He arrived at her home a little early, rolling his eyes at his own eagerness. As previously, she came downstairs looking astonishingly beautiful in a silver gown with black trim. This time, however, the maid took a seat alongside her mistress in his carriage. Naturally, their talk on the way to the theatre was confined to the banalities, and kissing was impossible. He didn’t even lean forward or allow his leg to touch hers.
Nevertheless, watching Adelia fizz with excitement during the first half of the ballet was an absolute joy Owen would always recall. She was well-nigh glowing as they strode into the lobby for the intermission. But soon, he was reminded of one of the reasons she hadn’t been scooped up and married—the woman could make herself practically invisible.
Leaving Adelia and her maid at a small high table with beverages, he excused himself to the men’s retiring room. When he returned to the lobby, he could not, at first, find either one of them. He walked the lobby’s length, reaching the doors to the theatre before turning around. Frowning, he scanned the throng.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a movement and turned. Adelia waved her graceful, gloved hand. He had walked right past where she stood against the wall, next to a potted plant practically as tall as she was. What’s more, she was turned sideways in that blasted, awkward-looking position she always chose. Thank goodness for her full breasts and a generous-sized bustle, or she would have disappeared entirely in profile.
“There you are!” he proclaimed as if she’d been hiding.
Still holding a glass of champagne, Adelia had a beatific smile upon her face. It warmed him to know he was partly the cause by bringing her to the ballet. However, she was alone, and that irked him.
“Where is your maid?” he demanded, trying not to sound annoyed though he was.
“Retiring room,” she responded in her succinct way.
Well, he couldn’t fault the girl for that. Relaxing, he took in Adelia’s happy radiance.
“You are enjoying the ballet, I take it.”
“Oh, yes!” she said. “Very much.”
“What do you like best about it, if I may ask?”
“The story is so much easier to follow than a play.”
“Really?” Owen considered that. “Truthfully, my lady, I prefer actors to dancers. I have no idea what any of that flitting about on stage is supposed to mean.”
Her little-used laughter came out, enchanting him. That was the only word for it, for he felt utterly enchanted by her every minute he was with her.Was this how Westing first felt with Lady Jane?If so, he considered something special might be happening between them.
They had already shared not one but two perfect kisses brought about entirely on impulse. One moment, he’d been admiring her dimples and smile, and then suddenly, her very essence took hold of him and drew him to kiss her. He’d been overcome with wanting to taste her, to experience their first kiss. And their second.
Now, he wanted to do it again. In fact, he’d wanted to since the last one. Unfortunately, he had to deal with the maid on the way home. Perhaps he could slip the girl a few farthings to brave the night air and sit on top as she had done once before.
With that to look forward to, Owen was positively eager for the intermission to end and the next act of the seemingly eternal ballet to begin. Tonight, it had already been more diverting than any ballet performance he’d ever attended—watching how Adelia leaned forward, lips parted slightly in wonder, her eyes sparkling as she followed the movements. Moreover, she had a child-like, charming way of clapping emphatically, loudly, and a little too long.
Hopefully, she wouldn’t become jaded, ignoring what was on the stage for the mean-spirited sport of watching who was there with whom. He feared it was inevitable. Women, in his experience, ended up focused on the latest scandal in thetonor wondering how best to manipulate the next man they met.
When had he become so damn cynical?Probably from spending so many pointless evenings with vapid females, each and every one plainly hoping he would pluck her from the marriage market when all he’d wanted—to be honest—was to satiate a physical need. While their sole purpose seemed to be to get a husband, he could not say his had been of a higher moral purpose. Occasionally, he’d been a rascal, although not nearly as often as people assumed.
Thinking of cynicism and rascals, Owen spied Whitely, who raised a hand from across the room. As his friend strode over, however, he realized the female accompanying Whitely was one he, himself, had been linked with the prior Season for about five minutes. Owen had a prickling feeling this could become uncomfortable.
Miss Lucille Spencer, a distant cousin of the Althorp Spencers, came to a stop a mere few feet away, dropping into a curtsey before him. Immediately, Lady Adelia tensed. He could sense it as much as he saw it. Her face tilted ever more subtly toward the wall, and her expression became blank, her smile chased away by their approach.
Owen bowed in return. Then, to his amazement, Miss Spencer started speaking to him as if Adelia wasn’t there. She neither curtsied to her nor greeted her. To be fair, Adelia didn’t do so either and seemed to be backing farther into the leafy arms of the plant behind her. Regardless, it was Miss Spencer’s place to curtsey first, befitting Adelia’s station as the daughter of an earl.
Owen looked at the dark-haired woman in front of him, and a thought came to mind—Lucille Spencer had been a horrendous mistake. He’d taken her to a play, if he recalled correctly. It didn’t matter which because she’d not listened to a word of it, spending her time making sure everyone knew with whom she sat. He’d felt like the prize pig at a fair.
At intermission, he’d barely been able to keep up as she’d dashed from his box to the lobby to find her friends so they could whisper behind their fans about everyone they saw. After a few minutes, he’d knocked back his champagne and the glass he’d held for her. When she’d finally looked up at him, her cunning gaze glittered with conceit.
“I do hope everyone is noticingweare together, my lord.” Miss Spencer had made a point of laughing loudly and twirling in front of him as if he had requested she do so, in order to admire her.
In fact, she’d reminded him of a circus tent with a performing pony underneath.
Despite feeling a measure of disdain,occasionalrogue that he was, he’d savored more heated kisses with Miss Spencer that night in a dark alcove a step from her front door,aftershe’d dismissed her chaperone. She’d boldly encouraged him to touch her under her skirts as if a soft thigh and a surprising lack of drawers would tempt him to offer her his name.
Shocked but willing, he’d never believed she would let him do what they did against the brick wall. Nonetheless, he hadn’t invited her out or ever scrawled his name on her dance card again.
Adelia didn’t seem bothered about grabbing his attention every moment. Nevertheless, she had it entirely. And she didn’t seem to want to attract anyone else’s notice, either. He considered her above such pomp and vanity, a woman of a different caliber, such as Westing’s Lady Jane.
