Lady Gone Wicked (Wicked Secrets)(27)

“Are they not all the same?”

Adelaide pursed her lips. “The men or the flowers?”

“Exactly.”

Lady Claire went on to enumerate the great many qualities the gentlemen shared, but Adelaide could not attend.

He had brought her flowers.

Twice.

This very morning, in fact. After climbing into Adelaide’s bedroom and kissing her senseless, he’d brought another woman flowers.

It was…it was… Oh, it was just like a man!

He probably hadn’t given it a second thought. Likely, it had not occurred to him that a gentleman ought not send roses to one lady and kiss and fondle another. Although Adelaide could not blame him entirely for the latter part. It was she who had kissed him, after all.

Only, she had asked. And he had said yes.

That was inexcusable.

He was either false to Lady Claire or insulting to Adelaide herself. She highly suspected the latter.

Wicked, wicked, wicked.

But why should she be angry with him for taking what was freely offered? Men kept mistresses all the time, even after marriage. Nick was not even engaged yet—not to herself, nor to any other lady. Men often sent flowers to several ladies at once, didn’t they?

It was only that…that…

She did not know. She only knew that her heart felt as though it was struggling to pump. Every beat caused her pain.

But really, she had grown accustomed to such aches. Such were the just consequences of the choices she had made.

So, she did what a lady must.

She smiled and carried on.





Chapter Twenty-One


At precisely half past nine on Friday night, Nick decided he’d had quite enough of Lady Davenport’s ball. He had only come for Adelaide’s sake, but she seemed content to ignore him. Instead, she’d spent the last ten minutes flirting with Wessex, who was only too delighted to flirt back.

Their banter had caught the attention of Lady Margaret, who sidled closer. She spoke to Adelaide while keeping her gaze on Wessex.

“How are you, darling girl? My dance card is almost full,” Lady Margaret said, although no one had asked. She swayed slightly left. Adelaide took a small step away, ceding the space.

Fascinating. It was like watching a battle, with matrimony being the spoils of war. Lady Margaret made a rather fine general, Nick thought with some amusement. Adelaide, on the other hand, seemed to be lacking a soldier’s instinct for blood.

“I have only the supper dance left.” Lady Margaret’s expression turned coy behind her fan. “A lady always hopes for an interesting partner.”

Wessex blinked. “Ah.” He glanced at Adelaide.

Nick did not like that.

Neither, apparently, did Lady Margaret.

Again she stepped closer to Adelaide, and again Adelaide retreated. Nick grimaced. For God’s sake, why was she allowing Lady Margaret to win?

Not that he wanted Adelaide to win, if winning meant sitting next to the duke for supper. It wasn’t jealousy. He did not wish Adelaide to spend supper annoyed, and from what he could tell from their limited dealings, the duke was a very annoying man. And despite Wessex’s protestations, Nick could not believe the duke’s intentions were altogether honorable.

Lady Margaret pivoted so that Adelaide was now completely boxed out. “Have you already found an interesting partner for the supper dance, Your Grace?”

But to his credit, Wessex was not so easily manipulated. “I have, as a matter of fact. Miss Bursnell, may I write my name on your card?”

Adelaide, who had been gliding away—to find a corner to read her book, no doubt—froze. Slowly she turned.

Say no.

“Of course, Your Grace.”

As she stepped forward to hand Wessex her card, she tripped over something—Nick suspected it was Lady Margaret’s foot—and lurched forward. The duke grasped her elbow, steadying her.

“Do be careful, Miss Bursnell.” Lady Margaret closed her fan with a snap of her wrist. “Clumsiness is so unbecoming in a dance partner.”

“It is rather, isn’t it?” Adelaide admitted cheerfully. She gently freed her elbow and handed the duke her card. “You must be sure to mind your toes, Your Grace.”

Wessex grinned as he scrawled his name with a flourish. “My toes look forward to annihilation, if it comes from the charming foot of Miss Bursnell.”

Nick rolled his eyes. Surely Adelaide was not falling for this drivel? He glanced at her. Her cheeks were pink, as was the swell of her breast.

Oh.

How nauseating.

What was it about Wessex that turned otherwise reasonable ladies into half-wits?

He stepped forward and cleared his throat. “Miss Bursnell, this dance is ours.”

She frowned and studied her card. “No, I believe—”

“It is,” he insisted. He guided her to the queue of couples, giving her no further choice in the matter.

“Really, Nick. Was that necessary?” she murmured. “I don’t have permission to waltz.”

A waltz? How fortunate. She would be close enough to hear every word of his lecture. “Pretend you are Alice. No one will know.” He frowned. “But you have been in London for nearly a fortnight. Why haven’t the matrons of Almack’s given you their approval?”