If only Adam were not the most dear, the most kind, the most handsome, the most wonderful man in the world.
If only the mere sight of him didn’t start a wobbly feeling in her legs and clenching inside her body.
And if only she could turn into the sort of woman he might think of as more than a pesky nuisance—an unremarkable nuisance.
Oh, it was too bad. Certainly she wasn’t the kind of beautiful creature she had no doubt Adam could have whenever he chose. But what she lacked in classical beauty, she made up for in having a certain, interesting appeal, or so she’d been told.
She had shocked herself when she spoke aloud, rebuffing an advance he had only made in her imagination. Since she’d left for Mont Nuages Adam had never been far from her mind. Many times she had cheered and excited herself thinking of him making advances, which she was forced to turn aside. Of course, there were also dream moments when she gave in to him. All of that must stop now that she faced reality.
How long would he just stand there, staring at her as if she were beyond his understanding?
Oh, fie. She’d known her announcement that she never intended to marry was a risk, but Adam might at least have argued against her decision—even if he didn’t insist that she marry him at once.
Impossible dreams showed an optimistic spirit and she should not feel foolish for having them. In truth, she did believe he might be more than a little enamored of her, but he allowed completely silly things to stand between them.
Could she help it that she was considerably younger than he, or that she had been inconveniently born a princess?
He simply stood and stared at her. And she had no idea what he was thinking. Her breath stuck in her throat. Why didn’t he say something?
He gave a great sigh. “Foolishness. Of course you will marry, and marry very well. You will be a good wife and mother.”
Desirée watched his mouth as he spoke and her own lips parted. Adam had a mouth intended to mesmerize women—or at least, one woman, herself.
“Desirée? Did you hear me?”
Desirée, will you have me?
She copied the way he pressed the tip of his tongue against the edges of his upper teeth. “Yes, Adam, of course.”
“Good, then you will stop this nonsense and be agreeable about making this Season. After all, you were a child the last time.”
She felt much too warm. Perhaps she was feverish. That would account for her continuing to pretend he said things she knew he had not. She must be careful, concentrate hard so that her longing for him didn’t make her hear what she wanted to hear.
“Desirée?”
Adam’s eyes were a dark gray, his hair black, curly, and as overlong as it had been when she’d last seen him months ago.
He was waiting for her to respond. “I cannot go through all that foolishness again,” she told him. “Even as a child I rarely giggled and I have no interest in simpering for the benefit of gentlemen who are of no interest to me.”
“When you meet the right man, he will be of interest to you.” Adam turned his back on her and added coals to the fire.
Only Adam interested her.
He had a fine, straight back. Jean-Marc had called Adam raffish on occasion. Desirée thought her brother must envy a man who could be such a presence, so commanding and nonchalantly elegant when he clearly had little interest in fashion.
Adam was simply…a man. There was nothing vain in him and why should there be? Tall, well over six foot, strongly built—oh, he was so strongly built as to make her shiver at the thought of being in his arms. He had an air of quiet power, why would he ever need to posture?
He remained before the fire with one hand on the mantel and his head bowed.
“Is it so wrong to want to amount to more than a twittering thing who cares only for expensive frocks and gossip?”
“You fret too much for one so young,” Adam said. “This is your time for enjoying yourself. Be carefree, Desirée, learn to giggle and have fun. You are little more than a child.”
There it was again—she was little more than a child because as long as he pretended he thought so, there could be no question of his treating her like a woman.
“Don’t concern yourself with my little problems,” she told him, pleased with her steady voice. “I’m capable of dealing with them myself. Anyway, I have a plan.”
He faced her at once. “What plan?”
She drew up her shoulders and avoided looking at him. “I won’t bore you with it. How is Lady Hester? I should see if she’d like another visitor.”
Adam stared at her with narrowed eyes. He clasped his hands behind his back and approached her slowly, even ominously? She barely swallowed the squeak that reached her throat.
“I’ve missed…” Adam frowned. “I’ve missed your dratted cat. He’s a rogue and a beggar, but he is good company.”
“He has only been with me again for a few days.”
“A cat requires nothing of one but food and a stroke—and a place in one’s bed on a cold night.”
A cat, Desirée thought, almost wanted more of him than she did. She cared nothing for being fed as long as she was stroked, she hoped many more times than once, and as long as she might curl up in Adam’s warm bed—with him.
She blinked. Her final attempt to make him see she was the woman for him, was about to be launched. Her opportunity to woo him until he knew he must have her might be short, too short, but she would do her best.
It was time to begin. “You like a simple life, Adam,” she said. “And you have found one. Your paintings are a success. In London you are one of the most sought-after portrait artists, yet you don’t change.”
Adam held a hand toward her and Desirée rested her palm on his. His very white cuff had been laundered too many times, so why did it draw attention to the manliness of his broad, long-fingered hand?
He was smiling. “You don’t sound as if you mind counting a simple man as your friend.”
“Oh, but I don’t. I love it that you don’t have the airs so many gentlemen affect. You are—well, you’re just who you are, you’re Adam.” She was babbling. “And that’s quite comforting.”
The smile broadened into a grin that made her feel she stood in the sun. “Thank you,” he said. “Friends should comfort one another.”
His fingers curled around hers and he held on firmly.
“Why do you live here?”
“I beg your pardon?”
Adam’s startled response unnerved Desirée but she would not shrink away from what must be said. “I simply meant that you are a man of means and have no need to live in a rented attic. You could have a lovely house of your own if you wanted to.” And Jean-Marc might be more kindly disposed toward him then.
“I am a simple painter.”
“A painter who paints some of the richest people in England. Surely they pay you well.”
“You,” Adam said, “are impertinent.”
“I’m honest. If you have no money it’s either because you give it away or because you gamble—or perhaps you have great debts you must pay to people who are never satisfied.”
Her stomach turned over. His eyes had become darker, as they did when he was angry, and he held her hand so tightly it hurt.
“Don’t look so cross,” she said in a rush. “I’m sure you know absolutely everything about me, yet you are secretive. That’s not the way you should treat a friend.”
He released her hand and gripped her shoulder instead, and pulled her so close she had to arch her neck to look into his face.
“I am not afraid of you, Adam Chillworth,” she told him while she quaked in her half-boots. “But I am disappointed that just because I asked a question you don’t want to answer, you speak unkindly and bully me.”
“Bully? I would never bully you.”
“You’re pinching my shoulder. What’s that if it isn’t bullying? You’re not at all like your brother.”
Adam dropped his hand. He looked shocked; there was no other suitable description.
“How do you know I have a brother?”
She had not dealt with this at all well, probably because she had no experience of such things. “I met him.” She waved a hand airily. “He was looking for you but mistakenly thought you lived at Number 17 rather than Number 7. We set him straight and he said he would find you here instead.”
“When was that?”
“What a funny question. Yesterday, of course. Your secret is out, so don’t keep pretending you have no family. Mr. Lucas Chillworth was coming to you directly after leaving us.”
Adam hesitated before saying, “Of course. Thank you for giving him directions.”
“It was nothing. Adam, I don’t like my life as it is. I am considering entering a nunnery.”
Adam pushed the fingers of both hands through his hair. “Of course you are. Very appropriate, too. A contemplative life, absolutely. Silent prayer, now that will suit you since you have so little to say.”
“I’m glad you agree.” She would not allow him to goad her. “Will you help me find out what I must do?”
“No.” His voice was suddenly thunderous. “No, I will not, and I don’t know why you’re trying to drive me mad but you should be pleased with the progress you’re making. I’m going to talk to Meg and Jean-Marc. You must be protected from self-destruction.”
“I must be protected? Of course, you aren’t even a little self-destructive. That’s why you have estranged yourself from a fine and influential family.”
“You, Your Highness, don’t know what you’re talking about. You have spent too little time with people of your own age and have not learned that it is unattractive to challenge your elders on topics you cannot possibly understand.”
Ooh, he knew how easily he could annoy her. And, he hoped that by making her cross, she would become too agitated to defend her opinions. Hah, his trouble was that he was male and therefore he rarely sensed the danger in belittling female intelligence—and determination.
He actually smiled at her, condescendingly, and now he clasped her arms and…kissed…her forehead.
She would not swoon. Desirée rose involuntarily to her toes, encouraging the pressure of his lips on her brow—oh, sweet ecstasy. Then she grimaced and planted her heels firmly on the floor.
“How kind of you to comfort me, Adam. I feel inspired to be as demure, malleable, and mindless as any man could wish me to be.”
“Your High—”
“How dare you!” She stepped away from him. “You and I have shared too much for you to use my title in order to put me in my place. We have been on a first name basis for years and for you to Your Highness me now is disrespectful, not respectful. It is an attempt to make me less familiar.” She gave his chest a good poke but was immediately certain her finger suffered more than his hard chest. “It is too late. We have shared too much to turn back now. If we are friends there will be no more attempts to censure what I say.”
Adam slumped onto his couch and his expression became morose.
“Don’t sulk,” she told him. “Such a good-looking man shouldn’t spoil his face with scowls. Jenny More was remarking on how handsome you are, and that it was time you married and had your own children.”
Adam dropped his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes. “Jenny is so besotted with Latimer that she thinks everyone who is not happily married is deprived.”
“And what do you think about that, Adam.” She threaded her fingers tightly together. “Do you believe in marriage?”
He rolled his face away from her. “For some. A lucky few who find the person they need and who are able to pursue their ideals. For myself, I’d prefer never to marry rather than to consign myself to a passionless liaison. I should rather be alone.”
Desirée could not restrain herself. She sat beside him and settled a cheek on his arm. “You are not meant to be alone,” she told him, and put a hand on his chest, beneath his coat. His heart beat hard, and steady.
Adam lowered his eyelids to look at her and he smiled. He stroked the backs of his fingers across her cheek and his eyelids sank even lower.
Desirée never wanted to move again. She snuggled closer. Her breast tingled against his arm. Poor, poor Adam, he had a great deal on his mind, of that she was certain, and he was tired by it all.
“Rest,” she told him quietly.
He turned his face from her again and remained absolutely still with his hands relaxed in his lap.
If they need never move again, never speak again, or have a need to consider the world outside Adam’s attic, she would be content—almost. Perhaps not forever, but at least for an hour or two.
She peeked at his hands and frowned. They weren’t relaxed at all. In fact they were curled into serious-looking fists and the knuckles were white.
“You are troubled,” she told him, continuing to lean against him. “Angry, even?”
His eyes, she noted, were completely closed and he appeared to breathe evenly. And he was a bad actor.
“Why didn’t you tell me you have a brother?”
He compressed his lips and his nostrils flared.
“Lucas is delightful, and he cuts quite a figure. Good-looking, too. He looks nothing like you.”
Slitted eyes glittered speculatively at her. “You consider me ugly, Desirée?”
The question puzzled her but only for a moment. “Oh, Adam, you know that’s not what I meant. Your brother is good looking in a different way from you. That’s what I meant.”
“Hmph.” He didn’t sound convinced. “I don’t understand how you came to meet him.”
“I told you he went to Number 17.”
“And is Jean-Marc becoming frugal?” Adam said. He still hadn’t moved away from her and she had no intention of parting her body from his until she must. “Fired the household staff, has he? And now you are the butler who answers the door?”
“No, silly. You are being deliberately difficult. Verbeux heard Lucas’s name and took him to Jean-Marc and Meg. I was also there. Naturally, since he is your brother, Jean-Marc insisted he lift a glass with him.”
Adam groaned and scrubbed at his eyes.
“You are estranged from your entire family because you have disappointed them. Lucas seems very unhappy about that. He said he intends to mend the rift between the two of you and draw you back into the bosom of your family. He thinks you should live at Manthy House—with your grandmother, Lady Manthy, and your mother who sounds quite lovely. Lucas said—”
“What Lucas did or did not say is of no interest to me.” Adam sprang to his feet. “I have not set eyes on him in several years and intend to keep it that way, although I shall know his motives for sneaking around here behind my back.”
Desirée was indignant. “Sneaking, Adam? Of course he hasn’t been sneaking. I told you exactly what happened.”
The lines of his face had grown sharp and she was glad she knew the real man behind the flashing eyes and restlessly pacing body. The air about him seemed to crackle.
“You told me,” he said, “that my brother told you he would come here directly upon leaving Number 17. So why didn’t he come? Why has he still not come?”
The question puzzled Desirée. “I’m sure I don’t know. Perhaps he became too shy to approach you when he must know you care nothing for him.”
Adam pointed a long, blunt forefinger at her. “You are making assumptions about matters that are none of your affair.”
“I see.” She also stood up. “It is perfectly in order for you to ask any question you please about me, but you don’t trust me to know anything about you.”
When he didn’t answer, she continued, “Thinking about your family saddens you, doesn’t it? I can see it in your eyes.”
“I will carry Halibut and see you across the Square.”
“If you care for Halibut as you say you do, you will agree to keep him here. There is too much confusion at home.” And she didn’t care if Adam knew that she had in the past, and continued to use his care of her pet as an excuse to visit him.
“Where is your cloak?”
Let him be mean and break her heart. “Coot hung it downstairs for me.”
Adam awaited her in the open doorway. “Halibut shall stay with me. I thank you because I am fond of the nuisance.” He puffed out a breath and planted his fists on his hips. “Do not look petulant, Desirée. It doesn’t suit you. When you least expect it, a man will come into your life and you’ll know he is the one for you.”
He already had, and she had no interest in another. “Laugh at me if it brings you pleasure, but I shall not find a husband during the coming Season. If I must, I’ll go through the charade to please Jean-Marc and dear Meg, but it would be wrong not to be true to the vocation of my heart.”
“And become a nun?”
And become my wife?
“Yes, absolutely. I shall make you so happy.” Desirée snapped her mouth shut. It was his fault if she heard things.
Adam grimaced and said, “It would not make me at all happy but fortunately I know this is part of some game you play.”
Tears sprang into her eyes and she bowed her head. He should not see how little control she had over her emotions.
“You are the one playing a game,” she told him, although she shouldn’t have.
“Why not say what you mean?” Adam spoke quietly again.
“I don’t have to, you already know. And you know there are some things about which a woman can do little without the help of a man.”
Their gazes met and held. Desirée looked away first. He would do nothing against his will and he’d decided he wouldn’t, or couldn’t, consider anything more than a harmless companionship between them.
She smiled brightly and stepped past him, popping up to kiss him on the jaw as she passed. He would find out how difficult it would be to rebuff her.
“Damn you.” He caught her elbow and jerked her back into the room. “Don’t press for what can never be.”
His rigid face stole her breath. She could not be afraid, not of Adam, yet blood pounded in her ears.
“Do you hear me?” He laced his fingers at the back of her neck, pushed her face up with his thumbs. “Answer me.”
“Why can’t it be?”
“It can’t, that is all. You know perfectly well why.”
She had already shed too many tears. Why did her throat make it so hard to speak? “I know I shall always feel the same.”
“And I…I will not be a stain on any woman’s life.” Pained emotion passed over his features. He caressed her neck.
She was afraid for him, afraid of whatever terrible thoughts oppressed him. “How could you be a stain on a woman’s life? What is it, Adam? Please tell me.” She hesitated, then placed her hands on his chest.
“You should leave me,” Adam said. “Now.”
“So, if we ever speak of this again, it will be as if we are talking about strangers—just as you insist on doing now?”
“Desirée!” He bent over her, pulled her to him and trapped her hands between them. “You will drive me mad.”
“You never have to see me again,” she whispered. “You can go away from your attic and forget me.”
He shook her. “You don’t know then, do you? You don’t know why I stay in my attic.”
Before she could answer, his mouth covered hers and if he weren’t holding her she would have fallen.
The kiss wasn’t gentle or restrained. It was nothing she’d imagined in the hours, days, years she’d waited for Adam to do this. So quickly his mouth opened hers. The sound of his breathing, and hers, whipped like battling winds in her head. The only sensation was the pressure on her lips, the way he shifted his face, found another angle, and another, and pressed his tongue into her mouth until she touched the tip of hers to his, then grew bolder and reached, fusing them as tight together as it must be possible for a man and a woman to be.
Drawing back, he seemed ready to stop, but instead he pulled her top lip between his, lightly sucked her tongue, nibbled at her bottom lip.
He made a sound deep in his throat.
Desirée managed to slide her arms around his neck and pull him even tighter to her.
The feelings were much more than she had dreamed of in the lonely hours of wanting him. Her belly melted and liquid heat seared into her legs. The tips of her breasts felt as if they had hardened and they stung so that she rubbed against him to incite a tension she wanted to go on forever.
“You are irresistible,” he said when at last he raised his face. “But I must resist you.”
Resisting her meant that he touched her face as if committing it to memory. His fingertips on her mouth, her nose, her closed eyelids, her brow, were almost more than she could bear when she feared she might never feel his touch again.
She had to. “Kiss me again,” she said softly. “I liked it.”
His tight smile didn’t soften his eyes. “You liked it, hmm? Well, you have no idea how I liked it. If you did, you would run.”
There was the thud of feet at the bottom of the attic stairs. Adam and Desirée stared at each other, unmoving.
“Mr. Chillworth?” It was Mrs. Barstow, Lady Hester Bingham’s companion and housekeeper.
Desirée put a finger on Adam’s mouth. He shuddered and she lowered her eyes.
“Adam Chillworth? Mr. Coot says there’s someone here to see you.”
He drew a big breath. “Yes, Mrs. Barstow. I hear you. I’ll be right down.”
“Coot can’t climb all these stairs anymore,” Barstow bellowed, referring to the ancient butler. “And I’m not coming all the way up there if I don’t have to.”
Desirée had an urge to chuckle and promptly found her face clamped against Adam’s shoulder.
“Right away, Mrs. Barstow,” he said. “The guest sitting room?”
“Lady Hester’s boudoir,” Mrs. Barstow said.
Footsteps moved away.
“Who can it be?” Desirée murmured. “And why would they be with Lady H.?”
“There may be ice beneath the snow so walk carefully on your way to Number 17,” Adam said, and tugged on his waistcoat. He made as if to touch her face again, but dropped his hand. He said, “Forgive me,” and left her standing there, alone.