Page 11 of Her Duke at Midnight
“I suppose so.” Adam shrugged, though Bennett’s worried frown had turned to something like interest.
“Then I believe I know the lady you encountered. Lady Fiona traveled from London with Cecily Wainwright, Dowager Countess of Bissenden.”
“She’s no dowager, Bennett.”
“No, no, she’s young. Bissenden was a man of bad habits. Worse than yours.”
“Thank you.”
“He also had a vile temper, and apparently, a fever took him while he was off on some hunting expedition. Cocked up his toes just a few years after marrying that lovely creature.” Bennett’s gaze turned almost wistful. “Good God, Cecily was a diamond during her coming-out Season.”
A wild, unwarranted flare of jealousy made Adam clench his teeth. He envied Bennett’s familiarity with the lady.Cecily.It seemed a fitting name. There was something quite proper about her, despite how her lush curves and full lips made his thoughts stray in the most improper directions.
“Come to think of it, I have not seen her in far too long,” Bennett mused. “Not at any parties or balls last Season. Not at the opera or even strolling in Hyde Park. She’s been in mourning, of course, but many women shirk those constraints in little ways when they can.”
“She’s not in mourning anymore, judging by the shade of gown she’s chosen for tonight’s dinner.” So much velvet. And Adam knew he was a hopeless wretch of a man because he’d already imagined half a dozen ways to strip that gown off of Lady Bissenden.
“Damnation, you rogue, you’re already taken with her, aren’t you?”
“No.” Adam spoke the word so loudly, it echoed in the high-ceilinged conservatory. His carnal nature had responded to her beauty, her curves, her spiritedness. She roused his baser impulses. Nothing more. But he wouldn’t give in to them as he once would have done quite eagerly.
He’d vowed to never again be the reason a woman came to the sort of misery he’d caused Mariah Caldwell.
“Good.” Bennett stared at him a moment, squinted one eye, and then let a bit of tension seep from his shoulders. “I’m relieved to hear it. Lady Bissenden is renowned for her propriety, though if she’s just out of mourning, she’ll be vulnerable.”
Adam replayed the brief encounter with the young widow in his mind. She’d been uncomfortable, almost nervous. He’d assumed it was the embarrassment anyone might feel when needing assistance, but he had sensed a reaction from her. That she noticed him in the ways he noticed her—that tangible, nearly irresistible electricity that sparks between two people who are drawn to one another.
His instincts were rarely wrong on that score, which made Lady Bissenden’s sudden turn to irritation confusing. But she was a mystery he needed to avoid.
“She’s vulnerable to scoundrels like me, you mean?”
“To any sort of scoundrel,” Bennett said defensively. He leaned toward Adam and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I know you’re a good man, Everton, and that you wish to change your ways. But I’ve met Cecily and can understand how such a woman could be a profound temptation.”
Adam shook his head and offered his friend a rueful grin. “One would think you’d be more concerned with Lady Bissenden based on my reputation.”
“Fiona Prescott is a formidable woman. I suspect she’ll be more than watchful of her friend’s well-being this fort—“ Bennett leaned forward in his chair until his nose nearly touched the glass of the conservatory’s wall. “There she is,” he murmured, his gaze fixed on the tall, blonde Lady Lara, who strolled Greenmere’s gardens with yet another lady guest.
So many lady guests.
“I understand temptation, my friend.” Bennett’s tone held that deep sincerity he used anytime he spoke of love or his fancy for a particular lady.
“Lady Bissenden is lovely.” Adam swallowed hard, willing the arousal she’d stoked to fade. “But not enough to tempt me. I have no intention of being the Heartbreak Duke ever again.”
CHAPTER4
“You lookas if you’re searching for someone,” Fiona quipped as she approached.
“Just wondering if I know anyone among the guests.” It was close enough to the truth that Cecily didn’t feel overly guilty as she took the cordial Fiona had selected for her from a sideboard where the Derwents had laid out a dazzling variety of refreshments.
“You’ll soon know Portia.” Fiona locked her gaze on a statuesque woman across the room.
The lady seemed to feel Fiona’s notice and turned to offer them both a smile, lifting her glass in greeting.
“She’s lovely, and she looks quite young.” Most of the widows Cecily knew, aside from Fiona, were decades older than she was. The prospect of befriending others her age who might understand her feelings was comforting.
“Precisely, my dear. She’s only a few years older than you are.” Fiona leaned a bit closer and lowered her voice. “And her situation was quite similar. Her late husband was dastardly, and she’s struck out with an admirable measure of independence in the last few years. She paints the loveliest portraits. Perhaps you could sit for her.”
“Perhaps I could…” Cecily offered her reply absently, her voice trailing off, because the man she’d been curious about for hours had sauntered into the drawing room.
