Lady Gone Wicked (Wicked Secrets)(45)

Then, to his horror, Adelaide’s heel slipped on a smear of icing. Her legs went out from under her, and her arms flailed. With one hand she caught Alice’s dress, and with the other, the tablecloth. She fell to the floor with a shout of surprise. Alice and the cakes came tumbling after.

The noise brought both sets of parents running in from the parlor. They stood, gawking in shock at the massacre of cake.

Lady Wintham recovered her voice first. “What on earth?”

Adelaide scrambled to her feet, pulling her sister up with her. “I—”

“It was my fault,” Freesia interrupted. Nick and Nathaniel glanced sideways at their sister. “I was demonstrating the new, ah, waltz, and when I whirled left, I bumped into Alice, who bumped into Adelaide, and a whole tray of cakes came down after them.”

There was a moment of silence while they all pondered the unlikelihood of such an incident.

“Oh, Alice.” Lord Westsea gave a rueful shake of his head. “Will you never stop having disasters? It really is too much.”

His words gave Alice all the blame, Nick realized. He had not so much as glanced at Adelaide. It was as though she did not exist at all. And that seemed so much worse.

“I’m so sorry, Father.” Alice looked beseechingly at the frowning cluster of parents. “Please forgive me, Lady Wintham. You went through so much trouble so I could have the perfect cake, and I’ve ruined it.”

“Nonsense, dear. You…” His mother’s voice trailed off as she looked at the carnage. “Well, yes. You did, rather.” She made a sound suspiciously like a laugh smothered by a cough.

Adelaide knelt and began scooping the broken cakes onto the tray.

“No, no, my dear,” Wintham said. “Please don’t trouble yourself.”

Westsea frowned at Alice. “Go wait in the carriage. Try not to let anyone see you like this.”

“Surely, that is not necessary,” Nick’s mother protested. “There is some cake that is still edible. Perhaps Freesia can lend them each a frock? Our party does not have to be ruined.”

“Of course!” Freesia clapped her hands. “It was my fault, after all.”

Westsea looked to his wife, who nodded. “Very well.”

“Come, let’s return to the parlor while the ladies make themselves presentable,” Nick’s father said.

Alice grasped Adelaide by the hand, but she did not budge. They looked at each other, their eyes saying what their mouths could not, until finally Alice nodded reluctantly. She released Adelaide’s hand.

“Freesia, will you help me dress? I believe my sister wishes to go straight home.”

Freesia glanced at Adelaide in concern, but she was already moving swiftly toward the door. Nick tried to catch her gaze as she passed, but she did not look up from the floor. Beneath the layers of cake was raw agony.

His chest squeezed in response.

Nathaniel and Wessex glanced at him.

“Make an excuse for me,” he hissed.

His brother looked sharply at him, but Nick did not stop to explain. He strode after Adelaide, catching her as she left the house.

“Adelaide,” he said quietly.

She halted, but still wouldn’t look at him.

“Do you have need of me?” he asked.

For a moment she said nothing. Her hands clenched and released by her sides. He waited.

Slowly she turned to face him. “Yes, Nick. I have need of you.”





Chapter Thirty-Three


How long had he waited to hear those words from her lips? Well, no more than a fortnight, actually, but it felt like his whole life. Ever since Epsom, when she had wept so pitifully in his arms, his entire being had been consumed with one driving thought—make it better.

And he had tried. He had offered his services in small, inconsequential matters that he knew could not repair the damage to her heart but that might brighten her day nonetheless. A cup of lemonade when she was thirsty, a book left where she would find it.

But she had spurned his aid, shooing him away like a bothersome housefly.

Now, at last, she needed him. He could be useful to her in some way.

Finally.

“This way.” He wrapped an arm around her, paying no heed to the cake smudging his jacket, and guided her to his carriage. After he helped her inside, he turned to Thorne. “Drive. I don’t care where. Don’t stop and don’t ask questions.”

Thorne gave a crisp nod.

Nick entered the carriage. Adelaide was seated on the very edge of the cushion, her back ramrod straight, and her hands clasped firmly in her lap. She was not crying, which he found most worrisome, for Adelaide was nothing if not a fountain of tears. Whether sad, angry, or happy, her emotions always leaked from her eyes.

“Be comfortable, please.” He drew the curtains closed and sat next to her.

“I will ruin your fine carriage.”

The look he gave her was incredulous. “By God, do you really think I care?”

He looked about for something to use as a cloth, and finding nothing, removed his jacket. He expected her to object to his indecency, but she only watched silently with her doe-like eyes as he pulled his shirt over his head. She sat very still as he wiped the cake from her cheek with it.

“I will ruin your shirt,” she whispered.