Adam waited until Miss Brook and her friend had moved out of earshot. Then he stepped up behind Miss Knightley. “Nanny goat?” he said quietly in her ear.
Miss Knightley started violently. Lemonade slopped over the side of the goblet. “Mr. St. Just!”
“I beg your pardon.”
“You startled me,” Miss Knightley said, stating the obvious. Her glove was damp, and there was a small splash of lemonade on her gown.
“I apologize,” Adam said. He held out his hand for the goblet.
Miss Knightley gave it to him. It was sticky.
Adam watched as she pulled a lace-edged handkerchief from her reticule and dabbed at the spot on her gown. “Nanny goat?” he said again.
Miss Knightley glanced up. “How much did you hear?”
“All of it.” He almost laughed aloud at memory of Miss Brook’s face, the delicious horror in her voice. A nanny goat? “It was pure genius,” he said, grinning.
To his astonishment, Arabella Knightley grinned back at him. There was laughter in the dark eyes, mischief in the curve of her mouth.
God, she’s beautiful.
Desire clenched painfully in his chest. For a moment he couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but look at her.
Adam wrenched his gaze from her face. He cleared his throat and looked down at the lemonade. A slice of lemon floated in it.
“It made a more interesting tale than a student eloping with her music tutor.”
Desire vanished at her words. He glanced up sharply. “Grace did not elope with Mr. Plunkett.”
“Of course she didn’t.” Arabella Knightley folded her handkerchief and placed it back in her reticule. “But what have rumors to do with the truth? Very little!” She held out her hand for the goblet.
Adam gave it to her.
“I hope I’ve given the gossips something else to talk about.” Miss Knightley’s smile was cat-like, sharp and satisfied. She sipped the lemonade.
“I think you can be very certain you have,” Adam said dryly.
Miss Knightley’s gaze fastened on something past his shoulder. “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. St. Just. My grandmother wants me.”
Adam turned and watched as she walked across the room. Her hair gleamed with a dark, rich luster. It was dressed in the French style, high on her head, leaving her nape bare. Her neck was pale, slender, elegant.
His fingers curled into the palm of his hand. I want her.
Adam turned abruptly away and gulped the rest of his punch. Then he went back to the refreshment room and refilled his glass.
IT WASN’T UNTIL Adam stepped into the cool, marble-paved entrance hall of his house on Berkeley Square that he thought to wonder about the facts Miss Knightley had included in her scurrilous little tale. How had she known Reginald Plunkett’s name? Or that he lived in Birmingham? How had she known when to set her tale?
He pondered these questions as he climbed the stairs. In the corridor outside their bedchambers, he bid his aunt goodnight and detained Grace with a light touch on her arm.
She looked at him enquiringly. “Yes?”
Adam waited until Aunt Seraphina had closed her bedroom door. “Grace, have you told anyone in London about Reginald Plunkett?”
Grace flinched. She shook her head. “No.”
“Not even Miss Knightley?”
Grace shook her head again, and then hesitated. “I told her a little bit about what happened.” Distress creased her forehead. “Why? Has she . . .” her voice trembled, “. . . been talking about me?”
Adam put his arm around Grace. “Not in a bad way,” he said, hugging her. “I overheard her telling someone that Reginald Plunkett suffered from delusions and that he thought himself married to a nanny goat.”
“A nanny goat?” Grace’s tension eased slightly. She uttered a choke of laughter. “Truly?”
“Truly,” Adam said. He grinned in memory of Miss Brook’s wide-eyed gullibility, her breathless questions—and the expression of extreme innocence on Arabella Knightley’s face.
A fluent liar, Miss Knightley.
“But why would Bella say such a thing—”
“As gossip, it’s much more interesting than an elopement that may or may not have taken place.”
Grace stiffened. “Yes,” she said in a subdued voice.
Adam hugged her again. “According to Miss Knightley, Reginald Plunkett lives in a goat pen behind his wife’s house in Birmingham. With the nanny goat.”
Grace gave a faint giggle.
“I merely wondered how Miss Knightley knew his name. Did you tell her?”
Grace shook her head against his shoulder. “No. I haven’t said his name to anyone since . . . since then.”
“Did you tell her where he lived? Or that it was in November that—”
Grace shook her head again. “I told Bella he was my music tutor, and that he was married. That’s all.” She inhaled a shaky breath. “When are people going to stop talking about me?”
She was close to tears; he heard it in her voice.
Adam hugged her more tightly. “I don’t know.”
Grace sniffed against the lapel of his coat. “I deserve it,” she said in a choked voice. “For being so stupid.”
“It wasn’t your fault. He chose you, Grace, because you were more wealthy than any of the other students.” She’d been the perfect victim for the man’s scheme: shy and lonely, and desperate for love. “Here.” He released her and gave her his handkerchief.
Grace wiped her eyes.
“If anyone’s to blame, it’s me. I shouldn’t have sent you away.” Guilt was bitter on his tongue. “I thought you’d be happier in Bath. I didn’t realize you were so miserable there.”
Grace glanced up at him. “I was happy there, sometimes.”
“But you would have been happier at home.”
Her gaze dropped to the handkerchief, a silent yes.
Adam cleared his throat. He reached out and touched Grace’s cheek lightly. “Go to bed.”
Grace nodded and turned away. She hesitated, her hand on the door knob, then turned back and hugged him.
Adam held her tightly. For heaven’s sake, boy, he heard his father say. Try to behave as a St. Just! It’s vulgar to display emotion.
He pushed the old man’s words aside and pressed a kiss into Grace’s soft hair. “Sleep well,” he said, releasing her.
“Good night, Adam.” She smiled at him, opened the door, and
