who is your escort?”
“I think that is not your concern.”
“It is, however, very much Dominic’s concern. I cannot think he will approve of his innocent little cousin’s being seen in a gaming house. You seem to have inherited your father’s weakness at a very tender age. You also appear to be very successful,” she added with a significant glance at the reticule dangling from the other’s wrist, “in which case it does seem a trifle excessive of you to continue to hang on to Dominic’s sleeve all this time.”
Angry words trembled on Adrienne’s lips as she stared into scornful amber eyes, but at that moment Lady Tremayne’s escort reappeared at her side, carrying two brimming glasses.
“Ah, chérie, here you are, one glass of champagne as ordered. Oh, I beg pardon, I did not realize you were in conversation. Allow me, mademoiselle,” he said with a smiling bow in Adrienne’s direction as he presented her with the other glass. “I shall get another for myself.”
Adrienne murmured a startled thank-you while Lady Tremayne bit her lip in annoyance as her escort wove his slightly unsteady way back toward a waiter carrying a tray of drinks. Clear blue-green eyes met Lady Tremayne’s look disdainfully. “I cannot think that Dominic would approve of his fiancée’s being escorted to a gaming house by another man,” she riposted, going on the offensive in her turn.
The older woman drew herself up proudly. “It may interest you to know that Dominic is scheduled to meet me here in ten minutes. Do you care to stay and surprise him?”
Adrienne smiled brilliantly into adamantine amber eyes. “That will be quite a feat of riding, since Dominic left for Charleroi late this afternoon. Au revoir, madame. Please make my excuses to your charming escort.”
Before Lady Tremayne could react, she found herself holding a second glass of champagne while she was treated to a vanishing back view of a slim blond in an unfashionable blue gown.
Adrienne made her unhurried way to the entrance to meet the hackney cab she had ordered earlier. Not until she had sunk thankfully onto the seat did she dare to relax the control she had imposed on herself during the distressing scene just enacted. To her annoyance, she was shaking all over in a nervous reaction, and her brain was a quivering mass of unpleasant sensation too. What wretched, wretched luck to run smack into Lady Tremayne tonight! She had passed among no fewer than three gentlemen of her acquaintance in Madame Mireille’s rooms without earning a second glance from any. Trust that woman to have pierced her disguise! It was just the kind of disobliging behaviour one might expect from her, she thought bitterly, arranging the lace shawl over her head with trembling fingers. And finding her ladyship hanging on another man’s arm when her fiancé was away was another example of behaviour one would expect from a woman of her stamp. Why couldn’t Dominic see that she would make him an abominable wife?
That had been a nasty scene just now. Lady Tremayne’s snide reference to her father had brought her own blood to a rapid boil, after which she could not claim that her own conduct was any more creditable than that of the other woman. It wasn’t her place to censure the other’s conduct, but she had thrust her oar in anyway and immediately compounded her presumption by letting her ladyship know that she didn’t believe Dominic planned to join her at Madame Mireille’s. Struggling to be fair, Adrienne tried to bring an open mind to the question of whether Lady Tremayne had lied. Apparently Dominic had gone out of town on short notice. He had sent word to his own household that he would be away overnight. It was barely conceivable that he had forgotten to inform his betrothed, or that a message had gone astray. Adrienne’s instinct told her Lady Tremayne had lied, and that she would not care to have Dominic learn that she had permitted other men to squire her around when he was unavailable. On the other hand, she need not have approached her at all tonight if she hoped to keep her own presence from becoming known. Having the advantage of recognizing her fiancé’s cousin before being noticed herself, she could have kept out of Adrienne’s line of vision thereafter. The rooms had been fairly crowded all evening, so that shouldn’t have been too difficult to accomplish.
And yet her demeanour toward that handsome, moustachioed Belgian officer was certainly such that an impartial observer might have taken him for her betrothed. The implications of the question occupied Adrienne’s mind for the rest of the drive to the earl’s house. In the end, she concluded with a newly acquired cynicism that the proof that Lady Tremayne had lied about expecting to meet her fiancé would be if she herself heard nothing further about the matter. If he were informed of her escapade, Dominic would not fail to read her a curtain lecture about setting foot in a gaming house. Lady Tremayne would not inform him of it if she had anything to conceal about her own conduct. If she were indeed the gamester Pamela had insinuated she was, she would wager her last penny that nothing more would be heard of tonight’s incident, Adrienne decided as she paid the driver and went up the front steps, to be admitted by the vigilant footman.
“Thank you, Antoine,” she said softly. “Has Miss Beckworth returned home?”
“Not yet, Miss Castle.”
“Thank you, Antoine,” she said again, pressing some money into his hand on her way to the stairs. “Goodnight.”
There was one more detail to be attended to before she could take her suddenly weary body to bed. She replaced the money she had borrowed in Becky’s drawer, this time keeping her winnings in her own possession, and entered her own room thankfully. A moment later, she stared down at the princely sum of one hundred and fifteen louis as she locked it in her mother’s almost empty jewel box. There was no expression on her face and no elation remaining in her heart, though she had certainly enjoyed a brief thrill of triumph when Mr. Hinckley had paid his losses. At the moment, she felt thoroughly deflated. Being ruthlessly honest with herself, she admitted that she had gone to Madame Mireille’s this evening in a spirit of defiance and frustration with her present circumstances. As she removed the wig and began slow preparations for bed, she tried to assess what had been accomplished other than the acquisition of a useful sum of money. Not her freedom, certainly. In her heart she knew full well she could never repay Dominic’s kindness by leaving town without his knowledge or approval. She had managed to alienate Lady Tremayne even more deeply — not that this was likely to cause her any pangs of regret. To date, the beautiful brunette had not neglected many opportunities to demonstrate her antipathy toward her fiancé’s cousin.
Adrienne slipped into a pale green nightdress of softest lawn. Her eyes sought her reflection in the glass over the dressing table as her fingers tied the satin ribbons at her throat. She looked just as usual, which was a bit surprising since she felt very different tonight, years older than the impetuous girl who had entered this house so reluctantly a few short weeks ago. Life certainly played strange tricks on one. She hadn’t wanted to come to Rue Ducale, and now the thought of leaving was like a sword in her heart. They must go soon, of course; their future didn’t lie here. She pushed thoughts of the future away, feeling unequal to coping with anything beyond today’s misery. Still she acknowledged with relief that the roiling current of frustration and protest that had tossed and swirled her along at will for the past several days had quietened into a stream of dull misery that was navigable, though the cost in courage and dignity would be high. All she had to do was remember that they owed their deliverance to Dominic. He had their best interests at heart, which was a thought to soothe a bruised spirit. Whatever happened in the future, knowing and loving Dominic had been a pr
ivilege and a delight, the memory of which she would treasure forever. She climbed into bed that night bone-weary but more at peace with herself than for a long time, and fell instantly asleep.
It was after noontime when Colonel Creighton entered Brussels by the Namur gate, and fully an hour later before he finished his report at headquarters and headed home to bathe and change out of the clothes he had donned the day before. He was tired, but his fatigue was not the sort to be relieved by sleep. It was mental exhaustion from his unceasing efforts to hold back the tide, in this case the tide of his newly realized love for Adrienne, with the result that always accompanies puny human efforts to combat the forces of nature. It could have been a tidal wave of joy if things had been different, if he had not made an almighty fool of himself two months ago. As matters stood, however, he was a man in a trap, a trap he had constructed for himself and into which he had walked, not just willingly but eagerly, with his eyes open. They were open even wider now, but he could not see an honourable way out of the trap.
Less than two months ago, he’d had the world by the tail. There was a precept of ancient folklore that advised caution with regard to what one wished for, because the wish might come true. Well, he had wanted nothing so much as to win the hand of the most beautiful woman he’d ever met, and he had done just that.
Lord Creighton’s step slowed and he glanced around in surprise to find himself at the edge of the water staring at the cruising swans. He’d been walking through the park to his house without really seeing anything in his path and could only trust that he had not cut anyone of his acquaintance. He altered his course to bring him out near his house, but soon fell back into the same state of frowning reverie. When had the dream world he’d inhabited faded and dissolved? Not immediately after Pamela had agreed to marry him; he was still seeing her through a happy mist at the time Adrienne had come bursting into his life.
Even a man as bedazzled and hungry as he had been for the promise of Pamela’s seductive beauty could not long remain blind to the contrasts the two women presented. Perhaps it was his chagrin at discovering that Pamela did not intend to let her engagement prevent her from collecting every available male in her net that caused him to note that Adrienne’s charm sprang from a natural interest in humanity rather than a desire to attract an audience. Pamela’s admirers were invariably masculine; he had lately come to recognize that she had no real friends among her own sex. Two months ago, he’d have accepted that other women were simply jealous of one who cast them completely in the shade. That was before he had come to discern the basic integrity of Adrienne’s character that threw Pamela’s artfulness into high relief. The generosity and sweetness of the one underscored the vanity and selfishness of the other. He had struggled to retain his original vision of Pamela as the embodiment of a man’s ideal woman, but her persistent spitefulness toward his cousin, totally gratuitous and unprovoked, at first shocked and eventually sickened him.
It was entirely through his own stupidity that he was now committed to spend his life with a woman he could not respect. In the throes of his first infatuation he had lusted after her, longed to possess that perfect beauty. Even when he had begun to suspect that she didn’t love him, to doubt that she was capable of loving anyone save herself, he had still wanted her desperately. When he took her in his arms, the feel and taste of her inflamed his senses and blotted out doubts and problems. Nobody was without flaws; certainly he was no saint to be entitled to the perfect woman, or the perfect union. For a time, he had been able to persuade himself that his desire for her was enough to ensure a reasonably successful marriage. He had stopped expecting the moon. Wilful self-deception might have carried him through, but thanks to Pamela’s spite, even that comfort was now denied him.
The day the Duke had reviewed his reserve troops in the Allée, everything had changed. He had been disconcerted to see Adrienne in the company of his old friend at the outset, but it was the accident that had destroyed his hopes for accommodation with Pamela. She had disappointed and disillusioned him, but he thought he had geared himself to bear it. The knowledge that she had arranged Adrienne’s accident had burst that bubble. He had not thought himself capable of such anger toward a woman. He trusted he had controlled it before the others, but he had not been able to resist challenging her with it when they were alone. The quarrel that followed had succeeded in destroying his peace of mind. Out of the blue had come Pamela’s accusation that his feelings for Adrienne were more than cousinly affection.
The simple truth of her words had struck him with the force of a cudgel blow. From his vantage point a week later, it was difficult to believe one taunting remark could have caused such a bouleversement. More self-deception, most likely.
In fairness to himself, he could say with honesty that he hadn’t known his affection for Adrienne had been deepening and widening in the weeks she had lived in his house. He had admired her courage and independent spirit from the beginning; the sweetness and integrity of her nature had become apparent only through daily contact. She could make him laugh, her roguish twinkle delighted him, her sunny presence in his house warmed the atmosphere. But he had not known there was more to it than that. And of course there had been Pamela with her enticing promise of passion to further confuse the issue.
Perhaps he could be forgiven for confusing love when it had worn such different faces for him. From the instant of clapping his eyes on that flawless face, of experiencing the magnetic pull of her smile, he had been bewitched by Pamela and had burned with the desire to possess her. Adrienne had aroused quite a different emotion initially. At that bizarre first encounter, her fierce independence in refusing to accept charity had imbued him with an equally strong determination to transfer her burdens to his own broad shoulders. It hadn’t been pity; one didn’t pity gallantry, one bowed to it. He had wanted to take care of her then, and, heaven help him, he still yearned to make her wellbeing his exclusive and perpetual concern.
This past week had been spent in a grim effort to convince himself that it wasn’t love he felt for his cousin, at least not the man-woman sort. He had pointedly kept away from her and had tried to carry on with his engagement, but the fever in his blood had cooled. The joy that used to race through his veins when he took Pamela in his arms was missing and couldn’t be called up by her apparent willingness. She was still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, but now her beauty left him unmoved, and the implication for the future frightened him senseless.
The strain of having to act contrary to his heart’s inclination, of being obliged to ignore Adrienne while he danced attendance on Pamela, was taking a predictable and seemingly unpreventable toll on his temper. He had intercepted one or two side glances from fellow staff officers lately, and found himself apologizing for shortness of temper or inattention. It had been a relief to go out of town overnight. For a few hours he had been free of apprehension that he would betray himself by an unguarded look or an unconsidered word.
The respite was over now, bringing no other benefit in its train. The problem had been with him constantly, the long hours in the saddle providing ample opportunity for fruitless cogitation. The solution had been staring him in the face all along, he acknowledged unhappily as he exited from the park, but he had fought against recognizing it. The only honourable course of action was to send Adrienne to England and try to get on with his life. It had been implicit from the start. However, when his cousin had casually mentioned an imminent departure to Georgy Lennox, his reaction had been a cry of protest from the heart. Even now, knowing he must avoid her, his footsteps were speeding up in anticipation of seeing her dear little face and basking in the warmth of her smile. His own lips curved upward as he pictured her vibrant countenance until a strange woman heading for the park glanced at him nervously as she edged around him where he had come to an abrupt halt. A tinge of colour crept under his skin as Dominic came back to an awareness of his surroundings and crossed the street with purposeful strides.
He
had scarcely closed the door behind him when his eyes fell on the object of his obsessive thoughts. Adrienne, heading toward the reception room at the front of the house, almost dropped the bowl of yellow roses she was carrying.
“G-goodness, Dominic, you startled me!”
The man eyeing her hungrily thought she looked as fresh in her soft yellow dress as the blossoms she clutched. “Hello, my dear. What lovely flowers. A gift from an admirer?”
“Major Peters sent them. Aren’t they heavenly?”
“On second thoughts, I don’t believe I like them after all,” he said lightly, continuing to feast his eyes on her flower face.
Adrienne gave a nervous little laugh and peered uncertainly at him. “Did you just get back from Charleroi?”
“About an hour ago.”
She’d had time for a closer look at his drawn face by now. “Were you riding all night, Dominic? You look terribly tired.”
“No, I caught a few hours’ sleep at the Prussian camp. I’ll be fine after a bath and a change of clothes.”
“Of course. I’ll send coffee up to your room while you change.”
“Coffee sounds welcome, thank you, but only if you’ll have it with me when I come down.”
She hesitated, seemingly about to refuse.
“Please, Adrienne,” he said softly.
Her smile was a wavering effort, but the aquamarine eyes met his steadily. She nodded. “In the study in half an hour?”
“That will be fine.” Dominic paused on the first step as though about to add something, then shook his head and went on upstairs.
Adrienne followed his progress with wistful eyes until he disappeared from sight. Becoming conscious of the heady scent of roses, she retraced her steps toward the reception room, where she deposited the bowl on a table before hurrying to the kitchen with a rapidly beating heart.
In the first joy of seeing Adrienne again, Dominic knew only that he wanted to prolong the moment. By the time he joined her in the study, the fact of his betrothal, his painfully taken resolution to send her away, and the unwisdom of spending time with her in private had all been recollected. Adrienne, looking up from the coffee tray, thought he looked more rested but less approachable than she had ever seen him. The ready smile was missing from his eyes, though his lips parted briefly as he said, “That smells good,” and settled into a chair opposite her. He thanked her when she passed him his cup, and busied himself adding cream and sugar. The silence lengthened as Adrienne raised her own cup to her lips.
