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Adam swore violently under his breath as he watched Decima’s shaking shoulders with the sort of blind panic that only female tears can produce in an otherwise courageous man. ‘Decima? Sweetheart? I only meant to put the old cats in their place. Don’t cry.’ He gathered her against his chest and gave himself the luxury of one long, deep inhalation, filling his lungs with the scent of her skin and the floral rinse she used on her hair.
‘I’m not.’ It came out as a muffled gasp, he had her squashed against him so hard. Cautiously Adam opened his arms and Decima emerged, flushed and giggling. ‘That was wonderful. Thank you so much, Adam. I would never have dared be rude to them, but now I can just ignore them. That is two bogeymen slain in one evening, thanks to you and that nice Mr Mays.’
‘Two?’ Adam produced a spotless white handkerchief—thank goodness for his valet—and regarded her cautiously. ‘And what has Mays got to do with anything?’
‘He persuaded me to dance. He is such a kind man, and so tall, I felt perfectly at ease with him. So all in one evening I have got over my fear of dancing and I am not going to worry about the Patronesses, either.’
‘I’ve probably scuppered your chances of vouchers for Almack’s.’ He hadn’t thought of that. Nor had he reckoned on her taking a liking to George Mays. Interfering in this predominantly feminine world was more complex than he had counted upon.
‘I have already got them, thanks to Lady Freshford. She is good friends with Lady Sefton, who was the only one of them who didn’t snub me all those years ago.’ Decima mopped her eyes with his handkerchief, folded it up carefully and put it on the table beside her. Adam put out a hand and slid it silently back into his pocket. How juvenile, being reduced to treasuring a handkerchief because she had dried her tears on it. Love was turning him inside out. He was even jealous of George Mays, for goodness’ sake.
‘I am tall, too.’ The words were out before he realised how ridiculous they sounded, and he was rewarded for his foolishness by Decima’s twinkling smile of understanding.
‘Yes, but not as tall as Mr Mays. Or some of his military friends.’ She obviously relented, ‘Or perhaps it is the scarlet regimentals—they do flatter a man so.’
‘You, Miss Ross, are rapidly becoming a flirt.’
Decima sent him a slanting look from beneath long, dark lashes. His heart turned, painfully. ‘I’m not, truly. I’m simply enjoying myself a little before I go back to my comfortable, quiet life in Norfolk.’
‘Is that what you want?’ He found her answer to his question was vitally important, as though somehow his whole future hung on it. And that was ridiculous, because if he didn’t manage something impossible very soon his future was all too plainly set out before him.
‘I don’t know any more.’ She moved away from him restlessly, her gown swishing across the marble of the floor, her shoulders gleaming white in the subdued light.
What would she say if he just snatched her into his arms, demanded that she run away with him, now, this minute, and to hell with convention and their duty and whatever society might say? He knew, of course—she would look at him out of those clear grey eyes and remind him of his duty to Olivia. Of his honour. And she would be quite correct.
‘I think I want to experience things more.’ Decima stopped, turned and began to pace back. ‘I think I want to do things because I want to, not because my family thinks I should do them. Obviously, I do not want to be difficult.’ She broke off, her full underlip caught by her teeth, and thought some more. ‘Actually, whenever Charlton wants me to do something then I do want to be difficult. Do you know, he wrote and said that under no circumstances should I come to London. I started packing immediately.’
‘Why ever should you not come to London?’ Charlton’s motives were of profound uninterest to Adam, but he was enjoying the sight of Decima’s white teeth on the full swell of her lip and the memory of how it had felt to bite it himself. He hitched one hip onto a marble plant stand and folded his arms, waiting to be entertained.
‘Other than the fact that I had not asked his advice first?’ Decima laughed, producing an exciting swelling of her bosom. Adam dropped his clasped hands strategically and was thankful for the shadows. ‘I hadn’t thought. Perhaps he thinks I will fall into the hands of an unscrupulous fortune hunter, now I am in control of my own money. Or I might buy dashing gowns.’
‘Like this one?’
‘It is nice, isn’t it?’ Decima asked with an innocent enthusiasm. ‘I had no idea how difficult it would be to wear, though—I have to keep my shoulders back all the time.’
‘You already know I admire it.’ He admired it so much that he was calculating how far she would have to lean forward before he could cup the weight of those lovely breasts in his palms.
‘Adam.’ He raised his eyes and found her regarding him sternly. ‘Stop it. I cannot pretend that I am not flattered by your flirting, but it has to cease. Olivia might be a complete innocent, and extraordinarily good-natured, but she is going to notice and I would not have her hurt for the world. What if she thought you were serious?’
But I am serious. And Decima was right; by being alone with her, he was playing with fire—and both her reputation and Olivia’s happiness could go up in flames.
‘We ought to go back.’ Decima looked conscious-stricken. ‘People will be wondering what has become
of us.’
Adam followed her through the curtains with the strange feeling that his senses were heightened. Something gripped his chest in a vice, but it was not, as he had first thought, frustrated desire. This was the edgy anticipation he had felt before each of the three duels he had fought. It was not fear, more the gut-deep knowledge that he had better get this right or the consequences were going to be very, very serious.
Discreetly, he stood back in the shadow of the curtain as Decima made her way back to Lady Freshford, her dark head easily visible as she moved through the throng of shorter young women. If nothing else, he had gifted her the confidence to enjoy society. Or perhaps he was not even responsible for that. Adam felt his mouth curve as he recalled her decisive voice as she explained her New Year’s resolution.
The sensation that he was about to duel had not left him. He made himself breathe deeply and evenly. Part of it, if he was honest, was thorough-going arousal, his body telling him it was ready to fight for Decima. The problem was, the only opponent to vanquish was Olivia Channing, and in all honour the only way he could defeat her was to ensure she came out of it better off than they had begun.
Decima had vanished now. Reluctant to move back into the chattering throng, Adam leaned against the door pillar and thought about her. His body ached with the need to possess her, but this was different from anything he had experienced with women in the past. Ruefully he acknowledged there had been plenty to provide a comparison.
But always what he had desired had been the physical satisfaction that they could give each other. With Decima it was different. He wanted her in that way, of course, his body was telling him so quite plainly, but what he needed was to look into her eyes as he made love to her, to read her feelings in those depths, to open his soul to her and to glimpse hers.
This was love, it had to be. He shut his eyes and tried to push back the memory of her wide eyes on his as his weight bore her down into the snow.
‘Decima.’ He was unaware of whispering her name aloud.
