With a soft sigh she directed her gaze to the dance floor, an ache building in her chest. When was the last time she had been asked to dance at a ball? Adel was fully cognizant of only being passably pretty without much distinction to recommend her for marriage. But surely the gentlemen of the ton could be courteous enough to dance with the young ladies without obvious partners.
She straightened her spine, refusing to dampen her spirits. By this time tomorrow, her engagement would be announced, and she would be free as much as it was possible to be unencumbered as a man’s wife. She suppressed the uncharitable thought, for Mr. Atwood was a dear friend, and when they wed he would treat her with respect and gentle regard, not as property.
She lifted the champagne to her lips and sipped. She had been wondering if she should make Mr. Atwood privy to their plan. Evie had been adamant it be a secret in the event things went awry, but Adel wanted some reassurance from the man she intended to thoroughly compromise.
Compromised.
Nerves erupted in her stomach and her hands trembled. What if the resultant scandal was so vast, she was unable to return to society? And Mr. Atwood’s ambitions of being a successful barrister were destroyed in the aftermath? And Helena was tarnished by association?
You are being a ninny. Only Lady Gladstone will know, Adel sternly reminded herself. The countess was very discreet. After all, she had already spied Evie in a shocking embrace with the scarred and aloof Marquess of Westfall, and none in society had been any the wiser. The countess had swept it under the rug, no doubt because of the man’s dastardly reputation.
Adel mentally ticked off all the scandals of the past season.
Lady Sophie was seen kissing her father’s valet. That young lady was now being welcomed back into the drawing rooms after only a few short months. Of course, she was now the Viscountess of Rayburn.
Lady Thornton had cuckolded her duke, and she was somehow still a powerful force in society.
Lord Brunel, it was whispered, had been seen with Miss Elizabeth, in a far worse situation than that which Adel had planned, and they were still widely admired and respected.
They also have much to recommend them.
She ignored her flutter of doubt and scanned the ballroom for the young man she was intending to secure. A man who had professed his admiration several times and desperately desired to wed her, despite her shortcomings. Adel stiffened when she espied Mr. Atwood bowing over Lady Daphne’s hand, one of the season’s reigning darlings. She was pursued in earnest because she had everything to recommend her. Her father, the Earl of Leicester, was well known in parliament and lauded for his reform speeches. Her dowry was rumored to be thirty thousand pounds, and added to the pot was Lady Daphne’s fashionably blond beauty.
Mr. Atwood ran his fingers through his curly brown hair, a sheepish smile blooming at his lips. What was Lady Daphne saying to him? Adel frowned at his besotted mien. Had she been mistaken in his affections? Surely not. It was only last week he’d approached her by the lake bordering her father’s property and informed her he would again ask for her hand. Not surprisingly, Papa had refused. He had a higher prospect in mind for her, than Mr. Atwood. Papa did not care this was Adel’s fourth season and no titled gentleman thought to make her an offer.
Mr. Atwood was mild mannered and affable. He had never been the sort to ruffle feathers nor would he even dare stand toe to toe with her father and plead his case. The only time he seemed passionate was when he’d declared his love. A smile tugged at her mouth, and she willed him to glance in her direction.
His gaze was firmly stuck on Lady Daphne’s pouting lips.
“Lord Vale!”
Adel flinched as the man whose clutches she was desperate to escape appeared on the landing above the staircase. What was he doing here? The annual Gladstone house party was considered one of the most exciting events of the season, but Evie had promised that her mother had not issued an invitation to the earl.
Adel’s wrists tingled, and the fading bruises his punishing grip had left ached. Bile rose in her throat and she gulped the remainder of the champagne to wash away the unpleasant taste. Her father and stepmother had accepted an offer for her hand from the slimy toad. His presence was dangerous. What if he announced their engagement? Extricating herself from such a disaster would be impossible.
His gaze had unerringly found her. Not that it was much work, as she was one of three young ladies standing on the periphery of the room with their dance cards virtually empty. A pleased smile appeared on his face and her throat tightened. It would be a catastrophe if he singled her out. The bile she’d tried to banish resurfaced, and the crush of the ballroom she’d found exciting an hour ago was now suffocating. She remembered the nasty words Lord Vale had whispered against her lips as he forced her to kiss him. He had mockingly laughed when she had slapped him, saying he liked it rough sometimes. She’d been bewildered as to what it referred to, only knowing she had to be afraid. Adel had fled to her father despite Lord Vale’s threat that she keep quiet. The bodice of her dress had been torn, her lips swollen—evidence of the earl’s loss of control. She had expected her father to protect her, not give her to the man.