Brooks removed his finger and pulled August to his chest, crushing his lips against hers. Although she was confused, August kissed him back, unable to resist the almost magnetic pull between them. He cupped the side of her face with his large hand, then smoothed her curly hair with his palm.
He began to speak in between peppering kisses across her collarbone. Everything was moving so fast, but she still happily threw her head back, his hand supporting her neck. “I cannot bear the fact that you gave yourself to that boy, yet he probably never showed you true pleasure.”
“Mmm,” was all August could say, closing her eyes, letting his kisses bring her somewhere else. She felt him lift the hem of her nightgown, snaking his hand underneath it. He trailed deft fingertips up her inner thigh. She whimpered.
“Let me show you,” he breathed against her skin. “Let me touch you.”
“Please,” August begged, still somewhere else. She had wanted this for so long, and even if he was drunk and not thinking straight, how could she tell him to stop? His fingers quickly found her wet center, skillfully exploring her until he found the spot that ached the most.
His touch there was what awakened her. She finally opened her eyes to the reality of the situation she found herself in. August didn’t want this. She didn’t want to deal with this man’s regret in the morning. August could not be a regret, especially not his. She reached for his arm.
“Stop,” she said. Brooks froze immediately, lifting his head from her neck. They stared at one another, both sets of eyes hooded with desire. August thought she might cry if she went through with what she wanted to say.
“Stop?” he asked. Slowly, August nodded. He backed away from her as if he had been stung by the simple word. He stood up from her bed and immediately began to pace, running his fingers through his hair.
“Brooks,” she said reassuringly, recognizing the panic in his eyes right away. He stopped pacing, looking at her.
“I thought… you said…”
She shook her head, rising from the bed and taking his hands into her own. August brought his knuckles to her lips, kissing them. She looked up at him through her eyelashes, and he stared down at her as if he was completely mystified.
“I do not want you like this,” she finally explained.
“But you said…”
She shook her head. “I wanted you that night in the library. I do not deny it. I want you even now. But I know you now, Brooks. I truly know you. I will not be a regret tomorrow morning—not when I love you so—or at least when I think I love you so.”
Brooks pulled his hands away from her, taking a step back. “What?”
“Have I sufficiently terrified you, Brooks?” she asked. “I am falling in love with you, Brooks, and that’s nobody’s fault but your own. You cannot have me unless you marry me. Any other way will surely break my heart because I want you for many more reasons other than carnal ones.”
He blinked, and she realized right away what she had done. So that was what it took to sober him: merely the truth.
August wasn’t sure when she began loving him. Perhaps it was when he danced with her in his drawing room. Or maybe it was later than that, over one of their games of chess. It even could have been when he showed up at her door that morning, so deeply concerned for her that he ran there.
“You know I do not wish to marry,” he said.
She nodded. “I do.”
He reached for her again, holding her by the waist. “But you do want me.”
“I do,” she replied, nodding again.
“Then why do you demand something I cannot give you?” He shook his head as he pushed a loose strand away from her face. “You will see. I will have you, and our need for each other will subside. Soon you will realize you don’t want to marry me but someone else. Someone much more deserving of you.”
Now she was the one to shake her head. “But I must demand it, for I know my feelings will not subside. I will not settle for anything less than all of you. I’m sorry, Brooks.”
He turned away from her then. The moonlight spilling into the room from the balcony’s glass door outlined his broad shoulders. He looked down. “Fine. It was foolish of me to come in the first place. Forgive me, August.”
He walked toward the balcony door, but August called out for him. He froze but did not turn to look at her. “Will you still come to Lord Ridlington’s ball next week?” she asked.
He sighed. “Of course.”
He unlatched the balcony door, disappearing into the night. Closing it behind him, she wondered how he managed to get up there. But such questions were soon forgotten when she returned to bed. She reached underneath her nightgown for the spot that ached, thinking only of her lust for him.
Chapter Twenty-Two
August did not tell anyone about Brooks’s midnight visit, though her aunt, Lady Sarah, and Mrs. Ferguson incessantly commented that Brooks was nowhere to be found in the last days leading up to Lord Ridlington’s ball. August kept mum, refusing to comment on the subject altogether, except to say that Brooks was a busy man and was probably dealing with clients other than her.
“Do you think he will still come to Ridlington’s ball?” her mother asked the day before the grand event, her brow creased with worry.
“He said he would,” August replied. “I have no reason not to believe him.”
And that was after she rejected his advances, though she was sure her rejection hurt her more than it hurt him. But she could settle for nothing less than what she truly wanted, and if that meant she must meet someone new at Ridlington’s ball, then so be it.
The night of the ball, August expected to be nervous. Instead, she found herself quite excited, despite what Brooks told her about Henry. August hadn’t told her aunt yet and wouldn’t dare unless it became necessary.
Truthfully, she feared her aunt’s disappointment. Even a forward-thinking, modern woman such as Lady Ramsbury had her limits. And if anyone could understand August’s foolishness almost three years ago, it would have been her mother, Lady Sarah, but even then, August could not bring herself to tell anyone.
But she would not worry about such things that night—could not. As the carriage approached Ridlington House, August’s heart pounded with anticipation. She repeatedly smoothed her lavender skirts and touched her jeweled headband, thankful for its lack of feathers.
“Do not fidget so much,” her aunt scolded from across the carriage.
August nodded, trying to sit still, but soon enough, she was wringing her hands in front of her. She looked at her aunt with pleading eyes. “Are we almost at the front door?” August asked, leaning her head against the carriage’s glass window, trying to see in front of them. The carriage lurched forward, moving another place in line. August nearly fell face forward into her aunt’s lap.
Lady Ramsbury sighed. “We will be there soon,” she said, watching August straighten herself and slide back into her seat. “You must calm yourself.”
August looked out the carriage window again, this time at the gentlemen and ladies walking down the sidewalk, all dressed impeccably for the evening. “How can I?” she asked, turning back to her aunt. “Isn’t this the moment for which you have been preparing me? I couldn’t contain my excitement even if I tried.”
“Just try to remember your etiquette lessons, dear,” Lady Ramsbury said while shooting August a censuring look. “The acceptance of society is a tremulous thing. We cannot afford any mistakes tonight.”
August nodded, trying not to worry about what Brooks said about Henry or if Brooks would even show up at all that night. The carriage eventually arrived at the front door, and a footman approached to open the door and help them out. August looked up, her mouth slightly open as she admired the white stone mansion illuminated by torches mounted on its outer walls. The large front doors were wide open, and she could hear the commotion of the party inside.
Her aunt took her by the arm and guided her forward. They elbowed their way through the
throngs of people gathered in the entry hall and on the stairwell, which led to a second-floor landing and another set of wide-open doors. They waited in line with other guests outside the ballroom, each party holding their invitation and then handing it to one of the footmen, who would guide them inside and call out their names to the rest of the guests.
August tried not to look too much in awe of her glittering surroundings, but she practically shook with excitement. Her aunt tightened her grip around her arm.
“Calm yourself,” Lady Ramsbury scolded again.
When they finally reached the front of the line, Lady Ramsbury handed their invitation to another footman, then followed him into the ballroom. The sheer size and brightness of the room struck August at once. Multiple chandeliers hung from the ceiling, illuminating the gleaming wooden floorboards beneath.
“The Dowager Duchess of Ramsbury and her niece, Lady August Finch!” the footman announced.
It was nothing like August imagined. The music did not suddenly stop, and people continued to dance without paying much mind to the newcomers. But those in the middle of conversations did turn and look at them. August thought her heart might have skipped a beat walking into the room, and she glanced at her aunt out of the corner of her eye, finding the woman meeting the room’s collective gaze with a confident stare.
August attempted to smile, but the sea of people seemed endless. She wondered what they all might be thinking—if they thought she, the illegitimate daughter of an earl and a marquess’s daughter, deserved to be there at all. Judging by the way some turned and whispered to their companions with such shrewd looks on their faces, she knew some probably didn’t.
But before August could panic too much, three familiar figures appeared amongst the crowd, walking toward them. Lord Ridlington, her mother Sarah, and Sarah’s husband, Mr. Talbot, had come to greet August and her aunt. August gave her best curtsey to Ridlington, much less awkward than it was a month ago when she first came to town.
“Thank you for inviting me tonight, my lord,” August said. Ridlington smiled at her, but she noticed right away his gaze kept drifting toward her aunt. August tried not to giggle at the obviousness of his affection when Lady Ramsbury did such an excellent job ignoring it. “It’s an honor to be here.”
“It’s an honor to have you here,” Ridlington replied. He cast a sidelong glance in the direction of his older sister, Sarah. “You are my niece as much as Lady Ramsbury’s, aren’t you? I do hope you’ll save me a dance.” His eyes flitted toward the dowager duchess. “You as well, Your Grace.”
“Ah, but you forget I am nothing but an aged chaperone now,” Lady Ramsbury said, causing Ridlington to frown. “I will be far too busy supervising to partake in any dancing.”
“We can take turns watching August if you would like to dance, Your Grace,” Sarah said, swiftly coming to the aid of her younger brother. “Either way, I’m not sure my brother will take no for an answer.” August’s mother then gestured to the tall man with thick side-whiskers standing beside her. “You remember my husband, Mr. Talbot, don’t you, August?”
August demurely nodded. “Of course,” she said, smiling. “It is lovely to see you again, Mr. Talbot. I do hope we can become better acquainted.”
Before Mr. Talbot could answer, August felt a small gloved hand with slim fingers on her shoulder. She turned, finding two familiar faces: Rosamund and her fiancé, the Duke of Rutley. August’s eyes widened upon seeing them.
“Oh, Rosamund!” August immediately embraced her older sister. “You came!”
Rosamund smiled. “You can thank my fiancé and my dear cousin Edward for that. They somehow managed to convince my mother to let me come if they escorted me.” She glanced over her sister’s shoulder at Lady Ramsbury. “How do you do, aunt? It’s been far too long.”
“Indeed,” the dowager duchess replied. She stepped forward, pressing a kiss to her older niece’s cheek, then nodded at the duke. “Your Grace.”
August and her aunt regarded Rutley with equally suspicious gazes. So her sister and the duke were still engaged. August glanced back at Rosamund. “Is Charles here?”
“Thankfully, no,” Rosamund replied, frowning. “I wouldn’t be able to keep him away from the card room if he were.” August thought she saw her sister’s eyes flicker toward Lady Sarah. “Why don’t you come with me to the refreshment table? I will show you the lay of the land.”
August glanced back at the Talbots. Her mother gave an encouraging nod, so August faced her sister again, smiling. “All right.”
“I also find walking around the room is the best way to capture a man’s attention.” Rosamund winked. “Wouldn’t you agree, Aunt?”
“Indeed,” Lady Ramsbury said.
With that, Rosamund whisked her sister away, guiding her to the refreshment table at the other end of the ballroom. There was not much opportunity to talk at first as they fought their way through the crowd. Multiple young men shot leering gazes at them, and August started to wonder where Brooks was and if he would come at all. When they reached their destination, and she still hadn’t spotted him, August sighed before looking at her sister. “Did you say that your cousin Edward is here?” she asked.
Rosamund mischievously grinned, looking around the ballroom. “Yes, he is here, though I’m not sure where at the moment,” she said. “Why? Are you interested in my cousin? I heard you met briefly with the help of our friend Brooks.”
August flushed. She was sure Mr. Swinton was a spy for his dreadful aunt, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t dance with him, especially if Brooks didn’t show. “No,” she quickly replied, causing her sister’s grin to broaden even more. “Why are you smiling at me like that?”
“If you were interested, I have it on good authority that he might be as well,” Rosamund discreetly whispered. August tried not to look too horrified.
“What? Didn’t his wife only die a year ago?”
Rosamund frowned. “Yes, but he cannot mourn forever, can he? Poor Lucy. She was my friend as well, you know. I miss her dearly.”
August took a step closer to her sister, looking around to make sure no one was listening. “How did Lucy die, Rosamund? Brooks does not like to talk about her, but his mother said something about a long illness.”
“Come now,” she said quietly, patting August on the arm, all the while forcing a smile and laughing slightly. “It’s not right to talk about such things at parties. Have a drink with me!”
August reluctantly nodded, even though, in her experience, drinking made people foolish. Case in point, Brooks, who—by the way—still hadn’t arrived. But Rosamund handed August a cup of punch anyway. Her sister took one as well, immediately bringing it to her lips. August looked at the red liquid inside the silver cup and hesitantly took a sip, following her sister’s lead. She smacked her lips together, finding herself pleasantly surprised. The beverage was like a fruitier version of the table wine Lady Ramsbury served at dinner every night. She took another sip.
“It’s good, isn’t it?” Rosamund said with a smile, watching her. August nodded. “Try to drink it slowly, or our aunt will accuse us of being too silly.”
August looked for her aunt over the crowd of people. She found her at the other end of the room, still standing with Ridlington, the Talbots, and the duke.
“Although I’m pleasantly surprised to see you here,” August murmured to her sister, “I hope you made no deals with the devil to come.”
Rosamund followed her sister’s gaze, a look of recognition passing over her face when she saw the duke. She sighed. “I suppose I should tell you not to refer to my future husband as the devil.”
August raised her brow. “Then you have not tried to cry off again? Is this for our brother’s sake? When will you marry?”
“Next month as originally planned,” she grumbled before drinking more punch. “I told my brother I would not do it unless he invited you to the wedding as well as the house party before. You and Lady Ramsbury should expect
your invitations shortly.”
August reached for her sister’s hand, taking it and squeezing it. “I’m so sorry, Rosamund. To marry someone you do not love for the sake of Charles! I cannot imagine a more cruel fate. I wish—”
“There you are!” her sister exclaimed, interrupting her when someone caught her eye over August’s shoulder. She watched her sister’s face brighten.
Brooks, August immediately thought, but when she turned, she saw Mr. Swinton instead. She tried not to let her disappointment show on her face, but the sinking feeling in her stomach was still there, invisible to everyone but her.
She hated feeling so wretched over Brooks, especially when she knew he did not like balls or want to marry. He probably thought the better of coming and wouldn’t show. After all, he made it quite clear the other night that he did not want her enough to marry her, only bed her.
“You look beautiful this evening, Lady August,” Swinton said with a slight bow of the head. August forced a smile. She supposed if Brooks was not an option, she had to start her list of potential suitors somewhere—if only she trusted Swinton.
“Thank you, sir,” she replied as she curtseyed. She glanced at her sister, then back at him. “You have held up your end of the bargain by escorting my sister here, so I suppose I owe you a dance.”
Swinton looked pleased, and August took another drink. She now knew why Brooks sometimes drank to excess. Alcohol gave her a certain amount of courage that she did not always have.
“So you remembered,” Swinton said. “If your sister is not opposed to releasing you from her company, perhaps you will do me the honor of the next one, then.” He extended his hand toward her, and August stared at it, uncertain. Rosamund smiled beside her.
“I am not opposed,” her sister said. “I suppose I should find Rutley.”
“But Rosamund—”
But her sister already left, and when August turned back to face Swinton, he was still offering her hand. She reluctantly took it, letting him escort her to the center of the ballroom. The freshly polished wooden floors shimmered beneath their feet.
Lady August Page 20