CHAPTER EIGHT

In the darkness of the billiard room, heavy shadows had formed as the men smoked and drank together.

Adam stood at the side with Lionel, watching Lord Sternwood and Lord Pinkerton play. Pinkerton was by far the worse for drink between the two and almost scratched the table with his cue on his third attempt to strike the ball.

Adam had noticed Frederick hovering behind him, but it was only when Lionel stepped away to refresh his drink that Frederick finally approached him.

“It has been a few months since I saw you, cousin,” Frederick said with a smile. Adam had deliberately distanced himself from that side of the family, but he noted the familiarity Frederick tried to inject into his tone.

“I hope your mother is doing better,” he offered.

“She is; thank you for the flowers you sent. I owe you an apology, nonetheless, as I was unable to attend Anastasia’s funeral. My mother’s health was much afflicted at the time as well.”

A lead weight landed in the pit of Adam’s stomach. He had been happily thinking of Lady Emilia up until that point, but Frederick’s words destroyed any anticipation he might have felt at seeing her again.

His aunt and Lionel rarely spoke of Anastasia; they knew the effect it had on him, but Frederick seemed to have no such compunction. His voice would have sounded remorseful to anyone else, but Adam knew better. Nothing that Frederick said was sincere unless it related to himself.

“Thank you,” Adam said stiffly. “You wrote me a letter at the time. I understood well enough.”

Frederick sipped his drink, observing his cousin with interest. The man had become ghostly pale at the mention of his wife. Perhaps ensuring he remains unattached will be easier than I thought.

If Adam’s response to the mere mention of his wife’s name caused this type of reaction, Frederick could only imagine what would happen if he accused him of showing attention to another.

“She was a wonderful woman and a great credit to you. I am glad to see you out and socialising again after so long.” Adam’s response was only to swallow, his jaw visibly tightening.

“Bentley!” Both men turned at the call, neither of them certain who was being hailed. “Will you play?” Lord Sternwood asked, looking at Frederick.

Frederick felt a shudder of nerves. He could not afford to play deep tonight; he had barely a coin to his name after an ill-advised trip to a gambling hell. But he could hardly refuse his host.

“Of course, my Lord, prepare to be trounced!” Every man in the room laughed heartily except for Adam, and Frederick bowed to him and made his way over to the table.

Lionel cursed inwardly as he returned with their drinks to find Frederick walking away from his cousin. Adam looked deathly pale, and Lionel could only imagine what the blaggard had said to him.

“Here, old chap,” he said, handing the small quarter inch of whisky to him. “Barely a thimble full, as requested.”

Adam’s smile was genuine as he received the glass, and they touched the tips together in a gentle clink.

“Thank you,” Adam murmured, sipping his drink and watching Frederick’s back as he bent over the billiard table. All the ease and happiness Lionel had felt in Miss Fairfax’s company drained away as the melancholy returned to Adam’s face.

“Anything amiss?”

Adam grunted. “He was speaking of Anastasia’s funeral.”

Lionel scoffed. “Yes, he was with his mother . That’s what he told you, is it?”

“Yes. I had rather hoped it was a rare truth, but from your expression, I assume I am mistaken?”

“He was on the continent, I’m afraid. Wouldn’t have made the trip back for anything. Too busy squandering his father’s fortune all over France.”

Lionel kept his voice carefully low so they were the only two privy to his comments but the anger in it was palpable.

“Gentlemen,” the murmurings and chatter of the room died away as Lord Sternwood stood back from the billiard table as the clock chimed. “I am afraid the time has run away with me. I have my orders from Lady Sternwood that we must all return to the drawing room at this time. Please, make your way back to the other room. Mr Frederick, I shall see if you can trounce me another time.”

***

Lady Sternwood was standing at the head of the room as the men all filtered back inside. She frowned at her husband, who was still smoking his cigar, and he dutifully stubbed it out before taking his seat.

The room was now inhabited by everyone who would be staying for the house party over the next two weeks. The group was twenty in number, comprising the Fairfaxes, Sterlings, and Pinkertons. Frederick and his mother, as well as Adam’s direct family, made up the rest, along with the Cheswick’s and the Duke’s family.

It was a lively group, and Adam was gratified that many of the company were at least well-known to him. Perhaps the next few days would not be so arduous after all.

“We will be playing charades gentlemen and as the rest of the guests have departed, we will be splitting everyone into pairs.”

In front of Lady Sternwood was an exquisitely decorated red and green bowl with names placed inside. Snow fell in a great curtain behind the long windows, and the room had an ethereal and beautifully festive feel.

Adam waited for the usual discomfort to arrive, never entirely comfortable in such a festive setting. Yet as his gaze landed on Emilia Sterling, the feeling never came. She was seated beside Miss Fairfax, looking rather stern but just as beautiful as ever, and he found that he could not look away.

“Lord Bellebrook,” Lady Sternwood announced as the first name was picked. “And Lady Emilia Sterling!”

With nerves churning in his gut, Adam walked over to his new partner, overjoyed to find that she had a space next to her on the settee. He sat, with a smile, elated to be so close to her again as the other names were read out.

“Are you good at charades, my Lord?” Emilia asked, surprising him.

“I have not played before,” he confessed.

“Not even when you were a child?” she asked, astonished.

“Ah, well, yes, but I always played with Lord Spencer, and he is a demon at every game. He wins everything. I do not know if I am good or bad, considering that I was never given the opportunity to win.”

Emilia chuckled. “Well, we shall find out today. It is not only a game of riddles but also a game of wit to guess the riddle.”

“Are you good at charades, Lady Emilia?” he asked in turn.

Emilia gave him a conspiratorial look, the same charming smile on her face that he had seen at the dinner table. “I would not wish to boast,” she said quietly, “but I have been told my skills rival my musical talents.”

“We will certainly win, then. I am very happy to be paired with you.”

The comment was meant casually, but as her eyes met his, something passed between them of shared understanding. He was pleased to be paired with her. Despite all of the guilt and uncertainty that came with the idea of courting again, he enjoyed her company and could not think of anyone else he would rather spend time with at that moment.

The first riddle was read by Lord Sternwood, who begrudgingly yielded to his wife’s insistence to commence the game. Emilia stifled a laugh as Lady Sternwood pushed her husband to the front of the room.

" Iam a creature swift and bright, In polished homes, I gleam at night. I warm the heart and light the way, Yet flicker out at break of day. What am I?”

“A candle!”

Adam stared at Emilia in amazement, and she grinned at him. The expression utterly transformed her face, and he found himself captivated by it. He laughed as there were prolonged groans from everyone else in the room.

“You must give people a chance to think , my love,” her mother admonished her.

“My apologies, Mama, but I will not delay my guessing for another to snatch the win.”

Lady Sternwood rolled her eyesbut said nothing more, and Adam had to hide his own smile.

Emilia placed her hands in her lap and watched the game continue, feeling a little on edge. She wasn’t sure if she should hold back and allow others to guess more quickly, but she wanted to impress Lord Bellebrook. The feeling was so strong it had startled her but she had not considered what he might think of her competitive side. She hoped he would be thankful for it, given that he was part of her pair.

As the other riddles were read, each one became progressively more difficult. Lord Bellebrook’s head was repeatedly bowed toward her as they considered their answers, their voices whispering intimately together.

Yet even with the innocent nature of the game, Emilia was acutely aware of how precarious her situation was. She could not afford to outwardly give the wrong impression or hint at her interest in the earl.

She ensured that there was always a reasonable distance between them, constantly flicking glances across the room, aware of the duke’s presence and the continual scrutiny of society.

She had believed the feelings stirring within her long buried. Resigned as she was to a life of spinsterhood, she had not expected to meet anyone at the party that was to her liking. The only thing of which she was certain, however, was that the duke was not .

Lord Bellebrook had an interesting face. Where his cousin was dark in his features and looked many years younger than Lord Bellebrook, the earl was rugged and devilishly handsome. She rather felt he wore it with unknown grace and seemed oblivious to his own charms.

She glanced at him furtively throughout the evening, and the more she observed him, the more she liked what she saw.

The next riddle had the theme of cold, and he turned to her with his head cocked to one side.

“ My first is a posture, unmoving and still ,” Adam whispered. His head was lowered to hers again and she felt the heat of his body as she leaned toward him.

“A statue, perhaps?” she asked.

“Indeed, that was my feeling, and then ‘ my second you might see on stage in a play’.’ ”

There was a short pause as they deliberated and then they both looked up in enthusiastic surprise, and Emilia saw him grin for the first time. It caught her breath, and for a moment, she could not speak.

“Unmoving and still—perhaps to stall!”

“And then the second verse was ‘caverns of ice’.”

“Stalactite!” they both said it at once, far louder than they had intended, in mutual excitement. As Lady Sternwood bowed her head to let them know their answer was correct, Emilia was thrilled to find that they had won the game.

Frederick watched Adam and Emilia together and clapped along with the rest of the room as their answer was announced as the right one. He could feel sweat on his forehead at the sight of the two of them. Thick as thieves already.

He swallowed around the lump that threatened to rise in his throat. It was ridiculous that his miserable hermit of a cousin had found an attachment within hours of attending the only social function he had been to in years.

Frederick leaned across to converse with Lady Pinkerton beside him, keeping up appearances and speaking of how very good Lord Bellebrook and Lady Emilia were as a pair.

He would not be able to allow this to continue. His thoughts at the ball had been preliminary at best, but now he realised that their connection was a true possibility. Anyone with half a wit could see how much they enjoyed each other’s company. They were minutes from finishing each other’s sentences—it was utterly intolerable.

Frederick kept his smile in place, even yelling out ‘bravo’ to the companyto ensure he looked as enthusiastic as possible. He would find a way to drive a wedge between them—he had to. There was no alternative. He could not afford to lose the fortune he deserved, and by God, Emilia Sterling was not going to take it from him.

***

Emilia’s eyes skittered around the room uncertainly as the applause rang out all around them. There were many polite smiles in the throng, but when her gaze alighted on Penelope Easton, all her happiness drained away. Penelope’s look was just like the one she had seen from Henrietta all those years ago.

She moved away from Lord Bellebrook, suddenly painfully aware of how close they had become. It was like she was living the nightmare of the scandal for a second time—she could already imagine the gossip spreading. “She could not get her hooks into a married man, so she has set her sights on a wealthy widower”.

As Adam turned to her, his blue-green eyes sparking with gentle happiness, she managed a smile but moved further from him on the settee, glancing about the room in alarm, wondering if she had exposed herself again. The ice that rushed through her stomach at the thought was an awful reminder of everything she had been through.

She attempted to remain civil and courteous, but the mood between them changed considerably as the game wound down.

Adam watched Emilia with concern, wondering if he had somehow offended her. She seemed reserved suddenly, as she had been when they had first met. There was a strange detachment in her gaze, that looked deliberate, yet sad. As the game concluded and the group dispersed, she bid him goodnight, thanking him for the game. He longed to accompany her out of the room but held himself back.

He watched her walk away, wondering in a strange turn of events what Anastasia would have made of her. He believed they would have got along well. Anastasia was of the same quiet nature. He could no longer deny that despite the guilt he felt at looking at another woman with any kind of interest, he liked Lady Emilia Sterling very much.

She was witty, clever, and fiercely talented. Unlike many other women of his acquaintance, she was demure and sensible. As he made his way up to his room, Adam felt a warmth of affection toward her—terrifying and wonderful in equal measure.

As Emilia closed the door of her bed chamber, she breathed a sigh of relief, sliding down the wood to the floor and sitting on the thick carpet, allowing herself a moment of quiet contemplation. She could not believe all that had taken place.

The duke had been insufferable and drunk for much of the evening, not to mention his horrible daughters had put her in her place multiple times. But she had come away from what should have been an acute humiliation with lightness in her heart—all because of Lord Bellebrook.

The connection between them felt as fine as a strand of gossamer, loosely linking them to one another, but primed to break at the slightest pressure. She did not know what lay in her future, but the only easy decision she could make was that she must avoid the duke at all costs.