Lady Gone Wicked (Wicked Secrets)(11)

Adelaide tried a different tactic. “My foot is injured.”

“I saw you cross the room just now without the slightest limp.” He folded his arms over his chest. “Your foot is not injured.”

“It is now. You are stepping on it.”

Nick immediately looked to his feet, which were…a safe distance from her own. He looked back at her, bewildered. She laughed.

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m teasing you, Nick.” When his expression remained baffled, she sighed. “I am quite happy here on my own. You needn’t feel obligated to keep me company.”

He sat down next to her, ignoring her gentle hint. “Adelaide,” he said in a tone both kind and stern, as though she were a wayward child he was regrettably fond of. “I am here to court you. You must make an effort to seem desirable, to make our courtship believable. I cannot court a spinster.”

Well, of all the nerve.

She took a deep breath and counted to ten.

“Off you go, then.” She returned her attention to Childe Harold. He, at least, was worthy of her notice.

Nick did not go. He continued to sit there in the most irritating fashion. Well, so be it. If he wished to spend the next quarter hour watching her read a book, that was his problem. She saw no reason to make it hers.

And besides, she really was in want of rest, despite what he thought. She was half faint from hunger, having not been allowed to eat all day. But the dress fit perfectly. Hopefully, she wouldn’t pop out of it after supper.

“The first dance will start soon,” Nick remarked.

“Yes.” She turned the page.

And was lost to the wild churning of the ocean waves, making her escape from the ballroom as Harold fled England for France and Switzerland. The minutes stretched by, until at last she was pulled back from those distant lands by a voice saying her name.

“Adelaide.”

She blinked up at Nick. “Yes?”

“The music is starting.”

“So soon?” She looked to where couples were already lining up for the dance. With a sigh, she tucked Childe Harold safely into her reticule. “Shall we, then?”

When he did not answer, she glanced up to see him watching her with an odd expression. “Nick?”

He cleared his throat. “Yes, of course.” He stood and offered his arm.

For a moment, she simply stared at him. It had not occurred to her until precisely this moment that courtship would require dancing, and dancing would require touching. And touching, in her experience with Nick, always led to more touching.

“Perhaps,” she said, “I have not rested quite enough, after all.”

“Nonsense.”

He tugged her to her feet. The sudden change in position made her light-headed. She swayed slightly, gripping his hand tighter for support. Instantly, his other arm wrapped around her waist.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Of course.” She stepped out of his embrace and gave him a reproachful look. “Don’t be so familiar, if you please. We are trying to avoid scandal, remember?”

He looked closely at her. “You seem pale.”

“I am always pale,” she snapped. “Are we to dance, or not?”

His eyebrows lifted, but he said not a word as he took her arm and led her to the dance floor. She bit her lip as they took their places. It had been two years since she attended a ball. Surely the minuet had not changed overly much in that time? Thank heavens she was fourteenth. That gave her plenty of time to familiarize herself with the steps as Duke Wessex and Lady Claire—the first couple—danced their way down the queue of couples.

“Stop frowning,” Nick said. “People will think you don’t wish to dance with me.”

“I’m concentrating.” She squinted at Lady Claire, trying to memorize the movements of her feet. Why did it seem as though her brain was stuffed with cotton? “There, now. I missed what she did there,” she muttered peevishly.

“That is the second time you have snapped at me. You are not well. You have shot me and blackmailed me—both of which were completely unnecessary, I assure you—but you have never been churlish.” His eyes narrowed on her. “Are you ill?”

“I am not ill. Only hungry,” she confessed.

“When was the last time you ate?”

She paused to consider. Not today, thanks to the dress. And with the strain of seeing her parents again, she could not swear she had eaten the day before, either. But, surely, she had eaten a few bites of carrots at supper? She was almost certain she had. She was absolutely certain she had eaten breakfast on the day before that, before they left Haverly for London. Upon their arrival, however, she had been so tired and anxious that she had climbed into bed without dinner.

Oh, dear.

“Three days?” she suggested.

His nostrils flared. “For God’s sake, Adelaide—”

“Eastwood! What a delightful surprise. I thought you did not expect to be in London until the morrow.”

They turned and found themselves facing an older gentleman.

“Montrose.” Nick bowed. “It is good to see you again, Your Grace. May I introduce Miss Adelaide Bursnell? She is Viscount Westsea’s daughter.”

Adelaide wobbled slightly as she dipped into a curtsy, but she managed to rise again without toppling over altogether, thank heavens.