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‘Exquisite,’ Adam rejoined. Curious, Decima glanced at him; he had sounded almost sardonic.
Then she saw the lady more clearly. ‘But I know her, surely!’ She let go of Adam’s arm and hurried forward. ‘Olivia? Miss Channing, I should say. I am sure you do not remember me, but I stayed for several Seasons with your cousins, the Brothertons.’
The blue eyes widened with recognition and the apprehensive half smile was replaced by a genuine look of pleasure. ‘But of course I remember you—Dessy Ross, isn’t it? You were so kind to me, even though I was still in the schoolroom. You used to help me with my French recitation when I found it so hard.’
‘You are most certainly out of the schoolroom now,’ Decima observed admiringly. ‘I almost did not recognise you.’ Olivia blushed and demurred and Decima remembered her manners. ‘Forgive me, I should perhaps introduce you to Viscount Weston. My lord…’
‘That is quite all right.’ Adam stepped forward and took Olivia’s little kid-gloved hand in his. ‘I already know Miss Channing. We are betrothed.’
Chapter Thirteen
For a moment Decima felt as though she had received a blow to the stomach. All the air had left her lungs and words froze on her lips. She stared at Olivia as the realisation sank in.
Of course Adam was betrothed to her—one only had to look at her to see why. Fragile, petite, ethereally blonde, with a rosebud mouth and a complexion like a white peach. Even when she blushed, as she was doing now, her skin simply flushed a delicate pink with not a blotch in sight. She was the perfect eligible bride. And, if he had set out to find a woman who looked the opposite of Decima, he could not have found better.
Her voice came back and with it her pride, stiffening her backbone and putting a smile on her lips. ‘Congratulations, my lord! And Olivia, I am so happy for you.’
‘Thank you,’ Adam said gravely. ‘Olivia, is something amiss that you are back so soon?’
‘Oh, only that Mama left her library book—she must have put it down on the table in the drawing room.’ Oddly she looked somewhat nervous at the admission.
‘Then I must not keep you standing here talking,’ Decima observed briskly. ‘Good day, my lord, thank you for your assistance with that little matter. Goodbye, Olivia, it is delightful to have met you again. Come along, Margery.’
The distance from Portman Square to Green Street was far enough for her to regret not taking a hackney carriage—not for the walking involved, but because she was forced to keep a pleasant countenance and not display any of the emotions that were threatening to swamp her.
She dismissed Margery as they reached the hall of the Freshfords’ house and turned to run upstairs to her bedchamber.
‘Decima.’ It was Henry, emerging from the drawing room. ‘Did you find Weston at home?’
‘Yes,’ she said tightly. ‘He was at home.’
‘What is wrong?’ Henry came to the foot of the stairs and looked up at her in concern. ‘Decima, what has upset you?’
And suddenly she was angry, seething with a blistering hot anger that she had never felt in her life before. ‘Is your mama here?’
‘No.’ Henry looked surprised. ‘She’s just gone out
. Why?’
‘Because I want to lose my temper, and probably throw things and shout.’
‘Be my guest.’ He gestured towards the drawing room and followed her in. ‘I’ve never seen you lose your temper.’
‘I do not think I ever have. I felt so many bad things sometimes that, if I had lost it, I would probably have said the most unforgivable, horrible words and made it even worse. I have always been meek and quiet and swallowed it all up. But Henry, Adam kissed me.’
‘Um, you’re losing me here.’ Henry frowned. ‘I thought he had kissed you before and you liked it, and you were wondering if you were in love with him. Do you mean he violently assaulted you? Because if that’s the case, I’m going straight round there—’
‘No! I liked it, and I am in love with him, I realised it today. But when we came back from the mews and seeing Bates, there was Olivia Channing, who I used to know when she was still in the schoolroom. And Henry, he’s going to marry her.’ The rising temper caught up with her and she choked, ‘He kissed me today and he is betrothed! He didn’t say anything about Olivia—does he think I’m so desperate that he can kiss me and I’ll be grateful?’ She wrenched off her gloves, splitting a seam, and hurled them at a flower arrangement. They missed it by a foot.
‘You are a man—tell me what he’s thinking. That he can make me his mistress? I would be a laughable contrast with Olivia, that’s for sure. Or probably he just finds it amusing that I let him kiss me.’ She took a rapid turn round the room, causing Henry to step back abruptly.
‘I might be a man,’ he protested, ‘but I certainly cannot understand or condone that behaviour. Goodness knows what he thought he was about.’
‘Of course he wasn’t thinking of making me his mistress,’ Decima muttered, tugging at her pelisse buttons and breaking a nail in the process. ‘That is a stupid idea.’
‘He would know better than to think you would even consider it,’ Henry said stoutly.
‘No, he wouldn’t,’ Decima snapped miserably. ‘I almost let him seduce me at the hunting lodge. He probably thinks I would be pathetically grateful and flattered for the attention.’
