In the Baron's Debt: Historical Regency Romance

by Roselyn Francis

  “Well, let me see if I can get it back for you,” Loftus held out a hand to Augusta. She paused for a second, clearly confused by the move. He gestured with eyes down at the battledore in her grasp and she handed it over.

  He turned back to the tree and reached up on his toes, poking the branch with the end of the battledore. It took a few goes, but eventually the shuttlecock dislodged – it fell from the tree branch towards them, where Markus caught it. He held it aloft with glee for Augusta to see.

  “Well done! An excellent catch indeed,” she clapped in approval. Loftus could see the delight in Markus’ face at her praise.

  “Now, before you return to your game,” Loftus pointed to the table and chairs placed at the bottom of the open grass section of the garden, “perhaps we could take some refreshments. You must be thirsty by now, Markus. I have requested some lemonade be brought out for you.” The boy nodded and ran towards the table, picking up his feet with his haste.

  Loftus and Augusta walked side by side towards him. With such distance between them and the boy, they could talk in private.

  “He has not been this way for some time,” Loftus confessed as he passed the battledore back to Augusta, avoiding eye contact. He was angry at her, but he could not escape the fact that Markus had chosen her of all people to be comfortable with. That had to be important. There was part of him that wished to unload all his thoughts about Markus to her. Once upon a time, he had told her everything. She had always been good counsel, offering sound advice and comfort when needed. He could do with that kindness back in his life. He pressed his lips together instead, preventing himself from speaking.

  “I think he is happiest when he is not thinking of what it is that bothers him,” Augusta whispered to him as they neared the table.

  “That is your plan, to distract him?”

  “At first,” she nodded. He turned his eyes to her, seeing the gentleness of her smile. “By not tackling the issue and just talking to him normally, he relaxes. He is happy.” She gestured to his son. Markus was pulling himself into one of the chairs, crossing his feet beneath him with a smile.

  “It is nice to see him so happy,” Loftus agreed with a final whisper as they reached the table. He held out a chair for Augusta to sit. She took it with a little surprise, murmuring her thanks with a glance his way. By pushing in her chair, it had put them in proximity, and he regretted it.

  Loftus was startled by her scent. It was the same as it had been all those years ago. It was a mixture of jasmine and orange. He moved quickly to his own chair, his movements jerky with exasperation at himself, trying to distance himself from the scent as the maid moved nearer.

  The realization the maid was the one carrying the tea tray to them prepared Loftus for the inevitable. He turned his eyes to Markus, waiting for his reaction. The moment the boy spotted the maid, he clammed up. His smile disappeared and he rearranged in his chair, bringing his knees up in front of his face to hide.

  Loftus could see Augusta had fallen still in her chair, watching the boy avidly.

  As the maid reached the table, she propped the tray on the surface. The clatter of the china cups made the boy leap into action. He jumped up from his chair and scurried under the table to hide, pushing his small body between the white metal legs. Augusta was alarmed, her mouth wide as she looked between the table and the maid.

  The maid could not leave yet. She was moving the teapot and the cups from the tray to the table surface.

  “Markus, please,” Loftus leaned down to look under the table. “I promise you there is nothing to worry about.” The boy would not look at him. He had his eyes on his hands that were wrapped around one of the chair legs.

  “Well, this is an unusual place for a tea party,” Augusta flopped down under the table and took a seat beside Markus. Loftus felt his eyebrows raise in surprise. She made no reference to what had passed regarding the boy’s reason for hiding. “Here you go, Markus.” She passed him his lemonade. “Now, you will have to let go of the table leg if you wish to drink the lemonade.” The boy made no move to do so, he kept his hands firmly around it. “Oh, very well. I guess I will get to enjoy the lemonade. It is my favorite too.” She made a show of raising the glass to her lips at which point the boy released the table leg and reached out towards her. “Ah, here you go. Next time I will have to be quicker if I am to take it from you.” She passed over the lemonade before turning her eyes to him. “Baron Bardolf, will you join us?”

  Loftus was not sure how to reply, too stunned by what had passed.

  “Under the table?” He asked with a smirk.

  “Well, Markus wishes to have our tea party down here. Do you not, dear?” She looked to the boy who nodded. “I think it is a splendid idea. Each day we have tea together, we can pick a new wonderful place. What do you say Markus to us taking tea tomorrow amongst the flowerbeds?” The boy smiled at the idea.

  “Very well,” Loftus sat straight again to collect the teapot and teacups, then brought them back down to the grass as the maid hurried away. He found he watched Augusta carefully throughout their tea party. She continuously talked to Markus. With each surprising topic of conversation that she chose, the boy relaxed even more.

  When it came to the time for the tea tray to be collected, Augusta had persuaded Markus back into the chairs by complaining her back was a little sore and asking if he would take pity on her. When the maid came, Markus would not look at her, but this time, he did not run away. Augusta continued to talk to him of their shuttlecock game and he kept his eyes to her.

  I know, son. I find it just as difficult to tear my eyes from her.

  The parting with Markus had been a little sad for Augusta. She found she was developing a true affection for the boy, but as she stood in the doorway bidding goodbye to the Baron, she felt a little pride too at the day’s events. She had managed to soften the boy’s reaction to the maid during their tea.

  I can help him.

  She had enjoyed her time with Markus, so much so, that the business deal she and the Baron had arranged almost seemed unfair. He had sacrificed money, but she had sacrificed nothing. She had simply gained a new friend.

  As she stood in the doorway, she turned back to face the Baron, her manner suddenly nervous. She looked at his surprised face, struggling with what to say. He was angry, impatient for her to be on her way. She realized how indebted to him she was. Had it not been for his kindness in returning the money, James could be in debtor’s prison by now.

  “Baron Bardolf?”

  “Yes?” He appeared distracted by something. He looked behind him into the hallway, he was watching Holmes and the housekeeper as they were walking down the corridor discussing something.

  Augusta knew she needed his full attention. She had to thank him properly for what he had done. Seeing he was still distracted she took a step back towards him and reached out for his hand. He did not pull away, but his hand did not move to completely encapsulate hers, his hand froze in hers. His head flicked back towards her, with his eyes wide in alarm and fury.

  “Miss Creassey –”

  “Please allow me to thank you,” her words came out in a hurry, “for what you have done for me and my brother.”

  “You have already thanked me.”

  “Not enough,” she shook her head and held his hand tighter. Still, he did not pull away, though his manner betrayed his discomfort. “I am indebted to you. Markus is a joy to be with. If the only repayment I can ever make you for returning my brother’s money - is to enjoy Markus’ company, then I have truly been blessed by your kindness.”

  “Miss Creassey,” his voice was a warning whisper, the words harsh. “It is a business arrangement. That is all. If you enjoy my son’s company, then of course I am delighted, but you do not need to thank me further.”

  “I truly do. For my brother’s sake.”

  “Do not thank me for your brother.” He shook his head, his eyes lowering to their connected hands. She followed his gaze, seeing th
eir palms pressed together. His hand was warm against hers.

  “But I must.”

  “I did not do it for him.” His whisper was so quiet, she was uncertain for a minute if she had heard him correctly. The touch between them was like a spark in Augusta’s stomach. As though Loftus had struck a light in a tinder box – that sudden spark of fire burning.

  She looked up to him again, seeing his green eyes watching her.

  She was reminded of the last kiss they had ever shared. It had been in the very doorway where she now stood. He had stepped outside with her to hide from prying eyes of the staff. The kiss had been passionate. He had pressed her against the back of the door, holding her waist with both of his hands. She had wound her fingers in his hair, pulling him towards her.

  She blinked as she watched him now. Amazed by the desire that was stirring for him in her stomach at just the touch of their hands.

  “I must go.” She pulled her hand sharply away from his, as though it had been burned and hurried back down the steps, hiding her hands in the sleeves of her pelisse. She did not look back to the doorway as she was too afraid to see his face or his reaction.

  She wondered if he could remember that kiss at all.

  Chapter Six

  Augusta knew it was Loftus before she saw him. He was chasing her through the garden of his house. She was laughing as she was trying to escape him, running between the border of oak trees that lined the grass.

  He caught her. Softly he took hold of her waist and pulled her back to him. She collided against him, their bodies pressing together. She was the one to instigate the kiss – she could not look for very long at those green eyes without kissing him.

  She reached up on her toes and wound her hands around his neck, pulling him towards her. With the press of their lips together, both of their movements became something more passionate.

  Augusta was pushed against the trunks of one of the trees behind her. Loftus melded their bodies together as he parted her lips. The first touch of tongue had her moaning against him. She pulled on the buttons of his high-waisted jacket, desperate to touch him. His hands went to help her – together they unbuttoned the garment and threw it from his shoulders.

  He returned his hands to her afterwards. As she ran her hands over his shirt-covered arms, trying to feel the tone of muscle beneath, his hands were dropping from her waist to her hips. The move had her gasping into his mouth, feeling a wetness pool between her legs.

  He pulled away from their kiss and began to pepper her neck with small open-mouthed kisses. He nibbled as well, leaving her with love marks across her skin and small flicks of tongue.

  “Loftus…” She moaned his name as his hands grasped her hips tightly. “Please, Loftus.”

  He did not need asking twice. His hands grabbed the skirt of her dress and began to lift it up. He held it around her waist as he took hold of the skirt of the chemise too and bundled it high.

  He returned his lips to hers, inviting her tongue with his easily this time.

  Augusta felt her legs being separated by his thigh. His knee nudged hers a little to the side, opening her to him.

  He moved but an inch back from their kiss. Both were breathing heavily, his green eyes watching her closely with a small smile playing around his lips. His hand moved from her hip to her center – touching her in her most secret place.

  Augusta woke up with a start.

  It took a moment for the dream to leave her. She sat up in bed, clammy and heated. She tossed the bed covers off her body onto the floor, pulling at the neckline of her nightgown to release herself from some of the heat. She was still breathing heavily.

  She moved to the end of the bed, as though crawling away from the center would help her move away from her dream, yet she could not escape it. The dream image of Loftus with her against the tree in his garden would not dissipate.

  She covered her face with her hands as her breathing began to return to normal. She had experienced such dreams of him before when they had been courting, but nothing so heated nor as full of anticipation and tension as that one had been.

  He is taunting my mind again.

  She jumped from the bed, shaking her hands and trying to regain some sense. She felt as though she had been struck by lightning with as much desire and anger. The emotions coiled together, directed at Loftus. She thought back to what she had seen those eight years ago, how she had seen him with another, how he had destroyed her heart.

  Loftus was dangerous to her. Last time she had been with him, she had ended up destroyed by him. Her crumpled heart like a screwed-up piece of parchment he had tossed away on the floor.

  She could not do it again.

  She had an obligation to him to help with Markus, but she did not have to see Loftus as much as she had that day. She did not have to take tea with him. She did not have to take his hand as she had done when they were saying goodbye at the end of the afternoon. It had been her own doing.

  I will not take part in my own undoing anymore. I must put some distance between us. Then I will be safe from him.

  She moved to the window and peered beyond the curtains down to her own garden. It was lit by soft silver moonlight that was peeking between the clouds. She tried to persuade herself that it was being in Loftus’ garden that had caused the dream. After all, during their courting days they had spent much time in his garden. Yet she knew it was not true. He had been the cause of the dream.

  She needed to make a plan. She straightened her spine as she looked out of the window. She would help Markus for a few days, encourage the boy to be at peace with women and to relax, but she did not have to see Loftus. After she had helped Markus, she would return to who she was before. She would ride in the morning, read in the evening, spend days and evenings with her friends and their children. There would be a good deal of distance between her and Loftus.

  She moved away from the window and collected a candle from her bedside. Clutching it tightly in her hand, she left her chamber and hurried down the corridor, searching for a familiar painting that she had always known. At the end of the corridor, she came to a stop and held the candle aloft.

  It cast an orange glow onto the painting before her. It was a portrait of her family. Her father and mother stood together, while she and James as children stood in front of them. Her mother had her hands on Augusta’s shoulders.

  Augusta could remember that moment. The soft touch of her mother’s hands on her shoulder. Such an expression of love without words.

  The pain of losing her own mother brought Markus’ plight into sharper focus. He had lost his mother at a very young age indeed.

  That must be why he is nervous around women. He is still grieving.

  She had to help him with the grief. There had to be the way to make him happy again.

  She stayed for some time looking at the painting, wondering why of all the women in the world Markus was for some reason comfortable with her. She toyed with the idea that they had a bond but pushed this thought away. It had to be that she was good with children. She knew how to put him at ease whereas the women in Loftus’ staff may not have been as practiced with children.

  I will help Markus, then I will leave and not see either of them again.

  She had made her decision.

  Why did she break off our betrothal?

  Loftus was plagued by this infuriating question as he sat at his writing desk in a loose white shirt and his tight-fitting pantaloons. He had felt such guilt and anger at himself after she had left his house that afternoon. Guilt for thinking so much of her, anger that he had allowed his mind to wander so.

  He had barely stopped thinking of her. As the day had turned to night, still he had been unable to stop. This was the question that kept coming back. He wanted to know why she had broken his heart all those years ago.

  His place at the writing desk was lit by the moonlight through the window, turning the pages of the parchment from his hidden leather folder even whiter. He was drawing a
gain, something he had not done for many years, his fury made his hold on the pencil tight.

  He was drawing Augusta.

  With careful pencil lines he was replicating her image. He was copying a memory from that afternoon. Augusta striking the shuttlecock with the battledore. Her skirt was lifted slightly, revealing a glimpse of calf. Her chin was tilted high and her eyes were wide. It was a striking image of her.

  He was urgent with the pencil, keen to commit the memory to paper before he could forget it. This was his outlet for his desire of her, recreating her beauty by pencil. As he finished his drawing, he sat back in his chair, looking at her pencil facsimile in the moonlight.

  My siren…

  The thought seemed to bring a little sense to him. He threw the pencil across the writing desk surface, the sound clattered noisily. He had to stay away from her. She had already upset his life once; he did not want to see if she would do it again.