Candice Hern (7 page)

She gave a little gasp of surprise. "You're joking? I never heard such a thing about him."

"Women never do. Sometimes not even wives know about their husbands' second families. Trust me, my dear. Every man of the
ton
knows about that house in Hampstead."

"Oh dear. How very frustrating. It is indeed fortunate that I asked your advice." She sighed and took a sip of wine as she looked down at her list. "Harry Shackleford?"

Adam frowned, but said nothing. This exercise was becoming more distasteful. The thought of any of these men with Marianne was intolerable.

"What? Is there something wrong about him, too?"

He shrugged. "Nothing specific. Just a gut feeling."

"And what does your gut say?"

"It may sound odd, but I don't like the way the man treats his horses."

A puzzled frown marked her brow. "His horses?"

"Yes. He shows no care at all for them, and is a tad too free with the whip and the spur. He is downright cruel to the poor beasts, running them until they’re lame. And I have observed that a man who mistreats his cattle often shows the same disregard for his women. I don't trust him."

A suspicious glint lit her eyes. "You think I should cross him off the list?"

"It is entirely up to you, my dear. I am only offering an observation."

"Hmm. All right then. Lord Rochdale."

Adam almost choked on his wine. "Rochdale?" he sputtered. The fellow was one of his closest friends and a notorious libertine. The very idea of Marianne and Rochdale together was simply not to be borne. The man would use her and toss her aside without a second thought. Surely she knew that. "You're not serious?"

She smiled. "No, I'm not."

He heaved a sigh of relief.
Thank God
.

"I only wanted to get back at you for objecting to every other man on my list."

"Wretch! You almost gave me an apoplexy."

"Serves you right."

Her dimples flashed and she looked adorable, all curled up and cozy in her shawl with her feet tucked underneath her like a girl. Funny. He'd never noticed what dainty feet she had. Despite Adam's best efforts, it seemed some lucky fellow was going to tuck those pretty feet in a very different posture and wrap himself around her better than any shawl. Damn.

"Now," she said, "shall we continue?"

"There's more?"

"Lots more. It's quite an extensive list, you see."

She held up the paper and it did indeed look like there were twenty or more names on it. Adam poured another glass of wine. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

The tiny candlestand was crowded with empty wine bottles by the time Marianne's list had been narrowed to a small handful of unobjectionable gentlemen. She was a bit the worse for drink and not clearheaded enough to trust her perceptions, but she would swear that Adam was not at all happy that even so few men remained on the list. She had the distinct impression that he would have preferred to cross off every single name, leaving her with no options. And no hope.

Perhaps he was merely acting the role of an older brother, one who thought no man was good enough for his sister. Or perhaps he simply took his promise to David to look after her too much to heart. Either way, some of his excuses grew thin after a while. A man was either too tall or too short, too stout or too spare. His eyes were too narrow, his ears too big, his nose too long.

"Your idiotic objections have become quite tiresome. I am keeping Lord Aldershot on the list despite his big feet."

He groaned. "If you must. But have a care when dancing with the man. One false step and those dainty toes of yours could be crushed to bits."

Marianne giggled. "You are being foolish, Adam. Too much wine has made you silly."

"And you, my goose, are giggling."

They looked at each other and dissolved into sloppy, uncontrolled laughter, as they had done more frequently as the night wore on, and the wine flowed freely. What a sight they must have made. If any of their friends could see them together in such a state, they would very likely be scandalized. Marianne's shawl had fallen away, and she had long ago kicked off her slippers and propped her feet on the grate. Adam's coat had gone missing, his waistcoat hung open, and his neckcloth was untied. Shards of a broken wine glass littered the hearth. One empty bottle had rolled beneath Adam's chair.

"Stop laughing," she said, not quite stopping herself. "We still have serious business to consider."

"Thought we were quite finished with your wretched list. Please do not tell me there is another sheet tucked inside that book."

"No more lists, I promise you."

"Thank God. M'brain is all used up. You've no idea." He picked up his glass, found it empty, and groaned. "Devil take it, that was the last of it."

"There are no more bottles in the desk? We drank them all?"

"So it would seem."

"Good heavens. I may never be able to stand up again. You, sir, are a bad influence."

"At least your bed is just through that door. I still have to crawl over that bloody balcony."

"You can stay here if you like. I could round up a pillow and blanket."

"No. Bad idea. I'll be fine."

When David was alive, Adam had often spent the night in the sitting room when he'd drunk too much to attempt the balcony. But he'd never done so since she'd been alone. He was always cautious about her reputation. He didn't seem to consider that simply being here with her, drinking together like two men, could have the same effect on her reputation whether he stayed the night or not.

But he was right. Considering the topic of conversation, inviting him to stay the night had been a stupid idea. She only hoped he had not drunk so much that he would be unable to negotiate the balconies.

"You'll be careful? I don't want to find your broken body splattered to bits on the street in the morning."

"Egad, what a gruesome imagination you have. You almost tempt me to use the front door."

She chuckled. "Never say so!"

"Don't worry. It hasn't come down to that. There's life in the old boy yet. I promise to be careful."

Neither of them made a move to leave. Marianne, at least, was content to remain where she was. She suspected Adam was trying to summon up a modicum of sobriety before climbing back over the balcony.

She gazed at him fondly, wondering if she would ever feel as comfortable with any of those men on her list. It really was a shame he was not available. She wondered how he would assess his own qualifications if his name had been listed. But his name had not been there. She had been too sensible to include it.

"Despite the descent into silliness, you have been exceedingly helpful, Adam. I do appreciate it. You have saved me a great deal of time."

"Wouldn't want you to seduce the wrong sort of chap, would we?"

"No, indeed. And that brings me to the next problem."

"Ah, yes. You did say there was still serious business to consider. Now that we are out of wine, I suppose there is nothing for it but to get serious. What is it, m'dear?"

"Adam, I have no idea how to seduce anyone. You must teach me."

He shot her a sharp look. "Egad, woman, you go too far."

"But I do not have a clue how to begin. It's been years since I even knew how to flirt with a man. And the match with David had been arranged for so long, there was never any need to hone my feminine wiles to win him. I don't know how to seduce a man, Adam. What do I do?"

He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it off his forehead — it fell right back, of course — and he looked at her with a plaintive expression in his eyes. "Please, Marianne. I don't want to teach you how to entice a man into your bed. Don't ask me that."

"But, Adam, I really and truly need your help. You know how ignorant I am in such matters. But you are not. You are a man of the world. How would I entice
you
?"

He groaned as though in pain. "Don't. I beg you."

"Please, Adam."

"This is your game, m'dear. You decided what you want. It is up to you to figure out how to get it."

She snorted in disgust. "A fine friend you are. Who else can I ask? I was counting on your help."

"Ask one of those other damned charity ball widows," he said in an angry tone, waving a hand in the air. "Ask anyone else. Ask the duchess. Just don't ask me."

"I will ask her, you may depend upon it. But I was hoping for a man's opinion as well. Only you can give me that, Adam. How, for example, will I know if a man is interested?"

"Do not play coy with me, Marianne. You can't tell me you don't know when a man finds you attractive. A beautiful woman like you must've had chaps sniffing about your skirts since you was a girl."

She flashed a grin. "I thought I could tell, but I never knew
you
found me beautiful. That's a lovely surprise. But then, you're well and truly foxed, so I suppose it doesn't count."

"Hmph. Of course you knew it, you silly woman. How could you not?"

"It just goes to show you how dense I am about these things. Anyway, I wasn't talking about knowing when a man thinks I look pretty. How will I know if he wants to take me to bed?"

"They all want to take you to bed. Your job is to let the right one know that he can."

"And how do I do that? How do women let
you
know that you can?"

"They just do, that's all."

"But how?"

He gave a deep sigh and sank lower in his chair. "Arrange it so that he drives you home. Then invite him in for a brandy. That's as clear a signal as you could give."

"And then what? Do we discuss it? Do I invite him upstairs?"

"Leave it to him. The lucky fellow will know what to do, damn his eyes."

Marianne smiled at his drunken distress. "You don't like this idea at all, do you? This business of me taking a lover?"

"As a matter of fact, I do not."

"Don't you want me to be happy?"

"Ah, m'dear. Of course I do."

He reached out to touch her, lost his balance, and almost overturned the chair. Trying again, he finally made contact with her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. He allowed his fingers to skim lazily over her knee before he fell back against the chair cushions.

It must have been the wine, for Marianne could still feel the warm imprint of his touch.

"Of course I do," he repeated. "Want nothing more, in fact. It's just ... awkward, you know."

"I know."

"And I suppose I can no longer blithely leap over the balcony to visit you unexpectedly. I might run into your unknown swain, which would be embarrassing at best."

"I had not considered that. But I don't want you to stop visiting, Adam."

"Then perhaps we need a signal."

"What sort of signal?"

"Let's see." He looked around the room. "How about that orchid plant?" He gestured toward an exotic plant in a French cachepot. "Put that out on the balcony when you are willing to have me visit. If I do not see the orchid, I will not intrude."

"All right. If that will make you feel more comfortable."

"Nothing about this situation makes me comfortable."

"I just wish you would stop acting like an older brother protecting his charge and think of me as a woman for once."

Adam stared at her open-mouthed for a long moment, then burst into laughter. When he could manage to speak again, he said, "I promise you, m'dear, to make an effort to curb my protective instincts."

And then his lazy green eyes took on an intense expression she could not read in the dwindling light of the dying fire, but that look held her captive so that she almost forgot to breathe.

"I also promise," he said in a voice thick and soft as butter, "never, ever to think of you in a brotherly manner. You shall always and forever be a woman to me."

Good heavens, the man's voice sent a shiver dancing down her spine. Adam did not often turn his seductive charm on her, but when he did, it was potent. If just one of those men remaining on her list could make her feel like that, perhaps she would finally discover what Penelope had been talking about.

She looked down at the remains of her list. Which one would it be?

"I tell you, it was more than a man should have to endure, listening to that long list of potential lovers. I had to get drunk just to get through it."

Adam sat with Lord Rochdale in a dark corner of the Raven Coffee House. Their cups had twice been refilled and the remains of ham sandwiches littered a platter between them. It was an old-fashioned establishment on Fetter Lane, one of the few old coffeehouses that had not been converted into a private club or a tavern. A broad central stairway led up to rooms where business of all sorts — most of it legitimate — was transacted, just as it had been for over one hundred years. Rochdale preferred it to any of the gentlemen's clubs in Mayfair or St. James, since they were unlikely to run into familiar faces, particularly those belonging to angry husbands or others connected to the women in his life. They could sit and converse in one of the old church-like box pews with relative anonymity. Adam had grown fond of the old place as well. The low ceiling with its heavy beams made it dark inside even at midday, and the air was thick with tobacco and the smoke of oil lamps. Best of all, though, was the coffee, which Adam preferred to tea. Still an expensive indulgence at fivepence per cup, it was worth it for the dark, rich brew that suited his mood today.

He scowled at his chuckling friend. "You may laugh, but if I hadn't armored myself with drink, I could not have faced that damned list. And the lowest cut of all was that my name was conspicuously missing."

"Does that surprise you?"

"Unfortunately, no. She knows me too well, knows my history with women too well. No, I would not expect to see my name on such a list, but it was no less painful to see all those other names. I tell you, there must have been twenty or twenty-five of them. It was pure agony."

The dim light of a sputtering candle carved harsh shadows in the hollows of Rochdale's cheeks, making the grin he flashed appear all the more wicked. Clearly he was enjoying Adam's distress. "I sincerely hope my name was there. I would be more than happy to accommodate her."