Regency 02 - Betrayal (12 page)

Adam found himself thinking how much better
the entire ensemble would look in a pile on his bedroom floor and
had to wonder where the devil such a thought had come from. It was
hardly appropriate in the middle of Almack’s.

The countess looked over at him then and Adam
saw a flash of the spirited beauty he had met for the first time
over a year ago when she was working as Verena’s maid. Then the
sparkle disappeared and she seemed to dull before his very
eyes.

He was intrigued. He could not imagine a
power on earth capable of controlling the minx that was Lady
Rothsmere. He highly doubted it was Viscount Steyne. That cad was
too wrapped up in seducing every other man’s woman to worry about
controlling his own.

Before he quite knew what he was doing, Adam
found himself crossing the room until he stood before the one woman
who haunted his dreams and every waking moment. He ignored the
glowering Steyne and dimly noted that her other gallants seemed to
fade into the background.

Bowing, he gave her a dazzling smile and
inquired sweetly, “Lady Rothsmere, I hope I find you well?”

“Indeed, I am, Mr. Prestwich. And you?” the
countess replied in measured tones.

“I am well,” Adam replied, already heartily
sick of such an inane topic as the state of their health. What was
next? The weather?

Bri regarded Adam Prestwich warily, wondering
what he would say next. She could feel the hate emanating from the
man next to her and she had to wonder at that as well.

“Would you do me the honor of partnering me
for the next waltz?”

She heard the command in Adam’s voice and
found herself agreeing to dance before Steyne had a chance to cause
problems. The countess wondered at the wisdom of allowing the
magnetic Mr. Prestwich the chance to converse alone with her, but
she had to admit to a certain amount of curiosity.

Placing her gloved hand in his, she allowed
him to lead her onto the floor. He put one hand at her waist and
drew her close. She felt a tingle go up her spine and found it
difficult to maintain her debutante act.

Adam looked down at he girl in his arms and
realized how incredibly stupid it was to choose such an intimate
dance. He had to stifle the urge to draw her closer until she was
pressed full-length against him. He wondered if she felt anything
at all. Her amazing eyes were carefully blank.

“You look very beautiful tonight, my lady,”
he whispered close to her ear. He watched in satisfaction as she
started in surprise. Her look was quickly veiled.

“La, sir, you do flatter a girl so,” she
tittered awfully.

Adam would have cringed had he not been so
amused by her purposely shrill voice.

“Nonsense,” he replied gallantly. “I only
speak the truth.”

“Poppycock,” Bri said under her breath,
unaware that Adam heard. “You do turn a girl’s head,” she said
louder. Was that a note of sarcasm she heard in her own voice?

Adam grinned. “At least you have retained
some of that biting wit of which I am so fond,” he said
lightly.

She gave him a blank look that reminded him
of a particularly stupid mongrel dog Connor had once had as a
child. It was annoying to say the least.

“What kind of dimwitted female are you?” he
said from between clenched teeth and smiling lips.

“Excuse me?” Her lovely eyes filed with tears
and her lower lip trembled.

“Oh, good God, Bri! Stop this bloody act. You
can’t possibly expect me to believe that you are this damned
insipid.”

“What do you mean?” she asked on a tremulous
whisper.

“The devil!” Adam’s mask slipped, revealing
the cynical and bitter man he really was. “Why did you let them
break you, you fool woman?” He executed an elaborate turn in the
dance, glaring down at her. When they came out of the turn, she
found herself pulled even closer to him. “Why did you let them turn
you into an empty-headed chit with nothing to recommend her but a
title and fortune?”

“If it wasn’t for you, you interfering
bastard, I wouldn’t even be in this situation,” she snapped.

“You’re right,” he retorted coldly, “you’d be
dead.”

Unable to deny that very pertinent fact, Bri
remained silent, staring at Adam’s immaculately tied cravat. Her
conscience told her she should be grateful to this very handsome
and very enigmatic man. But her anger at having to choose between a
madhouse and marriage to Steyne made her foolishly believe that she
could have found a way out of that predicament without the help of
Mr. Prestwich.

“I’d have contrived,” she said half to
herself.

“Do you think?” Adam asked, one dark brow
cocked in wonder.

Bri was silent for a moment. She knew deep
down that she had finally reached the point when she was unable to
help herself. When she had sat in that cell all those months ago
awaiting her execution, even then she had known that she would
never make it out alive.

Of course, she had reckoned without Adam
Prestwich. He had swept in like some sort of modern-day Lochinvar
and carried her off to safety. It was the stuff romances were made
of.

It sickened her. She did not want to feel
beholden to this man. He had listened to her story with that
insufferably cynical air about him and then turned her over to her
fate anyway.

And then he had forgotten about her. The
Countess of Rothsmere didn’t yet realize that it was this that
galled her the most.

With much concentration, Bri replaced her
social mask. “Mr. Prestwich, I am feeling faint. Please escort me
back to my
fiancé
.” She used the word like a weapon although
her eyes and face were carefully blank.

“I’ll do better than that,” Adam replied in
clipped accents. “I think you need to get out of this crowd.” With
that he twirled her out onto the balcony that ran along the back of
the building. He was so angry he could barely think straight. He
paid no heed to the staring couples who lingered outside to escape
the suffocating heat of the ballroom.

Bri barely had time to take a deep breath as
Adam swung her around and trapped both hands behind her back. She
was pressed intimately against him from chest to thigh. So close,
in fact, that she could feel his heartbeat against her breast. Even
in the moonlight, she could see the dangerous glitter in his pale
eyes and she knew instinctively that she had pushed him too far by
mentioning her fiancé.

His head seemed to lower with excruciating
slowness and she wondered breathlessly why she didn’t simply turn
her head away or scream for help. She seemed to be hypnotized by
that glittering gaze.

Adam kissed her fiercely; it was almost like
a brand. His eyes were open, as were hers, and he watched her
closely noting every tiny change in her demeanor. Her breathing
quickened, her eyes took on a sparkle and she moaned suddenly low
in her throat. He ran his tongue along the seam of her lips and she
obeyed his unspoken request almost without thought.

His tongue plunged into her mouth and the
fire that seemed to consume her was shocking. She felt his grip on
her hands loosen and she reacted more from fear than anger.

Tearing her lips away, she raised her hand
and boxed him squarely on the ear.

“What the devil!”

“Do not dare to manhandle me again, Mr.
Prestwich,” she warned in a breathless, albeit, fierce whisper. “Do
so again, sir, and my fiancé will call you out,” she added a trifle
smugly.

“Not bloody likely,” Adam muttered, his eyes
narrowed as he rubbed at his smarting ear. “But at least you sound
more like yourself,” he added in an undertone, as if his words
weren’t actually meant for her ears.

Bri softened visibly. “Oh, Adam,” she
murmured, too distressed to realize she used his given name, “don’t
you see? I can’t—”

“Lady Rothsmere!” called a voice imperiously
from the doorway.

Adam stepped away from Bri, realizing he was
standing unforgivably close to another man’s affianced bride in
full view of anyone who cared to look in their direction.

He wondered what she had been about to
say.

He wondered what imp of Satan had compelled
him to kiss her.

He wondered, with rising pique, if his
embrace had at all affected her.

Then she threw him a strangely forlorn and
regretful look before her countenance became the bland mask she
employed for her family’s benefit. He was amazed at the
transformation.

“Would you be so kind as to escort me back,
sir?” she asked with a smile of false brightness.

He dutifully offered his arm and they joined
an older woman of frightening girth and fierce expression who
proved to be Lady Rothsmere’s duenna. Adam watched them move away
and wished suddenly that Almack’s served something, anything,
stronger than orgeat and lemonade. He needed a brandy. He needed a
whole decanter. And perhaps a willing woman beneath him.

He smiled. He would go see Raven, he decided,
and spend the night with her. That should exorcise the green-eyed
vixen, he was sure. He ignored the voice that insisted it hadn’t so
far so why would it start now?

He turned toward the door—and found his way
firmly blocked by Lord Steyne and two of that man’s cronies.

“What business have you with my betrothed,
Prestwich?” the viscount asked belligerently.

“The lady and I are old friends,” Adam
replied softly, somehow managing to convey exactly what sort of
friends they were without actually saying anything. He couldn’t
help needling the coxcomb. He had more reason than just Bri to goad
the man. He also felt a malicious desire to punish Bri as well.

He got an elbow in his ribs for his trouble
and turned his head to see Connor giving him a reproachful look.
Adam looked away and crossed his arms over his chest, giving Steyne
such a steady look of contempt that the viscount began to
squirm.

“What is this all about, gentlemen?” inquired
the strident tones of Mrs. Drummond-Burrell, one of the highest
sticklers in the
haute ton
as well as a patroness of
Almack’s. “If you are going to behave no better than schoolboys,
I’ll ask you to have the decency to leave. I expected better from
you, Lord Connor.”

Connor bowed with a devastating smile and
assured her that it was all a simple misunderstanding. As usual,
his charm didn’t fail and the lady moved off after sending a
reproving glare towards Adam Prestwich. He just grinned devilishly
and offered a somewhat mocking bow. Then he returned his attention
to Steyne. The viscount was still watching him with thinly veiled
hate.

“So, Steyne,” Adam began
conversationally—only Connor knew what a tight rein Adam had on his
temper, “are you going to call me out? Or do you only take part in
duels where
you
have been called out?”

Steyne didn’t dare call him out and Adam knew
it. After the viscount’s ignominious defeat in that duel over two
years ago, the man knew better. So he sputtered in anger for a few
moments but finally departed. Adam watched him join Bri who was
viewing the whole scene with the oddest look on her face. She asked
Steyne something and he shook his head. Adam was sure she
looked…disappointed.

“If you insist on goading men into duels in
the middle of Almack’s,” Connor said, effectively swinging Adam’s
attention back to him, “you’ll never be allowed in these hallowed
walls again.”

Prestwich snorted and threw his friend a very
un-disappointed look. “I bloody well wouldn’t care, Con. A lot of
posturing popinjays and dull debutantes were never my idea of a
good time. I am surprised I am allowed in here at all,
actually.”

Connor smiled good-naturedly. “I wonder, am I
a posturing popinjay or a dull deb?” He looked up at his taller
friend and fluttered his eyelashes.

“Egad!” Adam exclaimed in mock horror. “Do
that again and I’ll call
you
out.”

Connor laughed and clapped Prestwich on the
back. “I think we should leave.”

“Will Verena mind?” Adam asked a trifle
skeptically. In his experience, the ladies wanted to stay until all
hours, dancing and flirting.

“Of course she won’t. She’s very
unfashionable in that she is more mother to our children than the
nurse. And she has now been away from them for all of two
hours.”

Adam knew this but his own experience with
the opposite sex led him to believe that such feelings were
fleeting if they existed at all. He trusted Connor’s wife more than
most, liked her even, but old habits are hard to break.

Bri sat at her dressing table that night and
thought about that kiss. It had shocked her to the core of her
being. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been kissed before. She had.
Those other kisses were better left forgotten. But Adam’s kiss
was…a glimpse of heaven.

She allowed her thoughts to stray into
forbidden territory. What would it be like to, well, to
be
with him? She shook her head. Probably just like being with any
other man—extremely unpleasant.

She remembered once telling Doll, Lady Connor
Northwicke, that sexual relations between a man and woman could be
quite pleasurable. It wasn’t that she lied but she truly believed
that they had to be despite what nearly every matron had ever said.
Raven didn’t appear to despise what Adam did to her, after all. She
even liked the man despite it.

Bri shoved the thought of Adam and Raven
away. It made her bilious just to think about it.

Her own belief had come out in her tone of
voice as personal experience, Bri knew, even if she hadn’t said so
in so many words. She had seen the look on Verena’s face before
that lady had turned away.

Am I a fallen woman?
Bri wondered
then. The look on Verena’s face had said that, although she never
mentioned the fact. And Bri knew the belief had comforted her
friend somewhat so she couldn’t be regretful of the assumption.