Amanda Scott (24 page)

“I declare, sir, I am perishing for thirst. Is there not a punch bowl set out in the card room on these occasions?”

Responding warmly to her smile, the auburn-haired young gentleman shook his head. “They are setting up tables in the card room for the supper tonight, my lady, there being so many. Perhaps there will be something to drink in one of the two smaller rooms, however. Shall we see?”

“I shall be forever in your debt, sir,” she said, giving his arm an involuntary squeeze when the crowd parted briefly to give her a clear view of Chalford, who was looking in her direction, frowning slightly. She turned quickly away with her companion.

Dawlish did indeed find a punch bowl in the little supper room, and Adriana thanked him graciously if rather vaguely, for she was attempting to see if Joshua had followed them. He had not done so, however, and when Dawlish, regarding her more amorously than before, led her back to Sarah, Lord Clifford stood beside his wife, but of Joshua there was no sign.

“Your husband was looking for you, Adriana,” Sarah said, raising one eyebrow in silent query. “He and Mortimer were afraid we’d not get good places for supper if we don’t make a push to be part of the first dash.”

“Mr. Dawlish was so kind as to fetch me some punch,” Adriana explained, turning then to the young man to add with a decidedly flirtatious air, “You must join us for supper, sir.”

When he politely demurred, she would have none of it, insisting gaily that he would not be intruding in the slightest. “I daresay my brother and his wife, and my sister, and possibly my brother’s wife’s brother—dear me, what a tangle that sounds! Truly Mr. Dawlish, you would be doing us the greatest favor by joining us, for families, you know, ought not to be left to their own devices lest they bore one another to distraction. Please do not abandon us to such a fate, sir. Come with us, do.”

Laughing, Dawlish agreed, and soon after that, Chalford appeared, accompanied by Alston, Sophie, Miranda, and Mr. Ringwell. The latter bowed low, winking at Adriana as he did so.

“Ah, so here you are,” he said archly. “Chalford found he had misplaced you, and we quite thought you must have been spirited away by some blackguard. My sister was distressed when you slipped away, you know. She quite expected you and Lady Clifford to join our little party, at least until your respective husbands arrived. I fear you are in for a scold, my dear.”

Ignoring him and turning to Chalford, she said blithely, “Mr. Dawlish rescued me from thirst, sir, and has kindly agreed to take supper with us as his reward. Is it time to go down?”

Chalford acknowledged Dawlish politely enough, but Adriana was certain for once that he was annoyed. Despite his customary, unruffled demeanor, she detected a glint in his eye steely enough to give her a brief qualm when his gaze rested upon her. But when he moved to her side and said quite matter-of-factly that it was indeed time to go down, she placed her hand defiantly upon Mr. Dawlish’s forearm, offered the young man a brilliant smile, and strode off with him, leaving Joshua to follow in their wake.

The supper was a splendid one, lasting until nearly two o’clock in the morning. Chalford, although seated at his wife’s left, made no attempt to engage her attention, and Adriana, deciding that she had been mistaken earlier about seeing any odd glint in his eye, found herself rapidly growing as resentful of his inattention as she was of her brother’s frequent disapproving looks and barbed remarks, or Mr. Ringwell’s ill-bred compliments.

Throughout the meal, the inn servants saw that no wineglass went empty. Consequently, she allowed herself to flirt more freely than usual with Mr. Dawlish, her behavior growing more outrageous with every passing moment, reaching its zenith when she allowed that increasingly responsive gentleman to feed her grapes from his own plate. By then, thanks to the glow she felt from the wine, it had become easy to ignore Alston’s comments and even Sarah’s warning looks. She paid no heed whatsoever to her husband, or she might have noted both the muscle tightening in his cheek and a growing whiteness around his lips.

The orchestra began to play for dancing again at two o’clock, and when they returned to the ballroom, they discovered that the prince and a number of others had departed, making it possible to form a normal number of sets for dancing. Adriana promptly accepted Mr. Dawlish’s invitation to join one of these.

The dance was a spirited Scotch reel, and by the time it was over, her head was spinning as much from the energetic activity as from all the wine she had drunk. Dizzily, she clutched at Mr. Dawlish’s arm as he led her from the floor toward the long row of columns. Not until they had nearly reached them did she realize they were at the wrong end of the room.

“My party is at the south end, sir,” she said, putting her free hand to her head in an attempt to steady it. For some odd reason it had felt these past few moments as though it were too heavy for her neck to bear.

Dawlish paid no heed to her words, drawing her closer to the columns instead and looking down at her, his eyes bright, his expression nothing less than moonstruck.

Adriana’s eyes widened as she became aware of his intensity. “Sir, you must take me back to my family,” she said hastily. Looking around, she realized that though there were people nearby, no one was looking in their direction. All were trying to watch the dancers taking their places. When Dawlish attempted to draw her toward the corridor beyond the columns, she resisted, digging her heels in, wishing her head would clear so that she might think rationally. “Mr. Dawlish, please take me back.”

“You needn’t pretend now, my beautiful lady,” he murmured, lowering his head, his hands clasping her upper arms as he attempted to pull her nearer to him.

Adriana didn’t move. “Mr. Dawlish, I never intended—”

“Your intent has been dashed clear all evening—for days, in fact. Knew your man, too. Been mad about you since London, but your flirting was always so casual a fellow didn’t take it seriously. Married women have much more freedom, do they not?”

“Sir, let go of my arms,” she commanded, trying hard to sound firm but well aware that she had slurred her words.

He ignored her, yanking her sharply forward and lowering his mouth to hers without further ado.

Twisting desperately, she tried to free herself, tried even to use her fingernails to good purpose; however, since both she and Dawlish wore gloves, those efforts were useless. Finally, she brought her heel down hard upon his instep, causing him to gasp with pain and to relax his hold upon her arms enough for her to break free. One or two persons turned, then looked discreetly away again when she shot them an angry look.

“How dare you, sir!” she demanded, rounding on Dawlish furiously, her arms akimbo.

“How dare I?” he repeated, rubbing his injured left foot against the back of his right leg and glaring at her. He made no effort to lower his voice. “You’ve been playing fast and loose with me all evening, my lady—aye, and on previous occasions as well. ’Tis plain as a pikestaff you’re not indifferent to my attentions. You welcome them, in fact.”

Adriana spoke quietly in the hope that he would take the hint. “Sir, you have mistaken the matter. If I was friendly—”

“Is that what you call it? Dash it, Adriana, you can’t go about making up to a fellow for days on end, granting him favors in place of your own husband, and then simply say ‘no’ when he takes you at your word.”

“You’ve no right!” she cried furiously, lifting her hand.

He caught it in a strong grip, forcing it back to her side. Then he grabbed her upper arms again, giving her a rough shake and saying vehemently, “There’s a word for females like you, and although until tonight I certainly didn’t take you for one of them, I have been brought to recognize my error. You’re no more than a damned flirt, a tease—indeed, madam, not to mince words, I tell you to your face that you are an unconscionable cockchafer and deserve to be taught a lesson.” His hands tightened upon her arms bruisingly as he forced her behind the columns into the corridor. Though she struggled, she knew that this time it would take more than a heel to his instep to make him release her.

Suddenly, another, more powerful hand clamped her left shoulder, wrenching her free of the startled Dawlish’s grasp and sending her spinning into the nearest column with a force that stunned her. She was not so dazed, however, that she did not recognize her rescuer and thrill to see him there. Nor did she fail to observe—indeed, to revel in—the heavy blow that knocked Dawlish to the floor. He lay there, unmoving, but Joshua did not stay to see what damage he had wrought. Instead, he turned on his heel and made straight for his wife, ignoring the gasps and gapes of a rapidly increasing group of astonished onlookers.

He was upon her before she could gather her wits or close her mouth, and no matter how strongly she might wish she could become one with the column behind her, there was no way to elude him when his hand shot out to grab hers. Jerking her forward, he clamped her hand into the crook of his elbow, bending to mutter coldly and for her ears alone, “He was right about one thing, madam: you deserve a lesson, and so help me God, you’ll get it here and now if you defy me. We are leaving.”

Shocked to her toes by what he had done to Dawlish and sharply aware now of their interested audience, Adriana flushed scarlet with embarrassment but didn’t for a moment consider arguing with him. Indeed, it was all she could do to keep up with him, for Joshua strode across the ballroom toward the entrance without looking to right or left, the crowd parting before him like wheat before a whirlwind as whispered reports of what had happened flew ahead of them.

Outside in the square, he brusquely ordered the Clifford carriage to be brought around, and while they waited, Adriana, no longer feeling the least effect from the wine, attempted to compose herself. Joshua said nothing.

Inside the carriage, as they passed from Castle Square into East Street, she turned to him, anxious to explain the whole thing to him. “Please, Joshua, I—”

“You will keep silent,” he said abruptly, with so much ice in his voice that a chill raced down her spine, causing her to shift uncomfortably on her seat. The journey back to Clifford House was accomplished in glacial silence.

When they arrived, Joshua sent the carriage back to the Castle to await Lord and Lady Clifford, for Adriana and Sarah had sent their phaeton home upon arriving at the inn, having expected to return in the larger carriage with their husbands. Inside the house, the porter, after taking one look at the wintry marquess, said not a word as they passed him on their way to the stairway.

When Adriana hesitated on the first landing, Chalford said in the same frigid tone he had used earlier, “We are going up to your bedchamber. I do not wish to be disturbed.”

His words triggered a vivid memory of Mr. Dawlish as she had last seen him, making her marvel at the fact that she had ever mistaken her husband for a placid, nonviolent man, and reminding her of his suggestion that Villiers ought to beat his Sally. When next she remembered what he had said to her before their dramatic exit from the ballroom, she experienced a frisson of fear. She had wanted to discover what would put him in a rage and she had certainly accomplished her purpose, but the result was much more than she had bargained for. Though his frosty anger was nothing like the fury she was accustomed to igniting in her brother or her father, it was a good deal more frightening. She shivered again when they reached the door to her bedchamber. What on earth did he intend to do to her?

Joshua pushed the door open and Adriana hurried inside the dimly lamplit room, moving quickly to the far side, where she turned, her back against the wall. “Please, Joshua, you must let me explain. It wasn’t what you thought!”

He shut the door with a snap, and his chilly gaze met hers across the room. “You are mistaken,” he said, making no attempt to move from where he stood. “It was precisely what I thought.”

“He misunderstood my flirting. He tried to force me,” she protested. “The things he said! You cannot know—”

“I heard exactly what he said,” he interrupted coldly, “and I know that you deserved to hear every word. You led him to expect that he would find you an easy conquest, and when he responded to the lures you had been throwing out to him all evening, you chose to be offended. The name he called you was not a pretty one, certainly, but tonight it fitted you very well. This is not the first time I have been privileged to witness such behavior from you, but I will tell you here and now that it had better be the last. I have made allowances in the past—for your youth, your boredom, and for your lack of a mother to guide you in such matters—but I’ll make allowances no longer.”

Her eyes were like saucers. “You’re really angry with me.”

“Can you be surprised if I am?” he demanded. “Do you dare to tell me that you do not deserve my anger?”

She didn’t want to answer. If he was going to scold her, she wanted him to shout, to bluster—in short, to do the thing the way she was accustomed to having it done. She would bow her head before his wrath, and when it was spent, she would apologize and explain, and that would be that until the next time.

“Well?”

She swallowed uncomfortably, but he only waited, looking at her with that steely glint in his eyes, his very silence demanding a response. “I didn’t think you would get so angry,” she said at last. “You said nothing at all when I let him take me down to supper. When you spoke as you did after you hit him, I thought you were angry with him because of what he said to me and a little angry with me because people would talk about such a scene … about me. Was it all me from the beginning, Joshua?”

“I hit him, not you,” he said, “but I’ll not deny that I was angry with you. I had already decided it was time for us to leave. Had he not put his hands on you—” He broke off, then demanded swiftly, “Are you proud of your behavior tonight, Adriana? Are you proud that you drank too much wine, that you allowed your foolishness to carry you beyond the line, that you behaved in fact precisely as Dawlish said you behaved?”