Lady Gone Wicked (Wicked Secrets)(8)

“She didn’t do a very good job of it,” Nick said. “The bullet took more of my shirt than my skin.”

Nathaniel threw back his head and laughed.

Brothers were such annoying creatures.

“Where will you stay in London?” Nathaniel asked. “Father is in residence at Wintham House, as Parliament is in session, but there are plenty of rooms.”

“I would be happy to, with the proper invitation.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “I await my father’s apology.”

Nathaniel groaned. “It will never happen. Surely you know that. Come home, Nick. Let the past be the past.”

“I will not.”

He could not. The past would never be forgotten, nor would he wish it otherwise. Love was a weakness and could be used as a weapon as deadly as a knife to the back. Those one loved the most were often the source of the deepest wounds, the greatest betrayals. It was a lesson that had served him well during his time in France and India. If he had not learned that truth at his parents’ hand, a lover’s deception would have been far more deadly.

No, the past could not be forgotten.

“Then stay with me,” Nathaniel said. “My apartment is not so grand as Wintham House, but it is quite comfortable.”

“Thank you, but no. I may not be a viscount, but I am not so destitute that I cannot afford my own place.”

Nathaniel frowned. “That is not why I offered.”

“No, you offered so that you can keep your eye on me. You don’t trust me to keep my word to Adelaide or to you. That is why you offered.”

There was a pause. And then came the quiet reply, “Quite so.”

Which was the truth. Nick knew it was the truth. And yet, there was something in his tone that made him wonder…

He glanced sharply at his brother, but Nathaniel was already turning away.

Nick flattened his lips. Clearly, he was not the only Eastwood who could make the truth sound like a lie.





Chapter Seven


One very good thing about returning to the land of the living was breakfast. Scones, eggs, bacon, not to mention tea with cream and sugar. It was a welcome change from the crust of bread and hard cheese Adelaide had eaten every day during her year in Epsom.

It was completely unfair that she wasn’t allowed to partake in any of it.

Instead, she was forced to watch as Alice, their mother, and Aunt Bea enjoyed their breakfast, while the modiste poked and prodded Adelaide’s body.

She and Alice had arrived at Aunt Bea’s home in Mayfair only two days ago. Scarcely a day later, their parents had descended upon them. There had been a good deal of rejoicing—her mother had clasped her to her bosom and her father had not looked at her.

Alice had concocted a great many stories to explain Adelaide’s return to life, but they hadn’t needed any of them. Their parents simply did not ask. Instead, they had busied themselves with practical matters, such as the pressing need to find her a husband, and the even more pressing need to build a wardrobe worthy of the London season. Madame Durand—who was known as much for her discretion as her skill with a needle—had been summoned.

“Lift your arms, ma chérie,” Madame murmured.

Adelaide complied. The modiste wrapped her tape around her waist, taking the measurement. She twisted her neck to look at the table. A scone was just out of reach, but if she stretched… Ah. She could nudge it closer with her fingertip.

A sharp rap on her knuckles had her retreating in pain. “Ouch!”

“Non, dear girl. You must not eat. The dress requires a straight, elegant line, yes?” Madame tsked.

Lady Westsea sighed. “You used to have such a lovely figure, Adelaide. So slight and delicate. I fear you have grown rather hardy of late, but your curves are in all the wrong places. You have been riding horses far too often, like Alice. And how have your shoulders become so broad?”

Alice turned to Adelaide and crossed her eyes.

Adelaide choked back a laugh. She had not been riding horses. She had been working. The bumps in her figure that Madame decried had been formed by feeding hens and pigs and carrying buckets of water. In her life before Epsom, she had never questioned how the water had arrived in her bath to clean her, or in the kitchen to cook the food. Now she knew. It came in buckets. Heavy buckets that had to be carried by strong arms.

Before Epsom, her arms were not strong.

Now they were.

“There, now.” Madame Durand stood back and eyed her critically. “I can have the dresses made up within a fortnight.”

“I suppose that will have to do. She can wear her sister’s dresses until then.” Her mother grimaced. “Although I do not know what she will wear tonight. I regrettably allow Alice to dress in the bold colors she favors, but they are wholly unsuitable for Adelaide.”

Adelaide bit her lip, ashamed.

Madame tilted her head. “I may have something. There is a dress, very special, that is no longer required. It is almost finished, only a few hours more of work. It would be a shame to waste such prettiness. Of course, the girl was long and slim, and there is not much time to adjust it, but it should do, if she does not breathe too deeply.”

Adelaide blinked. If she did not breathe too deeply?

“Perhaps it would be better if she did not breathe at all,” Alice said sarcastically.