Page 73 of How to Seduce a Duke this Autumn
Yet, he couldn’t be one hundred percent sure.
He had sent a note.
He hadn’t seen her since they had escaped the garden of their last event. Not for trying, however. Every time he left his damn study or his bedchamber in the mornings, Miss Martin would pop up like a rat. Very well, he probably shouldn’t call the woman a rat, but rats also had a way of scurrying from the shadows and scaring the soul out of people, didn’t they?
But let’s not think about her.
Charlene.
She hadn’t responded to his note, but she never did so that couldn’t be used as an indication. He did, however, trust that she would show. She wouldn’t have trouble getting to the room, would she?
But her absence stung.
Where was she? Had something detained her? Had she changed her mind?
Behind him, the table was laid out just as he’d imagined. He now regretted the prematurely poured white wine—it would be all right for red, but this was ruined by now. Yet, two glasses gleamed with the amber tones of a heady liquid that had lost its sparkle; the chill of the bottle had left a delicate ring of condensation on the pristine linen. Everything had been perfect. Ready for her.
Adam’s chest tightened. He wished he could see her weaving through the knots of couples and courting glances below. His jaw ached from gritting his teeth, a dying effort to keep composed, but the ticking of his pocket watch felt louder than both the scraping of his jaw and his heartbeat combined.
Adam closed his eyes for a moment.Steady, man.Patience was the best companion when it came to a woman. And courtship. And whatever this thing growing between them could be called.
His fingers eased off the railing, only to press into his palm. He wanted nothing else tonight but to hold her gaze, holdher, and tell her that she meant everything. Always had. Always would. He’d planned this carefully, as carefully as the running of an estate. He’d gambled on the vision of the balloons soaring into the sky with her at his side, the colors reflected in her beautiful eyes.
He glanced up at the balloons before drifting down again. There was still time—or so he told himself.
And then a figure emerged amidst the crowd below.
Adam’s blood chilled.
Several foul curses lapped in his head.
The dip of the shoulders, the cocked head, the saunter far too self-assured—everything about that gait was familiar enough to burn. His fists clenched as his gaze zeroed in on the ridiculousgreen feather swaying in time with the strut. Rage flushed hot beneath his skin, surging, sharp and immediate, and he gripped the railing again barely keeping himself from hoisting himself over and causing a scene. And probably dying in the attempt.
His brother.
David Cross—a name like a bad omen…
If nothing else, that odd feather confirmed it, cheap as it was. It mocked him in its absurd falsity, just as its wearer always had—parading a painted pheasant plume as some grand relic carried back from distant lands. It was fitting, though. His brother had always pretended to be more than he was, fooling half the women in London in the process. Women who would fall into his orbit and leave with their hearts in tatters. So it was true, then. He was back.
The roar of his pulse filled Adam’s ears, drowning out the soft music and laughter. He took a step back from the railing, the polished toes of his boots scraping against the stone.
Charlene.
He wasn’t ready for his brother.
Adam didn’t even tell her yet how he felt.
Or about the possibility that his brother was rumored to have returned.
Adam swallowed hard. He should have told her that night in the garden. It had been the perfect chance. But he hadn’t.
What if she forgave David?
He couldn’t fathom it, but the thought flared in his mind nonetheless, unwelcome, driving against the furious pulse throbbing in his throat. He’d waited ages for her in every sense of the word. He would’ve done anything to make tonight, no, every day of her life perfect. And yet this—this affront to his goodwill, his dwindling patience, to his careful plans, to his family’s name—demanded something else entirely. All his plans for romance were momentarily eclipsed by the desire to throttlehis brother for real this time. David was here to play his games, ruin lives, and spread his vile influence in the serpent’s pit that was London’s social set. No one could tell him otherwise.
No one could tell him otherwise.
And Adam could not allow it.
