Chapter Eleven
Adam entered Cavendish House with a scowl.
He’d rather be caught in a storm in the middle of the ocean than be there to watch fireworks.
Completely different sorts of explosives raged within him, but he couldn’t act unless he could speak to her.
And that was a slim possibility this evening, if she were in attendance, too.
He shouldn’t lament his fate, but his skin itched with irritation.
He had no desire, no patience for polite, insipid conversations, which seemed to be the turnout for every event where she wasn’t.
And she wouldn’t be here.
Not at Cavendish House.
The sound of the fireworks exploding outside annoyed him even more. If he were to see the fireworks, he wanted to see it with her.
He had no friends. Well, he had one. Jack Cavendish.
A businessman. Also, the owner of this house.
The man of questionable birth, filthy rich, and a mysterious magnet to the Ton.
They’d met after Jack helped him out of a scrap years ago, but his friend had yet to show his face since Adam’s return to London.
He scoffed.
And Adam had a sinking suspicion that even his host wouldn’t be around tonight. The man had been tamed by his woman. Something he had never thought would ever happen. But then, he’d never thought he’d have a true chance at love with Charlene Fielding either.
The house was still a crush.
His mother would probably scold him for choosing this particular event, but since he had yet to learn Charlene’s whereabouts, he felt more comfortable here. And he’d hoped, the smallest of hopes, to see his friend, too.
A good night was something to hope for as well.
Adam searched the room. To his surprise, in the back, he caught sight of the Earl of Linsey, the fiancé of one of Charlene’s friends, attempting to balance four glasses of wine in two hands.
His mood suddenly cleared.
Did that mean Charlene would be there, too?
He didn’t delay; he made his way over to the blond earl. “Linsey, how unexpected. Can I offer you some help?”
“Rotheworth,” Linsey said in greeting, allowing him to take two glasses. “Thank you.”
Adam gave him a nod. “No problem. I’m surprised to find you at Cavendish House.”
Linsey nodded. “Because of Cavendish? I agree, but the women argued it has the best view.”
Indeed.
“The view or the host?”
The earl scoffed, then let out a chuckle. “Both, I suppose, though they’ve only been greeted with the sight of one.”
“That’s Cavendish for you, absent at his own party,” Adam said, his gaze sweeping the room for that extremely familiar beautiful face.
His eyes found her, out on the balcony, her elbows leaning against the balustrade, facing her friends.
She was there.
So blindingly exquisite.
Linsey, catching his gaze, followed his line of sight. “Shall we?”
“Of course.”
Linsey led the way toward the women, Adam staying just a step behind him. He hadn’t seen her in fourteen full days, fifteen counting this day. And he couldn’t tear his eyes away. She suddenly glanced up, their eyes locking.
The breath knocked from his lungs.
A flicker of something—relief, maybe? Though he couldn’t be certain whether that was what he wanted to see—passed through her features before she masked it with an arched brow.
“I’ve brought the wine, ladies,” Linsey said. “And the Duke of Rotheworth.”
Adam handed off one glass before handing the last one to Charlene, who accepted it with a soft thank you. The moment she took the glass from his hand, her fingers brushed his. That small contact, a touch too brief, sent a shock through him. The jolt of awareness made his skin tighten.
She tipped the glass to her lips and took a small sip. “What a surprise, Your Grace, meeting you here.”
“It can’t be that much of a surprise, can it?” he countered. Three sets of eyes bored into him, but he ignored the burn. “After all, you are here.”
Her gaze held his. “True. But I rather thought you’d be somewhere else, raking the leaves of your estate.”
Adam’s lips quirked. “And yet, here I am, trying to rake in something else.”
“Oh?” She tilted her head, studying him. “It seems you have come to the right place, but the wrong group.”
“Have I? I don’t think so.”
A slight cough came to his left, and he pursed his lips, eyes never leaving Charlene, who flushed.
He let out a quiet laugh. “Forgive me, I find myself bewitched by the sight of… fireworks.”
She arched a brow, swirling the wine in her glass. “Fireworks?”
He nodded toward the sky beyond the balcony. “Yes. They are quite an exquisite sight, wouldn’t you agree?”
Her lips parted, as if ready to challenge him, but she hesitated. Then, ever so slowly, she turned her head just enough to glance at the distant bursts of color. “Hmm. I suppose they do have a certain charm. Bright. Bold. Impossible to ignore.”
Adam tilted his head. Was that directed at him? “Sounds familiar.”
“Are you suggesting I am bright and bold, Your Grace?”
“Not at all. Merely that, like fireworks, you seem to have a way of drawing my attention.”
“Oh, dear Lord,” a female voice muttered from the side, but Adam ignored it.
Charlene let out a soft laugh, the sound rich with amusement. “Is that an attempt at poetic flirtation? I hadn’t taken you for a man of such sentiment.”
“I have depths, my lady,” Adam murmured. “I had hoped you would know that by now.”
Her gaze flickered over him, assessing. “Perhaps. But even the ocean has depths, and one can drown rather easily, as you know.”
“I recall you to be a good swimmer.”
She didn’t answer, merely stared at him. A sudden burst of fireworks momentarily bathed her in a soft light, stealing his breath. Then, she drained her glass in a single gulp, setting the crystal down with a soft clink on the balustrade.
She smiled at her friends. “Excuse me for a moment; I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
“Do you need company?” Lady Madeline asked.
She shook her head and quickly stepped through the doors.
Adam’s brows furrowed. For a moment, he stood frozen, watching her retreating figure. He couldn’t bring himself to move. It was as though his body refused to obey him, too confused and baffled to act.
He cursed.
“Please, excuse me, too.” Without another glance at the group, Adam turned and followed her.
*
The deafening crack of fireworks rattled the windows, slicing through the muffled shouts of delight from the ballroom. Charlene winced and tightened her shawl around her. She had hoped that slipping away would give her a measure of peace to calm down her heart, but her thoughts swirled restlessly.
Her pulse still continued to race—how could it? He had returned. And his eyes, oh, those eyes, once they had fallen on her, they hadn’t left. Ashley and Maddie may not as well have existed!
Her friends’ earlier words rang in her ears. About competing. The duke competing for her attention? Adam?
No.
Surely not.
He only wanted to… rekindle a broken friendship.
He had, after all, not even called on her in two weeks. Not even a note.
She slipped down the hall and found an open door.
A small study with some ledgers on a big desk beckoned, and the window overlooked St. James’ Park.
If not for the spectacle of fireworks, the room would be shrouded in darkness.
She probably should not tarry too long. The thud of footsteps made her pause.
She turned abruptly to face the door.
Adam stood there, filling the space as if daring it to contain him.
His silhouette was sharp against the glow of firework flares—brilliant reds, greens, and golds flickering over his face.
His eyes gleamed, catching the light like chips of amber, and something about the way he stared at her made her breath seize.
“Spectacular view this evening,” he said.
“Oh, the fireworks, yes.” Charlene didn’t dare meet his eyes.
“No, you.”
Her stomach did something and her palms grew clammy.
“Silly to think that gunpowder is part of a celebration, considering it was the problem to begin with,” he said with that maddening calm, his voice carrying easily over the next crack.
“Ironic, isn’t it? Almost an homage to Guy Fawkes rather than a criticism of his shortcomings.”
Adam stepped farther into the room, closing the door softly behind him. “So you don’t think we’re celebrating the escape? We’re admiring the attempt, are we? How interesting.”
“Only you would find much of my thoughts interesting,” she said archly, though the corners of her mouth twitched upward despite her heart-pulsing state.
He’d followed her.
You had hoped he would, her inner voice whispered.
His eyes crinkled with humor, and he stepped closer. “Or perhaps you’re too clever for the others.”
“Tell me, though,” he said softly. “Why do you think this odd mix of powders is so celebrated?”
Charlene tried to ignore how close he was. “Because they’re harmless here, I suppose. Pretty in the sky. Predictable, tidy explosions. Nothing unpredictable. Except,” she paused, eyeing him, “perhaps when men are involved.”
“Are we still talking about gunpowder?” Adam’s grin widened. “And here I thought you’d credit the salts.”
“The salts?”
“Yes,” he said, leaning even closer, his voice dropping slightly.
“They’re what give those pretty, tidy explosions their color.
Without them, all you’d have is dull flashes of white and gray.
” His fingers idly brushed the desk’s edge.
“A pinch of strontium makes red, barium makes green, sodium makes yellow. Simple, when you think about it.”
“And you know this why?” Charlene retorted.
Adam smirked. “Because I was a boy once. Science was… useful for mischief. And such knowledge is always useful in foreign lands.”
“I would never have guessed,” Charlene said, her tone dry.
“About the mischief? I rather think you enjoy my mischief,” he said, his voice teasing now, edging farther into her space. His words hung in the charged air between them. She could feel the faintest warmth from him, and her breath caught as his eyes flicked to hers.
Another burst of light filled the room—green this time—and the duke smiled again, softer this time, as if he were just as aware of how close they were.
“Why are you standing so close?” she asked, her voice quieter, though firm, refusing to back down even as her pulse clawed for attention.
“Because,” he said, his tone low, “you haven’t asked me to leave. Neither have you run.”
His eyes bored into hers, and she couldn’t look away—she didn’t want to. Lord, her heart pounded so furiously in her chest that she half-worried he might hear it.
“I thought you lost interest in teaching me to dance,” Charlene muttered.
“I’d never lose interest in you. And even though I’d love to dance, this moment calls for something else, Lady Charlene.”
“Just Charlene. We’re alone, Adam. Just call me—”
“Charlene.”
“You were away for a long time. Without a word.”
He tilted his head. “What?”
Her eyes locked with his.
And there, he saw something other than reproach. That glimmer of magic he’d seen in her eyes before.
Oh, she should really run.
Before Charlene could consider doing so—she wouldn’t—Adam closed the inches between them. His lips caught hers, his tongue sweeping into her mouth. Every thought slipped from her mind—words, logic, all of it vanished.
Oh dear!
*
A protest should have formed, some logical rebuttal against this madness, but none came.
Instead, she wound her arms around his neck to steady herself.
Or was it to lean into the kiss? Both, perhaps.
Both, most certainly. His hands found her waist, pulling her close, and she took that as an invitation to lean into him.
He tasted of something unmistakably, maddeningly him even though they had never kissed before.
She tasted him in a way she hadn’t expected—a faint trace of mint, the undercurrent of some type of brandy—rich and warm.
It was strange but intoxicating, and her head felt light.
Charlene trembled as his mouth moved against hers, unhurried but purposeful. The friction, soft but steady, sent ripples up her spine. And behind her, somewhere, the fireworks blasted into the air as if they tried to shine as brightly as the feeling blooming in her chest.
She didn’t know if she was doing it right.
The kiss was a language she had never spoken, but she wanted to learn, wanted to understand every word, so she mirrored as best she could.
The sensation deepened even more, if that were at all possible.
A spark ignited—sharp and startling—and a soft gasp broke free, though she wasn’t sure if it came from her or him.
Adam’s hands shifted slightly. One moved from her waist to her lower back, while the other hand brushed the curve of her jaw.
His thumb made the lightest pass over her cheek, and she leaned into the touch without thinking, feeling her breath quicken.
His hand on her back pressed slightly, holding her as if he feared she might slip away.
I’m kissing Adam.
Of all the things she thought she’d ever do, this never even reached her list!
It was so… so… unexpected it almost felt as though she had entered a dream.
Were all kisses like this? This deep? This exploratory?
The man kissed her as though tasting her, as though he had all the time in the world to learn the shape of her mouth.
Charlene’s head swirled with sensation. She felt everything in sharp relief—the pull of his lips, the slight intake of his breath, the charge from where they touched.
Her pulse raced, her body humming with some unfamiliar, thrilling spark that made her toes curl.
It was a collision of want and recklessness, a breathless unraveling that left no room for sense or second thoughts.
No room for doubt.
Only want.
Her hands wound around his neck, drew to his chest, her fingers brushing the fabric of his coat. The wool was smooth under her touch, and she gripped it, pulling him closer. And she realized, with no small shock, just how much she didn’t want this to end.
And just like that, he broke the kiss.
He eased back, enough to breathe, her eyes fluttering open. Her lips felt flushed, tingling from his kiss, her senses racing to catch up.
“Charlene,” he murmured, his voice rough, almost hoarse. Her name on his lips sent a shiver skimming down her spine. “I don’t know what happened, but I did send you a note before I left. I don’t know why it didn’t reach you.”
He did? She could tell he wasn’t lying. Tension seeped from her body.
So, he had sent a note but it hadn’t reached her?
She shouldn’t be feeling so relieved, but she was.
She couldn’t even summon words—none seemed adequate.
Instead, her lips curved faintly, and her fingers stayed curled against his coat.
Whatever this was, whatever came next, she only knew one thing.
She didn’t want it to stop.
Which was exactly why it had to.