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?’
‘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