Come Near Me (5 page)

It was only as he was sitting in the crook of a
conveniently located branch, midway up a similarly conveniently
placed tree, waiting for Hayes to engage Buckfastleigh’s Prize’s
interest in something other than stomping on his master, that Adam
realized that he had probably just lost his heart.

After...

I do not want people to be very
agreeable,

as it saves me the trouble of

liking them a great deal.

— Jane Austen

“... b
rought you
together? How very unique.”

Adam blinked, and the scene unfolding in
front of his eyes once more became the fire in the deceased Lord
Jasper’s grate. He looked to his new friend, wondering what he
might have said to the man, what Burnell had just said. “I—I beg
your pardon?”

“I said, how very unique a meeting, Daventry.
Having a bull bring you together. And how reassuring to hear that
yours is a love match. Not many of those lying about on the ground
these days, are there?” He took a sip of brandy, looking at Adam
through the distorting glass of the snifter. “Although,” he ended,
his blue eyes twinkling, “there is a lot to be said for the
matches
based on rather more earthly attraction, if you know
to keep them temporary and reward them handsomely with diamonds and
the like once the flame has burnt down.”

“Ah, yes. I remember that sort of
match,
Burnell. Shall we drink a toast to them all?” Adam
pushed himself back from the edge of memory and lifted his glass,
wondering how much he’d said, hoping he hadn’t said too much.
Damnable brandy, it made his tongue run on wheels sometimes. He
couldn’t remember much past telling Burnell he and Sherry had met
by accident. “To lust,” he said, earning himself an even wider
smile from his new friend, who was suddenly looking past Adam, to
the door. Adam’s hand stilled in the act of making the toast, and
he watched, not seeing but yet
knowing,
as Burnell got to
his feet.

“My lady,” Burnell said, bowing as Sherry
advanced into the room, “how good of you to join us.”

Adam could feel her green eyes boring into
the back of his skull, and he, too, quickly rose to his feet,
turned, and bowed. If a bow could be polite yet still mocking, he
had mastered the art of that particular delivery. It was just one
more deception in the thousands of small deceptions it now took to
be Adam Dagenham. He and Sherry had both become masters of the art,
to give her credit—or her share of the blame. The public devotion,
laced through with the private condemnation.

“Darling,” Adam purred, indicating that she
should take his seat.

“Oh, but I can’t, dearest,” she told him,
shaking her head as she spoke, her gaze going straight past his as
she directed her next words to Burnell. “I fear we should be going
back to Grosvenor Square, Mr. Burnell, as I have just told Lady J.
I—I’m worried about Lord Dagenham, truth to tell.”

“Truth to tell, my lady,” Burnell quipped,
taking her hand and bowing over it, “you’re fleeing for your life,
if I know my aunt. What was it? Whist? She’s rather too obvious
when she cheats at whist. It’s the cards falling out of her sleeve
at inopportune times, I believe, that gives her game away. What was
it?”

“The ace of hearts,” Sherry said, wincing,
even as her eyes danced with good humor. “I didn’t know where to
look as she tried to stuff it back, so I fibbed about worrying for
Geoff—which he’d never thank me for, I can tell you—and raced in
here to be rescued. I’m so sorry. She’s quite a tartar, your aunt,
but a lovely woman all the same. Really.”

“Don’t be sorry, my lady,” Burnell said,
kissing her hand before releasing it. Reluctantly releasing it,
Adam noticed. Sherry had that effect on men, and well he knew it.
Once, a lifetime ago, he’d found that male reaction to his wife
amusing. “But I must tell you that your honesty is refreshing. Your
well-meant but truly transparent fib about my aunt, calling her a
lovely woman, when we all know she’s two steps from being an
incorrigible horror, is beyond refreshing.”

Adam watched as Sherry’s cheeks turned a
becoming pink. “I really should never lie, should I, Mr. Burnell?
I’m shockingly bad at it.”

“Oh, I don’t know, darling,” Adam slid in
smoothly, just as smoothly taking her arm. “You’re probably getting
much better at it, with all the practice you’ve had. Being in
Society, I mean.”

He sensed Burnell looking at the two of them
and wanted to kick himself. He should have known better than to
play his and Sherry’s destructive game in front of so astute an
observer.

But Burnell rescued him neatly. “Good God,
yes, Daventry. We all have to tell no end of lies in Society, don’t
we?” He pulled out his handkerchief, struck a dandified pose, and
grinned down at Sherry. “What a fetching bonnet, Lady J,” he
drawled smoothly. “So original, what with all those green cherries
hanging from it to bang against your nose with every step you
take.”

He turned to Adam, employing the handkerchief
again as he performed an elegant leg. “Indeed, yes, Your Highness,
that horizontally striped waistcoat most definitely does become
your handsome figure.”

As Sherry giggled, Burnell pulled a
quizzing-glass from its specially made pocket in his waistcoat and
stuck it to his eye, looking off into a dark corner of the room.
His nose wrinkled and his expression became discreetly shocked, so
that Adam rubbed a finger beneath his own nose, trying not to
laugh. “That’s your wife over there, my lord Sanford?” Burnell
continued. “Do tell. You don’t say so. Lucky devil, you. Haven’t
seen such a lovely woman before, I vow it.”

He gave an exaggerated shiver as he allowed
the quizzing-glass to drop to his waist from the black riband he
wore slung around his neck. He looked at Sherry again, winking.
“And we all know there’s so very
much
of Lady Sanford to
be
lovely, isn’t there—almost as much of her as there is of
our dear Prince of Wales? Oh, the lies we all tell! I say to you,
my lady, my lord, we should all race home each night and scrub out
our mouths with soap.”

“Thank you, Burnell,” Adam said, and he
believed the man knew precisely why he had been thanked. He really
could like this man if he allowed himself to do so.

Burnell bowed again. “My pleasure, Daventry.
Although now I suppose your truly wonderful wife will never believe
that I am telling the truth when I say that I have been very
pleased to make her acquaintance this evening.”

Sherry’s musical laugh helped lead them all
to the door and down the hall, where a footman, probably already
alerted by her, waited with their wraps. “It has been wonderful
meeting you, Mr. Burnell,” she said as she raised her hands to her
shoulders, pulling her fur-lined cape more closely around her.
“Adam? Shouldn’t you be running off upstairs, to say good night to
Lady J? I’ll be fine, waiting here.”

“Don’t bother,” Burnell told Adam, who had
turned to head for the stairs. “She’s probably already snoring in
her chair, as she had her share of wine with dinner.” He smiled at
Sherry. “My goodness, this honesty of yours must be catching, my
lady. I shouldn’t have said that, should I? Well enough. Allow me
to escort you to your coach. Daventry, if it wouldn’t be a bother,
would you think to accompany me tomorrow as I hunt out a new
tailor? My last one leaves a lot to be desired in the cut of the
shoulders, and he’s entirely too devoted to buckram padding.”

“I wish I could, Burnell,” Adam said, finding
himself in the position of following along like some not quite lost
sheep as Burnell and his wife headed toward the street. “But I’m
afraid I’m already committed to meeting with a friend who’s coming
back to town tomorrow. Another day?”

Burnell stood with Sherry as a footman
lowered the steps to the coach. “Another day would be quite fine.
But now I’m at loose ends tomorrow, which won’t do at all, as my
aunt was mumbling something about a day of lending libraries and
such. My lady—would you be so kind as to rescue me? We could go for
an early-afternoon drive?”

Sherry’s gaze flew to Adam’s face, but he
refused to so much as blink to give her any indication of how he
felt about such an invitation. In truth, he didn’t know how he felt
about it. The man was amusing and hardly seemed dangerous. But
Richard Brimley hadn’t looked dangerous.

As Sherry hesitated, Adam at last gave a
slight nod of his head, at which time she told Burnell she’d be
delighted to accompany him if the weather stayed fine.

“That’s settled then, for it won’t dare rain
and spoil our outing,” Burnell said, as Sherry stepped into the
coach. “Daventry,” he said, holding out his hand, giving Adam’s a
firm shake. “I’ve enjoyed the evening immensely. I consider myself
to live a charmed life, coming to London one week, meeting you and
your dear wife the next. In fact, taking into consideration the
notion that I should otherwise have Lady J bear-leading me through
London this next month, I probably should be kneeling at your feet.
Yes, I would kneel there, babbling in all but incoherent gratitude.
But you wouldn’t ask that of me, I know, for I’d dirty my knees,
wouldn’t I?”

“Idiot,” Adam replied, laughing. Relaxing.
“Tell you what, Burnell. Have your drive with my wife, and then
meet my friend and me at the Oxford Arms at three. It’s in Warwick
Lane, quite near St. Paul’s. Horrible place, but my friend has some
sentimental attachment to it, makes it a point to visit there at
least once whenever he’s in town.”

“I’ll do just that, and thank you. Good
night,” Burnell said, and closed the door behind Adam as he sat
himself down on the seat facing his wife.

The coach drove off.

“Why did you indicate that you wanted me to
ride out with Mr. Burnell?” Sherry asked, tugging on the tips of
her gloves, obviously so that she wouldn’t have to look at
Adam.

“Why not?” Adam said, leaning back against
the cushions and sliding the brim of his hat down low over his
eyes. “He’s handsome, convenable, clever. He seems clean enough. At
least, this way, I get to choose who sleeps in my wife’s bed.”

Sherry’s quick, sharp intake of breath sliced
through him like a knife.

“I could kill you for saying that,” she
nearly hissed. “Don’t dare come into my rooms tonight, Adam. I’m
warning you. Don’t take that chance. I’ve traveled a long way from
the silly child in love I was last spring, to a woman pushed into
giving pain as well as feeling it.”

“Child, in love. Woman, threatening mayhem. I
understand, darling, and I consider myself fairly warned,” Adam
drawled, hating himself, wanting her. “After all, as you say—oh, so
often—you only speak the truth.”

“And you hear only lies.”

“I believe only what I see,” Adam shot back
before he could will himself silent. “I heard the lies—even read
one of them, didn’t I? I
saw
the truth.”

“Dickie—”

“Don’t!” Adam shot forward on the cushion,
his hands braced on its edge on either side of him. He relaxed his
grip, took a steadying breath. “Don’t,” he repeated softly, nearly
trembling with sudden passion, a passion alive with hate, born of
pain. “Don’t ever say his name. Do you understand that? Don’t say
the man’s name. Lie for him, Sherry, cry for him, be glad he left
you to face me alone like the coward he was—because I would have
murdered him. But... don’t... say... his name.”

He watched as she sat very still, very
straight, her eyes wide, her cheeks pale. He’d gone too far this
time, said things they’d only hinted at before, never put into
words. If he could draw them back, he would. Cut out his tongue.
But he’d said them, said them all tonight for some unfathomable
reason. He couldn’t take them back. He could only sit, and wait,
and call himself seven kinds of bastard.

“You never loved me. Not really. You couldn’t
have,” she said quietly. “Dickie was an excuse. Even Geoff is an
excuse, your own brother. You’re using them, both of them. My God,
Adam, how satisfying it must be always to be right, never be wrong.
Never to make a mistake, never have to listen to anyone else’s
definition of reason. But you made one mistake in your enviable
life, Adam, didn’t you? Just that one mistake. Marrying me. What a
pity you had to do that, Adam. It’s all that stiff-backed honor of
yours. If you’d felt you could have had me without marriage, it
would have been better for—”

She tilted her head back against the velvet
cushions, staring blindly at the roof of the coach. He could see
the line of her throat. The vulnerable line of her throat as it
worked silently, swallowing tears, swallowing whatever else she
wanted to say.

“God, Sherry, what a mess we’ve made.” Adam
turned and opened a small, square door that gave access to the
driver. “Stop here, Fitzhugh. I’ve decided to walk.” A moment later
he was standing on the cobblestones in the dark, his hands drawn up
into fists at his sides, watching the coach carrying his wife
disappear into the dark.

~ ~ ~

“Emma? Have you any idea as to the
whereabouts of my new gloves?”

“Is I supposed ta?”

Sherry sighed, turned away from the drawer
she was in the midst of rearranging from the tangled heap it was
into a new, yet-still-tangled design, and looked at her lady’s
maid.

“There’s something not quite right here,
Emma,” she said, pushing back an errant lock of her bothersome mop
of hair. “I do believe I should be sitting on that bench, admiring
my stylish self, and you should be over here, looking for my
gloves. I may be wrong, but I don’t believe so. Do you?”

Emma Oxton pulled a face at her own
reflection, laid down Sherry’s brush—the one she’d been pulling
through her own golden curls—and swiveled on the bench. “I suppose
not, ma’am,” she said, sighing as she reluctantly rose. “I’m
supposin’ I should be huntin’ up the gloves, ta yer way of
thinkin’. Huntin’ up the shoes. Huntin’ up the handkerchiefs.
Huntin’ up—”