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tell her which scenes he had viewed in real life and how well the artist had represented them.

      Decima went round dutifully behind them, gradually relaxing as she saw the effort Henry was making to treat Olivia with scrupulous detachment—even the most ferocious of chaperons could not have faulted his manner. Her heart bled for her friend and, in worrying about him, she found she could forget her own bruised heart.

      It seemed pointless trailing around in their wake; Henry seemed happy describing scenes in detail for Olivia, she hung wide-eyed on his every word and Decima was growing thoroughly bored with set-piece landscapes executed with little originality and less verve.

      With her feet hurting her more than her conscience, she sank down gratefully on one of the chaises provided by the gallery and let her unfocused eyes rest on an academic rendition of the Forum.

      ‘My dear Miss Ross, I do declare you are asleep.’ The softly chiding voice jerked her upright with a gasp. Adam was lounging elegantly on the chaise next to her.

      ‘Ah! You made me jump! No, of course I was not asleep, I was only—’

      ‘Resting your eyes?’ he enquired mockingly.

      ‘Certainly not. That is the sort of thing my grandmama says. I was resting my feet, if you must know. I find dawdling round an exhibition is more tiring than a good brisk walk, although why that should be I cannot imagine.’

      Oh, give me strength… Adam was looking particularly handsome. Positively edible, a wanton part of her mind commented, making her blush at the thought. And it was painfully stimulating to be bickering with him.

      ‘Such mediocre work would inspire an ache in every part of my body,’ he remarked, leaning back and giving her the opportunity to admire long legs in elegant pantaloons, a superb pair of Hessians and—not that any lady should notice—exceptionally well-muscled thighs. ‘You may well sigh,’ he added, happily unaware of her thoughts. ‘And doubtless you are going to reprove me for being the cause of you being here.’

      Decima struggled to get a grip on her reactions, if not her emotions. ‘I did wonder why, if you are here now, you did not escort Olivia in the first place,’ she responded tartly. ‘Not that I’m not delighted to have her company.’

      Adam sent a quizzical glance down the length of the gallery to where Olivia and Henry were in ardent debate over a vast canvas, but said nothing. Decima wrestled with a defensive remark and wisely decided to stay silent. But there was a subject upon which she could talk, quite unexceptionally, with Adam, and now was an ideal opportunity.

      ‘I wanted to ask you something,’ she began, swivelling on the chaise to look at him properly.

      ‘Yes?’ he murmured, catching the hand she was beginning to gesture with in his and holding it. His hand was warm and hard and somehow she could not find the resolution to free hers.

      ‘Has Bates said anything about Pru?’

      He grimaced. ‘What has she said?’

      ‘Oh, I declare this is as bad as trying to discuss it with Pru herself! Every time I venture a question about how things are developing she blushes and prevaricates and will not commit herself.’

      ‘Can you blame her?’ Adam regarded her with questioning grey eyes.

      ‘No, of course not. I don’t want to pry. Only I don’t believe she is happy, although they have been out of an evening together several times. I wonder if I should speak to Lady Freshford about allowing Pru to invite Bates into the servants’ hall. Perhaps it would help. What is your policy about followers?’

      ‘Good God, I don’t have such a thing! I leave that to my butler.’

      ‘But perhaps Bates would not care to apply to him for permission to bring in a friend—after all, he is outside staff and not under the butler’s authority.’

      ‘I don’t imagine Bates’s love life is being in any way inhibited by a lack of permission to take tea in the servants’ hall,’ Adam said impatiently. ‘He has his own rooms here, over the stable. He is a grown man who knows his own mind—he could be entertaining a troop of dancing girls there for all I know or care.’

      ‘You don’t care, do you?’ Decima burst out passionately.

      ‘Yes, I do.’ Adam’s grip on her hand tightened and she started, suddenly conscious of the impropriety. Somehow the gentle grasp had seemed so safe and unthreatening that she had simply relaxed into the comfort of it. Had anyone passed by and noticed? She tugged and Adam held on. ‘I care very much that he is happy, but I don’t agree that interfering is going to make things any smoother for them. Would you want Pru meddling in your love life?’

      What love life? Decima bit back the words before they could spill from her lips and glared at Adam. ‘Let go of my hand this instant, my lord. And I do not want to interfere—do you take me for some meddling matchmaker? I simply want to remove every obstacle from their path that I can. Don’t you feel that way about your friends?’

      ‘My friends all seem quite capable of ordering their own affairs, Decima,’ Adam said softly, his silver grey eyes resting on her mouth in a lingering look that made her heart thud painfully. ‘I would not welcome their interference in mine.’

      ‘No doubt you have your affairs all perfectly in order, my lord.’ Decima made sure the emphasis was pointed. ‘And I imagine that you have very little in your life to restrict you from doing precisely what you want, when you want—unlike your servants.’ She got to her feet and jerked her hand out of his clasp. ‘And I am equally sure your fiancée will be delighted to know that you have managed to get here after all.’

      ‘I wish you would stop calling me my lord,’ Adam complained, rising as she did and strolling languidly after her retreating figure. ‘And, Decima,’ he added, sotto voce, ‘if you do not slow down I am going to have to raise my voice to carry to you and I am sure you don’t want that.’ She stopped abruptly and glared at him. ‘Are you grinding your teeth?’

      ‘Yes, I am. I’m in a very bad mood, if you must know. Thoroughly blue devilled, although I doubtless should not use the expression. And you, my lord, are not helping in the slightest.’

      ‘An attack of the mulligrubs?’ He managed to look so innocently serious that Decima laughed aloud, suddenly back in the kitchen in Rutland being teased out of her sudden fit of depression.

      ‘I am afraid not, otherwise I could take myself off to the confectioners and indulge in a healing purchase of sweetmeats, just as your old nurse recommended.’ She linked her arm through his and allowed herself to be walked down the long room. ‘Unlike the mulligrubs, my bad mood has a number of very real causes.’

      ‘Tell me.’ She felt his arm close against his side, pressing her hand against warm cloth. Under her knuckles she fancied she could feel his heart beat, and her own tripped in response. Decima knew that to feel angry with Henry for failing to resist the chance to be with Olivia was being thoroughly hypocritical—she was being just as bad herself.

      ‘I am worried about Pru and Bates. Hen—A friend of mine is unhappy and there is nothing I can do to help, and, to crown it all, Charlton is coming to town.’

      ‘Wonderful! No, I don’t mean the troubles of Pru and your friend, but I will be intrigued to meet the legendary Charlton. I’m sure you have been slandering the man and he will prove to be a fire-eater whose wrath I must dread in case he ever finds out about our previous acquaintance.’

      ‘It would serve you right if I cast myself upon his bosom and told him all about it,’ Decima said warmly.

      ‘All about it?’

      ‘I thought we were going to forget about that,’ Decima said, struggling to keep her voice under control. It was desperately unfair that this was a man with whom she felt she could talk about anything, and yet she was barred by honour and decency from exchanging all but the most superficial banter with him.

      ‘We may have agreed not to

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