AT FIRST SIGHT
Adair made himself look away from the woman who sat just across the table, eating dinner.
I have never seen anyone so beautiful before.
He swallowed hard, impatient with himself at this reaction. He was not fifteen years old, to be moonstruck by the first beautiful woman he saw! He couldn't recall ever having such a strong response to anyone, not even when he was fifteen. He ran a hand through his chin-length black hair and tried to focus on the group around him.
“You're planning to go up past the cliffs on your ride?” Lady Arabella asked genially, interrupting his thoughts.
He nodded. “Yes.”
She smiled and turned away, talking with Ascott, who sat opposite her. Adair looked at his plate. Dinners were difficult for him – so many people, so much noise! Arabella and Richard were some of the few people who understood that. It was why he always visited here when he left Hume Manor.
They know I don't like talking.
He looked up from his plate, hearing a sweet laugh flow across the table from Lady Genevieve.
“Richard! You jest!” she teased, making him laugh.
“No, Genevieve, I am in earnest,” Lord Richard protested.
She laughed again and, despite his best efforts to ignore her, Adair found himself studying her with amazement. Her hair was a thick cloud of curls, night black. Her pale skin contrasted with it sharply, and those eyes! Big and luminous, a shade paler than her hair, they seemed to bore into his soul.
“More gravy, sir?” a serving-man asked.
“Um, thank you,” he nodded, and the fellow poured another ladleful of gravy onto his plate. Adair realized belatedly that he'd barely touched his food, and that the gravy might be in danger of overflowing. He hastily reached for a bread-roll to mop it up, feeling a complete fool.
Whist, Adair! The lass opposite you is a fine lady. You'll have her asking to change seats soon.
He dabbed carefully at his chin, hoping he hadn't spilled gravy on it, too, and focused his view pointedly on Richard, ignoring Lady Genevieve. He didn't want to see the scorn written on her face.
“You'll join the ride, Adair?” Richard asked politely.
“Mm. I mean, yes,” he said, hastily swallowing his mouthful of bread. “I want to.”
“Good,” Richard nodded cheerfully. “You're a keen rider, I hear, milady?” he asked Lady Genevieve, who nodded.
“Yes. I'd like to join in.” She favored Richard with a smile that made Adair's blood race. He had no idea how Richard looked so calm. He turned to his wife, smiling.
“Arabella, dearest?”
“Yes?”
“Will you make a note that our cousin needs loan of a horse? We could maybe let her use Raindrop? She wants to join in tomorrow.”
“Yes, of course.” Arabella nodded.
Adair felt his heart sink. He wouldn't dare go on the ride if Lady Genevieve was going also! He knew all too well what would happen. She would see him do something foolish and scorn him and he'd lose all chance of ever talking to her. It always happened like that. Who would want to talk to him anyway? He was a blight on the earth's surface.
“Adair?” Richard asked.
“Yes?” Adair asked quickly.
“I just wondered if you'd heard about the proposed taxation of tobacco imports?” Richard said.
It was a clear attempt to draw him into the conversation. Adair shook his head, feeling stupid again. He rarely listened to talk in the marketplace and never paid heed to scandals and complaints that found their way up from Edinburgh, or Glasgow, to this more remote corner of the country. Consequently, he rarely knew what was going on outside the world of Hume Manor.
And one more reason why I can't risk saying anything to our new guest.
He glanced sideways at Richard, who was engaged in lively debate with Ascott and, surprisingly, with Lady Arabella, about the matter of taxing luxury goods.
“If you think about it,” he was saying, a smile on his face, “it's not to our disadvantage to allow wider trade of imports.”
Arabella looked at him askance. “Richard! What about the local craftsmen? What do you think would become of our own linen, say?”
“Linen from Scotland is traded everywhere,” Genevieve said, winning a smile from Richard.
Adair looked away, impressed.
Beautiful, and clever. She'd ignore me for sure...I never know what to say.
He looked down at his plate again, taking another mouthful of the stew. It was delicious, and he let himself focus on that for a change, ignoring the discussion and – with difficulty – the white-dressed beauty opposite.
Next to him, Ascott addressed another point of Richard's. Lady Genevieve sat opposite Adair, silent.
It was a perfect time to say something to her, but the harder he racked his brains to think of something appropriate, the more difficult it became and the more threatening the silence. He looked back down at his plate, finishing it just as a serving-man whisked it away, replacing it with a fresh one.
“Gammon served with glazed carrots,” the man opined, producing the second course. Adair nodded his thanks, wishing the tension wasn't having negative effects on his appetite. His hosts were famously good entertainers, and he would have liked to be able to enjoy it.
“You'll be here tomorrow evening?” Lady Arabella asked, fixing him with a bright-eyed gaze.
“Of course, milady,” he nodded, swallowing hard. Even Arabella – whom he knew well now – he found it hard to talk to sometimes. He couldn't stop thinking about the fact that one day she'd know. His true story would come out, and then they'd throw him from the hall, if not from the windows upstairs.
“Well, then,” she beamed. “You'll be pleased to meet my sister, Lady Francine. She's coming all the way up here to see our cousin, Genevieve.”
“How lovely!” Genevieve said opposite. When she smiled, her lips slightly parted, she was even more ravishing than in repose.
Adair looked at his plate as a flush of longing, powerful and irresistible, worked its way up through his body. He drew in a shaky breath and tried to focus on his cutlery.
“We're planning a little gathering,” Arabella continued, making his stomach clench in dismay. “Just a few people from the surrounding manors.”
Adair felt a rising panic. Here, with people he knew, he could feel safe. However, when the room was filled with strangers, he wished he could simply disappear. All of them would be looking at him, guessing, wondering.
You aren't fit for human company, you cur. His father had said that during one of his bitter rages. Adair had believed him. Inarguably human, Adair nonetheless was left with the impression that he was some kind of monstrous fiend.
Only a monstrous fiend would have led to the disasters I led to.
How could he, given that, consider being attendant at Lady Arabella's party? Fiercely loyal to both she and to Richard, he couldn't sully their happy event with his presence.
“I'll likely stay away,” he said.
He saw a disappointed expression cross Lady Arabella's face, and felt his heart drop a little further.
Arabella smiled though, almost immediately, nodding at him. “Well, then. You'll meet my sister at breakfast on Saturday then. And I'm sure you'll like her as well as we all do. She's very good company.”
“I am sure she is,” he murmured sincerely.
“You live far apart?” Genevieve asked Arabella.
“About two days' ride. I sometimes ride there with Mirelle – she does so love to see her cousin.”
“You have a daughter?” Genevieve inquired, one brow raised.
“Yes! Mirelle is two years' old now, bless her. And as naughty as she looks innocent,” Arabella chuckled fondly. “A beautiful girl. You'll meet her tomorrow, perhaps? She's sleeping now.”
“I would like that,” Genevieve nodded. “I am fond of children.”
“Good,” Arabella smiled.
The look on Genevieve's face was so gentle that Adair felt his own heart ache. She was so beautiful, and so good! He winced, taking this as yet another indication that he ought to be as far away from her as possible.
I could only do her harm.
“You have brothers and sisters, Lord Adair?”
Adair stared at Lady Genevieve, struggling to believe that she had really just addressed him. All his words suddenly disappeared. He looked around at Arabella, who turned to her cousin, smiling tranquilly.
“Lord Adair is the sole heir of Baron Hume,” she explained for him. “And no sisters either – yes?” she smiled warmly at Adair, who nodded.
“Yes.”
He looked at his plate, not at Genevieve, expecting to see scorn, or pity, in the twist of her lovely lips.
I don't know which of the two would be harder to bear.
He focused on his meal, and on the hall, listening to the scrape and clatter of cutlery and crockery around them. His plate finished, a serving-man carried it away quickly.
“Ah!” Arabella looked up, clapping her hands. “The pudding!”
The guests all exclaimed in delight as the serving-man came in with a vast silver dish with a round pudding, decorated with sprigs and set aflame. Adair risked a look at Genevieve, who was staring at it with wonderment. Her expression was so sweet that he felt his heart clench.
“What is it?” she asked Arabella, who smiled.
“It's our dessert,” she explained. “You've not had such a thing? My dear, you are in for a treat.”
Lady Genevieve laughed in delight and Adair looked down at the table to avoid staring at her as she gave her dessert a delighted smile when it was put in front of her.
“Mon dieu!” she said, swallowing a mouthful. Her eyes were wide, but it was an approving response, and she grinned, lips just parted, her cheeks flushed warmly. Adair felt his groin ache with longing and looked away, the response to reach out and touch her, to run his hand through those lustrous curls, almost overwhelming.
“It's good?” Arabella inquired. Genevieve, mouth full, nodded.
“Yes,” she said. “Absolutely delicious. What's in it?”
As Arabella described what pudding consisted of and how it was made, Adair fought not to watch the woman opposite him. He gave up in the end and gazed at her, the blood pulsing in her pale throat, the sweet curve of her mouth, the flushed cheeks.
“So,” she said, raising a brow at Arabella and Richard both. “This pudding, it is something special.”
Arabella laughed, clearly complimented. She patted her cousin's hand. Adair stared at the pale-fine boned hand with its tapered fingers and wished his own was resting over it.
“Nuts and apples,” a serving-man informed them, coming around with yet another platter, on which were nuts, apples and slices of cheese. Adair let the man refill his wine-glass and leaned back in his seat, considering if it was possible to get to know the exotic beauty.
Whist, Adair, he told himself sharply. You know you'd never have the nerve. And to what end? You'll only bring her harm.
He drank a little more, brooding on the thought.
Beside him, Ascott engaged him in a conversation about the tobacco trade, a discussion that was largely one-sided and required Adair to only nod and make noises every so often.
By the time the dinner was finally ended, Adair had finished his third goblet of wine and was gently starting to lose focus. He stood and leaned on the table, turning to Ascott for support.
“You need help?” his friend whispered.
“Nae...” Adair dismissed it, speaking the looser dialect of the servants who'd raised him. “It's nothing.”
Ascott raised a brow, but left him to it. Adair waited until their hosts had left the table, heading out, before he followed them. An idea had been turning around in his mind ever since he considered how to address Genevieve. He felt distant and detached now. He'd try it.
Ascott followed Lady Arabella and Richard, leaving Adair in the doorway, standing back for their guest. He reached into his pocket. This was it!
Removing his lace-trimmed silk handkerchief, he dropped it on the ground. Then, as he stood back in the doorway, he let it fall and bent over, exclaiming:
“Milady? I think this is yours?”
Lady Genevieve turned. Slim brows went up.
She reached for the handkerchief, frowning. Her tapered fingers touched his.
Adair felt the sweet shock of the contact rip through him like flood-water. He looked into her brown eyes. She looked back, unwavering.
In that moment, the whole hall could have disappeared. Nothing existed but that beautiful face, those two stunning eyes.
She looked as surprised as he did. “It's not mine,” she murmured, distracted. “It's not got my monogram on it.”
Adair nodded, knowing it didn't. He was surprised by two things – firstly, that she had monogrammed handkerchiefs, and secondly, that she spoke flawless English. He did too – one thing from his father, Baron Hume, who had at least provided him with that much education. However, it was unusual, even for a nobleman, much more for a noblewoman.
“I see,” he said.
He took the handkerchief back, replacing it in his pocket. She curtseyed and he bowed and it was only as she drifted into the hallway, looking back over her shoulder with a small, strange smile, that he realized he had spoken to her without thinking about it, and that it had been easy.
He waited until she had mounted the stairs before following her up to the second floor. His heart was happy.
In addition, tomorrow, he might see her again, at breakfast. He'd be sure to wake early.