Page 11 of The Pureblood Daughter
“The smell is”—Lord Rosetti’s brows draw down over his eyes—“distracting.”
Distracting?That’s not a word anyone has ever used to describe the scent, and Adelina finds herself uncertain how to respond.
Lord Rosetti halts suddenly, causing Adelina and the ladies following them to fumble to a stop. Luca and Francesca giggle, and the countess hushes them.
“What is it?” Adelina glances about, searching for anything that would’ve caused him to falter.
“Whoareyou?” Lord Rosetti’s eyes have taken on the same look they had in the ballroom and in the garden, when he looked ready to tear away the iron bars that separated them.
The question is so vague that Adelina knows not what to say. She glances back at her mother, who is watching them intently—while seemingly trying to appear she is not—and then at Lord Rosetti.
“I-I’m Adelina Gray, my lord.”
“Adelina.”
Her name is but a whisper on his lips, and it sends a lick of fire running across her skin.
“Tell me more.”
He holds out a hand, gesturing for them to continue their promenade, and Adelina does so gratefully. If she causes a scene, her father might come to know of this promenade, and then her poor mother will never hear the end of it.
“I want to know everything.”
“Well...” She twirls her parasol and looks down at her feet, which barely peek out from beneath her pale mint skirt as she walks. “I was not born a Gray, though I assume you’ve already noticed the lack of resemblance I share with my family. My parents took me in when I was still a babe. That was near twenty years ago now.” She looks up at the viscount and finds him watching her intently, his expression focused and unwavering. As heat creeps up her neck, Adelina looks quickly away. “I’ve always had a weak constitution, but the doctors can’t tell me why. It has led to many great things, however. Papa says I’m quite an accomplished painter, though I do admit he’s likely biased.” She smiles at the thought. “I play the pianoforte, but I suppose that is not so very interesting. Every young lady has some artistic ability, yes?”
“Your weak constitution... What do you know of it?”
It should not surprise her at this point that he always fails to respond in the way she expects him to. Courting is like a dance—each partner knows what’s expected of them, what steps to take, when to spin and when to dip—but Lord Rosetti seems to move to a song only he can hear, and Adelina is left struggling to keep up.
Though she would have preferred not to discuss her health, she elaborates, telling the viscount of her constant fatigue, the shakes, and the tonic that eases her into the waking world each morning. At mention of it, he perks up.
“What is in this tonic?” he asks.
Adelina pauses briefly. She’s wondered herself but has never found the question riveting enough to pursue. Looking up at Lord Rosetti, she offers a shy smile. “I do not know, my lord. Though it does smell overwhelmingly of garlic. I would not describe it as pleasant.”
“No, I don’t imagine you would.” His tone is low, nothing like the conversational manner with which most gentlemen converse.
Not for the first time, Adelina is unsure how to respond. Despite studying the art of conversation, she’s at a loss. This man turns everything she thought she knew upside down.
Lord Rosetti tucks his arm, with hers looped around it, ever slightly into his chest, drawing her a hair’s breadth closer. Her hand tingles where it touches him, but she strives not to react.
They walk in comfortable silence, and though Adelina casts her eyes about the park, enjoying the trees and emerald foliage and geese upon the lake, she can think of nothing but the gentleman beside her.
Just when it seems he might have nothing more to say, he shifts, and she glances up to find him looking down at her.
“Have you ever tried forgoing it?”
Forgoing her tonic? Whyever would she? It’s the only thing that stops her shakes and allows her to rise from bed in the mornings.
“I’ve not,” she says lightly, smiling at a couple as they pass by. “I fear I may be confined to bed should I stop taking it.”
“Would you consider it?” His gaze is focused again, but now something softer swims in the green.
Though Adelina can see no reason to agree to such a thing, she finds herself giving the viscount an almost imperceptible nod. She scarcely knows the man, yet she wishes to please him. It’s a most strange feeling.
He lets out a small breath, sounding almost relieved that she’s acquiesced. “You’ll tell me how you feel?”
“If you’d like,” she says, feeling a tinge of embarrassment come over her for discussing her health complications so openly with a gentleman she barely knows.
