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‘Pigeon, if I can shoot any.’
‘Then I will clear up and look after Pru and Bates. Could you carry me up some hot water? I promised her a bath.’
Half an hour later Adam let himself out of the back door, his shotgun cradled in the crook of his arm, his shot belt looped over his shoulder. He paused at the sound of running feet in the hall and Decima looked round the kitchen door. ‘You will wrap up, won’t you?’ She took in his greatcoat and muffler, nodded approvingly and vanished as quickly as she had appeared.
From one of his sisters that would have produced a growl of irritation. From Decima the solicitude left a small glow of warmth that she was concerned about him. Adam was halfway across the yard before the novelty of that response dawned on him. He frowned fiercely; he was going to have to get their relationship back onto a firm basis of stranded gentlewoman and accidental host before she got under his skin any further.
In twenty-four hours this Long Meg of a spinster had made him want to throw all tenets of gentlemanly behaviour to the winds and ravish her; had made him enjoy—most of the time—acting as his own footman, cook and groom; had created doubts in his mind about the desirability of keeping a mistress and now had reduced him to a state where he enjoyed being fussed over. With a scowl that boded ill for any passing pigeons, Adam crunched through the snow towards the copse.
Chapter Seven
Decima yawned, stretched and lay in bed watching the cold, clear light on her bedroom ceiling with a feeling of deep contentment. There had been no thaw in the night. Today was the first of January and she was still snowed in. With Adam.
With Pru as well, of course, and with Bates, but there was no need to feel guilty about them being out of reach of a doctor, for they were both doing well. Pru had even spent two hours sitting by the bedroom fire yesterday afternoon after her bath.
Decima sat up, reached for her shawl and listened to the regular sound of Pru’s breathing.
Yet there was a creeping unease as she thought about Adam. Last night, when all the chores were done and they had sat either side of the fire in the drawing room, he had seemed strangely distant, almost formal, as though she was a chance acquaintance he was having to entertain.
They had spoken of commonplace matters, quite easily and pleasantly. At the time, tired and warm, nothing had struck her as different. Now, thinking back, it seemed that the spark of intimacy between them had gone. She had lost the feeling that she could tell him anything, and he no longer gave back to her the warm feeling that her company amused and stimulated him.
Shaking her head at herself for being fanciful, Decima got out of bed and lifted the can of water she had left in the hearth. It was still warm and she washed and dressed quietly. But not quietly enough.
‘Miss Dessy! Let me lace your stays properly—like any respectable lady should be laced!’
Pru insisted on getting up to sit in the armchair once she had had her wash and Decima had helped her braid her long mousy brown plait. ‘Are there any more journals, Miss Dessy?’ she asked. ‘Some general ones, not just the ladies’ fashion journals?’
‘I’ll see what I can find,’ Decima promised. ‘His lordship obviously keeps a good supply of reading matter for his guests.’
When she opened the door she could hear Adam arguing with Bates from across the landing. ‘Wait a minute and let me shave you or else grow a beard, man! You’ll cut your own throat at this rate.’ There was a grumble from the groom.
‘Happy New Year,’ she called through the crack where the door stood ajar and jumped as it swung open to reveal Adam in his shirt-sleeves, an open razor in one hand and a towel in the other. He was half shaven, one side of his chin still a mass of soapy foam. Behind him she could see Bates, looking mulish, sitting up in bed with blood-flecked foam on his face.
‘And to you,’ Adam rejoined. ‘If I succeed in getting the pair of us clean shaven to greet the new year, I will join you in the kitchen shortly.’
Decima found she was blushing, yet her feet did not want to move. She had never seen a man shaving before. It was curiously intimate and Adam was dressed only in breeches and his shirt, his stockinged feet shoeless.
‘Yes, of course,’ she mumbled. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’
Oh, this really will not do, she chided herself as she began to assemble breakfast, bustling around with unnecessary briskness. Adam had made it quite clear last night that he wanted to maintain a decent distance and formality. Then why open the bedroom door half dressed? Whatever he felt and whatever his motives, she had to remember that he was an experienced man of the world and she, despite her age, was a singularly sheltered virgin.
But she was certainly garnering a wide variety of experiences and sensations with which to begin her new, independent life. Perhaps she might even have the confidence to venture up to London for a week or two this Season. That would scandalise Charlton.
‘A penny for them.’ Adam had come into the kitchen and was regarding her quizzically. ‘You are standing in the middle of the room, a platter of bacon in your hands and a decided smirk on your lips.’
‘What a horrible word. I never smirk.’ Decima put down the bacon and went to find the frying pan. ‘I have just thought of something I would like to do, which will scandalise Charlton.’
‘What, more than the discovery that you have spent several nights unchaperoned with a man? Poor Charlton, I am beginning to have considerable fellow feeling for him.’
Decima stared at him. ‘I have not the slightest intention of telling Charlton about this. Good Heavens, the fuss he would make! He would be on your doorstep demanding you marry me or some such dreadful nonsense.’
‘Very right and proper,’ Adam observed coolly. ‘That is exactly what an outraged brother should do. It is what I would do if it happened to one of my sisters when they were unmarried.’
‘But nothing has happened.’ Decima shook her head in bafflement at his obtuseness. ‘And Charlton won’t know about it. When I get home I will write and say I had a difficult journey because of the snow, which will make him feel superior because he warned me not to start out in the first place, and Augusta does not know when to expect me so she won’t be worrying, either.’
Adam took the platter from her and began to lay rashers in the frying pan. ‘Should you be telling me this? Perhaps the only reason you are safe with me is that I am expecting your brother to come in search of you at any moment.’
‘Now I have shocked you and so you are trying to frighten me for my own good,’ Decima said with a sigh. ‘You notice I did not say anything when we first met about who was expecting me and when—I am not completely naïve. Now I know I can trust you, so it does not matter.’
