His foot began to tap impatiently on the polished parquet. No doubt she would take great pains to avoid being alone with him any time during the rest of the evening. He could hardly pick her up and bodily carry her from the room, though the thought was sorely tempting—for more than one reason. Why was it that even when he was furious with her, those flashing hazel eyes had the most unsettling physical effect on his person? As she had brushed past him, he had wanted to reach out and stop her, not the least because his fingers were burning to feel the soft heat of her cheek and bury themselves once more in the silkiness splendor of those wheaten tresses.
With a start, Sheffield realized it was waltz that was playing, and that she and her partner were gliding toward where he stood. His eyes locked on the gentle swaying of her hips, then moved up to the gloved hand lightly pressed at the small of her back. For an instant it was he, too, and not just an unknown villain, who was contemplating murder. Then, getting a grip on his emotions, he turned on his heel and stalked to the far end of the room where he sought another glass of champagne to dampen down the worst of his ire.
"Good evening, Lord Sheffield."
The Earl's head jerked around. He had come to halt next to where Marianne, not yet approved by the patrons of Almack's to waltz, and one of her admirers were sitting out the dance. Wiping the scowl off his face as best he could, he gave a curt nod in acknowledgement of her greeting. "Good evening, Miss Hadley. I trust you are enjoying the activities as much as your sister is." The words came out rather more sharply than he had intended.
Marianne's eyes stole a quick glance at Augusta turning in step with Lord Ludlowe and a slight crease furrowed her smooth brow. It disappeared in an instant, replaced by her usual sunny expression. "Yes, the music is quite delightful. Indeed. I find I have worked up quite a thirst on the dance floor." Turning to her partner with a charming smile, she said, "Lucas, would you mind terribly fetching me a glass of lemonade? And perhaps another glass of champagne for His Lordship?"
The young man by her side jumped to his feet with alacrity. "Of course, Miss Marianne."
As soon as he had hurried off, she spoke again, concern replacing gaiety in her voice. "Has something changed that Augusta has not seen fit to mention to me, sir, or is Lord Ludlowe still among the prime suspects?"
The Earl slanted her a look of grudging approval for such a quick grasp of the matter even as his mouth set in a grim line. "You are not mistaken. Once again, your sister has seen fit to throw caution to the wind and sail full tilt into battle. But this time I fear she is facing the very real risk of running hard aground." He drew in a breath. "She means to encourage some measure of intimacy between them, with the idea of wheedling the incriminating evidence out of him. If Ludlowe is the guilty party, he has proven that he is no fool. Nor is he a man to be trifled with, as the events of this past afternoon have proved."
Marianne went a bit paler. "What do you mean, sir?"
"She did not tell you of the attack?"
"No. She did not."
His lips compressed even more. "As you see, she does not see fit to tell you everything."
Marianne drew in a ragged breath. "Is there nothing you can do to convince her to abandon such a perilous course? She seems to... pay some attention to you."
A muttered "Hah!" was the only reply. He then lapsed into a gloomy silence and appeared to be contemplating the tips of his polished Hessians. After several minutes, he cleared his throat and was about to speak again when interrupted by the reappearance of Marianne's admirer.
"Here is your lemonade, Miss Marianne." Lord Andover's cheerful tone faltered on taking in the stony expressions that met his words. "And, er, your champagne, sir."
"I believe Miss Hadley requested rataffia punch. The champagne you may leave with me."
The young man handed the glass over to the Earl. "But Alex, she most definitely said—"
"Are you contradicting the lady?" inquired Sheffield softly. "Or me?"
"Ah, no, sir."
"Good. Especially if you expect me to stand you for the Four-In-Hand Club any time soon."
Without further argument, the young man headed off into the milling crowd with even more haste than the first time.
Marianne observed the interchange between the two men with some interest. "You appear to have some acquaintance with Lord Andover, sir. He, ah, seems to defer to your wishes without question."
"Unlike a certain someone else," growled the Earl under his breath. "But yes, Lucas is quite used to me barking orders at him. I've been doing it since he was in leading strings." At her look of puzzlement, he added, "He is my cousin."
"Oh, I did not know that. How... interesting." She fiddled with the strings of her reticule. "You were about to say something, my lord, before he appeared?"
Sheffield pursed his lips. "I have an suggestion that may help to protect your sister from harm, but it involves a bit of, shall we say, subterfuge on your part. I need not add that she would not be best pleased were she to discover your hand in it."
"I should be grateful for any idea you have. Please tell me what you have in mind." Her jaw set. "Gus is not the only one capable of action."
The Earl repressed a twitch of his lips. "So it seems," he murmured. "Well, I believe there is little likelihood that Ludlowe would attempt anything rash during such a gathering as this. However, an invitation for a drive in the park, an excursion to Vauxhall—these would all be cause for concern. If you were to, ah, keep abreast of your sister's plans, you could contrive to send word to me of these sorts of things."
"You mean spy on her?"
"If it comes to that, yes." He paused. "It is a pity we cannot keep her under lock and key, but at the very least we can make sure she is kept under a watchful eye. That is, if I can count on your aid. I do not like to ask you to betray any confidences, but in truth, I can think of nothing else."
She nodded in understanding. "I think it an excellent plan. You may depend on me, sir."
The Earl gave a faint smile. "I'm sure I may, Miss Hadley. Now, do you think that big groom of hers may be enlisted to be part of our plan?"
"Jamison? Oh, I think we'll have little trouble convincing him it is for the best," She thought for a moment. "But what of during the night. She has been known to, er, slip out at odd hours."
"Yes, so I have noticed." He rubbed at his chin. "I know of a man who will serve our purpose there. Trust me, your sister will not escape unnoticed the next time she takes it into her head to embark on some nocturnal sojourn. In the meantime, of course, I shall be doing my best to resolve this whole matter with my own inquiries."
"The waistcoat?"
He nodded.
"Oh, I do hope you shall discover who the culprit is soon and put an end to his awful deeds."
"Learning his true identity is one thing, proving it to the authorities is quite another, Miss Hadley. It won't be easy, but I mean to see that justice will prevail in the end, no matter what it takes."
On that grim note, the dance came to an end and the Earl saw his earlier suspicions were nor unfounded. Augusta made a point of being escorted back to where several of her mother's acquaintances were seated together exchanging the latest ondits. Taking a chair at the edge of the little group, she leaned forward slightly, as if intent on catching their every word. Sheffield's eyes narrowed, knowing full well that the gesture was prompted more out of a desire to avoid any look from him rather than any interest in what was being said.
He tossed back the remainder of his drink and handed the empty glass to a passing footman. "Since it appears unlikely that I shall have any further chance of talking some sense into your sister, I believe I shall excuse myself, Miss Hadley." He gave a slight bow in her direction. "For the next little while, there will always be a young urchin in the Square across from your townhouse—you have only to send one of your footman with a note and it will reach me at any time of the day or night."
As he walked away, he noticed Andover turn from where he had
been studying a towering arrangement of potted flowers and venture back to the young lady's side, rataffia punch in hand. The young man had some sense, he noted with satisfaction. Lucas had always been his favorite cousin and it pleased him that the pup was showing both a laudable tact in his actions and commendable taste in his choice of females. And at least his cousin was making some headway with his suit, judging by the smile that came to the younger Miss Hadley's face.
The same could hardly be said for himself.
He couldn't help but steal another glance at Augusta. Just as he suspected, her attention was anything but riveted on the conversation taking place between the ladies. Her expression was scrunched into the peculiar look he had come to recognize as meaning some truly devious thoughts were being formed inside that lovely head of hers. He knew the best course of action was to take himself off, but as her eyes caught his, then turned quickly away, he abruptly changed his mind. Veering across the room, his steps brought him to a halt in front of her chair.
"Hmmmm. Let me see, I believe I am penciled in for the next dance." He reached down for her card before she could snatch it away, and made a show of examining it while surreptitiously scribbling something in the empty space. "Yes," he announced in a loud voice. "So am I."
Three turbaned heads swiveled around to observe them with great interest.
Augusta's jaw clenched on realizing she had been out maneuvered, but as there was little she could do, short of creating a scene, she reluctantly rose and allowed the Earl to take her arm.
"That was an underhanded trick," she said under her breath .
"Rather the pot calling the kettle black when it comes to being devious, my dear."
She flushed, more at the endearment than the accusation.
"Besides, the tabbies looked as if they could do with something else to talk about. Oh, by the way, what was the topic of such a spirited discussion?"
"Ahhh... " Her colored deepened, causing him to chuckle.
"I warn you, I refuse to be drawn into further argument with you on the subject," she continued rather tartly.
"I have no intention of brangling anymore tonight," he replied mildly, his head bent close to her ear.
She swallowed hard. "What... what are your intentions, then?"
"Why, to dance, Gus."
His hand took hold of hers and though the figures did not allow quite the same intimacy as a waltz, Sheffield felt a surge of heat in his groin. The light touch of her fingers, the faint scent of her perfume, the brush of her gown at his thighs—his eyes pressed closed for a moment as he savored the very nearness of her. Then he regarded her rigid features. Good Lord, was she really so unmoved by what had happened that morning in her study? Why, like some randy schoolboy, he could hardly stop thinking of the taste of her mouth, the texture of her tresses, the softness of her breasts, yet here she was, by all appearances according the event no importance at all.
He found himself nearly bungling a simple step. Did their encounter really mean so little to her? Another quick glance showed only an expression shuttered to any probing looks. At the time, he had thought her not entirely adverse to his heated kisses. In fact, she had seemed to return them with a certain spark of her own. But now? He held back a sigh. Earlier in the day, she had snapped an angry retort to the effect that had she known he was Tinder, she never would have revealed so much of herself. Was it such a sad disappointment, then, for her to learn that her intimate friend was... him?
The thought was not at all a pleasant one.
"Sir." There was a brief pause. "Alex."
His head jerked around.
"The music has stopped," she said in a low voice.
"Hmmmph. So it has."
That drew a ghost of a smile from her. "Engrossed in thinking of ways to do bodily harm to me?" she inquired lightly.
Sheffield drew in a breath. Her body had most definitely been figuring in his thoughts, but hardly as she imagined. Forcing a semblance of a smile, he made a noncommittal sound in his throat as he led her from the floor.
Her brows drew together for an instant on taking in his enigmatic expression, then she suddenly changed the subject. "You were engaged in a long conversation with my sister." There was a hint of question in the terse statement.
Ah. So she had not been entirely unaware of his moments. "Yes, a quite enjoyable one," he replied, and his smile became genuine. "Allow me to apologize again for my earlier foolish comments. You were entirely right to ring a peal over my head. She is a most interesting young lady—charming, perceptive, intelligent. " To his surprise, he felt her hand stiffen on his arm.
"Yes, she is a very special person."
The Earl thought he detected a note of brittleness in her voice. Puzzled, he gave up any designs of leading her toward the garden. Her mood seemed as unsettled as his own, and rather than risk further fireworks, he turned their steps back in the direction of the cluster of tabbies.
"Thank you for the dance," he murmured politely, bowing over her hand. "Good evening, Miss Hadley." Without waiting for a reply, he gave a rakish smile to the three ladies and strolled away.
Augusta swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the lump in her throat. So the Earl found her sister... interesting. It was hardly surprising, she told herself. Still, she couldn't help but feel a tiny stab of jealousy knife through her on recalling his dark head bent close to Marianne's in earnest conversation. An instant later she was ashamed of such base emotion, but contrition did little to improve her depressed spirits. If only she had a crumb of Marianne's easy manner with gentleman. She blinked back the sting of a tear. Well, it was no use wishing for the moon. The only thing she did have to recommend herself was her brain, so she might as well concentrate her efforts on putting it to some use.
With that, she forced her thoughts away from Sheffield and back to the formidable task of how to trap a dastardly villain.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
"Well? You've had over a day. What have you discovered?"
Sheffield had to repress a bark of reluctant laughter at how changed in tone her correspondence had become. No more warm greetings, no more frank exchange of opinions or feelings.
Just business.
Picking up his pen to reply, he couldn't help but wonder on it. Why did she insist on treating him with such coolness? If she liked him on paper, why could she not show at least some regard for him in person? All vanity aside, he was not unaware of how most females reacted to him. Surely she did not find him objectionable to look at, so it must be something else. What that was, he couldn't quite figure out.
He toyed with the bottle of ink, recalling a number of her written musings. Though he hadn't really thought about it overly, it seemed she was wont to dwell on how she didn't fit into Society, how estranged she was from the superficial gaiety and charm. And more than once in his presence, she had let slip a comment about her lack of physical endowments. Was that really how she saw herself—an unattractive, awkward female with no redeeming qualities?
An exasperated sigh sounded from his lips. It couldn't be. She was too intelligent not to realize that her unique intellect, coupled with her intriguing looks, made her... irresistible. So there had to be another more plausible reason, but damned if he could fathom what it was. Giving up for the moment, he scrawled off a brief note and rang for a footman.
Despite the fact that she persisted in calling him odious and insufferable, he couldn't ignore the temptation to see her again. If she wanted information, she would have to consent to a drive.
Augusta dropped the paper into her lap, a scowl creasing her face. Drat the man! Why couldn't he just write what he had to say? Or did he enjoy teasing the color to her face? Even now she could feel a faint heat come to her cheeks on thinking of him. His physical presence ignited a more telling reaction. But duty called, she reminded herself. She needed to know what he had learned and so she would have to endure his company, no matter how difficult it was on her senses.
She took up her pen and dash
ed off a reply with enough force on the nib to send a fine spray of droplets spattering across the paper.
Promptly at four, a knock on the door heralded the Earl's arrival. He was nothing if not punctual, she thought grimly as she tied the ribbons of her bonnet snugly under her chin. Then, like a knight settling his helm in place for battle, she gave it one last tug and set off, ready to begin their jousting.
Sheffield seemed unperturbed by her deliberate silence. In fact, he appeared to be whistling under his breath as they turned into the park. Augusta had expected a clash of verbal swords rather than this nonchalant display of good humor. Rattled, she dropped her own pose of disinterested detachment.
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