Lady Gone Wicked (Wicked Secrets)(40)

He looked at Adelaide, who was stubbornly refusing to meet his gaze. He no longer wanted to shake her…but he still wanted to kiss her. He would have, were their families not so close by.

“Are you jealous?” he asked.

She muttered something unflattering under her breath.

He grinned. “You are jealous.”

She turned away, but not before he saw her red cheeks. “Don’t be impertinent.”

He laughed, but then turned serious again. “Adelaide, do you mean to accept Montrose when he offers?”

“I haven’t made up my mind. But as he has not yet offered, I still have time to decide.”

Time.

Perhaps Nick could have this week with her, or even a fortnight. No more.

But what wouldn’t he give for a lifetime?





Chapter Twenty-Nine


Adelaide stood as if rooted to the spot. She had the oddest feeling of being tangled together with Nick, caught in an invisible net of their own making, and no matter how they fought to free themselves, their desperate thrashings only served to bind them more tightly together.

“Shall we rejoin our families?” She lifted her skirt to step over a muddy spot.

“Will you sit by me?” he asked.

She hesitated, knowing she ought to say no. Still—

“Yes,” she said.

Two large blankets had been spread across the slightly wet grass. The servants had placed four pillows on each blanket, to further protect them from the dampness. Lord and Lady Wintham had joined her mother and father on one blanket, leaving Adelaide and Nick to pair with Alice and Abingdon. Alice, she noted, had left a very proper amount of space between herself and her fiancé. Adelaide followed suit, scooting her green velvet pillow a foot away from where Nick sat.

“There are so many delicious things, I hardly know what to eat first,” Alice said, clapping her hands delightedly.

There was, indeed, a stunning spread of food. A tray boasting a ridiculous variety of sandwiches served as the centerpiece. Surrounding it was a basket of fruit, another of cheese, and two trays of biscuits and tarts.

“A strawberry, perhaps?” Abingdon offered.

“Yes, please.”

He handed her a plate of fruit, simultaneously tugging her cushion an inch or two closer to his. Adelaide looked away.

“Roast beef.” Nick held a sandwich between two fingers and studied it critically. “Is a cow a god? Well, no matter.”

She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“In India, they believe the cow is sacred. A man can’t find a slab of beef anywhere to save his life.” His sandwich was disappearing in rapid bites. “Most Indians are not Christian, you know. They have many gods, and one of them is a cow herder. Thus, the great reverence for what is to us merely a beast of burden. Or a food,” he added, helping himself to another sandwich.

She stared at the plate of sandwiches. Cucumber, chicken, lamb, and beef. She chose chicken. Her immortal soul was tarnished enough without offending heathen gods.

“They decorate their cattle with flowers in their horns, while we drink the blood of Christ in sacrament.” He paused, considering the last bite of beef he held in his hand. “Do you know, I think that is the biggest difference between us and them. We eat our deities.”

He raised his eyes to hers, and the hunger she saw in their blue depths pierced her to the core. He was a starving man, and she was…well, a cow. The heat from his gaze warmed her with alarming speed from the top of her head to the tips of her toes before settling low in her belly.

She was hungry, too.

Adelaide was no longer innocent. She knew what his look meant, and she understood her own body’s shameful answer. Had the past two years taught her nothing? Her body seemed only to remember the pleasure, but her heart knew what followed—agony, remorse, and ruin. A lady’s sin could never go unpunished.

And yet, she wanted him.

She always wanted him.

She turned deliberately to her sandwich. One could not be consumed by lust while consuming a cold chicken sandwich, she was certain.

She took a bite.

She chewed and swallowed.

She looked at Nick and immediately looked away again.

Oh, dear. Apparently one could be consumed with lust while consuming a chicken sandwich. What a wicked little wanton she was.

She set the sandwich aside, disgusted. The hot feeling ebbed, leaving coldness in its wake. Where chicken had failed, self-loathing had succeeded.

“The chicken is not to your liking?” Nick asked.

“It is not,” Adelaide said firmly.

His narrowed gaze suggested he was aware they were discussing more than mere sandwiches. “Adelaide,” he said, his tone cajoling, “won’t you— Ouch.”

“Pardon me,” Abingdon said cheerfully. “Was that your foot? Do try one of the cucumber sandwiches, Adelaide. They are just the thing.”

She bit her lip to hide her smile and accepted Abingdon’s offering. “Thank you.”

“Alice!” Lady Wintham called from her blanket, at a volume just short of uncouth. “Have a word with my son about his hair, won’t you? We have decided it must be short for the wedding. A queue is all well and good for a home wedding, but a groom must be fashionable at St. George’s.”

They all turned to look at the offending queue.