Lady Gone Wicked (Wicked Secrets)(28)

Adelaide glanced guiltily to where the spinsters and wallflowers congregated.

His eyes narrowed. “You never asked permission. You spent waltzes with your book.”

She did not try to deny it. The music swelled, and he took her in his arms. She was soft and smelled faintly of lilacs.

“You must not understand the meaning of the waltz, else you would not waste such a prime husband-catching opportunity on a book.”

“Time with a book is never wasted.” She looked again at the spinster corner, wistfully this time.

He felt a sudden unreasonable urge to set the damned library on fire.

Which was ridiculous. He could not burn every book, and so long as there was even one book in the world, Adelaide would find it.

He turned more sharply than he ought, causing her to lean into him for balance. His grip at her waist tightened. “See now,” he whispered. “Is this not more likely to land you a husband?”

“Not if I am with you.” She tilted her head. “Unless you are attempting to make other men jealous by making me seem desirable?”

“I have already found a man who thinks you are desirable.” His chest suddenly felt tight, as though an invisible hand were squeezing his heart. “What think you of the Duke of Montrose?”

She laughed. “He was very kind to me. But I would not think to aim so high.”

“He is a gentleman. You are a lady. There is no reason he should not consider you.” The invisible hand squeezed again, but he ignored it. “Furthermore, he would make an excellent husband. He does not gamble, he is not a debtor, and he keeps no mistress.”

Adelaide pursed her lips. “Is that not also true of Wessex?”

He looked up to see the duke’s eyes on them. “Not him, Adelaide,” he growled. “Not Wessex. He’s a rake. He’ll only hurt you.”

“Oh?” Her eyebrows arched. “Will he seduce me and steal my virtue, do you think? How disappointed he will be when he discovers I haven’t any.”

No virtue? If that were true, Nick would have her bent over a desk—or a chair, or his arm, he wasn’t picky—with her skirt up before she could blink.

He bit hard at the inside of his cheek and forced himself to focus on the pain rather than the beguiling bluestocking in his arms. Why on earth was a gentleman’s coat cut to reveal everything? Did tailors not understand the waltz, either?

“Virtue is not a thing that can be stolen, angel. The word you’re thinking of is virginity.”

She stumbled slightly, but he held her firmly as she recovered.

“They are one and the same, are they not?”

“No,” he said. “They’re not.”

Which was rather beside the point, since Wessex would not be taking either. Her virtue was regrettably intact, and her virginity was already his.

She frowned at him.

He gave her his blandest smile, one intended to be less conquering marauder and more trusted confidant, but she just pursed her lips suspiciously.

“I don’t believe I should take your word on it,” she said. “You have no virtue.”

“Quite so,” he agreed. “And I assure you, I did not lose it to a lady. In fact, I did not lose it, at all, since it was never mine to begin with. I was born bereft of any such goodness, as my family has reminded me my entire life.”

And then he bit his cheek even harder, because he hadn’t meant to say that.

Good God.

Was this what society life would make of him? A babbling fool whining about childhood slights? He wanted none of that.

He wanted none of the pity he saw in her face, either.

Her lips parted.

He did not want to hear it.

He lowered his head.

“Not one word, Adelaide, or as God is my witness, I will kiss you right here while we waltz, in front of the entire ton. Your father will have no choice but to call me out. Blood will be shed. Do you want that on your conscience?”

Her dark eyes widened, and her mouth snapped shut.

He smiled. “A very wise decision, angel.”

She glared. “You—”

He made a sudden movement that had her jerking back in horror.

“Did you say something?” he asked.

She shook her head mutely.

“A pity,” he murmured.

The fiery spark in her eyes could have incinerated an icicle. Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to hear her speak. Not that he would mete out her punishment in the middle of the waltz, as he had threatened. No, he would find a dark corner somewhere so he could do a thorough job of it. He would kiss her until she couldn’t remember how to speak, not even her own name.

But perhaps he would let her say his.

Just one more. Let them have just one more moment, and then he would hand her over to Montrose without fuss.

He eyed the various doorways as they whirled about the room. Surely one of them led to a library. He would wager his future marquessate that there was nothing more arousing to the woman in his arms than a room full of books.

He moved them closer to where they could more easily sneak away without drawing notice to themselves.

The music stopped.

She looked up with a start, as though sensing sudden peril. Her eyes searched his face. “Nick,” she whispered.

He would enjoy punishing her for that later.