Candice Hern (11 page)

"I should say so," Aldershot replied with enthusiasm. "Danced with her last night at Yarmouth House. Thinking of calling on her. Keep in her good graces and all that."

"Ah. So you have an interest in that quarter?"

"Possibly. Pretty woman, Mrs. Nesbitt. Was just saying to these chaps that she never seemed approachable before, but last night there was something about her. The way she smiled. Something, I don't know. Thought perhaps she was finally through being the grieving widow. Oh, I say. You were a friend to Nesbitt, were you not?"

"Indeed, he was my closest friend. His widow is still my friend."

"Then tell me, is she on the lookout for a new husband this Season? Is that why she seemed so amiable? For if she is, then I'll think twice about paying a call. Don't mind telling you that I ain't looking for leg shackle just yet. But if it's just a bit of company she's after," he said with a grin and a poke in Adam's ribs, "then I'm her man."

Adam controlled the instinct to plant the fellow a facer, and decided to take advantage of his candid request. "Mrs. Nesbitt is a highly respectable widow, Aldershot, and not the sort of woman interested in a bit of dalliance. But it has been over two years since Nesbitt's death, and I believe she might be ready to consider another marriage. In fact, when I told her of my own betrothal, she mentioned how she hoped she could make a similar announcement by the end of the Season."

"Did she, by Jove? Then it was prodigious good luck I ran into you, Cazenove. That bit of intelligence will save me a great deal of awkwardness. Much obliged, old chap." He took Adam's hand and pumped it vigorously. "Much obliged."

Adam took his leave of the cardroom, feeling rather smug. It had been the easiest thing in the world to dissuade Aldershot from pursuing Marianne, even if it did involve the tiniest bit of prevarication. And she need never know why his lordship flew out of her orbit. He'd only done it, of course, because the man's attitude was disrespectful. Adam was willing to allow Marianne her quest, but he would be damned before he'd allow some vulgar nincompoop to get past her bedroom door. If only he could do the same with every other unworthy gentleman who'd shown an interest, he would feel he'd done a good day's work in upholding his promise to David to look after her.

When he went downstairs and passed through the morning room, more gentlemen came over to offer congratulations on his upcoming nuptials. Even the bow window set strolled over to pay their respects.

"Fortunate fellow," Lord Worcester said. "You've made off with the prettiest girl on the Marriage Mart. Quite a coup, Cazenove, you dog."

"She'll keep you nice and warm at night," Lord Alvanley said. "Lucky devil. Hey, Fitzwilliam. Did you not once pen a sonnet to Miss Leighton-Blair's eyes?"

Trevor Fitzwilliam strolled languidly from his seat in the window to join them. Another of Marianne's candidates. The damned place was teeming with them.

"That was last Season," Fitzwilliam said in a drawl dripping with fashionable ennui. "A lifetime ago. The lovely Clarissa was fair game then. Not to worry, Cazenove. I do not carry a torch. I'll be sending my poor scribblings to someone else this Season."

"I am glad to hear it," Adam said. "Anyone we know?"

"As a matter of fact, I believe she is well-known to you. The beautiful Marianne Nesbitt."

"Mrs. Nesbitt?" Alvanley said. "One of the patronesses of those charity balls? Never knew you went for respectable widows, Fitz. Would have thought her a bit too tight-laced for your taste."

"Her laces were not so tight when I danced with her last night," Fitzwilliam said. "Her smile was so warm I almost broke out in an embarrassing sweat. And she moves like an angel on the dance floor."

"You sound besotted," Lord Worcester said.

"Merely intrigued," Fitzwilliam replied. "But I intend to test the waters a bit with a modest floral offering."

It was the opening Adam had waited for. He would send this idiot packing, just as he'd done with Aldershot. "Then be sure to send gardenias," he said. "She positively adores gardenias."

"Are you quite certain?" Fitzwilliam asked. "I had planned to send lilies, which she mentioned as her favorite flower."

"You must have misunderstood," Adam said. "I've known her for years and she has always favored gardenias. Nesbitt would send a bouquet if they'd quarreled or if he wanted to soften her mood, so to speak. Gardenias did the trick every time."

"Is that so?" Fitzwilliam smiled. "Then gardenias it shall be. I appreciate the advice, Cazenove."

"It was nothing, I assure you."

When he finally made his way out the front door and down the steps, Adam was grinning like a fool. Aldershot had left the field and Fitzwilliam would soon be out of the running. It was no doubt wrong of him to interfere with Marianne's life, and worse to feel so gleeful about it. But he had meant it when he'd said no one was good enough for her. Certainly not Aldershot or Fitzwilliam. Or any of the others.

The second lie, to Fitzwilliam, had come as easily as the first. Of course, it was not really the second lie, or even the third. He'd lost track of how many lies he'd told Marianne that night in her sitting room when he'd first been confronted with that damned list. He supposed he was turning into a scoundrel of the first degree. He ought to feel ashamed. He ought to feel remorse. Instead, he felt wildly amused and devilishly pleased with himself.

He suddenly felt the need to run each one of the remaining listees to earth and put a spoke in his wheel. He was so full of high spirits he laughed out loud as he walked down St. James's Street, and decided to visit Gentleman Jackson's boxing saloon to work off some of his excess energy.

And quite miraculously, his luck continued. Soon after entering the rooms on Bond Street, he stood watching Jackson spar with some young buck Adam did not recognize when Sir Arthur Denney came in. He stood beside Adam and observed the famed pugilist's instructions with keen interest. When the lesson was over, he fell easily into conversation with Adam, who made sure to mention Marianne in passing. Soon enough, Denney was seeking advice from Mrs. Nesbitt's dear friend.

"What topics of conversation are sure to please her? Well," Adam said, "I can tell you that she has always been intrigued by manly pursuits. I never knew a woman who so enjoyed hearing all the details of a mill, or a cockfight."

"You're joking," Denney said as he removed his coat in preparation for his own sparring match. "I cannot believe we are speaking of the same woman."

"I am quite serious. Where other women would swoon, Mrs. Nesbitt relishes every gruesome detail. Just between the two of us, I suspect she secretly finds something seductive about activities so thoroughly masculine."

"Does she, now?"

"I am only guessing, of course. But whenever her late husband and I used to speak of a boxing match, for example, she would insist on hearing every blow described in detail. She was clearly excited by it, and I gathered from Nesbitt that she was always in a passionate mood after such discussions. If you get my meaning."

"Good Lord. I would never have imagined it. How fascinating."

"She does not advertise this passion of hers, of course, and most men would never dream of speaking to her of such things. You might win the day by being the only man who dares to do so."

"By God, I will!"

And just like that, a third name was poised to be struck from the list. Three men now whose faces would no longer play a role in the troublesome images that had begun to plague Adam's thoughts, images of Marianne making love to another man.

You see how I look out for her, David, just as I promised? I won't allow some unworthy nincompoop to take your place in her bed.

Marianne would murder him if she ever discovered his lies and trickery, and he was quite sure he deserved it. Even so, Adam was unable to stop smiling, for he could not remember when he'd had such fun.

All eyes were on the stage and all attention directed to the beautiful voice of Angelica Catalani as she sang the role of Susanna in
Le Nozze di Figaro
. Adam, however, could not concentrate on the performance. There were too many distractions, most particularly the unsettling sight of Lord Hopwood seated altogether too close to Marianne.

They had not arrived at the theatre together. Marianne had come with Lady Somerfield, her niece, and another young woman. But Hopwood had not left Marianne's side and made it clear that for tonight, at least, she belonged to him. Just as Eustace Tolliver had done with Lady Gosforth. Adam would bet a monkey those two were lovers. He did not miss the sly, secret touches and burning glances. Was Marianne engineering a similar situation? Had she already planned an assignation with Hopwood? Perhaps even tonight?

When she had offered seats in the Somerfield box to Adam and Clarissa, he had been pleased at the invitation, pleased that Marianne seemed to want to spend time with Clarissa and get to know her better. He had not expected to be forced to witness a seduction in progress. For even if Marianne had not yet narrowed the field to a single gentleman, Hopwood was most definitely making a play.

Adam had teased that Hopwood was too old for her, and he still believed it. It wasn't so much a matter of age — the man was only in his early forties — as it was attitude. Hopwood did not demonstrate a vigorous approach to life. He drove carriages cautiously, and when he rode he always kept his mount at a polite canter, seldom breaking into a gallop. He was never seen at sporting venues such as Jackson's boxing saloon or Angelo's Fencing Academy. One had to wonder if he was at all fit. He was likely not fit enough for Marianne's purposes. The way Adam saw it, Hopwood was not worthy of her in any respect.

As Adam watched, the man took Marianne's hand and placed it on top of his arm, then covered it with his other hand. She turned to him and smiled, and left her hand in his for all the world to see, damn her.

It felt odd to see her with another man, to see her hand in another man's hand. He had been so accustomed to seeing her with David, knowing she belonged to David, that it quite simply felt wrong to see her with someone else. It was like an affront to his late friend. Adam had an irrational desire to lift up Hopwood by the scruff of his collar, plant his foot firmly on the man's backside, and send him careening over the edge of the box and into the pit below — all on David's behalf. But his friend was dead and Marianne belonged to no one. Not even the man who held her hand.

Adam scowled, and reached over for Clarissa's hand. She gave a little start, but did not pull away. He breathed a sigh of frustration. Why could she not be at least as accommodating as Marianne? Especially since he had a better right to take possession of her hand than Hopwood did of Marianne's. Throughout the week, Adam had been squiring his fiancée about town and she had yet to demonstrate any degree of warmth toward him. She smiled prettily and responded pleasantly to his attempts at conversation. But she seldom initiated conversation on her own. He'd expected her shyness would have begun to fade a bit by now.

The betrothal had been a typical arrangement. Everything had been discussed and approved with her father before Clarissa was even consulted. They had never been together unchaperoned until the few minutes Adam was given with her to make his offer. Her acceptance had been sweetly given, and he did not believe she was displeased with the match, even if her parents had encouraged it. Yet every time he touched her he could feel the tension in her. And every time he tried to kiss her she presented tight, unyielding lips and pulled away quickly.

It was a troubling situation. Adam had been successfully wooing ladies for years, and yet he did not seem able to woo his own affianced wife. She was very young, of course, but younger women had thrown themselves in his path on occasion, flirted with him openly, invited seduction. He feared it was a matter of innocence rather than youth. He suspected Clarissa was simply very naive about the relations between men and women, and it was up to Adam to teach her.

He studied her profile as she watched the stage. Her pale blond hair was swept up into a riot of soft curls at the back of her head, and a few wisps curled at the nape of her neck. He'd been attracted to that pretty neck, had once wanted to run his tongue up the length of it. He still did.

He looked over at another neck he'd known and admired for much longer. Marianne's dark hair was pulled up higher on her head in a more sophisticated style, threaded with beads and tiny sprigs of flowers. No curls sprang loose at her neck. Her nape was perfectly exposed, as was a good deal more. The dress she wore was cut quite low in the back, revealing the elegant line of shoulders and spine, and a glorious expanse of pale skin as smooth and fine-textured as Chelsea porcelain. And though she sat at an angle that did not allow a view of her bosom, he could not forget that it was as well exposed as her back. She had dressed for seduction, and Hopwood was getting an eyeful of soft, white, womanly curves. And David's emeralds at her throat.

Adam had plenty to keep his own eyes pleasantly occupied. Clarissa had ample charms of her own, even if they were cloaked in youth and innocence. He had been attracted enough by those charms, after all, to pursue a betrothal.

He would drive himself mad if he continued to make comparisons between Clarissa and Marianne. There was no comparison. They were completely different, completely unique, each beautiful in her own way. It was not fair to compare Clarissa with a mature, sophisticated woman who knew more of the world, who had experience with men.

Adam tore his eyes from the sight of Marianne's perfect nape in such close proximity to Hopwood. He would concentrate instead on wooing his betrothed.

His hand still covered hers, and he began to slowly stroke her fingers. He heard a tiny intake of breath, but she kept her eyes on the stage. Adam loosened a button of her glove, placed a finger in the opening, and proceeded to trace little circles on her exposed flesh. At first, she sat so stiff it seemed she did not breathe at all. Gradually, though, he felt her relax, and sent up a silent prayer of thanks. A little patience was all that was needed. He must remember her youth and take time with her. And so he continued to gently fondle her wrist throughout the rest of the first act.