Page 72 of How to Seduce a Duke this Autumn
They would have to outright—
“Shall we go to the balloon festival?” Miss Martin’s question came.
“That’s a great idea,” his mother chimed. “Right, Adam?”
“I can think of nothing worse.” Unless Charlene was there, then he could think of nothing better.
Miss Martin pouted. He pretended not to notice. Then she gave a small sigh, the sort of sigh that carried too much meaning and not enough moderation. “I do love balloons,” she murmured. “So very… much.”
The emphasis on the last word alone made his eye twitch.Don’t lose your cool, Adam. Patience always wins. What he would like very much was the image of Miss Martin being whisked into the sky on one of those balloons and carried over the ocean.
He swallowed and reached for his coffee, only to find the cup empty.
Bloody perfect.
His mother leaned forward with a smile that raised the hairs on the back of his neck. “A little air and company would do you and Miss Martin good.”
“I have air,” he bit out. “Plenty of it. What I lack is silence.”
Miss Martin tittered. “Oh, you are funny, Adam. Please escort, please?”
Two pleases?
“And besides,” his mother added, clearly undeterred by his darkening expression, “it would be an excellent opportunity for Miss Martin to enjoy more of London Society. Connections are crucial.”
So was a man’s sanity.
“I can’t,” he said. “I have a business meeting that evening.”
His mother arched a brow. “A business meeting?”
His mind raced. “A business dinner, to be exact.” With Charlene. Perhaps a balloon view? Talking about the business of… them.
Yes.
That sounded like just what he needed.
“Surely you can postpone that?”
Not in this life. In fact, he now needed to plan. A romantic night with Charlene. When was this balloon festival again? Where would be the best spot to watch the balloons from? He needed to get a man on that.
“I believe I cannot. This is too much of an important appointment.” In the making.
He pushed back from the table, the chair scraping against the wooden floor. “If you’ll excuse me, I still have matters to attend to.”
Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and strode from the room. He had barely reached the staircase when the pitter patter of slippers behind him alerted him to a little unshakable pest. He picked up the pace knowing she wouldn’t be able to catch up with his strides, and since she would never enter his chamber, he made straight for it.
If he could, he’d scale the walls.
How had it become that he couldn’t even relax in his own home?
He needed Charlene. Or a drink. Preferably both.
Chapter Seventeen
The waning sunlightstretched long, golden streaks across the rooftop of the Crescent Pavilion Hotel. Adam stood rooted at the wrought iron railing, the cold of the metal biting through his gloves, though he barely noticed. His gaze swept over Vauxhall Gardens, alive with murmurs of expectation. The faint strains of music, the noise of the crowd gathering on the ground, the occasional trill of laughter—it all reached him, distant and diffuse, as if filtered through the fog of his thoughts.
Charlene should be here by now. She should be here.
