LITMIR.BIZ

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in an overheated ballroom.

      ‘What are you about, Greaves?’ His valet was stropping a razor and regarding with some satisfaction his master’s newest and most elegant evening clothes laid out on the bed.

      ‘I had made sure your lordship would require to shave before dinner.’ He shook out a towel and waited patiently beside the chair, managing to ignore the singular lack of enthusiasm on his employer’s face.

      With a sigh Adam cast himself down on the chair and did his best to suppress his bad humour. Greaves did not deserve having his employer’s disappointment and frustration taken out on him, nor was it his fault that Adam was in the worst possible state of mind to appreciate the elegance of the new satin knee breeches or the gloss the valet had achieved on the dancing pumps.

      ‘I’m not in the mood for a party, Greaves,’ he observed mildly as the man whipped up a lather and began to apply it to his face.

      ‘No, my lord. I have observed, if I might be so bold, that dances at which most of the partners are in some way related to a gentleman rarely offer him as much entertainment, however select the company.’

      Despite himself Adam grinned. No, this was not likely to be the sort of party at which one could entertain oneself with dashing matrons or semi-respectable widows.

      He went down to dinner only to realise that more guests had arrived, necessitating the butler to order all the extra leaves to be put in the dining table.

      Perry wandered up to him, looking disgruntled. ‘I say, Adam, all the card tables are set out for whist for the old tabbies; we’re going to have to dance all evening.’

      ‘Well, find yourself some pretty girls to flirt with,’ Adam retorted unsympathetically. Perry was still at an age when girls were at best incomprehensible and at worst frightening. ‘What about Olivia over there? I’m sure she is your type. We’ll go over and you can practise on her.’

      Perry, suspecting teasing, shot a hunted look in the direction of Adam’s gaze and relaxed. ‘Oh, Olivia Channing. I’m sure she’ll take no interest in me with you around.’

      Adam put this down to adolescent insecurity and ignored it. The chit looked suitable for helping overcome Perry’s awkwardness—there was a sweet expression on her face and an air of modest shyness about her that was appealing. She would gaze at Perry as though he were wonderful and not make him feel threatened.

      Adam took his cousin firmly by the elbow and began to make his way through the dinner guests, only for them to be hailed imperiously by his Aunt Minster.

      ‘There you are, Peregrine. Stop gossiping to Adam about shooting or horses or whatever you are doing and come and talk to the admiral.’ She detached Perry from his grip, hooked her own hand through his arm and carried on in the direction she had been heading.

      Deprived of his companion, Adam carried on to Olivia’s side. She bobbed a curtsy. ‘My lord.’ Her voice was soft and slightly breathless and she regarded him with wide eyes.

      Too young, too spiritless and far too short, Adam thought, his mind suddenly full of a tall, unconventional lady a good eight or nine years older than this child. And her mama should never have dressed Olivia in that daring style with such low-set sleeves. It was more suited to a married woman. Then his natural kindness took over and he set himself to charm her out of the worst of her nerves.

      She certainly opened up a little in the interval before dinner was announced, although Adam once again had the uneasy feeling that she was constantly looking behind him at someone or something. As he took her arm to take her to find her dinner partner, he glanced back and recognised her parents. They seemed to be keeping a very close eye on her, although, with her seeming so nervous, perhaps that was only to be expected.

      Dinner was as boring as he expected, trapped between an aunt who twittered and a matron who showed a disconcerting inclination to flirt with him. Adam was aware of drinking steadily and of an overwhelming desire to escape as soon as the covers were drawn. What he wanted was an unconventional lady to talk to, to tease, to—

      ‘Grantham!’

      He looked up, startled out of his reverie.

      ‘You are chased,’ his uncle said sternly and he found that, indeed, the decanters were at his elbow. With a careless hand he filled his glass and pushed them on down the table.

      When the gentlemen made their way through to the ballroom he looked around for escape. Good, the conservatory looked like a shaded haven of palms, comfortable seating and solitude. It was too early in the evening for daring couples to seek it out for a little dalliance or for desperate wallflowers to retreat there to hide.

      Snagging a glass of champagne off a tray as the footman passed, Adam slid in through the nearest door and retreated as far into the leafy sanctuary as he could.

      Now, at last, he could sit and think in peace about what he was going to do about Decima. A swish of skirts made him stiffen and draw back. He could glimpse a blonde head through the foliage and the sound of a bravely suppressed sob.

      Damn it. It was Olivia. Adam eased round until he could see her, head bent, applying a fragile scrap of lace to her eyes. With a sigh he reached into his pocket and found a clean handkerchief.

      ‘Olivia?’ She started dramatically and stared at him.

      ‘Oh, thank you, my lord.’ As he pressed the linen into her hand her fingers gripped his and he found himself on the seat beside her.

      ‘Olivia? What is wrong?’ Hell, what did one say to weeping girls? ‘There, there.’ He patted her shoulder, wishing he hadn’t had quite so much to drink and could think about what to do for the best. Fetch her mama? She gave a gasping sob and the next thing he knew he had an armful of quivering young lady.

      Instinct took over and Adam gathered her into a comforting embrace, only to find that her gown appeared to have a life of its own and was sliding off her shoulders. Under his palms he could feel soft, bare, heated skin.

      ‘Olivia? You must try and…’ Her face tipped up to his, piquant with some trembling emotion he did not understand. Her lashes were spiked with tears, her soft pink lips parted. So he kissed her, a gentle, chaste kiss intended purely to comfort.

      ‘My lord!’

      ‘Adam!’

      Startled, he twisted round, instinctively sheltering Olivia in his arm. Facing him were both her parents and his Aunt Minster. And even as he stared at them he realised that Olivia was tugging at the neckline of a bodice which had fallen quite scandalously low over her pretty breasts.

      ‘Well, my lord,’ Mr Channing uttered in outraged tones, ‘just what do you think you are about?’ Beside him his wife could not quite keep the look of triumph off her face.

      Under the circumstances, what was there to say? Or even to do? He was caught by the oldest trick in the book. ‘Mr Channing.’ Adam got to his feet, keeping his body between himself and Olivia, who was frantically trying to rearrange her bodice. ‘I will do myself the honour of speaking to you tomorrow morning.’

       Chapter Twelve

      Adam refixed the interested and attentive expression on his face and made himself concentrate on what Lady Brotherton was saying. Four weeks as an engaged man was already trying his patience to the utmost, and finding himself kicking his heels waiting for Olivia to return from a shopping expedition with her cousin Sophie Brotherton was definitely not to his taste.

      ‘They are naughty girls,’ Lady Brotherton clucked indulgently. ‘But I am sure you will forgive Olivia her excitement…it is not every day a girl is shopping for her trousseau.’

      In Adam’s experience so far it seemed to be occupying Olivia’s every waking moment, which suited him very well, except when he was having to wait for her.

      ‘But you know what girls are,’ his

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