He plucked her hand off his chest and took a step back. “Indeed, you are mistaken, Miss Wood. I haven’t the patience for teaching.”
She laughed and took a step closer. “Isn’t that a pity? And you were so attentive to Miss Dewhurst the other afternoon, in the middle of that muddy field.”
“Spying, were you?” Adam said, fighting to remain calm.
“I’d hate to have to tell the others what I saw. And they’d believe me, of course. After what happened with that earl, her reputation is already ruined.”
At that moment the doorknob turned, and Annabelle, ever the huntress, honed in on her prey. She curled her talons into his lapel and yanked him forward, forcing his lips to collide with hers. The door swung open, and as Adam tried to extract himself he heard a collection of gasps that foretold his downfall like a death knell. The conniving chit.
“Lord Huntington,” an angry voice said. “Unhand my sister.”
Oh, how easy Wood made that sound. But the wench had her grip on him and she continued to press against him, prolonging the painful encounter long enough to ensure everyone had filed into the room—the whole damned house, or so it seemed. Only then did she release him and he stumbled back, panting like a damned fool.
And when he turned to the crowd, he saw her. Olivia. Lips pressed together, cheeks flushed with anger. She turned abruptly and left the room, her pale pink skirts trailing behind her.
“Oh, my,” Annabelle gasped, holding her hand to her lips. Her performance didn’t fool him, but it didn’t matter, the damage was done. His fate was sealed.
* * *
The next morning, Olivia stood at her bedroom window, unable to sleep. The sun was low on the horizon, and a delicate mist covered the lush, green landscape. The night prior, Adam had tried to speak with her, first by sending her letters—three to be precise— which she hadn’t opened, then by sending a poor, frightened maid to fetch her. When that had failed, he’d come to her bedroom door himself, demanding entry.
She’d ignored him at every turn, and finally around three in the morning, he’d left with the threat that he’d be back—to break down the door, if need be.
Let him try. It would do him no good to gain entry, anyway. There was nothing he could say, no possible explanation that could untangle the twisted knot of her emotions. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him and Annabelle pressed together, their lips interlocked.
I wanted to hurt you.
His words came back to her, slamming home. Everything between her and Adam had been a ruse, a deliberate attempt to humiliate her. And she’d fallen for it. She’d wanted to believe he’d forgiven her so badly that she’d never considered the alternative—that he’d never see past his own resentment, never see her decision to cry off as anything but a betrayal.
He would marry Annabelle. The sooner she reconciled herself with that, the sooner she could rally and press on with her own life. Such as it was.
Although she did allow herself one indulgence. All night, she’d imagined the many different ways she could prevent the wedding from taking place. Set fire to the house (a tad too drastic), set a pack of wolves on the wedding party (not exactly feasible), or simply feign death, like Shakespeare’s Juliet (although that didn’t turn out well, did it?).
As she stood there pondering the possibility of kidnapping the bride, four cloaked figures emerged from the mist. They were walking briskly, headed in the direction of the meadow, as though they had no other purpose than to reach their destination.
What on earth were they up to? Curious, Olivia slipped on her wrapper and slippers and headed quietly out the door and down to the sweeping lawn toward the meadow.
The grass was damp and water soaked through her satin slippers, freezing her toes until they were numb. And the air was a bit more brisk than she’d anticipated. Hugging herself against the biting breeze, she followed the figures until they reached the edge of the clearing.
Olivia concealed herself behind a large bush and took stock of those present. James, Wood, his valet, and Adam all stood in a tight circle, examining something. Then Adam and James paired off, while Wood and his valet strode toward Olivia, stopping just feet away.
A duel.
The reality of it slammed into her, followed quickly by bewilderment. If Adam was dueling Wood, then that must mean he’d refused to marry Annabelle—but why?
Rustling came from a few bushes away, then a distinct “Ow!” as Annabelle emerged, limping, with a grimace on her pixie-like face. Her expression changed to one of surprise when she spotted Olivia.
“What are you doing here?” Olivia hissed. The gentlemen were speaking and she was angry she had to miss their conversation.