Chapter Twelve
Miss Knightley’s words still rang in Adam’s ears several hours later, as he unbuttoned his shirt. How dare you!
He pulled the shirt over his head and held it for a moment, balled in his hand. I find your insinuations and your behavior grossly impertinent! As an accusation, it had stung. It still did. Arabella Knightley was correct: his behavior hadn’t been that of a gentleman.
Adam flexed his fingers around the balled linen, remembering the slenderness of her wrist. Yes, grossly impertinent. I owe her an apology.
“Dirty, sir?” his valet, Perkins, asked, plucking the shirt from his hand.
Adam watched the man bustle into the dressing room, but it wasn’t Perkins he saw. His memory replayed the scene in the conservatory and halted at her scornful utterance: Mr. St. Just, yo
