Lady Gone Wicked (Wicked Secrets)(5)

She shivered and pulled her cloak tighter. The night was cold, but she would not allow herself to take refuge in Nick’s warmth. She kept her back straight as an iron poker, which gave her scarcely four inches between her body and his chest.

“You’re being ridiculous,” he grumbled behind her. The horse snorted his agreement.

“Your opinion is unnecessary,” she said stiffly. Her lower back, just above her bottom, began to ache with fatigue.

“Then by all means, freeze to death on the altar of your own pride,” came the acerbic reply.

She shivered again. Her cloak had seen better days—thousands of them, most likely. Parts of it were so threadbare that one could see straight through to her dress beneath. The dress, being of thin muslin, likewise did little to protect her from the cold, damp English night.

On the third shiver, Nick made an annoyed, growly noise. He shifted the reins to one hand and pressed his other flat against her belly, pulling her backward until her back melded with his front. She gasped in protest, but then the warmth of his body enveloped her and her exhausted muscles spasmed in relief. She sagged against him.

“That’s a good girl,” he murmured, and she thought surely he did not know what the term meant. It certainly could not mean a woman who found herself alone with a man in the middle of the night, allowing him to hold her improperly.

Ah, well. In for a penny, in for a pound. She turned her head to press her cold cheek against his warm heart and closed her eyes.

What felt like seconds later, but in reality must have been a quarter hour, she felt herself being gently lowered by strong arms.

She opened her eyes and found herself staring straight into Nick’s blue ones. She blinked. “What is happening?”

“We’re here, angel. We’re at Haverly.” He tucked her cloak more firmly under her chin. “It is best that I don’t accompany you inside. We won’t be allowed a proper courtship if we are seen together at this hour.”

She nodded. He was right. Any chance they had to keep scandal at bay would be shattered by rumors of a midnight liaison.

“I won’t leave until you’ve been admitted. I’ll be just behind that tree, so long as Atticus keeps quiet.”

“All right,” she said. “Thank you.” She stepped away.

He touched her arm, halting her. His gaze searched her face in the dark. “Will you be all right?”

He sounded concerned, and for a moment she almost believed he cared about her answer.

“I’ll be fine.” She tried to shake off his hand, but he didn’t budge.

“If you aren’t, send word for me. I’ll take you straight to Gretna Green, scandal be hanged.”

That, too, sounded sincere.

Liars always did, she supposed.

But she nodded before turning away. She stared up at the stones, windows, and turrets of Haverly. There must be fifty rooms, at least. Even a hundred.

One of those rooms held Alice.

Just the thought of her twin made her chest ache and her stomach twist. It was hard to say which emotion was stronger—eagerness or dread. It was over a year and a half since she had last seen her. Would Alice be able to forgive her? Adelaide had deceived them all so terribly. Perhaps, after all, it would be better to sleep in the cold, dark woods than to learn the answer to that question.

No. Alice deserved better than a coward for a sister. Adelaide must face her sister’s wrath or scorn, or whatever heartbreak awaited her. However, she would not go to the front door, as if she were a lady sure of her welcome. The servants’ entry was good enough for the likes of her.

She knocked. A maid answered.

“Miss?” The maid stared at her quizzically, her eyes traveling from her undone hair down to her dirty pelisse. When she reached the torn skirt, her eyes widened. “Oh, miss, were you attacked? We must get you help.”

She tried to pull Adelaide inside, but Adelaide held her ground. “No. No, please. I’m not—” She swallowed hard. “Will you fetch Alice Bursnell? She’s a guest here. I would be so grateful.”

“Please come inside, miss.”

Adelaide shook her head. “I’ll wait here.”

The maid pursed her lips in puzzlement and nodded. She disappeared into the kitchen.

Adelaide waited. She glanced to the tree and saw Nick’s shadow. It brought her comfort, somehow. Though she would deny that with her dying breath.

Would Alice come? Perhaps she would not. Perhaps she was playing parlor games or sleeping, or whatever it was that ladies did at house parties in the middle of the night. Adelaide blew out a breath and watched the cloud of steam. Her bodily points were all numb from cold—ears, fingers, toes, and nose. If Alice did not come—

There was a bang, the sound of dishes falling, and footsteps running. The door was thrown open. She had only a split second to notice the night rail—sleep had apparently been the interrupted activity—before she was seized in a bone-crushing embrace.

She blinked rapidly. She would not cry. She wouldn’t. Alice hated tears. What was the point in allowing water to leak from one’s eyes, she had often asked scornfully. It never did any good and only succeeded in making one’s skin sallow and one’s nose red.

“Thank God, thank God, thank God,” Alice murmured fervently against her cheek and hugged her more fiercely.