Chapter Twenty-Two
Adelaide froze. She turned slowly and found herself face-to-face with Lady Margaret.
“Miss Bursnell,” she said again, and then her eyes caught sight of Nick. “Oh.”
Adelaide would have expected the girl to be gleeful at catching them together like this, but instead she seemed embarrassed. Her face was pinched with discomfort.
“Are you well, Lady Margaret?” she asked. “Shall I fetch your mother?”
“I…” A peculiar look crossed her face, and she shifted her stance. “Will you come with me to the ladies’ salon, please?”
Adelaide furrowed her brow. “Of course.”
Before she could say another word, Lady Margaret took her by the hand and pulled her into the salon. Then she turned to her with clasped hands and pleading eyes.
“I’m bleeding. I…I don’t know what to do. Please help me.”
“You are injured?” Adelaide cried, stepping forward.
“Oh. No. It is my monthly courses—only it is not monthly for me, as it does not follow a pattern I can predict.” She shifted again and her face paled. “Oh, God.”
Adelaide felt a stab of sympathy. “I’ll fetch your mother to take you home.”
“Thank you, but…” The girl hesitated. “It began five minutes ago, and already I am close to soaking through my underthings. I cannot walk across the room with a red stain there.” Her eyes closed, and she swallowed hard. “It hurts so much.”
“It will be all right. Just wait a moment and I’ll get help.”
Adelaide exited the salon, nearly colliding with Nick in her haste. “You’re still here?”
“Of course.” He grabbed her elbows. “What is happening?”
“Oh, I—never mind. Could you tell Lady Margaret’s mother she is not well and must leave at once? Have their carriage brought round. And could you bring me Lady Margaret’s cloak, a pair of scissors, and a glass of brandy?”
He stared at her. “Adelaide.”
“Please. No questions just yet.”
He nodded and was gone. She turned back into the salon. Lady Margaret had pulled her silk gown and petticoat up about her waist, revealing a dark red blot growing quickly on her drawers.
She looked at Adelaide with panicked eyes. “I don’t want to stain my dress.”
“There’s so much of it,” Adelaide said quietly. “Is it always like this?”
Lady Margaret nodded. “My menses don’t come often, but when they do, it is gruesome.”
“Mr. Eastwood went for your mother and pelisse. We’ll have you home soon, and no one will be the wiser.”
There was a quiet tap on the door. Adelaide poked her head out.
“The items you requested,” Nick said. “Her mother is waiting for the carriage, and we are to bring Lady Margaret when she is ready.”
“Thank you.” She took the pelisse and scissors with one hand and the tumbler of brandy with her other. “We will only be another moment.”
She retreated into the salon, where she tossed the pelisse over a chair and handed the tumbler to Lady Margaret. “Brandy. For the discomfort. Drink it slowly.” She then hiked her own dress up to her waist, keeping it pinned under her arms. “Luckily, my mother insisted that I wear two petticoats tonight, for my dress is very thin. I don’t need both.”
She took the scissors to the bottom petticoat, cutting strips of cloth away from the hem until she reached her thighs. “Here. These should be enough to get you safely home.”
Lady Margaret stuffed the makeshift rags into her bloomers. She sighed with relief. “Thank you.”
“Now, then. Let’s get you to your mother.” She helped her into the pelisse.
Nick was still by the door when they exited. He offered his arm to Lady Margaret, but she shook her head. “Thank you, but I’ll be all right now.”
They watched as she swept swiftly through the ballroom to where her mother was waiting for her.
“Well,” Nick said. “At least she will be kinder to you in the future.”
Adelaide laughed. “Oh, I think not. She does not like me, and she will like me all the less for seeing her like this.”
He glanced at her. “Then why on earth did you help her?”
“Because I could,” she said simply. “And if one can, then one ought, don’t you think?”
“No,” he said. “I don’t.”
She peered up at him. “You don’t mean that,” she said, even though she was rather worried he did. He certainly looked very serious.
“Of course I mean it. I am not a good man. You do understand that, don’t you? I do not show my enemies mercy. I do not help old ladies cross the street when I am in a hurry. I do not forgive those who wrong me.”
“You do good things, too.”
“No,” he corrected her. “I do very bad things for the greater good. There are certain things, ugly things, that must be done. They cannot send a good man, because a good man would simply refuse. God, Adelaide, you read the list. That was only a fraction of what I’ve done.”
Poor man. He seemed so determined to convince her of his wickedness, as though to warn her off. “Tell me.”
His jaw worked as he struggled. She waited, hoping. Finally, he relented. “I killed a friend. He was French and knew things he ought not to know. He would have shared our battle plans with our enemy, had I not. And still…he was a friend. He was surprised when I stabbed him. Perhaps he knew who I was and chose to let me live. I don’t know.” He looked at her, his gaze calculating. “Now do you understand? I am not good.”
Dear God. What a heavy burden he carried with him. She caught him by his face with both hands, bringing him down so that they were eye to eye. “It was a terrible, ugly thing you did, murdering a friend.”
His eyes closed. “Yes.”
“Thank you.” She pressed her lips to his forehead, lingering for a moment before releasing him.
He stilled at her touch. “Don’t be kind to me. Scold me. That’s what I deserve.” But he burrowed closer to her, belying his words.
“I most certainly will not. You made the best decision you could, and I am sorry, so very sorry. It is a terrible burden to carry, to have done such awful things.” She touched his arm. “You help so many people, Nick.”
“I am not good!” he all but shouted.
“Heavens. Then I suppose it was a very good thing that Lady Margaret did not require your assistance. What would she have done if she needed someone to fetch her mother or a pair of scissors? Oh, wait.”
His lip twitched. “I did not play errand boy to help Lady Margaret, or even to help you. It wasn’t a kind thing I did, Adelaide.”
“No?”
“No.” He leaned closer. “Would you like me to tell you why I did it?”
He smelled of spice and lemonade. She wondered what he would taste like. “No, I think you had better not.”
He chuckled at that. “Too bad. I cannot have you thinking I am a good man—you might decide to have me, after all.” As he spoke, he encircled her with his arms, lowering his head to whisper in her ear. “I’m afraid there is no choice but to tell you every one of my depraved thoughts.”
His breath caressed her cheek like a summer breeze. It was madness, but she could not help moving deeper into his embrace.
“We weren’t in this hall by accident, you understand. I’d brought you here for a reason. What do you think would have happened if Lady Margaret hadn’t seen us? I would have followed through on my plans to seduce you in the library.”
“The library?”
The suggestion was unbearably erotic. She could almost smell the leather and paper mingling with the scent of their sex.
He smiled slowly. “Oh, yes. You would like that, wouldn’t you?”
She should say no.
But it would be a lie.
She gave a small nod.
His tongue delved into the little hollow of her ear, and she gasped.
“I helped Lady Margaret only because I wanted to be rid of her as quickly as possible, so I could take you to the library. I imagined you sitting on the shelf ladder, prim and proper, while I stuck my tongue in your cunny.”
A hot, prickly wave of lust washed over her. “Yes. Oh, God, yes.”
He kissed her, wild and lush. She clung to his shoulders with both hands. He kissed her with increasing need, his mouth moving from her lips to her neck and then the crest of her breast. She loved the urgency of his kiss, as though he were a man dying of thirst and she was the last drink of water.
If he kissed her long enough, maybe she could believe that this time, this kiss, was different. This time he would not leave her with her body slaked but her heart yearning.
In the distance footsteps trod on marble floors. Nick lifted his head. She dug her fingertips into his shoulders, a feeble attempt to prolong the moment, to bring him back to her. But he stepped back, saving her from herself.
His mouth tilted in a wry smile. “Next time, angel, we find the library, and we bolt the door.”
She shivered at his promise.
There wouldn’t be a next time.
Because this time, when he left her, was just like all the others.