by Louise Allen
The detour was short. As Decima stepped down, she saw movement against the study window. So, Adam was at home. ‘I shall be a few minutes. Please go down to the mews if you wish, Pru.’
Adam’s butler greeted her with a respectful bow, which was cut short when he saw she was without a companion. ‘Good morning, madam. I regret that Lord Weston is not at home.’
‘I believe he will be to me,’ Decima retorted with a smile. ‘Do not trouble to announce me.’ She slipped past the astonished butler before he could move and was twisting the study door handle by the time he had turned.
‘Madam!’
Then she was inside the room, facing Adam, who dropped the newspaper he was holding onto the desk and stared at her. ‘Decima!’ He took a long stride towards her before she overcame the shock of sensual pleasure that always struck her whenever she saw him.
She threw up her hands. ‘Don’t you Decima me! How could you, Adam? I would not have believed it of you.’
He stopped abruptly and ran his hand through his hair. It needed trimming, she saw, wishing she could follow his hand with her own, tangle their fingers together in the thick, dark hair. Feeling like that did nothing to soothe her temper.
‘Look, I can see why you are angry, but you have to admit, the provocation was strong.’
‘There is some inconvenience to you, my lord, and you regard it as provocation? That it is enough justification to excuse your action?’
‘I should hardly call it inconvenience.’ He gestured towards a chair. ‘Decima, please sit down and let us discuss this. I must confess I was thinking about you, puzzling about how I could mend fences again.’
‘A simple word to Bates would have done it, I would have thought.’ Decima moved away, trying to focus on a small group of Meissen figures on the mantleshelf to avoid looking at him.
‘You feel I use our servants as go-betweens?’ He seemed puzzled.
‘An apology would have put things to rights, I should imagine?’ Decima reached out a finger and lightly touched the sweeping skirts of one little figure. It was exquisite. If she concentrated on that she could keep herself detached from this quarrel, put it onto an impersonal level where the pain would not reach her. ‘Pru is very upset.’
‘Pru?’ He seemed genuinely confused. Could he be so indifferent or uncaring about his servants that he did not realise the hurt he had inflicted on Pru and Bates? ‘Oh, you mean that her interference yesterday led to that scene. You are fortunate that you have a maid who is so attached to your interests and so conscientious.’
‘It is Pru’s interests I am concerned with, not mine.’ Decima turned sharply to face him. ‘And Bates’s, of course.’
‘Bates?’ Adam laid a hand on her arm and frowned. ‘Decima, are we completely at cross-purposes? Why are you here?’
If she stood on tiptoe she could brush her lips against his, curl her arms around his neck and be held close to him. She was aware of his cologne, of the faint smell of woollen broadcloth that had been recently pressed with a hot iron, of the scent of clean, warm man. Her eyelids felt heavy and it was as much as she could do not to sway towards him.
‘I am here because you have broken Pru’s heart and I am very, very angry with you.’ Decima’s voice shook slightly and she struggled for control. ‘And disappointed.’
‘I have done nothing to Pru! What the devil is this about? Decima, I’m trying to apologise for hitting your infuriating brother yesterday. I wish I’d done it harder, but I upset you, so now I have to wish I’d never done it at all.’
‘But you told Bates he couldn’t have the cottage! He and Pru think he would lose his place if they marry—and to do that just because I asked you to go yesterday—that is so unfair.’ Decima freed her arm and moved back a little so she could watch Adam’s face without the distracting closeness. ‘Of course you should not have hit Charlton, and he was quite within his rights to be angry, finding us like that. He is pompous and overbearing, but he is my brother. What else could I do but tell you to leave? What if Olivia had come to hear of it? She still might.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘But to take it out on poor Pru—I could not believe you would do such a thing.’
Adam’s expression had run from puzzlement, through enlightenment to rueful amusement. ‘It’s not funny,’ Decima snapped.
‘I agree. I was mocking myself. Do you know, I had been existing under the illusion that I was in control of my life, my household, my destiny, and now I find that I am merely the plaything of my staff. Did Pru tell you in so many words that I had withdrawn the offer of the cottage, or that I had forbidden Bates to marry her?’
‘No…’ Decima wrinkled her brow in an effort to recall the exact words. ‘No, not exactly. She said that Jethro—Bates—did not think he would be able to have the cottage after all, and he might lose his place and you were—what was it?—oh, yes, on the high ropes.’
‘Decima, my love, has it occurred to you that we are both being manipulated by our servants? Pru and Bates obviously decided that we had quarrelled and that we were unlikely to get back on speaking terms again without a powerful incentive.’
‘You mean they are matchmaking? But…but…You are engaged! What did you call me?’
There was a tap at the door and the butler was inside before Adam could speak. Decima blinked at the man. Knocking at all, let alone sliding into rooms looking decidedly shifty, was not the sort of behaviour one expected of a top-flight butler.
‘My lord, Mrs Channing’s barouche has just driven up.’
‘Hell. Thank you, Dalrymple, I am sure you can make quite a business of taking the ladies’ things and showing them into the salon.’
The butler allowed himself a grimace. ‘I have never yet succeeded in ushering Mrs Channing anywhere she does not wish to go. She is aware that you normally spend some time in the study in the morning. If the lady would care to come with me, it would be safer—’ He broke off at the sound of the knocker, then they all froze. Someone was opening it and there was the sound of voices.
‘Peters—I believed him to be in the kitchens.’ Dalrymple lowered his voice. ‘I can hardly open this door and go out now…’
‘Stall.’ Adam seized Decima’s wrist and pulled her towards a cupboard door in the alcove beside the fireplace. ‘There should be room.’
Decima found herself squeezed into a space that seemed to be half filled with books and boxes. With the pressure of Adam’s body against hers she wriggled onto a shelf, managing to perch on the narrow ledge, her face squashed against his shirt front, her knees pressed into his thighs.
The door shut behind them, apparently with Dalrymple’s full weight against it, for Adam was pushed even harder against her. Then a familiar voice penetrated the panels.
‘There you are, Dalrymple. Where is Lord Weston?’
Chapter Twenty-One
‘I regret that his lordship is not at home, ma’am.’
‘I saw movement in this room as the carriage arrived.’ Decima wondered from whence Mrs Channing got her overwhelming self-confidence.
‘You must have glimpsed me, ma’am. I was just ascertaining that his lordship’s inkwells had been filled. One cannot rely on new footmen, I regret to say. Would you and Miss Channing care to take some refreshments in the salon, ma’am?’
‘When will Lord Weston return?’ Mrs Channing was obviously not best pleased to find her quarry not available.
‘I really could not say, ma’am. I am quite unable to speculate on what his lordship might be doing at this moment.’ The butler’s voice faded as the study door was shut.
‘The old devil,’ Adam muttered against Decima’s cheek. ‘I am unable to speculate indeed! Are you giggling?’
‘Yes,’ Decima admitted, struggling to suppress her chuckles. ‘I have to say, you do have the most unconventional servants.’
‘I know. That’s what comes of inheriting most of them. They have known me since I was a grubby brat in nankeens; although they normally do their utmost to preserve my
dignity, I suspect it is for their own self-esteem, not mine. If you could try and giggle without wriggling I would be grateful.’
‘S…sorry,’ Decima managed to gasp. ‘Why? Do you think we might be heard?’
‘No, because I very badly want to kiss you.’ He said it in a matter-of-fact whisper that effectively stifled the slightest desire to laugh.
‘Adam! Olivia is in the next room!’ Decima pulled herself together. ‘In any case, you should not be thinking such a thing, it is highly improper.’
‘I’d have to be a hundred and ten not to be thinking such things in this position,’ he said darkly. ‘I don’t think we could be any closer together unless we removed all our clothes.’ Decima gave a small squeak of alarm and felt, more than heard, his gasp of amusement against her neck. ‘Relax, I’m not a contortionist.’
There was not much to be said in response to that—nothing that was not repulsively missish or unbecomingly forward. Decima decided that silence was the best tactic and tried to keep still. It was not easy. She was pressed against Adam in a way that was both intimate and uncomfortable; the edge of the shelf on which she was perched was cutting into her behind and what felt like a large volume was digging into the nape of her neck. But, recalling Henry’s various pieces of advice on the way that men’s minds worked, she supposed that finding himself in such close proximity to any young woman would result in Adam wanting to kiss her. She certainly should not attribute it to any particular desire for herself.
‘Do you think it is safe to come out now?’ she whispered.
‘Probably. Are you uncomfortable?’
‘Very.’
‘So am I. Delightfully so,’ he added, so quietly she thought she must have misheard. There was a crowded minute while Adam attempted to get his hands behind him to open the door. ‘Unfortunately there is no handle on the inside and Dalrymple appears to have locked the door.’
Decima succumbed to the cramp in her neck and let her forehead rest on Adam’s chest. It felt so good.
‘Am I forgiven?’ he asked.
‘For hitting poor Charlton? Yes, I forgive you, if you will forgive me for believing you would treat Pru and Bates so badly.’
‘I think I can do that.’ He was smiling, she could hear it in his voice. ‘Has your brother forbidden you from having anything to do with me again?’
‘Mmm. He is quite right, of course.’ Decima wondered if the crick in her back was enough excuse for trying to insinuate her arms around Adam and snuggling closer. She rather thought that a lady of refinement and true modesty would die before doing such a thing. Regrettably this seemed to prove she was neither refined, nor modest, any longer. Fortunately, as her arms were trapped by a stack of files, she was prevented from giving way to temptation.
‘Do you intend to obey him?’ Decima jerked herself back to attention. She had begun to drift off into an uncomfortable, yet sensual, doze. ‘Only I really do need your help.’
‘I thought I should,’ she replied, trying to sound as businesslike as possible while whispering. ‘What do you want?’
There was a pause while Decima decided she could have phrased that better, but Adam made no disconcerting response. ‘I wondered if you and Sir Henry might join Olivia and me on a trip out of town one day soon. I’ve inherited a small estate near Bushey and I cannot decide whether to keep it or not. I want to show it to Olivia, see if she takes a fancy to it, otherwise I will place it on the market.’
There were major objections to this; Decima had to give it no thought at all to see that. It would place her in exactly the position of intimacy with Adam that she knew she should avoid—Charlton would be livid if he found out—and it would throw Henry and Olivia together again. Henry’s feelings for Miss Channing had not faded, Decima could tell, however much he tried to cover it up. She wondered if hers for Adam were as obvious to someone who knew her well.
‘Please?’ Adam injected a wheedling tone into his voice, which made her smile. She doubted that he ever had much need to wheedle and was not convinced it was genuine now. They were playing a game, they both knew it—and she had no idea how they had got there. ‘If you don’t come, I will have to take Mrs Channing and I really feel another man is necessary, just in case of any problems on the road. Olivia is shy, she would feel more comfortable with you and Freshford.’
‘If Henry agrees, yes, I will.’ She had opened her mouth, intending to refuse the invitation, but somewhere between drawing in breath and speaking something else had taken over. The rebellious other self was stirring again, dangerously.
As if her capitulation was a signal, there was the grate of a key in the lock and the door swung open. Adam stepped back to save himself from falling and Decima tumbled out into his arms. Dalrymple managed to keep his face straight, despite the unseemly spectacle she knew they must present.
‘Mrs and Miss Channing have departed, my lord. They intend returning this afternoon. Mrs Channing was good enough to confide in me that she wished to discuss arrangements for the honeymoon, my lord.’
‘Does she, by God?’ Adam snarled, steadying Decima, who was staggering slightly as her stiff limbs regained their balance.
‘So she gives me to understand,’ Dalrymple responded tranquilly. ‘Might I fetch you refreshments, Miss Ross? No? I regret the necessity of locking you into the cupboard, but I feared the door might swing open again if I did not.’
‘Have you been speaking to Bates?’ Adam enquired, regarding the butler with suspicion.
‘No, my lord, not for a day, at any rate. Miss Ross’s woman is in the kitchen, my lord.’ He paused on his way out. ‘Mrs Channing was also gracious enough to confide that she is going out of town for a few days, leaving Miss Channing to the chaperonage of her cousin.’
‘How very convenient.’ Adam stood looking out of the window, all the fun and the teasing gone from his face. ‘I will speak to Olivia about the house in Bushey this afternoon. If I were to send you a note, perhaps you would be good enough to let me know when you and Sir Henry could accompany us.’
‘Will Mrs Channing not want you to wait so she can go with you?’
‘Probably.’ He grinned suddenly and Decima forgot all her good resolutions in a swamping tide of love and longing. ‘I will tell her I have a good offer and must make up my mind soon—which is true enough. She won’t want me selling it, not after I have described it. The more properties Olivia becomes mistress of the better, in her eyes.’ He stopped looking out of the window and turned the smile on Decima. ‘And she approves of you, so she will not think twice about you chaperoning Olivia. Please, Decima—save me from an entire day of my future mama-in-law.’
The reminder of the role Mrs Channing was destined to play in Adam’s life was sobering. Decima hesitated, torn between what she knew was her duty and the temptation of one last day with Adam. ‘I will ask Henry,’ she temporised. And Henry might either feel the same about being with Olivia, or might think that the pain of being in her company outweighed the pleasure—or the strain on his acting skills in not revealing his feelings. ‘It sounds delightful. Will we need a picnic?’
‘I will ensure we have the very best,’ Adam promised. ‘Now, I think we had better see you out through the kitchen door for discretion.’ He seemed quite normal, chatting of inconsequential things as he escorted her down the back stairs and into the kitchen, earning a scold from Cook for bringing a lady below stairs.
But Decima, even distracted as she was by Pru’s guilty air, noticed something new about him. It was as though he was watching, planning, waiting with a kind of tension that held nothing of apprehension and everything of excitement and determination. She was as conscious of him as a man, of his strength and his will, as when she had been rescued by him in the snow or when he had caught her in his arms and made love to her.
It was an effort to collect herself to greet Cook, nod pleasantly to the kitchen maids and take an indifferent, formal leave of Adam. What his staff thought of her choice of exit she had no idea,
but no doubt they were too well-paid and well-managed to presume to either comment or speculate.
Once she and Pru were safely in the carriage and the vehicle in motion, the maid began to fidget. Decima refrained from speaking for a long minute, increasing Pru’s discomfort until at last she burst out, ‘Is it all right, Miss Decima? You and his lordship are speaking again?’
‘No, it is not all right, Pru! You lied to me, did you not? No, don’t try and tell me what you said—you may have been very careful, but you deliberately left me with the impression that Lord Weston had warned Bates off marrying you simply because we had had a falling out. Did you not?’
‘Yes’m.’ Pru had her head down and the reply emerged as a painful mutter. Then she looked up and burst out, ‘He ought to be marrying you, Miss Decima, not that washed-out little Miss Channing. You love him.’
Denying it seemed futile. Decima ignored the statement. ‘He is engaged to be married. Even if he has made a mistake—which I am not saying he has, so do not quote that back to me, if you please!—he cannot honourably withdraw.’
‘She ought to,’ Pru said mutinously. ‘She could if she wasn’t so hen-hearted.’
‘Would you have the courage to disobey Mrs Channing?’ Decima enquired tartly. ‘Poor Olivia is terrified of her mother and she deserves her chance to make her own life and be happy.’
‘Well, and so do you,’ Pru retorted. ‘Men haven’t the wit they were born with, most of them. You have to write a sign and wave it under their noses afore they’ll see what a woman’s feeling.’
‘So you are thinking better of marriage to Bates, are you?’ Decima enquired wickedly.
‘No. He needs looking after,’ Pru declared. ‘I’ll make something of him.’
