‘Yes, her only daughter Caroline is making her come-out.’
‘Only one daughter. Oh, well, not everyone can have my good fortune. But, Dessy dear, there is the most exciting news—you recall Olivia Channing, my niece?’
Decima suddenly realised she could not claim ignorance of this news. If Olivia said something, then Lady Brotherton would immediately start speculating about what Decima had been doing with Lord Weston. ‘Indeed, yes. I met her this morning in the street, quite by chance, with Lord Weston. What a fine match to be sure, you must be delighted, ma’am, for I recall how fond you have always been of her.’
‘Indeed I have. Her parents have worked so hard to bring this about.’
‘Olivia has known Lord Weston long?’
‘No, their acquaintance is fairly recent. They met at a house party.’ Why Lady Brotherton was looking uncomfortable about this Decima could not guess, but her speculation was cut short by the arrival of Miss Sophie Brotherton, positively agog with gossip. At the sight of Decima her face fell comically.
‘Oh, I wanted to surprise Mama with the news that you had arrived,’ she complained. ‘But it is lovely to see you. How fine you look, Dessy. Mama, I have seen Olivia and she told me Dessy had arrived—and guess what, Dessy knows Lord Weston! Isn’t that wonderful?’ She turned an eager face to Decima. ‘You see, none of us know him, not really, and we want to know all about him.’
‘You know Lord Weston?’ Lady Brotherton turned a look on her that Decima could only think of as calculating.
‘Yes. Not well.’ Only as well as having stood half-naked in his dressing room while he caressed her body. But then, they had never been formally introduced, so possibly it did not count. Half afraid she was going to giggle hysterically, Decima added, ‘I was visiting Charlton and Hermione for Christmas—you recall I wrote to you from there? I met him during that trip.’
‘Olivia thought you had business together.’ Damn. Now what to say?
‘It is probably something your mama would not wish me to mention in front of you, Sophie.’ Decima grabbed for the only possible half-truth. ‘It is to do with horse breeding. Lord Weston has a sta—’ she caught Lady Brotherton’s eye ‘—a male horse.’
‘Oh, dull stuff.’ Sophie wrinkled her nose. ‘So is there anything you know about him, or is it just horses?’
‘Not really. But Olivia will tell you all about him, won’t she?’
‘She doesn’t know him. I mean, they have hardly had time. They are very distant cousins of some sort and he was kind to her at the Minsters’ house party, but that’s all.’
‘It is not a love match, then?’
‘No,’ said Sophie wistfully.
‘Nothing so vulgar,’ her mother interjected forcefully.
‘But the viscount is so handsome.’ Sophie sighed. ‘It would be wonderful if they were in love. I think Olivia is frightened of him, though.’
‘Nonsense.’ Lady Brotherton frowned at her daughter. ‘Olivia is merely showing a proper reserve. And as for handsome men and love matches—I hope your papa does not catch you talking such foolishness, young lady.’
Decima made her way home with much to think about. It was not a love match, Olivia knew little about her husband-to-be and Sophie thought she was frightened of him.
But what was there to be frightened of? Adam had never shown an irritable or unreasonable side to his character, and the sort of situation they had found themselves in was almost guaranteed to expose such characteristics. Perhaps Olivia was simply overwhelmed by the sheer physical presence of the man. Decima shivered pleasurably at the recollected sensations of being held in his arms, kissed with that much passion and conviction.
But then, she was tall, almost able to stare him in the eye. What would it be like to be possessed by all that maleness if one were a tiny woman? Perhaps that was all it was. Why she should feel the desire to reassure Olivia when the girl was taking the man she loved was confusing. But that desire was there, none the less.
Decima shook her head, wondering at herself. A few months ago these thoughts, the experience that lay behind them, would have been inconceivable. What she needed was to shake the fidgets out of her bones, get back to what was familiar and safe.
Henry was climbing the steps as she alighted from her hackney carriage. ‘Shall we ride tomorrow morning?’ she asked impulsively as he held the door for her. ‘In Hyde Park? Early, so we can gallop and not be told off by all the old pussies. Surely it will not rain.’ Yes, that was it; something she was confident with and could share with Henry.
Adam did up one more coat button against the dank chill of an early February morning and turned Ajax’s head through the Stanhope Street entrance to Hyde Park. The discomfort of getting up at such an hour and riding out just as the reluctant light was penetrating the mist was more than rewarded by the prospect of an almost empty park.
The gelding fidgeted and he held him in check, more for the sake of discipline than anything else, as he scanned the expanse of greensward. Bates had reported that Fox had a loose shoe and the farrier had been sent for. He would have to be taken out that afternoon when the crowds made the prospect of exercising a high-blooded stallion something of a challenge.
The way was clear, right to the carriage road, so Adam let the horse have his head and urged him into a gallop. The cold rush of the wind against his face, the surge of muscle between his thighs and the drumming of the gelding’s hooves was a physical release he hadn’t realised he so badly needed.
He pulled up the reluctant horse as they reached the tan surface of the roadway and made it walk steadily, turning from side to side and changing legs to build suppleness and obedience. The trouble was, that did not occupy his brain or still the restlessness in his blood.
Try as he might, he could not rid his mind of the look of polite contempt on Decima’s face as he had told her of his betrothal. If he had not kissed her, had told her at once of his impending marriage…But no, he had taken her in his arms in a rush of relief at finding her and then, somehow, he had forgotten Olivia entirely.
The fact that he spent most of his waking time wishing he could forget about Miss Channing was no excuse. He had been well and truly caught and, whatever his feelings for his future in-laws, he could not take them out on Olivia. It was his duty as a gentleman to marry her. Which meant that he had to forget Decima.
He had paid off his mistress, knowing that Olivia would be distressed if she ever learned of her existence. How much more would she feel it if she came to suspect his feelings for her old friend?
Decima would go back to Norfolk soon—she had left him in no doubt that she disliked London and society. After all, she had only come up to town because of Bates and Pru.
Ajax snickered, pricking his ears to look down the carriage drive, and Adam saw another horse emerging from the swirls of mist that still hung low over the park.
It was a leggy grey, galloping in defiance of all the rules of good conduct in the park, and on its back, riding as though she was part of the horse, was a tall woman in a green habit.
‘Decima.’
With the wind whipping her veil tight to her face, Decima glanced back over her shoulder to where Henry, no doubt cursing comprehensively, was attempting to fix a broken stirrup leather. Seeing that Spindrift was in no mood to stand quietly by, he had waved Decima off to have her gallop, but she had no intention of doing more than making a loop round and coming back to his side. It wasn’t fair to abandon him, and, even in a virtually empty park, it was not the thing for ladies to be riding without an escort.
Oh,