Chapter Seventeen #2
“Adam,” she called, lifting her gloved hand to wave. If he heard, he gave no sign. Her voice might as well have been a grain of sand against the noise—laughter, chatter, the sharp clinking of bells swung by children darting between adults. Her throat tightened as she called again. Still nothing.
Her determination steeled. His form hadn’t vanished yet.
Adam’s locks caught the lantern light in fleeting glimpses; it had grown longer, she noticed, the soft waves unrulier than memory served.
She hadn’t realized how much the sight of him stirred in her—the reminder of his presence, solid and near, always without hesitation.
But now, he seemed elusive, slipping just beyond her reach.
Charlene shoved through another cluster of chattering women, whispered apologies tumbling from her lips as she nudged past. At last, she saw him in clearer view.
He had stopped near a circle of onlookers.
His figure seemed to draw glances as naturally as bees to blooms. She exhaled a shaky breath, lifting her hand again.
Relief started to loosen her anxiety… until she froze, her smile faltering on her lips.
He wasn’t alone.
Then there was a woman. Dressed in a carmine velvet, she appeared first, her dress clinging to impossibly slim curves.
Dark hair tumbled over her shoulders, and red-painted lips parted in a smile distinctly designed to draw attention.
Charlene barely noticed the crowd’s murmurs or the faint trill of a street violin nearby—the world stilled in that awful, frozen moment.
Adam—her Adam—reached for the woman, his strong arms wrapping around her slim frame with staggering familiarity. And then, as if the very pit of her stomach dropped away, he kissed her. Openly. Unapologetically.
The breath caught in Charlene’s chest, sharp and painful.
Her pulse roared loud enough to drown the voices around her, though tears blurred her vision before long.
A numbness spread through her limbs as the scene burned itself into her mind.
Her Adam—her duke, the man who had seen her, knew her, wanted her—held another so easily.
Her knees trembled, threatening to give way.
A man bumped her from behind, muttering a distracted “Pardon,” but Charlene barely noticed. She wanted to turn away, to flee, but her legs betrayed her. She stared, unable to move, unable to catch her breath as he—no, this man—finally angled his head and turned back toward the sea of faces.
Her heart ceased entirely for one impossible beat.
The grin was wrong. Crooked, overconfident, and far too sly. The chipped tooth peeking at his smile’s corner stood as undeniable proof.
This wasn’t Adam.
It was him.
His brother.
David.
Charlene stepped back, waves of confusion and anger colliding in her stomach.
The crush of the crowd, the heavy scent of lantern smoke, the heat of nearly a dozen bodies pressing too close—everything clamored at once.
She understood his twin had long been a shadow haunting Adam, just as he haunted her, but to see this, to feel both heartbreak and fury in the same breath—she wasn’t sure how she would stand.
How could he be back?
When had he returned?
Had Adam known?
She couldn’t deal with this now. The world was a blur of motion and sound as Charlene turned, her skirts catching awkwardly on her hurried steps.
The air seemed thicker now, heavier, as if even her breath fought to escape her chest. Tears spilled from her eyes, their heat blinding her further to the chaos of bodies pressing in around her.
She pushed forward, arms brushing against coarse wool coats and silken shawls alike, murmuring breaths of “Excuse me” that no one seemed to hear.
The hum of laughter and conversations buzzed uncomfortably in her ears, louder than before, though she could barely make out the words.
She needed to get away.
Away from the suffocating crowd. Away from the sight that replayed in her mind, over and over.
Her steps faltered as the image stabbed at her once more—Adam’s arms around that woman.
And then, cruelly, her realization corrected the thought.
It wasn’t Adam, but his twin. His awful brother.
Her chest tightened, anger pushing at the edges of her heartbreak, but there was no comfort in the distinction.
The crowd seemed endless, faces passing too quickly for her to focus, their features swimming as her tears blurred everything around her.
One shoulder clipped hers, spinning her slightly off balance, but she stumbled forward, unwilling to stop.
She ducked her head and pressed her palm at her cheek, wiping futilely at the wet streams. The smell of lantern smoke mingled with sweat and cheap cologne, stinging her nose as she tried to weave through the endlessly shifting mass of people.
Her foot caught on something—a raised cobble, perhaps—and she stumbled forward again, breathless, only to crash into the ground before scrambling up again.
How had the day come to this?