by Amanda Quick
The question surprised him. It also annoyed him, although he knew he should have been expecting it. Augusta was not the type to let a subject drop easily.
“There are any number of sound, logical reasons,” he told her brusquely as he paused at the gate to check that the lane was empty. “None of which I have time to go into tonight.” Cold moonlight revealed the cobbled pavement quite plainly. The windows of Sally’s house glowed warmly at the far end of the narrow lane. There was no one in sight. “Pull your hood up over your head, Augusta.”
“Yes, my lord. We certainly would not want to risk anyone seeing me out here with you, would we?”
He heard the prim, offended note in her voice and winced. “Forgive me for not being as romantic as you might wish, Augusta, but I am in somewhat of a hurry.”
“That is obvious.”
“You may not care about your reputation, Miss Ballinger, but I do.” He concentrated on getting her safely down the lane to the back entrance of Lady Arbuthnott’s garden. The gate was unlocked. Harry urged Augusta inside. He saw a shadow detach itself from the house and start forward with a crablike motion. Scruggs was still in full costume, he noted wryly.
Harry looked down at his new fiancée. He tried to see her expression but found it impossible because her face was hidden by the hood. He was very aware of the fact that he was probably not behaving like every maiden’s dream of a romantic husband.
“Augusta?”
“Yes, my lord?”
“We do have an understanding, do we not? You are not going to try to cry off tomorrow, are you? Because if so, I must warn you—”
“Heavens, no, my lord.” She lifted her chin. “If you are content with the notion of marrying a frivolous female who wears her gowns cut much too low, then I expect I can tolerate a stuffy, sober-minded, unromantic scholar. At my age, I rather suspect I should be grateful for what I can get. But there is one condition, my lord.”
“What the devil is that?”
“I must insist on a long engagement.”
“How long?” he demanded, suddenly wary.
“A year?” She eyed him with an assessing gleam in her eye.
“Good God. I do not intend to waste a year on this engagement, Miss Ballinger. It should take no more than three months to prepare for the wedding.”
“Six.”
“Bloody hell. Four months and that’s my final offer.”
Augusta lifted her chin. “So very generous of you, my lord,” she said acidly.
“Yes, it is. Too generous by half. Go on into the house, Miss Ballinger, before I regret my generosity and do something quite drastic for which we will both no doubt be extremely sorry.”
Harry turned and stalked out of the garden and back down the lane. He seethed every step of the way over the fact that he had just bargained like a fishmonger over the length of his own engagement. He wondered if this was how Antony had felt when dealing with Cleopatra.
Harry was inclined to be more sympathetic with Antony tonight than he had been in the past. Previously he had always considered the Roman a victim of his own unbridled lust. But Harry was beginning to understand how a woman could undermine a man’s self-control.
It was a disturbing realization and Harry knew he would have to be on his guard. Augusta was displaying a talent for being able to push him to the edge.
Hours later, safe in her bed, Augusta lay wide awake and stared at the ceiling. She could still feel the commanding warmth of Harry’s mouth on hers. Her body remembered every place he had touched her. She ached with a strange new longing to which she could not put a name. A heat seemed to be flowing in her veins, pooling in her lower body.
She realized with a shiver of awareness that she wished Harry were here with her now to finish whatever it was he had started there on the floor of his library.
This was what was meant by passion, she thought. This was the stuff of epic poems and romantic novels.
For all her vivid imagination, she had not truly understood how enthralling it would be, nor how dangerous. A woman could lose herself to this kind of glittering, compelling excitement.
And Harry was intent on marriage.
Augusta felt a wave of panic rise up inside her. Marriage? To Harry? It was impossible. It would never work. It would be a terrible mistake. She had to find a way to end this engagement, for both their sakes. Augusta watched the shadows on the ceiling and warned herself that she would have to be very careful and very clever.
Harry propped one shoulder against the ballroom wall and sipped meditatively at a glass of champagne as he watched his fiancée step into the arms of yet another man.
Augusta, glowing in a gossamer silk gown of dark coral, was smiling with pleasure as her tall, handsome, red-haired partner swept her into a dashing waltz. There was no denying the couple made an attractive sight on the crowded dance floor.
“What do you know of Lovejoy?” Harry asked Peter, who was lounging beside him with a bored expression on his handsome face.
“You’d do better to ask that question of one of the ladies.” Peter’s gaze wandered restlessly across the crowded ballroom. “I understand he’s got quite a reputation among the fairer sex.”
“Obviously. He’s danced with every eligible female in the room tonight. Not one of them has turned him down yet.”
Peter’s mouth twisted briefly. “I know. Not even the Angel.” His eyes lingered briefly on Augusta’s demure, golden-haired cousin who was dancing with an elderly baron.
“I don’t care if he dances with Claudia Ballinger, but I may have to put a stop to his waltzing with Augusta.”
Peter’s brow rose mockingly. “You think you can accomplish that feat? Augusta Ballinger has a mind of her own, as you should know by now.”
“Be that as it may, she is engaged to me. It’s time she learned to behave with a bit more propriety.”
Peter grinned. “So now that you’ve selected your bride you intend to turn her into the sort of wife you think you want, is that it? This should prove interesting. Bear in mind that Miss Augusta Ballinger comes from the wild branch of the Ballinger family. From what I have heard that lot never could do anything with propriety. Augusta’s parents scandalized Society by making a runaway marriage, Sally tells me.”
“That is an old piece of business and need not concern anyone now.”
“Well, then, how about more current news?” Peter said, beginning to show some interest in the conversation. “There’s the rather mysterious manner in which Miss Ballinger’s brother was killed two years ago.”
“He was shot dead by a highwayman on the way home from London.”
“That’s the official story. Things were hushed up, but according to Sally there was some speculation at the time that the young man was involved in highly questionable activities.”
Harry scowled. “Bound to be some speculation and gossip when a young rakehell is cut down by violence. Everyone knows Richard Ballinger was a hotheaded, neck-or-nothing sort, just like his father before him.”
“Yes, well, speaking of the father,” Peter murmured with relish, “have you pondered the reputation the man had for fighting duels because of his wife’s penchant for drawing the wrong sort of attention? Aren’t you afraid that sort of problem might continue in the current generation? Some say Augusta is very much like her mother.”
Harry set his jaw, aware that Peter was deliberately baiting him. “Ballinger was a reckless idiot. From what Sir Thomas has told me, the man exercised no control over his wife. He allowed her to run wild. I do not intend to permit Augusta to get into the sort of trouble that will oblige me to go about making dawn appointments. Only a fool finds himself fighting a duel over a woman.”
“Pity. I think you’d be rather good at them. Duels, I mean. There have been times when I have actually believed you had ice instead of blood in your veins, Harry. And everyone knows cold-blooded men do better than hotblooded ones on the dueling field.”
“That is a theory I do
not intend to test personally.” Harry frowned as he watched Lovejoy whirl Augusta around in a particularly uninhibited turn on the dance floor. “If you will excuse me, I believe I shall claim a dance with my fiancée.”
“Do that. You can entertain her with some elevating lectures on propriety.” Peter levered himself away from the wall. “In the meantime, I believe I shall ruin the Angel’s evening by requesting a dance. Five to one she turns me down flat.”
“Try talking to her about the book she is writing,” Harry suggested absently as he set down his glass on a passing tray.
“What book is that?”
“I believe Sir Thomas said the title was A Guide to Useful Knowledge for Young Ladies.”
“Good God.” Peter looked suitably appalled. “Is every woman in London writing a book?”
“It would appear so. Cheer up,” Harry advised. “You might learn something useful.”
He moved off into the crowd, forging a path through the colorful throng. His progress was halted on several occasions by acquaintances who insisted on detaining him long enough to offer congratulations on the engagement.
During the past two days, in fact, ever since the notices had appeared in the papers, Harry had become well aware that most of Society was quite intrigued by the announcement of the unexpected alliance.
Lady Willoughby, a stout matron dressed in pink, rapped her fan on the black sleeve of Harry’s evening coat as he went past. “So it’s Miss Augusta Ballinger who made it to the top of your list, eh, my lord? Never would have guessed the two of you would make a match of it. But then, you’ve always been a deep one, haven’t you, Graystone?”
“I assume you are congratulating me on my engagement,” Harry said coolly.
“But of course, sir. All of Society is happy to congratulate you. We are expecting the entire affair to provide us with considerable entertainment this Season, you see.”
Harry narrowed his eyes. “No, madam, I do not see.”
“Come, now, my lord, you must admit this is all bound to be wonderfully amusing. You and Augusta Ballinger are such an unlikely pair, are you not? It will be vastly interesting to see if you can get her to the altar without being obliged to fight any duels or without requesting her uncle to ship her off to the country. She’s a Northumberland Ballinger, you know. Troublesome lot, that branch of the family.”
“My fiancée is a lady,” Harry said very quietly. He held the woman’s gaze for a chilling instant, allowing no emotion to cross his face. “I expect that when people speak of her, they will keep that fact in mind. You will remember that, will you not, madam?”
Lady Willoughby blinked uncertainly and turned a dull red. “Well, of course, my lord. I meant no offense. I was merely teasing you. Our Augusta is a lively young woman, but we are all fond of her and wish her the best.”
“Thank you. I shall convey that information to her.” Harry inclined his head with icy politeness and turned away. Inwardly he groaned. No doubt about it, Augusta’s enthusiastic approached to life had endowed her with an unfortunate reputation for recklessness. He was going to have to rein her in before she got into trouble.
He finally cornered her on the far side of the ballroom, where she stood chatting and laughing with Lovejoy. As if she sensed his close proximity, she broke off in the middle of a sentence and turned her head to meet Harry’s gaze. A speculative gleam appeared in her eyes and she unfurled her fan with languid grace.
“I wondered when you would show up tonight, my lord,” Augusta said. “Have you made the acquaintance of Lord Lovejoy?”
“We’ve met.” Harry nodded brusquely at the other man. He did not like the slyly amused expression in Lovejoy’s face. Nor did he care for the way the man was standing so close to Augusta.
“Yes, of course. Belong to some of the same clubs, don’t we, Graystone?” Lovejoy turned to Augusta and caught her gloved hand in a gallant gesture. “I suppose I must relinquish you to your future lord and master, my dear,” he said as he brought her fingers to his lips. “I realize now that all is lost as far as I am concerned. I can only hope that you will feel some pity in your heart for the devastating blow you have delivered to me by getting yourself engaged to Graystone, here.”
“I am sure you will recover quickly, sir.” Augusta retrieved her fingers and dismissed Lovejoy with a smile. She turned to Harry as the baron disappeared into the crowd.
Her eyes held a certain challenging glitter and she looked flushed. It struck Harry that Augusta had had that oddly heightened color in her face on each of the two short occasions he had seen her since the engagement had been announced.
He thought he knew the reason for the blush. Every time Augusta looked at him she was obviously remembering their midnight rendezvous when she had wound up lying in his arms on the floor of his library. It was clear that Miss Ballinger, in spite of being descended of the Northumberland branch of the family, was horribly embarrassed by the memory. It was a good sign, Harry decided. It indicated the lady had some notion of propriety, after all.
“Are you too warm, Augusta?” Harry asked with polite concern.
She shook her head quickly. “No, no, I am fine, my lord. Now, then, have you come over here to ask me to dance, sir? Or to lecture me on some fine point of behavior?”
“The latter.” Harry took her hand and led her out through the open windows into the garden.
“I was afraid of that.” Augusta toyed with her fan as they crossed the terrace. Then she snapped it closed. “I have been doing a great deal of thinking, my lord.”
“So have I.” Harry drew her to a halt near a stone bench. “Sit down, my dear. I believe we should talk.”
“Oh, dear. I knew it would be like this. I just knew it.” She scowled up at him as she sank gracefully down onto the bench. “My lord, this is never going to work out. We may as well face it and be done with it.”
“What is never going to work out?” Harry put one booted foot on the end of the bench and rested an elbow on his knee. He studied Augusta’s earnest face as she confronted him in the shadows. “Are you referring to our engagement, by any chance?”
“I most certainly am. I have been going over this matter again and again and I cannot help but believe you truly are making a grave mistake. I want you to know that I am extremely honored by your offer, but I really feel that for both our sakes it would be best if I cried off.”
“I would rather you did not do that, Augusta,” Harry said.
“But, my lord, surely now that you have had time to consider the matter you see that an alliance between us simply will not work.”
“I think it can be made to work.”
Augusta’s mouth tightened. She leaped to her feet. “What you mean, sir, is that you think you can force me to conform to your notions of proper female behavior.”
“Do not put words in my mouth, Augusta.” Harry took her arm and forced her gently back down onto the bench. “What I meant was that I think that, with a little adjustment here and there, we shall deal very well together.”
“And which one of us do you envision making the adjustments, my lord?”
Harry sighed and directed his gaze thoughtfully toward the massive hedge behind Augusta. “Both of us will no doubt make the slight changes that are required by marriage.”
“I see. Let us try being more specific here. Just what particular modifications do you see me having to make, sir?”
“To begin with, I think it would be best if you did not dance the waltz with Lovejoy again. There is something I do not quite like about that man. And I noticed tonight that he has begun paying you a great deal of attention.”
“How dare you, sir.” Augusta shot to her feet again, incensed. “I shall dance the waltz with whomever I wish and you may as well know right now that I would never allow my husband or any other man to dictate my choice of dancing partners. I am sorry if that sort of behavior is too unrefined for your taste, sir, but I vow it is only a hint of the sort of impropriety of which I am c
apable.”
“I see. I am, of course, deeply alarmed to hear this.”
“Are you laughing at me, Graystone?” Augusta’s eyes blazed with fury.
“No, my dear, I am not. Sit down, if you please.”
“It does not please me in the least. I have no intention of sitting down. I am going straight back into that ballroom, find my cousin, and go home. And when I get there, I intend to tell my uncle that I am ending the engagement immediately.”
“You cannot do that, Augusta.”
“Why not, pray tell?”
Harry took her arm again and once more gently but firmly urged her down onto the stone bench. “Because I believe you to be an honorable young woman, in spite of your hotheaded nature. A woman who would not, under any circumstances, bestow certain favors upon a man and then jilt him.”
“Certain favors?” Augusta’s eyes widened in shock. “What are you talking about?”
It was time, Harry decided, for a few gentle threats, perhaps even a spot of blackmail. Augusta needed to be prodded in the appropriate direction. She was obviously resisting the notion of marriage. “I think you know the answer to that. Or have you conveniently forgotten what transpired on the floor of my library two nights ago?”
“The floor of your library. Good grief.” Augusta sat frozen on the bench, staring at him. “My lord, you cannot possibly mean that simply because I allowed you to kiss me that I am therefore honor bound to remain engaged to you.”
“We enjoyed considerably more than a kiss, Augusta, and I think you are well aware of that.”
“Yes, well, I admit things went a trifle too far.” She began to look desperate.
“A trifle? You were half undressed before it was over,” Harry reminded her with calculated ruthlessness. “And if the clock had not struck when it did, I fear we would have gone very far indeed. I know you pride yourself on your modern ways, Augusta, but surely you are not cruel.”
“Cruel? There was nothing cruel about it,” she snapped. “Not on my part, at any rate. You took advantage of me, sir.”