“Adeline, would you be able to occupy yourself for a few minutes? Perhaps explore the gardens?” Cordelia nodded amiably toward the windows, indicating the acres of park beyond the walls. “I wish to discuss my granddaughter’s future with my son.”
She spoke in her typical, sweet, and almost absent manner. But her eyes were sharp upon Winston, as though preparing to do battle. Adeline was grateful for the chance to leave.
Did she notice me staring at her son? Was I staring? Was he?
Adeline left with a thundering heart and a heaving chest, feeling Winston’s eyes upon her like a physical touch, one that could strip her naked at a glance. She dared not look back to see if he was still staring at her.
Chapter Four
The air outside was cooler than within. Greystone’s gardens stretched out in a haphazard sprawl of clipped hedges, overgrown borders, and ancient oaks that loomed like sentinels. Adeline walked fast, skirts brushing dew-wet grass, the thud of her own pulse loud in her ears.
He dared to silence me as one would a child! He dared to put his hands upon me!
Her stomach clenched. Her heart tripped. Her lips still tingled where the Duke had touched her. Her ear burned with the memory of his teeth. She licked her lips, tasting his skin, or so she thought. Adeline pressed her fingers against her temple, furious with herself.
How could anyone find such a man attractive? A bully. A man who enjoys intimidating. Throwing his weight around. That is not a man at all but a silly, little boy.
“He is arrogant, rude, unyielding and the very sort of brute I will never fall prey to,” she whispered to herself, a habit formed by life in a household where opinion was discouraged and voice was prohibited. She stopped, inhaling sharply. Arrogant. Rude. Intimidating and yet…
His presence had filled the room like thunder. His gaze had seized her as though he could unmake her with a single look. She had been ready to strike him, to wound him with words, but beneath her fury had lurked something else. Heat. An awareness of his nearness that unsettled her more than his temper.
“Foolish girl,” she muttered to herself, resuming her stride. “The man is insufferable.”
Still, her thoughts betrayed her, circling back to the breadth of his shoulders, the roughness of his hand, the unexpected softness of his voice when he’d saidenough. Adeline shook her head violently, as if to rid herself of the images, and nearly missed the movement in the branches above her. A small figure, halfway up the gnarled oak, spoke and disrupted her private thoughts.
“Of whom do you speak? My father?” came a voice from the mass of oak leaves above.
“Louisa?” Adeline asked, “Louisa Burgess, daughter of the Duke?”
She moved closer to the tree, under its low, spreading branches. She looked up into an intricate maze of branches, some asconveniently arranged as a staircase, and found herself looking at a young, female face framed by disheveled dark hair. Light blue eyes looked back. The color was the same as that of the open sky.
“Yes. And you are?”
“My name is Adeline. Miss Adeline Wilkinson. I am Lady-In-Waiting for your grandmother, the Dowager-Duchess.”
The girl frowned in a way that made Adeline see the Duke. But Louisa’s face was incapable of that kind of hardness. She frowned and then smiled.
“Welcome to Greystone. The house isn’t nearly as gloomy as the name suggests, and my father isn’t nearly as stony as his face suggests.”
Adelina laughed. The happy openness of the girl was refreshing.
“I am glad because they both suggest much,” Adeline said. She tipped her head to the side and examined the branch on which the young lady perched. “Are you supposed to be climbing trees?”
Louisa bit her lip, eyes suddenly wide. “Papa says it isn’t proper.”
“Does he now?” Adeline stepped closer. “Well, if it’s any consolation, I find most things that are proper quite dull.”
The girl blinked, clearly caught between suspicion and delight.
“You won’t tell?”
Adeline smiled. “I shall keep your secret if you make room for me up there.”
Louisa gasped as Adeline hiked her skirts and reached for the lowest branch, hauling herself up with the ease of someone who had done this often in childhood. She scrambled until she was beside the girl, who giggled behind her hand. Moss, lichen, and bark had rubbed against her skirts, making similar marks to those that marred Louisa’s clothes.
“You’ll ruin your dress,” Louisa whispered.
“It is impossible to climb trees in a dress and not have some mark of the tree left behind,” Adeline said. “Besides, I’ve ruined better.”
