Oh, God.Adam Hart, currently dressed as a kindly seller of tinctures named Jonathan Simms, felt his heart sink as he gazed across the ballroom floor. Through the crowd of laughing ladies and gentlemen, a woman stared back at him.Her.
‘And you say that the violet tincture is effective for headaches, Mr. Simms?’ Lady Throckmorton, a woman of advancing years and enormous wealth, looked at him questioningly. ‘I suffer dreadfully from headaches.’
‘My violet tincture is not merely effective for headaches, ma’am—it’s effective for every sort of bodily pain.’ Probably not the pain that Lady Throckmorton felt, namely the pain of being a woman who sat on sofas all day never lifting so much as a finger, but the important thing was to lie in a secure, soothing voice. ‘It’s regularly used by the Regent.’
‘My goodness!’ Lady Throckmorton held a hand to her mouth, several large bejewelled rings on her fingers. ‘Does it do anything else?’
No. It didn’t do anything else, but that wasn’t what Adam was going to say. He opened his mouth, ready to rattle off another dozen maladies his violet tincture could eradicate from the face of the earth, but couldn’t drag his gaze away from the woman on the other side of the room.
Mary Fine. Best friend of Abigail, wife of Adam’s friend Marcus, and the absolute bane of his life when it came to moments like this.
On any other night, he’d be happy to see Mary Fine. Well, perhaps happy wasn’t the correct word—she was far too irritating for that—but still, baiting her and laughing as she snapped back made any gathering a good deal more fun. But now, in his Mr. Simms costume and with a carriage full of completely useless remedies beginning to wilt in the summer heat, Adam couldn’t think of a person he less wanted to see.
Because Mary Fine was a good person. Thoroughly, irritatingly good. Which was all very well when one was teasing her about it in the middle of a ball—but when one was instead in the middle of an active deception, about to defraud as many people as possible and then spirit away into the night, Mary Fine was highly likely to make a scene.
‘Mr. Simms—the violet tincture?’ Lady Throckmorton smiled, her eyes full of fragile hope that Adam tried his best not to think about. The woman had all the money in the world; a few of her coins wasted on a bottle of sugar water wouldn’t make her imaginary illnesses any worse. ‘You were talking about its marvellous properties.’
‘I was, dear lady, and I will continue to in a very short moment.’ Adam lavished his best smile on the woman, hoping against hope that Mary was still occupied with the young woman at the other end of the ballroom. ‘But I’m afraid I have an unpleasant but necessary matter to attend to first.’
Lady Throckmorton seemed confused, but curtseyed politely all the same as Adam bowed low. ‘Of course, Mr. Simms. I await further conversation.’
‘As do I, Lady Throckmorton.’ This bloody woman was a guaranteed couple of pounds if he played his cards right, but Mary had already all but ruined his chances. ‘As I said—this will be the work of a moment.’
It had bloody better be the work of a moment. All he needed to do was hide in a convenient alcove until Mary had made her way into another room, then he could continue his merry work. But as Adam tried to move to the nearest convenient hiding place without attracting undue attention, the hairs on the back of his neck stood rigid.
Bugger. She’s spotted me.
A part of him always jumped to attention whenever Mary was looking at him, even if he wasn’t looking back. It was a sort of telepathy at this point, deeply unwelcome and not something that Adam wished to think about to any great depth.
He turned, sighing. True enough, Mary was staring at him from across the ballroom—and from the look in her eyes, just beneath the surface of her coolly polite expression, she’d both understood exactly what he was doing here and wasn’t happy about it in the slightest.
Hiding was no longer an option. Mary was worse than a hound when something had vexed her; she was always polite, always patient, but absolutely relentless. Trying to keep his expression one of careless contentment, Adam gave a short bow from across the room.
Mary didn’t bother to curtsey back. As Adam approached, his mouth twisting in irritation even as his heart beat faster with a sort of frustrated readiness, the woman folded her arms.
Oh, double bugger.When Mary folded her arms, something truly despicable had occurred. Adam stopped a safe distance from Mary, trying to assess his options.
A public confrontation was out of the question. Mary was cutting, yes, but she wasn’t brazen enough to say anything with people close by capable of listening. But neither would she allow Adam to do his work—she was perfectly capable of following him about the room like a distressingly annoying ghost, making Adam stumble over his words thanks to the sheer power of her disapproval.
Fine. In private, then. Adam made a subtle, careless gesture towards the nearest antechamber, a little room that looked and smelled as if it was normally full of boots when guests weren’t present, and made his way towards it without looking to see if Mary was following him.
This was normally what he did when seeking an illicit assignation with a woman of loose morals, not to be chastised by a woman with more morals than usual. Unfortunately, Adam’s body hadn’t quite got the message—at least, that had to be the explanation for the perilous excitement now coiling at the base of his stomach.
Mary marched into the antechamber. As she whirled around to face Adam, Adam couldn’t help but notice that her normally calm expression showed a good deal of irritation.
‘Miss Fine.’ He gently closed the door of the antechamber, his nose already filling with the oppressive smell of boot. ‘May I remind you, before you begin upbraiding me, that we are meant to meet at the Brookes garden party two weeks hence. That may be a better time to speak to me if you so desperately wish to do so.’
‘I can’t believe you’re here.’
‘Why? I am allowed to attend the same gatherings as you, you know. It’s hardly forbidden.’
‘You know what I mean. You’re not here as a—a normal person. You’re tricking your way through the guests. I saw you do it at Abigail’s Christmas party and I could have wrung your neck.’ Mary was speaking fast and low. This had to be what she looked like, sounded like; Adam blinked, honestly astonished that he’d managed to make the woman this angry already. ‘This sort of behaviour is absolutely unacceptable.’
‘England is a land of liberty, Miss Fine. You are free to irritate me at every gathering with your needling little comments, your glares when no-one else is looking, and I’m free to practice my unconventional trade.’
‘Bow Street would say different.’
‘Summon Bow Street, then. Tell them your suspicions, and watch them fall like a house of cards after I’ve spoken to them for more than a minute. Policemen are practically a pastime for me, Miss Fine.’