Free Portia Da Costa by Diamonds in the Rough Page A

No sooner do I set eyes on you than I turn into an imbecile and a wanton, and let slip the very last secret that anyone should be privy to, least of all you.
    Still breathing hard, Adela sprang up and stomped back to the door to turn the key. If he didn’t already know which room she’d been given, it wouldn’t take Wilson long to find out, and she needed time alone...to assess the degree of damage she’d done.
    If only Sofia or Beatrice were here! Adela could have opened her heart to either one, as both were women of emotional wisdom and experience, and she was confident they’d have words of advice for her. But neither of her two dearest friends moved in this particular set, and this new Wilson dilemma wasn’t something she could discuss with anyone else. Neither her mother nor Sybil must ever know her darkest secrets, and though Marguerite was sensible and intelligent, she was simply too young to share matters of sex with.
    Oh, it was all such a mess of complication. This situation had been difficult to begin with—Ruffingtons set at odds with each other by her grandfather, the damned Old Curmudgeon who had no time for women.
    But now she’d made it insupportable with her own foolish actions.
    A bag of nervous energy, Adela marched across to the window and looked out, although she hung back behind the curtains in case Wilson had taken it into his head to go outside. If he glanced up and saw her, he’d know which room was hers.
    There was no sign of an eccentric figure with wild dark hair and a ridiculous dressing gown, but the gardens, the lush green lawns and the topiary were all very easy on the eye. The house itself was a bit of a sprawl, but outside all of nature was kept in order, groomed and harmonious. Some of the house party were out there on the lawn below her window, lounging in white painted garden chairs, consuming lemonade and engaging in small talk. Some sheltered beneath gaily striped umbrellas; others basked in the sun’s rays. All appeared very innocent, relaxed in ambience, yet observing polite decorum.
    But who’s tupping whom in secret? Surely I’m not the only one who’s been getting up to mischief.
    Knowing something of house parties, Adela suspected there were any number of liaisons taking place beneath the conventional, convivial surface. But all looked normal and respectable out there, just as she’d planned to be before her encounter with Wilson. The only risks she took were confined to the discreet, luxurious confines of Sofia’s pleasure house.
    Until now. One look at Wilson and Adela had turned into a lunatic. Ten minutes in his company and one shouting match later, she’d been putty in his hands. And the one delicious orgasm he’d bestowed on her hadn’t been nearly enough. Her body craved more. The very four-poster bed behind her seemed to cry out for his presence, and from the corner of her eye she seemed to see him lounging there against the pillows and the linens.
    Damn you, you obnoxious beast, you’ve primed me like a pump and now I won’t be satisfied without a torrent!
    Struggling, Adela focused on the view from the window. Her sister Sybil was fluttering around with a croquet mallet and being coy, flapping her eyelashes at her adoring swain, Lord Framley. At least that little exercise was going as planned, and Mama was clearly thrilled. The besotted lad’s aristocratic family was rolling in money, and so far nobody had raised any objection to him paying court to a virtually penniless young woman with no apparent prospects. If Sybil bagged him, it would alleviate a lot of worries.
    Turning from Sybil, Adela frowned. There was another handsome male creating a source of disquiet. But in this case one she personally did not find attractive.
    Her mother was flirting. Batting her eyelashes at Blair Devine, the young solicitor who she’d met at a small poetry soiree hosted by her old friend Lady Gresham. Adela wasn’t quite sure how interested her mother was in poetry,