Chapter Fifteen
At precisely a quarter past four, Nick rang the bell at 21 Tulip Street. It had been two days since the ball, and both of those days he had sent flowers to this very address for Miss Adelaide Bursnell, in the manner of a proper gentleman interested in courting a proper lady. By his estimation, the time had now come to show a more direct interest.
“I’m here for Miss Bursnell,” he told Harvey, the butler. “Tell her I have arrived.”
Harvey eyed Nick’s muddy boots and pressed his fingertips together. “If you will be so good as to wait here, sir, I shall announce you.”
But Nick had no use for snobby butlers. “I’ll wait in the sitting room.”
“Sir!” Harvey protested, but it was too late.
Nick shouldered past the man and crossed to the sitting room in long strides. At the doorway, he paused. Adelaide was inside. She was unaware of his presence, sitting with her legs tucked up beneath a pale lavender skirt, her shoes placed neatly next to the chair. It was the sort of scene a husband might find upon returning home to a waiting wife. Something ached deep in his chest.
“Is the book a good one?” he asked, for want of anything better to say.
She startled and flushed. She swung her legs down, exposing white feet with faint blue veins and a sliver of calf. He had seen much more of her, and much more interesting parts, but even so, his knees felt less sturdy than they ought. He leaned against the door frame, casually crossing his arms over his chest.
“You ought not to enter a room like a thief.” She slid her feet into the embroidered pink slippers, much to his disappointment. “It’s not polite.”
He hiked his brows. “I asked about your book. I did not creep behind your shoulder and shout boo.”
She laughed in spite of herself. “So you did. Have you read The Heroine? It was recommended to me by Miss Benton. I happened to mention that I greatly love Gothic novels, and she thought I would quite enjoy this.” Adelaide studied the cover, eyes narrowing. “I believe she is having a bit of fun with me.”
“I haven’t read it.” He paused. “Are you finished with Childe Harold, then?”
“No.” She laughed again. “I don’t believe I shall ever be finished with it. I have read it twice now, and I long to read it a third time. But one cannot live on Byron alone, can one?”
He hadn’t the slightest idea. Who ever heard of living on books?
“Is this how you have spent your entire morning?” he queried. “Should you not be out shopping for a new ball gown or whatever it is ladies do?”
“My mother and sister are doing that very thing. Shopping for Alice’s wedding trousseau, I mean. Oh!” She jumped to her feet, her book sliding to the floor. “You should not be here, Nick. I have no chaperone.” She bent to pick up the volume, presenting him with her lovely backside.
Dear God.
No chaperone. Just him. And her. Together.
I have no chaperone.
Once he had lived and ached for those words.
Fuck.
He tried very hard not to move toward her. “Don’t tell me that.”
“Why not? It is not secret. You can see for yourself that I am alone.”
“Where is your father? Your aunt?”
“My aunt is visiting friends. My father…” Her gaze shifted away. “He’s out.”
Nick did not like the shadow that crossed her face when she spoke of her father, but he would ponder that later. Right now, he had more important matters to consider. Such as how to convince his body that the thing it wanted most was not the soft, fragrant bluestocking before him, and to turn around and walk straight out the door.
Go, he ordered his feet. Move. Now.
His feet did not budge.
“Come for a drive with me.” It was only his years as a spy that allowed him to sound light rather than desperate. “There is no need for a chaperone in my open curricle, and if we go now, we will be at Rotten Row just in time for the fashionable hour. Is that not what courting couples do?”
“I suppose.” She cast a longing look to her book. “Although I am getting to a good part. Lord Montmorenci is very wicked, of course, but so interesting.”
Surely, she was jesting. She could not truly prefer the company of a book to a flesh-and-blood man, could she? Nick decided he hated Lord Montmorenci, whoever the devil he might be.
“Egad, you are a difficult woman! Why must you continually spurn my attentions? We must be seen together, like other courting couples.”
“You needn’t shout at me. Of course I am happy to drive with you. Let me fetch my bonnet.” But even as she spoke, she tucked her book into the pocket of her skirt.
Aggravating woman.
To punish her, he twisted slightly as she passed through the doorway, forcing her to press against him. The smell of lilacs filled his senses, and for the briefest of moments, his body recognized the feel of hers. Mindlessly, he tilted his face to hers.
In an instant, she wiggled free and walked calmly to where her bonnet and pelisse hung by the door. She settled the former firmly over her black curls and turned to look back at him.
“Shall we be off?” she asked. “I should not like to be gone long, as we are expecting company for dinner.”
He could not concentrate on her words. There was not the faintest tremor in her voice nor flush in her cheeks. Was she really so unaffected by him?
“Yes…yes.” He took a breath to steady himself and stepped forward to offer her his arm.
They exited the house under Harvey’s disapproving gaze. Nick helped her into the curricle, settled in beside her, and took up the leathers. He turned them toward Hyde Park, where he was reasonably sure half of London would join them.
“Have you eaten?” he asked as they entered the park. “I wouldn’t like you to faint again.”
She had to think before she answered, which he didn’t like. “I ate breakfast but quite forgot about luncheon.”
“Here.” He pulled out a plum and two biscuits, wrapped neatly in a handkerchief. “Did you enjoy the flowers?”
“Oh, yes,” she murmured between bites of the plum. “I wonder if there is even one pink rose left to be had in all London.”
He looked askance at her. “I only sent a half dozen.”
“You are not the only man to send a lady flowers after a ball. You are not even the only man to send me flowers.”
The dark fringe of her eyelashes swept downward, obscuring the expression in her eyes. Roses bloomed on her cheeks, as pink as the flowers he’d sent her. She looked so fetching as she sat there, blushing for another man, that all Nick could do was stare.
He did not care. It was not jealousy that clenched in his gut. It was only…he was surprised, that was all. And concerned for her welfare, naturally.
“What are their names?” he asked.
“Why?”
“So I can look into them and determine if any have issues with gambling or women or are otherwise unsuitable.”
She gave him an appalled look. “Oh, really, Nick. I can determine their suitability for myself.”
“I think not. When it comes to men, you have proven to be a remarkably poor judge of character and entirely lacking in common sense.”
She gaped at him. “You—you—insufferable man! How dare you—”
“Smile,” he muttered through gritted teeth. He tipped his hat to a gentleman passing on horseback. “Good afternoon, Mr. Crawson.”
Adelaide, to his relief, managed a smile and a murmured greeting as well.
The moment Mr. Crawson passed, she said, “You cannot be both my seducer and my protector. It’s absurd.”
Nick made the mistake of looking at her. Her lower lip plumped out, trembling with some emotion. Rage? Righteous indignation? Or perhaps it was the memories of their shared past that hung between them. It called to him, that quivering lip. It made him want to touch it with his own, to pull it between his teeth and suck. It made him want to protect her from others who would do the same.
“Can’t I?” he said softly. “Can’t I be both your seducer and protector, Adelaide?”
God help him if she said yes.