A Countess by Chance (2 page)

Y
ou look positively wretched, my man.”

Adam lowered himself into the chair across from his friend and host, James Leventhorpe, and scowled. Since leaving Olivia earlier, he’d been in a vile mood. Revenge should feel more victorious. Instead, he felt like a cad. That confused, slightly wounded look on her face had done something to him—affected him on a level he couldn’t quite identify. His desire for revenge, his resentment, had melted away the moment she’d turned those wide green eyes in his direction.  

“I am quite well; rest assured.”  

James took a sip of his brandy and quirked a brow. “Who’s the lady?”

Adam stared into the fire, watching the red-hot flames lick the air. “Am I that easily read?”

“I’m married, Huntington. I know the look of a tormented man. The scowl, the rigid posture, the distinct air of defeat.” He nodded. “A woman’s work, most certainly.”

There was little he could conceal from James. Perhaps it was his utter lack of civility, but the man had an unnatural gift for ferreting out the truth. He could press an issue until his target was damn near suicidal. It was a gift, surely. The War Office could use a man like him.

“Miss Wood has been trailing me all evening, if you must know.” It was a half-truth, at least. Annabelle Wood was the reason he’d escaped the parlor for the sanctuary of James’s study. She’d pestered him all evening, to the point of unveiled aggression. “She insists upon boring me with a list of her wide and varied accomplishments.”

“Take care, my man. That one’s been on the high ropes for you all season. And when a woman has her eye on a target, there’s little God or man can do to persuade her otherwise.”

As a single, unattached peer with wealth and connections, Adam had the distinction of being the most sought-after bachelor in London, and in the country as well, it would seem.

“Perhaps I’ll shock them all and marry a simple country woman.” Just as the words left his mouth, it occurred to him that Olivia fit that description to perfection.

James snorted. “Who are you fooling? One of these ladies will have you shackled before you can blink twice. My money is on Miss Wood. She’s tenacious, that one, and not without a reckless streak. She’ll do what it takes to get you to the finish line.”

Adam tilted his head back and released a heavy breath. How had they gotten around to Miss Wood again? “Tell me about your wife’s cousin, Miss Dewhurst. What is her situation?”

Two years ago she’d jilted him for a wealthier prospect. The bet today had him wondering. Was she in dire straits? Was that why she’d proposed the wager? Did she intend to entrap him?

James shook his head. “Don’t trudge down that road, my man. Women aren’t creatures to be trusted, mark my words. They will scheme and cajole to get what they want. And those tears, my God, were sent from the very devil to destroy us.”

“The scheme is mine, I’m afraid. Miss Dewhurst and I made a wager and I won. The prize is her virtue.”

James’s eyebrows rose in astonishment. For a moment, there were no words, and Adam regretted mentioning it at all. Who admitted to one’s own depraved character—and to a friend, no less?

“By God, man.” James reached over the small table between them and clapped him on the shoulder, swishing brandy over the lip of Adam’s glass. “You clever old dog.”

Adam lifted a brow.

“How I envy you. All the fun without any of the troublesome commitments—if only I’d been as clever. Miss Dewhurst,” he said with a whistle. “She’s quite the beauty. I wouldn’t mind—”

“All right,” Adam growled, effectively cutting off
that
unsavory image. “What the hell do I do? I can’t very well follow through with it.”

“Why the hell not?”

Adam stared at his friend. “You are a degenerate, James, do you know that? She is your wife’s cousin. I believe it’s your duty to defend her honor, or at the very least, feign an interest in it.”

Since there were no women in his life, Adam hadn’t any idea what the rules dictated on that score. He’d defend his mother, certainly, but she’d died while he was still in leading strings. One thing was certain, if he had a woman like Olivia under his protection, her pretty little arse would never leave his sight.

“My outrage extends to daughters, sisters and mothers, alone. Cousins aren’t in that class and are therefore welcome to tup anyone they please.” He smiled. “Besides, you couldn’t possibly believe she’s the genuine article. Even you aren’t fool enough to fall for that nonsense.”  

Adam set his glass down on the table and leaned forward in his chair, eyes narrowed. “What the hell do you mean by that? Why wouldn’t she be?”

James sighed heavily and hoisted himself out of his chair, then rummaged around his desk for an inordinate amount of time. After opening several drawers and spilling an inkwell, he came upon whatever it was he was looking for, at the bottom of a pile of papers on his desk. He lowered himself back into his chair and slapped the paper into Adam’s lap. “Read it and weep, my man. Schemers, the lot of them, I’m telling you.”

His eyes quickly scanned the scandal sheet James had thrust at him. A caricature was prominent in the center of the page. A woman in a curricle, her skirts hiked up to her knees, straddled a gentleman as he fought off a swarm of bees. Along the bottom, in bold letters, the caption read: “Ms. D—offers her favors to the dashing Earl of W—on a morning ride through Hyde park. Who will prevail, our persistent Miss D—or the unrelenting bees?”

Something cold and hollow struck Adam’s chest. Had she given herself to that fop Whitmore before his unfortunate encounter with the bees? No, it was preposterous, surely.

Adam balled up the newssheet and tossed it into the fire. “It’s a blasted scandal sheet. None of it is true.”

James shrugged. “You can’t be certain. She had nothing to bring to the match, except, well…what she was given naturally. And if she’s already been tried…” James shrugged. “Then there’s no need to wrestle with your conscience. You need only discover the truth, simple as that.”

Adam glanced sharply at James. “And how exactly do you propose I do that?”

“There are ways to tell if a woman is still a virgin,” he said, as though talking to a simpleton. “The incident happened in a curricle, did it not?”

“Evidently.” Where in God’s name was he going with this?

“Well, there it is, then!”

Adam rubbed his right temple, where a headache was beginning to bloom. “Where
what
is, precisely? You aren’t making any damn sense.”

James sighed, as though the answer were obvious. “See how she reacts to the word ‘curricle.’ If she reacts poorly, then you have your answer.”

Adam stared at him. He had a feeling it was a great more complicated than that. “Suppose I do ask her and she reacts poorly, as you say. What does that signify? Nothing. It doesn’t help me in the least.”

“Must I spell it out for you? If she blanches, then you can safely assume she’s been tried. Then you may pursue her without injury to your conscience. It’s really quite simple.”

Simple. Adam shook his head. This situation was anything but that.

Olivia made it a point to ignore Adam the rest of the evening—which would have been easier if he’d actually been present. It was excessively uncharitable of him. His absence deprived her of looking disinterested, which she certainly was. Instead, he was God knew where, and Olivia was left glancing at the door every half-second, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, so she could
then
proceed to ignore him.

Finally, around ten o’clock, he sauntered into the room, looking as handsome as sin. He wore a black coat and breeches, a cream-colored waistcoat and a wicked smile that made her skin flush. It was shameful how quickly her body reacted to him.

Every lady present, married and unmarried alike, watched as he moved across the room, smooth, self-assured, like a lion on the prowl. He was captivating—his carriage perfection, his countenance unequaled, his character sparkling—everything that recommended a man. But beneath that impeccable visage was a soul drenched in vice and depravity. She smiled to herself, remembering the sting of his crop against her naked flesh. Did these women know how deliciously wicked he could be? It was…exhilarating, and against all reason, she wanted
more
.

From across the room, his eyes caught hers.

Her heart leapt into her throat. Even at such a distance, she could feel the heat of his gaze, the cold command in those deep brown eyes.

With a startled breath, she quickly shifted her gaze to the gentleman she’d been speaking to—Annabelle’s eldest brother, Mr. Wood. She smiled at him sweetly. “Yes, yes, I agree. Constellations are quite fascinating, though I must confess, they are difficult for me to identify.”

Mr. Wood’s lips stretched into a smile. His smooth, boyish features were really quite attractive in a subtle, charming sort of way. Olivia wondered how good he was at Whist. If she could win a few shillings, it would be enough to send home to pay the doctor. He’d refused to see Father again until his outstanding bill had been paid in full. Meanwhile, her father’s cough was getting worse.

“You surprise me, Miss Dewhurst. I hadn’t taken you for a bluestocking.” His tone was light, teasing.

She winked brazenly. It would be best to get him in a jolly mood—the better he felt, the looser his pockets would be at the gaming table—or so her father had taught her. It had yet to fail. “Is that meant to be a compliment? I do read a great deal.”

Her words trailed off when one of the guests tapped the side of his wine glass. “Attention everyone, I have an announcement to make.” Silence fell over the room as everyone turned toward the pianoforte, where Lord Wallingford stood with Miss Daphne Hayward tucked at his side. “It’s my great honor to announce that Miss Hayward has made me the happiest of men and consented to be my wife. We shall marry immediately.”

An animated murmur rippled through the room as everyone rushed to congratulate the couple. Olivia could hardly believe the news. Daphne had been waiting
years
for a proposal from Wallingford. So why did she look so shocked, so utterly confounded?

Olivia was just contemplating the possibilities when she felt a presence behind her.

Without daring a glimpse, she knew who it was. A shiver rolled down her spine. He was close, his chest mere inches away—heat radiated off him, surrounding her, enveloping her like a cocoon.

“Mr. Wood.” From behind, Adam’s deep voice vibrated through her. “You don’t mind if I borrow Miss Dewhurst.” He imbued the words with such authority, Mr. Wood merely blinked at him, mute. Adam took her by the elbow and led her away, into a corner concealed by a giant potted palm.

For several long seconds, there was only silence. Then, “What precisely are you doing?” he asked.  

She yanked her arm out of his grasp. “I could ask you the same. Everyone is looking at us.”

“Everyone is looking at
them
.” He lifted his chin, indicating Daphne through the palm fronds. She was sprinting toward the door in a passion, Wallingford in her wake. The room was captivated by the unfolding drama, much too captivated to notice Olivia and Adam. Adam’s gaze slid back to Olivia. “What were you and Wood discussing?”

“
That
is none of your concern.”

Something dark flickered in his eyes—jealousy, perhaps?

“That’s where you’re wrong, love.” His eyes narrowed dangerously. “Everything you do is my concern.”

Oh, this was too much! “Since when?”

His lips twisted into a smile. “Since I won you in a horserace.”

Her mouth nearly fell open. He couldn’t possibly be serious!

“You won my
virtue
.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Besides, you had your chance yesterday, and you didn’t take it. Therefore, as I see it, my debt is paid.”

She moved to sweep past him triumphantly, but stopped short when his hand shot out and caught her by the waist. “Not so fast, love. The debt is indefinite, and until I’ve taken what’s mine, you won’t be giving it away to anyone else.” He looked at her queerly, suspiciously, tilting his head, narrowing his eyes. “Unless, of course…”

The way he tilted his head to the side, as though he were solving a perplexing riddle, couldn’t be good. “Unless
what
?”

“Curricle,” he said sharply, as though testing the word on his lips.

She blinked up at him, expecting him to elaborate. When he didn’t, she wondered if he might be waiting for an answer. “Curricle,” she repeated slowly.

He continued to gaze at her, intense, focused, as though she would utter something profound at any moment. Hands on her hips, she let out a breath and checked his pupils for…well, she wasn’t precisely certain
what
she was checking them for. Something alarming, surely. But they were clear, focused, utterly mesmerizing…

Remain focused, Olivia.

She shook herself mentally and reached up, running a hand through his thick, wavy hair, feeling for bumps or abrasions. “Have you hit your head recently?”

Head injuries were said to make people say strange, nonsensical things. Years ago, her uncle George had taken a fall, hit his head, and now insisted his wife was a goose named Matilda.

As she ran her fingers along his scalp, Adam’s clear, lucid eyes darkened with desire. He moaned, a low, throaty rumble that made her nipples pucker and tighten. A current of desire swept through her, hot and quick, like a jolt. She pulled her hands away abruptly.

He let out a breath. “No reaction to the word, then?”

“What word?” She blinked up at him. It took her half a second to realize what he was talking about. “Oh, no, no reaction whatsoever.” She paused. “
Should
I have a reaction?”

She’d never ridden in a curricle above twice in her life—once when her father had bought one—then promptly had to sell it to pay gambling debts. Then again with Lord Whitmore, right before the ruthless bee attack.

He shook his head and said something that sounded like “ridiculous” under his breath.

“Well, to answer your earlier question, I’m not giving anything away.” She glared at him. “To
anyone
. So you can happily be on your way.”