Loving the Enemy

Chapter 11

14 August 1815

Day 5 of desire and Torture

Adelaide woke to a terrible clanging in her head. She groaned and tried to lift the pillow to cover her head. But the movement made it worse, and her arm felt like lead so she couldn't even lift her bedcovers to bury her head in it.

"Are you finally awake, Miss Kendall?"

Adelaide cracked open an eyelid to see that Betsey had popped her head through the doorway that separated the sitting area from the bedroom. "Betsey." She croaked. "Why does my head hurt?"

She bustled in, a tray table with tea and toast in her hands. Setting it down by the table, she assisted Adelaide to sit up before laying the tray table over her knees. "Here, some hot tea first, for your aching head." She handed Adelaide a cup. "Then some plain toast after. You'll feel much better after that."

The first sip of the piping hot tea did indeed settle her jumpy stomach. After a few more sips, she felt invigorated enough to talk. "What happened last night? Why does my head hurt?"

"You'd drunk too much, Miss Kendall." Betsey shook her head. "You could hardly walk. One of the footman might has well have carried up to your room seeing as how you were stumbling this way and that up the stairs."

Adelaide nibbled on a bit of toast. "I don't remember. Did Mama say anything?"

"She said you were fortunate that it'd been Mr Wyndham who noticed you were drunk and not some other man who might have taken advantage of your inebriated state to make untoward advances on your person."

Adelaide clenched the neck of her nightgown. "Mr Wyndham?" Apparently too much drink had a deleterious effect on her memory for she recalled nothing of their encounter. Apart from remembering that she'd been caught ogling by said man and having a glass of something, the rest of the night was a blank.

"Aye. He did come by to ask after you."

"When?" She winced at the sudden sharp sound and movement she made. "When?" She asked again, softer this time.

"Maybe about a half hour ago? He said you weren't at breakfast and he wondered how you were."

She cast her eyes about her the clock, fighting nausea from turning her head too fast. A quarter past eleven! She wanted to fling back the covers and jump out of bed but her spinning head had her sinking back down onto the bed, her head in one hand. "I think I'd need a bit more of a lie-down. Can you send a note to Mr Wyndham to tell him I'm recovered and to please meet me in the library after luncheon at two?"

Philip stood by the door, not fully within the library yet not out, and leaned against the doorframe, taking a moment to observe her in her quiet element. He hadn't yet the opportunity — or pleasure — to observe her like this without her knowing.

Her legs were tucked under her, and she was twirling loose strands of her hair that fallen out of her chignon in her finger, in a girlish act he wouldn't typically associate with her.

She giggled suddenly, and the sound caught him off guard. The familiar sensation of desire that he associated with her rose with him and he shifted slightly to release the uncomfortable pressure in his loins. The shift made the wood creak and her head lifted at the noise.

"Mr Wyndham." He heard the start in her voice, but she got to her feet calmly, placing the heavy book on the seat. "You have come."

"Yes." He pushed away from the door. "Your note said to meet you here. Is anything the matter?"

"I...that is to say..." She took in a deep breath. "I wanted to ask what happened last night." Her words came out in a rush.

"You will have to be a bit more specific about which part of last night you're referring to."