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down her body and an intimate pulse of arousal beat distractingly.

      With him she felt different, strangely confident, able to show her real feelings whether they were shyness or anger. It was an intoxicating sensation, to be herself. And then she realised why he made her feel like this. With a dawning sense of wonder Decima turned her head to look at the strong profile of the man beside her. I love him.

      Bates had Fox tied up outside and was grooming him as they walked into the mews yard. He straightened up and stared for a long moment, then put down his brushes and limped towards her, tugging off his hat. ‘Good day to you, Miss Decima, ma’am.’

      ‘Good day to you, Bates! And how is your leg? Still troubling you, I see.’ It made things easier, having to focus on someone else, to think about managing this carefully for Pru’s sake. Anything rather than think about the implications of what she had just discovered about herself.

      ‘Getting better, I thank you, ma’am. I expect I’ll be a bit of a Hopping Giles all my days, but it could be worse.’

      ‘His lordship and I did not make too bad a job of it, then?’

      ‘No, ma’am, and I’m powerful sorry my language wasn’t all it might have been either.’ He glanced behind her as he spoke and Decima watched his expression stiffen as he saw who was accompanying her. He had been expecting to see Pru and was disconcerted that she was not there. Good.

      ‘It was very educational, Bates,’ she said lightly, stepping past him to stroke Fox. ‘How’s my favourite boy, then?’ The stallion rewarded her with a gentle butt with his nose. Decima turned back to Adam. ‘We really must make arrangements for putting him to my mare, my lord. I will be staying in town for the Season and I will be in touch before I go back to Norfolk.’

      She delved in her reticule and then produced a realistic smile of realisation. ‘Of course, I have no card with my London address. I am staying with Lady Freshford in Green Street. Number Eleven. Green Street.’

      Adam turned as though to escort her out of the mews. ‘And is Miss Prudence with you? I trust she recovered from her illness.’

      ‘Oh, yes. She is with me. She seemed a little cast down—the after-effects of the fever, I expect—so I thought the change of scene would do her good. Goodbye, Bates. I do hope your leg continues to improve.’

      Adam took her arm and began to guide her back out of the yard. ‘Let me take you back to the house and Dalrymple will call you a hackney.’

      Decima said little on their way back other than to whisper, ‘That should have done the trick. If he does nothing now, at least Pru knows where she stands.’ But what of her? Would Adam make the slightest push to see her again?

      As they neared the front steps Decima saw that a barouche had drawn up and the footman was just helping down an exquisite blonde lady. She started slightly when she saw them, and stood waiting, a look of somewhat nervous anticipation on her face.

      ‘What a beautiful young woman,’ Decima murmured. ‘She is like a little fairy.’

      ‘Exquisite,’ Adam rejoined. Curious, Decima glanced at him; he had sounded almost sardonic.

      Then she saw the lady more clearly. ‘But I know her, surely!’ She let go of Adam’s arm and hurried forward. ‘Olivia? Miss Channing, I should say. I am sure you do not remember me, but I stayed for several Seasons with your cousins, the Brothertons.’

      The blue eyes widened with recognition and the apprehensive half smile was replaced by a genuine look of pleasure. ‘But of course I remember you—Dessy Ross, isn’t it? You were so kind to me, even though I was still in the schoolroom. You used to help me with my French recitation when I found it so hard.’

      ‘You are most certainly out of the schoolroom now,’ Decima observed admiringly. ‘I almost did not recognise you.’ Olivia blushed and demurred and Decima remembered her manners. ‘Forgive me, I should perhaps introduce you to Viscount Weston. My lord…’

      ‘That is quite all right.’ Adam stepped forward and took Olivia’s little kid-gloved hand in his. ‘I already know Miss Channing. We are betrothed.’

       Chapter Thirteen

      For a moment Decima felt as though she had received a blow to the stomach. All the air had left her lungs and words froze on her lips. She stared at Olivia as the realisation sank in.

      Of course Adam was betrothed to her—one only had to look at her to see why. Fragile, petite, ethereally blonde, with a rosebud mouth and a complexion like a white peach. Even when she blushed, as she was doing now, her skin simply flushed a delicate pink with not a blotch in sight. She was the perfect eligible bride. And, if he had set out to find a woman who looked the opposite of Decima, he could not have found better.

      Her voice came back and with it her pride, stiffening her backbone and putting a smile on her lips. ‘Congratulations, my lord! And Olivia, I am so happy for you.’

      ‘Thank you,’ Adam said gravely. ‘Olivia, is something amiss that you are back so soon?’

      ‘Oh, only that Mama left her library book—she must have put it down on the table in the drawing room.’ Oddly she looked somewhat nervous at the admission.

      ‘Then I must not keep you standing here talking,’ Decima observed briskly. ‘Good day, my lord, thank you for your assistance with that little matter. Goodbye, Olivia, it is delightful to have met you again. Come along, Margery.’

      The distance from Portman Square to Green Street was far enough for her to regret not taking a hackney carriage—not for the walking involved, but because she was forced to keep a pleasant countenance and not display any of the emotions that were threatening to swamp her.

      She dismissed Margery as they reached the hall of the Freshfords’ house and turned to run upstairs to her bedchamber.

      ‘Decima.’ It was Henry, emerging from the drawing room. ‘Did you find Weston at home?’

      ‘Yes,’ she said tightly. ‘He was at home.’

      ‘What is wrong?’ Henry came to the foot of the stairs and looked up at her in concern. ‘Decima, what has upset you?’

      And suddenly she was angry, seething with a blistering hot anger that she had never felt in her life before. ‘Is your mama here?’

      ‘No.’ Henry looked surprised. ‘She’s just gone out. Why?’

      ‘Because I want to lose my temper, and probably throw things and shout.’

      ‘Be my guest.’ He gestured towards the drawing room and followed her in. ‘I’ve never seen you lose your temper.’

      ‘I do not think I ever have. I felt so many bad things sometimes that, if I had lost it, I would probably have said the most unforgivable, horrible words and made it even worse. I have always been meek and quiet and swallowed it all up. But Henry, Adam kissed me.’

      ‘Um, you’re losing me here.’ Henry frowned. ‘I thought he had kissed you before and you liked it, and you were wondering if you were in love with him. Do you mean he violently assaulted you? Because if that’s the case, I’m going straight round there—’

      ‘No! I liked it, and I am in love with him, I realised it today. But when we came back from the mews and seeing Bates, there was Olivia Channing, who I used to know when she was still in the schoolroom. And Henry, he’s going to marry her.’ The rising temper caught up with her and she choked, ‘He kissed me today and he is betrothed! He didn’t say anything about Olivia—does he think I’m so desperate that he can kiss me and I’ll be grateful?’ She wrenched off her gloves, splitting a seam, and hurled them at a flower arrangement. They missed it by a foot.

      ‘You are a man—tell me what he’s thinking. That he can make me his mistress? I would be a laughable contrast with Olivia, that’s

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