Lady Adelaide Wells was overjoyed. She kept it under wraps, of course; a lady was not supposed to be in high spirits just three months after her husband's passing—even if that husband was fifty-two years her senior and the bane of her existence, constantly blowing his nose, coughing, and sweating. Even if he was a source of daily torment, a widowed lady was supposed to mourn.

So, Adelaide mourned. She did a beautiful job of it. Other women were welcome to sob until the paint came off their faces. Adelaide would mourn in her own way, with just one diamond-like tear lingering in the corner of her eye. And she would have the most wonderful mourning clothes.

With her black hair and dark-brown eyes, green looked good on her, especially with the right powder and blush. She knew how to use makeup; she had suffered a bout of smallpox five years before and had learned to conceal the few scars remaining on her cheeks. They didn't mar her beauty in the least.

She was sure to find another husband, but she didn't want to find him right away. Society was permissive with young widows. They could get away with a lot, as long as they observed certain proprieties, and Adelaide was an expert. She had learned to be cautious at the tender age of fourteen.

♦

"That's enough, Richard. Let's go. Camelia is putting on a fantastic show this evening."

Adelaide started when she heard the man's voice. She knew that she wasn't the type of woman that interested Richard, and she had heard that he would be marrying soon. She wouldn't waste her time or risk her reputation. She felt she was more attractive as a widow in mourning than as the prince's abandoned lover. The man walking next to Richard, however, aroused her serious interest. Adelaide noticed his broad shoulders, the cut and cloth of his tunic, and the expensive weapons he carried. This was a man worth her time.

He looks like he could do more than snore in bed, and he'd send me expensive gifts afterward. Adelaide was not feeling particularly wealthy on her own. Her husband had left her a sizeable sum, but a house in the capital, a carriage, expensive gowns and jewelry—it all added up. The stranger was just what she needed.

She went into action, unhooking the brooch from the light shawl she wore around her shoulders and letting it drop to the floor. The brooch, an aromatic sphere made just for such purposes, rolled obediently across the floor in just the right direction. This was the key moment. "I apologize, My Lord. My brooch!"

She fell to her knees to retrieve the golden sphere and looked up into the eyes of the man, who had also bent down to pick it up. She blushed deeply and looked him in the eye before dropping her lashes. Her silk shawl slid from her shoulders, revealing her full breasts in a low-cut décolleté.

The man was composed as he gave her one hand and carefully replaced the shawl with the other. As he took his hand from her shoulder, his fingers ran lightly over her breast. Adelaide knew this was a test. If she made the wrong move, the man would visit her bed, but he wouldn't stay, and she wanted him to stay.

She took a step back and blushed even brighter before lowering her eyes and whispering, "Thank you, My Lord. Forgive me, Your Highness." Then she got out of the room as fast as she could so that Richard could tell his friend all he knew about her.

She would use her time to find out more about the man. Hunting season is open. There was something exquisite about hunting while pretending to be the prey. The only thing that worried Adelaide was the thick wedding bracelet on the man's wrist. A wife, however, was less of an obstacle than a husband.

She needed to find out who he was right away.

Green is the color of mourning in Ativerna. Pastors also wear green to remind people that life is short.

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