Lady Folbroke's Delicious Deception (7 page)

‘Other than marriage,’ Hendricks pointed out in a dry tone.

‘Since I have made no effort to be a good husband to her, it seems hypocritical to expect her continued loyalty to me. And if she has a reason to visit me again? If you could give me advance notice of the visit, I would be grateful. It would be better, if a meeting cannot be avoided, that it be prepared for.’ On both sides. She deserved warning as well. He was in no condition, either physical or mental, to meet with her now.

‘Very good, my lord.’ Adrian could sense a lessening of the tension in the man beside the bed at the mention of even a possibility of a meeting. Acting as a go-between for them had been hard on his friend.

But now Hendricks was shifting again, as though there was some fresh problem. ‘Is there some other news that brings you here?’ he asked.

‘The post has come,’ Hendricks said, without expression.

‘If I have slept past noon, I would hope it has. Is there something you wish to read to me?’

‘A letter. It has no address, and the wax was unmarked. I took the liberty …’

‘Of course.’ Adrian waved away his concerns. ‘Since I cannot see the words, my correspondence is as an open book to you. Please read the contents.’ He set down his tea, took a piece of toast from the rack and waited.

Hendricks cleared his throat and read with obvious discomfort, ‘I wish to thank you for your assistance on the previous evening. If you would honour me with your presence for dinner, take the carriage I will send to your rooms at eight o’clock tonight.’

Adrian waited for more, but no words came. ‘It is not signed?’

‘Nor is there a salutation.’

‘Give it here. I wish to examine it.’ He set his breakfast aside and took the paper, running his fingers over it, wishing that he could feel the meaning in the words. There was no indication that they would be dining alone, but neither was there a sign that others would be present.

‘And there is no clue as to the identity of the sender? No address? A mark of some sort?’ Although he’d have felt a seal or an embossed monogram with his own fingers.

‘No, sir. I assumed you knew the identity of the woman.’

Adrian raised the paper to his nose. There was the slightly acrid smell of fresh ink, and a hint of lemon perfume. Had she rubbed the paper against her body, or merely touched it to the perfume bottle to send this part of the message?

He smiled. And did she know how she would make him wonder on the fact? He preferred to think of the paper held against those soft breasts, close to her quickly beating heart.

‘About that …’ What a blatant display of poor character that he had not even learned her name. It gave him no comfort to show Hendricks how low he had sunk, for the man was more than just a servant to him, after years together in the army, and Adrian’s growing dependence on him since the injury. But as Hendricks’s devotion to Lady Folbroke had grown, Adrian had come to suspect that the man’s loyalties were more than usually torn.

‘There was no time for a formal introduction last night. I had only just met her a few moments before you arrived. And, as I’m sure you could see, the situation was quite hectic.’ He paused for a moment to let his secretary make what he could of that, and then said, ‘But you saw her, did you not? What was she like?’

He heard Hendricks shift uneasily again. He had never before required the poor man to help with a liaison. It must prick at his scruples to be forced to
betray the countess. But Adrian’s curiosity about the woman would not be denied. ‘Was she attractive?’ he suggested.

‘Very,’ admitted Hendricks.

‘Describe her.’

‘Dark blond hair, short and dressed in curls. Grey eyes, a determined chin.’

Determined. He could believe that about her. Last night, she’d shown fortitude and a direct way of speaking that proved she was not easily impressed by fine words. He could feel the attraction for her, crackling on his skin like the air before a storm. ‘And?’ he prompted, eager to know more.

‘She was expensively dressed.’

‘And when you returned her to her home, where was it? It was you that escorted her, was it not?’

Hendricks shifted again. ‘She made me swear, on my honour, not to give further information about her identity or her direction. You have a claim upon my honesty, of course. You are my employer …’

Adrian sighed. ‘But I would not use that claim to make you break your word to a lady.’

‘Thank you, my lord.’

‘And I expect she will divulge what she wishes me to know, if I go to her tonight.’

He heard another uncomfortable shifting.

‘And I will not expect you to be further involved in this, Hendricks, other than to help me with the reading of any correspondence. I understand that you are a valuable aid to Emily, as well as myself. I will
not force you into a position more difficult than the one you already occupy.’

‘Thank you, my lord.’

‘This evening, I will take the carriage when it arrives, and whatever thanks the woman wishes to give me. I suspect that will be the end of it. You will hear no more of it.’

‘Very good, my lord.’ But Hendricks’s voice sounded annoyingly doubtful.

A
t a tap on his shoulder, Adrian lifted his chin to make it easier for the valet to shave him for the second time that day. He did not like the feelings of helplessness that the process of dressing raised in him. They were ridiculous, of course. He had stood for it his entire life. And it was done just the same as it had been, when his eyes had been good. But now that he could not see to do it himself, he sometimes had the childish urge to slap the helping hands away.

He focused on the letter in his hand to calm his nerves. When the mysterious woman in the tavern had refused him, it was because of what she could see, and not what he could. She had thought him slovenly and commented on his drunkenness. It had made him regret the numbing effects of gin for the first time in ages. She was right, of course. If he valued her company, he would need a clear
head to appreciate it, just as she wished for a lucid partner.

To show his respect on their second meeting, he must be immaculate. It was not a condition he was likely to achieve by himself, and he should be grateful for what his servant could do. He rubbed a hand along his own finished jaw. Perfectly smooth. He stood to accept the shirt, the cravat and the coat, and the final brushing of hair and garments, before his man announced him finished.

Then he walked the three paces to the doorway, stopped and turned back, setting the letter aside and picking up the miniature of Emily to drop it in its usual place in his coat pocket. It would serve as a reminder, should the attractiveness of his companion make him forget where his true heart and duty were promised. Tonight would be an enjoyable evening. But nothing more than that.

He travelled out of his room, took the ten paces through the sitting room, through the front door, and down the four steps to the street.

He could hear the carriage waiting in front of him, smell leather and horses, and see the dim shape of it, clearer at the edges, but fading to impenetrable blackness at the centre. The touches of vision that still remained were almost more maddening than nothing would be, for it gave the futile hope that the picture might suddenly clear if he blinked, or that a slight turn of the head and shift of the eyes would make it easier to see what lay in the fringes.

He calmed himself. It was only when he did not chase clarity that he could use what sight he had. A groom stepped forwards to help him, and this time he shook off the assistance, feeling along the open door in front of him to find the strap, searching with his toe for the step that had been placed, and then up and into the seat. The man closed the door and signalled to the driver, and they were off.

To pass the time he counted turns, imagining the map of the city. Not too far from his own home. This would put him in Piccadilly. And then, past. They travelled for a short time more, and then the carriage stopped, the door opened, and he could hear the step being put down for him again. The same groom that had been ready to help him up offered no hand this time, but murmured, ‘A little to your left, my lord. Very good’, allowing him to navigate on his own. When he had gained the street, the man said, ‘The door you want is straight in front of you. Two scant paces. Then five stairs with a railing on your right. The knocker is a ring, set in a lion’s mouth.’

‘Thank you.’ He must remember to compliment his hostess on the astuteness of her servants. With a few simple actions, this man had relieved the trepidation Adrian often felt in strange surroundings. Following the directions, he made his way to the door and knocked upon it.

It appeared the footman was prepared as well, describing the passage as they walked down it, opening the door to the sitting room and informing him of
the locations of the furniture so that he did not have to fumble his way to the couch. He could feel the fire in front of him, but before he sat down he paused. The air smelled of lemons. Did her scent linger in the room? No. He could hear her breathing, if he listened for it. He turned in the direction of the sound. ‘Did you mean to trick me into rudeness? You are standing in the corner, aren’t you?’

She gave a small laugh and he enjoyed the prettiness of the sound. ‘I did not think it necessary to have a butler announce you. We are meeting in secret, are we not?’

He walked towards her, praying that the confidence of the movement would not be spoiled by unseen furniture. ‘If you wish it.’

‘I think I would prefer it that way, Adrian.’

He started, and then laughed at his own foolishness. ‘I gave you my first name last night, didn’t I? And got nothing in return for it, as I remember. Perhaps a full introduction on my part will encourage you to reveal more.’

‘That is not necessary, Lord Folbroke,’ she said. ‘Even without your telling me, I recognised you last night. And you would recognise me, should you still have your sight.’

‘Would I, now?’ He paused to rack his brains, trying to place the sound of that voice with a name, or at least a face. But when none appeared, he shrugged apologetically. ‘I am embarrassed to admit that I do
not know you, even now. And I hope you do not mean to punish me by keeping the secret.’

‘I am afraid I must. Should I give you any clue to my identity, you would know me immediately. And this evening will end quite differently than I wish it to.’

‘And how do you wish it to end?’ he coaxed.

‘In my bed.’

‘Really?’ He had not expected her to be so very blunt about a thing that they both knew to be true. ‘And if you were to tell me your name?’

‘Then it would be a significant stumbling block to that. It might give you reason to be angry with me, or to discover a distaste or a hesitance that you do not have now. It would change everything.’

So she was likely the wife of some friend of his. And she thought him honourable enough not to cuckold a chum. ‘Perhaps that is true.’ Or perhaps it wasn’t. His character did not bear close scrutiny at this time.

She sighed. ‘I would much prefer to have you think me a stranger, and to kiss me as you did last night, as though you had no thought for anything but the moment, and for me. As though you enjoyed it.’

‘I did enjoy it,’ he said. ‘And apparently so did you if you are willing to go to such great lengths to do it again.’

‘It was very nice,’ she said politely. ‘And unlike anything I have previously experienced.’

Should he discover that she was the wife of an
old friend, he might be unwilling to continue. But he would have to hunt the man down and give him a lecture on the care and tending of his lady. Considering the state of his own marriage, the idea that he would give advice to anyone was laughable.

‘It pains me to hear you say such. There was nothing so unusual in the way I kissed you. You have been sorely neglected. And I would be honoured to rectify such a grievous error, if you will allow me to. Lips as sweet as yours are made to be kissed hard and often.’

She gave a loud sigh that ended in a little squeak of annoyance, as though she had thought herself too sensible to be swayed by his words. ‘Not quite yet, I think. We should eat. Dinner has been laid for us in the next room and I would not wish it to get cold.’

‘Allow me.’ He took her hand in the crook of his arm, wondering what he was meant to do next. Pride was all well and good, but what did it save him, if he did not know where to lead her?

She sensed his dilemma. ‘The door is in front of you. And a little to the right.’

‘Thank you.’ He walked forwards, and she let him guide her. He half wished that they’d cross the threshold and find themselves in a bedroom. Then he could rid himself of the tension that was building in him. But, no. He could smell a meal somewhere nearby. She showed no hesitation, so he walked forwards into the blur in front of him, putting his hand
out nonchalantly to feel for the table that he was sure must lay before them.

There it was. His fingers touched the corner and a linen cloth. He led her to what he hoped was an acceptable chair and worked his way to the other side, finding his seat and taking it and running his hand over the plate in front of him to familiarise himself with the setting.

Now the tension in him was of an entirely different sort. Suppose he spilled his wine, or dropped the meat into his lap without noticing? Suppose, dear God, she served him soup? If he made a fool of himself, he might never have the chance to know her better.

Adrian listened for the approach of the servant, and sniffed the food he was served. Was it fish? Or perhaps lamb. There was rosemary there, he was sure. And fresh peas, for there was the smell of mint. Problematic, for they would roll across the plate, if he was not careful. Better to flatten them with the fork than to chase them about the plate.

There was a faint laugh from the other side of the table, and his head snapped up. ‘What is it?’

‘You are glaring at your plate as though it is an enemy. And you seem to have forgotten me entirely. I am trying to decide whether to be amused or insulted by it.’