Lady Gone Wicked (Wicked Secrets)(9)

“Do you think she could manage it?” Madame asked hopefully.

“For fashion,” Alice said gravely, “anything is possible.”

Adelaide gave an unladylike snort, drawing a glare from her mother.

The butler entered the breakfast room. “Viscount Abingdon and Mr. Eastwood are here, ma’am. Shall I have them wait in the sitting room until you have finished your breakfast?”

Aunt Bea glanced at Alice and smiled. “Abingdon must be very much in love to call at this early hour. Madame is finished, for now. Show them in, Harvey.”

“Very good, ma’am.” The butler departed, taking Madame Durand with him.

A moment later, Abingdon entered, with Nick on his heels. Adelaide noted how Abingdon’s eyes went straight to Alice and never left, even as he bowed. She swallowed hard, looking away as Alice rose to greet her fiancé, joy written all over her face.

“You’re in London already? We didn’t expect you for another day!” Alice enthused.

Abingdon took her hand. “We only just arrived this morning, but I couldn’t wait.”

They had only been separated for two days.

It was remarkable how much Abingdon looked like Nick, but more remarkable still were all the ways in which they were not alike. The red-gold hair was the same, although Nick wore his fashionably short whereas Abingdon tied his back in a queue. Their eyes were the same shade of blue, but Abingdon showed his heart in their depths, while Nick’s held nothing but secrets.

Lord Abingdon, she was quite sure, would never have taken a lady’s virtue before the wedding night. Not that Alice would have allowed herself to be seduced. She was too much of a lady for that.

They deserved each other, truly. They deserved love.

And Adelaide—what did she deserve?

She looked up to find Nick’s gaze on her, steady and searching. His brows lifted in question. How should they proceed? Their shared history was unknown to her family—with the exception of Alice. Adelaide had refused all entreaties to name the father of her child. She had been intimate with this man and had shot him, but for all her mother and aunt knew, they were strangers.

“Miss Bursnell, we meet again. I hope your journey from Haverly was easy,” he said. The words rolled as lightly off his tongue as if they had been true.

Perhaps because the words were true, strictly speaking. They had met before, and now they met again. It was only the lie that was implied.

“Yes, thank you.” And then she could think of nothing more, neither truth nor lie.

Fortunately, she was saved from speech by Abingdon.

“My mother is all excitement to meet you, Lady Westsea,” he said, speaking to her mother while still glancing at Alice. “She hopes you will all dine with us this Friday at Wintham House.”

Their mother clapped her hands. “How delightful. We shall be happy to. Although I do hope it will not be our first meeting. Will she attend Almack’s tonight?”

“Indeed. As will I and my brother. You will be in attendance, as well, I gather, Lady Westsea?”

Her mother nodded. “It will be Adelaide’s first taste of London society, and she is quite looking forward to it.”

Adelaide was undecided on that point, but she kept that thought to herself.

“Perhaps you will save me a dance,” Nick said. “The first set?”

“Perhaps,” she agreed.

His lips twitched, and the familiar movement made her breath catch. How many times had he looked at her across a crowded room with just such an expression? It was the look of a private joke, a secret just between the two of them. It had never failed to arouse her, to bid her follow him to some dark, hidden corner, where she could kiss that teasing smirk from his mouth.

And now, in her aunt’s breakfast room, the very same smirk was on his lips, but she could kiss him no longer.

Oh, how she hated him for it.





Chapter Eight


The truly wonderful thing about London during the Season, Nick reflected, was that it was full to the brim of women. Tall and small, fair and dark, deliciously curved and regally slim—they were all packed into Almack’s and ripe for the picking.

But he could not pick just yet. Before he could find his future marchioness, Adelaide must be happily wed. Happily being the more important part. Her look of despair when he’d told her she could have marriage but not his money was branded forever in his mind. No, he could not force a lifetime of such misery on her. He must find her a suitable husband. He owed her that much, at least.

The trouble was, the ballroom was packed with rakes, dandies, and idiots—none of whom were at all suitable for Adelaide. She needed a man with brains, someone who—

His eye caught on an elfin creature making her way rather determinedly to where the dowagers and spinsters sat and gossiped. What on earth was Adelaide doing? She was certainly not going to find a husband there. She ought to be flirting. Batting those dark doe eyes of hers at some poor, defenseless man.

He took an involuntary step forward, then halted as she was waylaid by Colonel Kent. He watched as she handed the colonel her dance card and he scribbled his name. That was good. She should dance, and Kent was a decent enough fellow, if a bit dull. As a hero of Waterloo, he was quite popular with the ladies, and their mamas. It did not hurt that, although he was not a peer, he was comfortably situated.