“Are you asking me to do this as a favor to you in particular? Or as a favor to him?”
The words made her look away again, she kept her chin high though this time; she was determined not to allow his steely stare to weaken her. It was the only reference either of them had made in the conversation to their past attachment, and she felt her resentment bubbling at him once more for making the allusion to it.
“I do not ask you because of the past between us.” Her mouth felt suddenly dry. She reached for the teacup again, needing the drink. “I ask you to merely show mercy, to my brother.”
“I was surprised to meet him last night.” The Baron leaned forward to refill his cup. “The last time I saw your brother he was still practically a child. I did not recognize him at first.”
“He has changed much.” She did not like to admit how much James had changed. His descent into gambling caused too much pain to talk of.
“Why is he gambling if you are truly in such dire streets?”
“It is a sickness,” she connected their stare again. The green eyes were narrowed on her. “I am doing what I can for him, I am trying to help him, but it is not easy. Yet, if you take this money now, then he is doomed already. That is why I am here. I will do anything, please, I implore you, return the money to him.”
She realized she had no more to say on the matter. She rested her gaze down on her lap and fidgeted for a moment. She had to look away from him. He was more handsome then she had remembered. Even with the cold tone he was adopting with her, the fury at her audacity to be in his house, that he was making no pains to hide, yet his turn of phrase was what she remembered. His voice too was something she had always admired in the past. It was deep and inviting. She cursed herself for the admiration as she fidgeted.
Do not remember the fond memories.
Loftus was torn. On one hand, he did not like the idea of helping the woman who had once so destroyed his heart, it made his anger curdle in his stomach. Neither did he have a liking for her brother after seeing him again the night before, but this was another matter entirely. If he kept the money James had lost, he would be condemning Augusta to a life of servitude.
I do not think I can do that to her.
The realization caused an icy cut to his chest. It proved to himself that he still cared for her, even though he argued with himself that he did not. It was as though he was looking at her through a haze of red mist caused by his anger, yet she still cut through it, making it difficult for him to hold onto that anger.
His eyes travelled from her to the doorway that Markus had escaped through. There was another problem here to contend with, one that Augusta was completely oblivious to at this moment. If she were truly offering to do anything to secure the money, there was one thing he wanted from her.
Save my son.
“Miss Creassey, you will have observed that my son has a nervousness about him.” He looked back to her, she nodded ever so slightly. “It appears to be a form of mutism.”
“Has he always had it?” She tilted her head to the side, apparently confused by the turn in conversation.
“No,” he chose not to elaborate on his answer as to the exact length of time or the reasons why. “He has not spoken for a while now. Markus is particularly nervous around women. Whether that would be a maid, or a lady come to visit, he is…” He struggled for the right words, scratching his chin in thought for a moment. The image of Markus’ frightened face appeared in his mind for a moment. “Well, he is terrified in their company.”
Augusta’s eyes travelled to the doorway through which Markus had left. She opened her mouth for a second, as though she would reply to Loftus, but then closed it again. Loftus cleared his throat, determined to reveal his proposal before he could back out of his own plan.
“I cannot even employ a nursemaid for him, or a governess. When he goes off to boarding school, he will be surrounded by men, but still unable to be in the presence of a woman. That is no way for a boy to grow up. At present, Markus prefers the company of myself, Holmes, and the footman here.”
“No women at all?”
“No,” he shook his head. “Except, it seems, for you.” His words were spoken sharply, the resentment returning. It made her striking hazel eyes widen. Loftus looked away from them for a moment, knowing how enthralling they were to look at, he could not stare at them for long. “I have not seen Markus comfortable in a woman’s company for some time now. Especially not as comfortable as I did a moment ago when he was with you. He even laughed, did he not?”
“Yes, he did.”
“That is unheard of,” he shook his head again. It was too good an opportunity to miss. He had to help Markus somehow. “This is my proposal to you. I will return the money your brother gambled, but –” seeing her about to reply, he held a hand up to show he was not finished, “in return, help my son.”
“Help him?” She repeated in wonder, her brow furrowing.
“Visit him, help him with his speech. Perhaps after a little time, he could relax with all women again.” He replaced his teacup to the saucer and stood to his feet. “So, Miss Creassey, that is my business proposal. Do you accept?”
She stood to her feet too, her manner betraying her surprise.
“I accept.”
“Good,” he nodded. “Now, as our business is settled, I trust you have no more to say?” He knew it was a rude statement to make, curt and sharp, but he was struggling with how to contend with the warring emotions inside of him. He needed her to leave.
Her lips quirked into the smallest of smiles, it surprised him. She had not yet smiled in his company.
“There was a time when you detested talking of business. You infinitely preferred to talk of other matters.” The allusion she made to their past familiarity grated within him. The words were spoken half in jest, but with also a little derision. He noted how she seemed just as angry in his presence, as he was in hers.
“That was many years ago,” he held her gaze, almost shrugging as he said the words. He had intended for them to come out a little harsh, but he found himself automatically softening the words. “People change, do they not?”
“Yes, I suppose we all do,” she looked down to her hands as she replaced the teacup to the tray. “Have you changed very much?” She would not look up at him, though her face betrayed her interest in the answer. It was a talent he had always possessed, being able to read her quite well. Though he could not read her all the time.
“Substantially, as I am sure you have as well,” he shifted his weight between his feet, surprised how their sharp words had vanished momentarily. He needed to claw back their previous tone; displaying anger toward her was easier to contend with than this. “Even the simple things change. When I last knew you, you spent every morning riding and every evening reading. I would wager you do not do that anymore.”
She looked up with another smile, but this one was sad.
“You would lose your wager. I still do both of those things.” Her voice was harsh as walked away from him towards the door, clearly keen to be as far away from him as possible. “If it is acceptable to you, I will visit Markus tomorrow then.”
He was still reeling from her words, slightly taken aback that it took him a moment to answer.
“Yes, that would be agreeable.” He offered a bow. “Goodbye, Miss Creassey.”
“And to you, Lord Storey.” She bobbed a curtsy, but when she lifted her head, she did not look at him again. She turned and quickly left the room. As she disappeared, he could hear her footsteps retreating away down the corridor, he covered his mouth, baffled by all that had taken place.
What have I just done?
“James? James!” Augusta spent many minutes walking through the house trying to find her brother. Eventually she found him in the glasshouse at the rear of the building, sat upon a wicker seat between the palm trees. She hesitated in the doorway when she found him, seeing how agitated he was in the chair. His feet were bobbing up and down
on the floor and he was leaning forward in his hands.
She knew it was his favorite place in the whole house. Built by their father, it housed the most treasured and exotic plants from warmer climates. James had been reluctant to sell a single item from the glasshouse to help pay for his debts.
“James?” Her voice had him darting his gaze towards her.
“Augusta, what did he say?” He leapt to his feet, with his manner whole-heartedly agitated.
“He agreed,” she sighed as she walked to his side.
“He agreed?” He laughed in amazement. “I knew he still had an affection –”
“No, James,” she cut him off with a wave of her hands, knowing what he was going to say and yet finding it unbearable to hear. “You misunderstand. We have made a business arrangement. He will return the money and I will help his son with his mutism.”
“He has a son?” James was agog with surprise.
Augusta nodded, feeling pain blooming again in her chest. There was a time when she had thought any child of the Baron’s would also be her own.
“Listen, James. This is the last time that I help you, do you understand?” She implored with firmness. He walked away from her around the plants, brushing the leaves with his hands. “I will now have to visit the Baron’s house regularly to help with his child. If you continue to gamble with all and sundry, you surely do not imagine I could make such a deal with every gentleman you lose to?”
“No, of course not, Augusta.” James bowed his head as he fidgeted with the plants.
“No more cards. Promise me?”
“I give you my word,” he looked up from a palm tree, his eyes wide. “No more cards.”
“And you will focus on business matters? Promise me that too. Or perhaps you should find a wife, it is about time you married, for both our sakes.” She turned to walk out of the glasshouse.
“Perhaps you should think on the latter yourself, sister,” he replied, his voice quiet. It made her feet fall still. She flicked her head back towards him. “You would be happier, Augusta, if you were not a spinster.” He added.
“The opportunity for me to marry has long passed.” Her voice was curt, almost cold. “I am a confirmed spinster. Do not raise the matter again.”
I do not involve myself with love or marriage anymore.
She turned and walked from the glasshouse, feeling her heart was made of the same glass. She wondered briefly if it broke again, would it shatter the same way the glass panes could?
Chapter Four
Augusta locked her chamber door behind her as the blush grew in her cheeks. Seeing Loftus again had brought back all the good memories between them, no matter how many times she had told herself not to think of them. She tapped her head back on the door, listening to the soft thud, as though she could will away the memories from her mind, but it did little use.
Their first meeting had been at an assembly. Loftus had approached to speak to her father, at which point he had introduced the two of them. She closed her eyes, feeling as though she were back there again.
“Ah, Baron Bardolf.” Her portly father turned around, gesturing to the young man that was approaching them with his reddening hands. He grew larger in the years leading up to his death, displaying symptoms of gout.
She was instantly intrigued by the stranger, tall with brown hair and piercing green eyes, but it was the smile he offered her father that had so taken her.
“How are you, my friend?”
“I am well, Viscount Campten. How are you?” The Baron bowed deeply, displaying his respect for the older man.
“I am tired of dancing,” her father had chuckled. “I have grown too old and large for such animation, though my daughter does insist upon it. My Lord, may I present my daughter, Miss Augusta Creassey. Augusta, this is Baron Bardolf, the Lord Loftus Storey.”
“How do you do.” She had bobbed a curtsy, though she had found it difficult to lower her eyes from his face.
“It is a pleasure,” he bowed, keeping his eyes fixed to her too. “Well, if you are tired of dancing, Sir, perhaps I could offer to be a dance partner to your daughter?”
“Are you a good dancer, my Lord?” She had asked with mischief, enjoying the surprise in his face and the curving of a smirk to his lips.
“Oh, shockingly poor,” he shook his head. “You may have to instruct me what to do, but I am eager to learn.”
“I am glad to hear it,” she smiled too, enjoying the warmth and charm of his manner.
“You do not mind a poor dance partner then?”
“On the contrary, who would not like to be the superior dance partner?” She asked with raised eyebrows. “It means any poor skill I have of my own will automatically look better when placed next to an even poorer dancer.” He had laughed warmly, startled by her humor.
Her father had waved them away, eager for them to dance. They had both quickly discovered that neither one of them was in fact a poor dancer, leading to them sharing three dances that evening.
Between them all evening there had been tension, it was not just enjoying each other’s company, but attraction – the kind that was all encompassing and could leave people breathless. When they had parted at the end of the assembly, the Baron had held tightly to her hand, far longer than the social custom dictated. She had thought her heart would beat so hard it would leap out of her chest at that moment.
She opened her eyes, seeing her bedchamber around her once again.
Do not remember the happy times.
She scolded herself yet again, though her feet still betrayed her. They walked across the room towards the dressing table, allowing her to delve into her trinket box and search a secret compartment. Inside was a gift Loftus had given her.
Despite the heartbreak, she had never been able to part from it. The gift meant too much to her for that. He meant too much to her for that.
She felt the anger boil inside her. She visualized it as a kettle of water, boiling on the fire, bubbling and steaming. She could not forgive him for what he had done all those years ago, and still she could not understand it. One moment their relationship had been so idyllic, the next destroyed, shredded into pieces.
He had turned his attention to another. That feeling of being cheated of their future together turned her stomach. It made her fingers clench tightly around the gift he had given her.
It was a necklace, but a simple gold chain, with a pendant encrusted in jewels shaped into a horse with a rider. They had often taken rides together during their courtship and he knew her love of horses.
She laid the necklace on the mahogany surface of the dressing table, staring at it for a moment. The reason she had kept it all these years was the same reason that she could never entertain another man’s courtship. There had been a couple of gentlemen in the early days who had declared an interest in courtship, but she had spurned each one of them.
She kept the necklace because despite the fact Loftus broke her heart, she still had feelings for him to this day.
Loftus threw off the bed covers from his body, abandoning his attempt to sleep entirely. His whole body was heated thinking of Augusta. Since she had left, his mind had kept circling back to her, never far away from her.
He had not expected the sight of her to raise the passions within him, but they had.
Why do I still desire her?
He jumped from the bed and reached for a nearby candle, hurrying to light it from a tinderbox. With the fresh orange flame, he moved across the room to his writing desk and pulled out a small folder that he kept at the back of the drawer, away from prying eyes.
It was a folder he had hidden from his wife when she was alive. A folder that kept his secret desire concealed.
Maria, his wife, had never been able to ignite his passions. He originally felt ashamed for such feelings, but that shame had soon vanished. Maria’s virtues were few and far between.
No, the only woman I have ever wanted was Augusta.
That thought m
ade him angry again. It was resentment of her, resentment that she was the only woman who could stir such passions in him. Yet still she had thrown that all away, she had destroyed his life, throwing him into a life that he had not wanted, just because she had broken off their engagement without a word to explain the reason.
Bringing the candle flame closer to the leather-bound folder, he untied the leather strap that held it together and turned the first page. The parchment lit by the orange orb did not abate his desires, they only grew more.
The folder was full of the admiring drawings he had once made of Augusta. Either committed from memory or from when they had sat together in the garden, he had carefully traced her profile on multiple occasions. Each drawing of her had been a declaration of how much he loved her. He followed his pencil lines, marking the curve of her eyes and the length of her neck. She was more youthful in the pictures, they had been drawn eight years ago, but just as beautiful as when she had stood in his drawing room that day.
In the Baron's Debt: Historical Regency Romance Page 3