the dance floor."
"You sound besotted," Lord Worcester said.
"Merely intrigued," Fitzwilliam replied. "But I intend to test the waters a bit with a modest floral offering."
It was the opening Adam had waited for. He would send this idiot packing, just as he'd done with Aldershot. "Then be sure to send gardenias," he said. "She positively adores gardenias."
"Are you quite certain?" Fitzwilliam asked. "I had planned to send lilies, which she mentioned as her favorite flower."
"You must have misunderstood," Adam said. "I've known her for years and she has always favored gardenias. Nesbitt would send a bouquet if they'd quarreled or if he wanted to soften her mood, so to speak. Gardenias did the trick every time."
"Is that so?" Fitzwilliam smiled. "Then gardenias it shall be. I appreciate the advice, Cazenove."
"It was nothing, I assure you."
When he finally made his way out the front door and down the steps, Adam was grinning like a fool. Aldershot had left the field and Fitzwilliam would soon be out of the running. It was no doubt wrong of him to interfere with Marianne's life, and worse to feel so gleeful about it. But he had meant it when he'd said no one was good enough for her. Certainly not Aldershot or Fitzwilliam. Or any of the others.
The second lie, to Fitzwilliam, had come as easily as the first. Of course, it was not really the second lie, or even the third. He'd lost track of how many lies he'd told Marianne that night in her sitting room when he'd first been confronted with that damned list. He supposed he was turning into a scoundrel of the first degree. He ought to feel ashamed. He ought to feel remorse. Instead, he felt wildly amused and devilishly pleased with himself.
He suddenly felt the need to run each one of the remaining listees to earth and put a spoke in his wheel. He was so full of high spirits he laughed out loud as he walked down St. James's Street, and decided to visit Gentleman Jackson's boxing saloon to work off some of his excess energy.
And quite miraculously, his luck continued. Soon after entering the rooms on Bond Street, he stood watching Jackson spar with some young buck Adam did not recognize when Sir Arthur Denney came in. He stood beside Adam and observed the famed pugilist's instructions with keen interest. When the lesson was over, he fell easily into conversation with Adam, who made sure to mention Marianne in passing. Soon enough, Denney was seeking advice from Mrs. Nesbitt's dear friend.
"What topics of conversation are sure to please her? Well," Adam said, "I can tell you that she has always been intrigued by manly pursuits. I never knew a woman who so enjoyed hearing all the details of a mill, or a cockfight."
"You're joking," Denney said as he removed his coat in preparation for his own sparring match. "I cannot believe we are speaking of the same woman."
"I am quite serious. Where other women would swoon, Mrs. Nesbitt relishes every gruesome detail. Just between the two of us, I suspect she secretly finds something seductive about activities so thoroughly masculine."
"Does she, now?"
"I am only guessing, of course. But whenever her late husband and I used to speak of a boxing match, for example, she would insist on hearing every blow described in detail. She was clearly excited by it, and I gathered from Nesbitt that she was always in a passionate mood after such discussions. If you get my meaning."
"Good Lord. I would never have imagined it. How fascinating."
"She does not advertise this passion of hers, of course, and most men would never dream of speaking to her of such things. You might win the day by being the only man who dares to do so."
"By God, I will!"
And just like that, a third name was poised to be struck from the list. Three men now whose faces would no longer play a role in the troublesome images that had begun to plague Adam's thoughts, images of Marianne making love to another man.
You see how I look out for her, David, just as I promised? I
"You sound besotted," Lord Worcester said.
"Merely intrigued," Fitzwilliam replied. "But I intend to test the waters a bit with a modest floral offering."
It was the opening Adam had waited for. He would send this idiot packing, just as he'd done with Aldershot. "Then be sure to send gardenias," he said. "She positively adores gardenias."
"Are you quite certain?" Fitzwilliam asked. "I had planned to send lilies, which she mentioned as her favorite flower."
"You must have misunderstood," Adam said. "I've known her for years and she has always favored gardenias. Nesbitt would send a bouquet if they'd quarreled or if he wanted to soften her mood, so to speak. Gardenias did the trick every time."
"Is that so?" Fitzwilliam smiled. "Then gardenias it shall be. I appreciate the advice, Cazenove."
"It was nothing, I assure you."
When he finally made his way out the front door and down the steps, Adam was grinning like a fool. Aldershot had left the field and Fitzwilliam would soon be out of the running. It was no doubt wrong of him to interfere with Marianne's life, and worse to feel so gleeful about it. But he had meant it when he'd said no one was good enough for her. Certainly not Aldershot or Fitzwilliam. Or any of the others.
The second lie, to Fitzwilliam, had come as easily as the first. Of course, it was not really the second lie, or even the third. He'd lost track of how many lies he'd told Marianne that night in her sitting room when he'd first been confronted with that damned list. He supposed he was turning into a scoundrel of the first degree. He ought to feel ashamed. He ought to feel remorse. Instead, he felt wildly amused and devilishly pleased with himself.
He suddenly felt the need to run each one of the remaining listees to earth and put a spoke in his wheel. He was so full of high spirits he laughed out loud as he walked down St. James's Street, and decided to visit Gentleman Jackson's boxing saloon to work off some of his excess energy.
And quite miraculously, his luck continued. Soon after entering the rooms on Bond Street, he stood watching Jackson spar with some young buck Adam did not recognize when Sir Arthur Denney came in. He stood beside Adam and observed the famed pugilist's instructions with keen interest. When the lesson was over, he fell easily into conversation with Adam, who made sure to mention Marianne in passing. Soon enough, Denney was seeking advice from Mrs. Nesbitt's dear friend.
"What topics of conversation are sure to please her? Well," Adam said, "I can tell you that she has always been intrigued by manly pursuits. I never knew a woman who so enjoyed hearing all the details of a mill, or a cockfight."
"You're joking," Denney said as he removed his coat in preparation for his own sparring match. "I cannot believe we are speaking of the same woman."
"I am quite serious. Where other women would swoon, Mrs. Nesbitt relishes every gruesome detail. Just between the two of us, I suspect she secretly finds something seductive about activities so thoroughly masculine."
"Does she, now?"
"I am only guessing, of course. But whenever her late husband and I used to speak of a boxing match, for example, she would insist on hearing every blow described in detail. She was clearly excited by it, and I gathered from Nesbitt that she was always in a passionate mood after such discussions. If you get my meaning."
"Good Lord. I would never have imagined it. How fascinating."
"She does not advertise this passion of hers, of course, and most men would never dream of speaking to her of such things. You might win the day by being the only man who dares to do so."
"By God, I will!"
And just like that, a third name was poised to be struck from the list. Three men now whose faces would no longer play a role in the troublesome images that had begun to plague Adam's thoughts, images of Marianne making love to another man.
You see how I look out for her, David, just as I promised? I
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