‘Bad news?’
‘The worst! No, no one is ill or dead, I do not mean that. But, Henry, he writes to say he is appalled that I have come jauntering up to London without informing him. It is misguided, extravagant and exactly what he might expect—I wonder he should sound so surprised, then!—and he and Hermione feel it their duty, at great inconvenience, to come up too and open the town house. Now, what can I do?’
‘You don’t have to do anything, do you?’ Henry asked. ‘He is no longer your trustee.’
‘But he will expect me to go everywhere with Hermione, and he will want to know exactly what I am doing and who I meet. And what about Adam?’
‘Well, as you are hardly carrying on a torrid affair with Weston, what is there for Charlton to concern himself with? If he meets him, he won’t be any the wiser about your little adventure—and Weston’s safely betrothed to Olivia.’
‘Which he won’t be if you carry on flirting with her,’ Decima retorted.
‘I am not flirting.’
‘You are certainly not doing anything about avoiding her, either. You are in love with her, she certainly enjoys your company—how much more contact will it take for her to feel something more?’
They stared at each other in shocked silence, then Henry said slowly, ‘That would solve both our problems.’ The words seemed to hang in the space between them, then Henry shook his head. ‘I should not even think it, let alone say it. It is dishonourable of me, almost as bad as if she was already his wife.’
‘Yes.’ Decima moved and took his hand, squeezing it, all her anger ebbing away. ‘It would be, and I know you would never countenance such a thing. And, in any case, Adam does not love me—or why would he have proposed to Olivia in the first place? He may not love her either, but that is beside the point. But, Henry, do be careful, for Olivia’s sake if nothing else.’
If her companions were subdued when they collected her that afternoon, Olivia showed no sign of noticing. She chattered happily to Henry, innocently tucking her hand under his elbow as they walked around the exhibition and urging him to tell her which scenes he had viewed in real life and how well the artist had represented them.
Decima went round dutifully behind them, gradually relaxing as she saw the effort Henry was making to treat Olivia with scrupulous detachment—even the most ferocious of chaperons could not have faulted his manner. Her heart bled for her friend and, in worrying about him, she found she could forget her own bruised heart.
It seemed pointless trailing around in their wake; Henry seemed happy describing scenes in detail for Olivia, she hung wide-eyed on his every word and Decima was growing thoroughly bored with set-piece landscapes executed with little originality and less verve.
With her feet hurting her more than her conscience, she sank down gratefully on one of the chaises provided by the gallery and let her unfocused eyes rest on an academic rendition of the Forum.
‘My dear Miss Ross, I do declare you are asleep.’ The softly chiding voice jerked her upright with a gasp. Adam was lounging elegantly on the chaise next to her.
‘Ah! You made me jump! No, of course I was not asleep, I was only—’
‘Resting your eyes?’ he enquired mockingly.
‘Certainly not. That is the sort of thing my grandmama says. I was resting my feet, if you must know. I find dawdling round an exhibition is more tiring than a good brisk walk, although why that should be I cannot imagine.’
Oh, give me strength… Adam was looking particularly handsome. Positively edible, a wanton part of her mind commented, making her blush at the thought. And it was painfully stimulating to be bickering with him.
‘Such mediocre work would inspire an ache in every part of my body,’ he remarked, leaning back and giving her the opportunity to admire long legs in elegant pantaloons, a superb pair of Hessians and—not that any lady should notice—exceptionally well-muscled thighs. ‘You may well sigh,’ he added, happily unaware of her thoughts. ‘And doubtless you are going to reprove me for being the cause of you being here.’
Decima struggled to get a grip on her reactions, if not her emotions. ‘I did wonder why, if you are here now, you did not escort Olivia in the first place,’ she responded tartly. ‘Not that I’m not delighted to have her company.’
Adam sent a quizzical glance down the length of the gallery to where Olivia and Henry were in ardent debate over a vast canvas, but said nothing. Decima wrestled with a defensive remark and wisely decided to stay silent. But there was a subject upon which she could talk, quite unexceptionally, with Adam, and now was an ideal opportunity.
‘I wanted to ask you something,’ she began, swivelling on the chaise to look at him properly.
‘Yes?’ he murmured, catching the hand she was beginning to gesture with in his and holding it. His hand was warm and hard and somehow she could not find the resolution to free hers.
‘Has Bates said anything about Pru?’
He grimaced. ‘What has she said?’
‘Oh, I declare this is as bad as trying to discuss it with Pru herself! Every time I venture a question about how things are developing she blushes and prevaricates and will not commit herself.’
‘Can you blame her?’ Adam regarded her with questioning grey eyes.
‘No, of course not. I don’t want to pry. Only I don’t believe she is happy, although they have been out of an evening together several times. I wonder if I should speak to Lady Freshford about allowing Pru to invite Bates into the servants’ hall. Perhaps it would help. What is your policy about followers?’
‘Good God, I don’t have such a thing! I leave that to my butler.’
‘But perhaps Bates would not care to apply to him for permission to bring in a friend—after all, he is outside staff and not under the butler’s authority.’
‘I don’t imagine Bates’s love life is being in any way inhibited by a lack of permission to take tea in the servants’ hall,’ Adam said impatiently. ‘He has his own rooms here, over the stable. He is a grown man who knows his own mind—he could be entertaining a troop of dancing girls there for all I know or care.’
‘You don’t care, do you?’ Decima burst out passionately.
‘Yes, I do.’ Adam’s grip on her hand tightened and she started, suddenly conscious of the impropriety. Somehow the gentle grasp had seemed so safe and unthreatening that she had simply relaxed into the comfort of it. Had anyone passed by and noticed? She tugged and Adam held on. ‘I care very much that he is happy, but I don’t agree that interfering is going to make things any smoother for them. Would you want Pru meddling in your love life?’
What love life? Decima bit back the words before they could spill from her lips and glared at Adam. ‘Let go of my hand this instant, my lord. And I do not want to interfere—do you take me for some meddling matchmaker? I simply want to remove every obstacle from their path that I can. Don’t you feel that way about your friends?’
‘My friends all seem quite capable of ordering their own affairs, Decima,’ Adam said softly, his silver grey eyes resting on her mouth in a lingering look that made her heart thud painfully. ‘I would not welcome their interference in mine.’
‘No doubt you have your affairs all perfectly in order, my lord.’ Decima made sure the emphasis was pointed. ‘And I imagine that you have very little in your life to restrict you from doing precisely what you want, when you want—unlike your servants.’ She got to her feet and jerked her hand out of his clasp. ‘And I am equally sure your fiancée will be delighted to know that you have managed to get here after all.’
‘I wish you would stop calling me my lord,’ Adam complained, rising as she did and strolling languidly after her retreating figure. ‘And, Decima,’