‘Decima Ross?’ enquired Mrs Drummond Burrell. ‘Carmichael’s half-sister?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Good God,’ Lady Castlereagh murmured, then more loudly, ‘You have certainly…developed, Miss Ross.’
‘Miss Ross is a quite wonderful dancer,’ Adam confided, ignoring manfully the pinching pressure of Decima’s fingers on his arm. ‘And she tells me she owes it all to your influence over several Seasons.’
‘Our influence?’ Mrs Drummond Burrell was obviously looking back at her recollection of an unsatisfactory débutante. ‘I am sure we never gave Miss Ross any encouragement to dance.’
‘Exactly,’ Adam said sweetly. ‘Is it not remarkable how character building it is to overcome ignorant prejudice and discouragement?’ With another, perfectly correct, bow, he walked on, Decima quivering at his side.
‘That’s wiped the smug smiles off their old pussy faces.’ He looked down at her, his own smile vanishing as he saw her face. ‘Oh, Lord. Did that upset you? I thought you might enjoy it.’
Decima fought to keep her countenance and found herself pulled sideways through a curtain and out into the screened portico that overlooked the gardens, sheltered from the February weather by removable panes of glass. At the far end a couple were talking, their backs turned to them, otherwise they were alone in the dim and rather chilly interior. She buried her face in her hands and gave way to her feelings.
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.