She nodded, biting down on her bottom lip. Henry likely did not realize quite what she meant about her disloyalty. After all, no one would expect that quiet Miss Augusta Snow might kiss another man!
But he was right. They were a good match. They had known each other for a long time and Henry’s easy manner always seemed to bring her out of her shell. Whenever they attended balls and the like, she knew Henry would take the attention for her, allowing her to slip back into being a wallflower with ease. She doubted they would ever argue and despite Henry’s absence, he was no bad man. There were far too many husbands out there who were willing to lay a hand on their wives or ignore them once they had borne them a child.
If she married Henry, she would be safe, and content.
And she would have no choice but to forget she had ever had any feelings for Miles.
“So what do you say? Shall we set a date?” He took her hand and eased off her glove, keeping hold of it in one hand while his gloved fingers held her own. It was the sort of moment she had dreamed of not so long ago.
She focused hard on drawing pleasure from the moment, in looking into blue eyes whose beauty she had once thought could never be beaten by anyone else’s. She absorbed the feeling of his strong hand upon hers and tried to find the tingle that should arise and send the tiny hairs on her arms standing on end. He dropped his lips to the back of her hand, brushing them briefly over her knuckles. They were warm and soft but there were no tingles.
He straightened and grinned. “If you wish to make me wait, I would not hold it against you.”
She glanced to the house, imagining Miles sitting in his drawing room then looked back to Henry, his strong features highlighted by the afternoon sun. This was real. This was within reach. “I would not make you wait,” she finally said. “Let us set a date.”
Chapter Fourteen
A light shower split the sky as Miles approached the inn. It pattered on the brim of his hat but brought welcome relief from what had turned into an evening thick with heat. Puddles built quickly in the ruts etched into the ground, the dry, cracked mud not yet ready to absorb the moisture. Miles handed his horse over to a groom and stepped around several patches of water before ducking into the inn.
The evening heat made the taproom even less inviting than previously, bringing with it the scent of stale and fresh sweat. The beer was warm too and Miles sipped it slowly from his position by the bar. He remained standing but kept his elbows propped on the chipped wood, remaining stooped over and hopefully avoiding any attention.
Unfortunately, his height and breadth frequently caught people’s eye. It was what had started him down the path of an unsavory lifestyle for a soon-to-be-lord after all.
He peered surreptitiously around as he nursed the ale, looking for any sign of Jenkins. Now, more than ever, it was vital for Miles to ensure Jenkins did nothing to ruin Augusta’s happiness. From what his brother had said, she had seemed pleased to set a date. He tightened his grip on the handle of the pewter tankard then forced himself to release it. He was happy for her—really he was. Nothing mattered more than if she was happy.
But he’d be damned if he didn’t wish he was the man to do it.
Still, it seemed Henry’s revelation had changed his brother’s attitude and would ensure that he made a good husband. They were the better match, there was no denying it. Someone sweet and shy like Augusta would bloom under Henry’s guidance.
So absorbed was he in torturing himself with thoughts of Augusta and his brother together that he didn’t notice the arrival of Jenkins until the man was seated around a table with several friends and a pretty, mature woman was draped across his lap. She leaned in every few minutes while cards were dealt across the table and whispered things in Jenkins’ ears that were either amusing or filthy. He suspected the latter from Jenkins’ salacious grin.
Miles scanned the room surreptitiously. Jenkins had three friends with him—no doubt enjoying the idea of ‘slumming it’. Jenkins was no weak man but nor was he a match for Miles. His three friends were of average build and none looked as though they had any fighting experience.
Not that Miles was hoping for a fight—his fighting days were behind him—but in a place like this, it was easy for an altercation to turn into a brawl. He flexed his hands and opted to wait. With any luck, he could catch Jenkins alone, issue a few threats, and be done with the man. Miles ordered another ale—this time warmer than the last.
The summer sun took time to set, dripping its amber warmth through the murky windows of the inn and reminding Miles of his time spent waiting. He drained another ale and motioned for one more. The weak liquid did little to affect him but he’d stopped noticing how warm it was or the sediment lurking in the bottom of his tankard by such a poorly brewed drink.
Jenkins had left the table but once and accompanied by two of his friends who apparently shadowed his every move. Miles knew few of the ‘new money’ set but whoever they were, they likely owned less than Jenkins, hence what appeared to be an unhealthy dose of hero-worshipping the man. Miles could not deny there were those who behaved like that toward him thanks to his title and wealth but Jenkins was happy to take advantage of the devotion whereas Miles preferred to avoid it. No decent friendship could be carved from such a relationship.
He remained hunched low and Jenkins was too involved in cards to notice. He lost money easily and with little care. Miles shook his head to himself. He’d been there once before but he did not approach losing money as a great pastime. He’d made wins—big ones—and that had made him hungry for more. It would be easy, he thought, to prove himself—to add to the coffers of the family. But the cards were a false mistress and he was soon losing anything he’d gained. His gambling had also drawn the attention of a crowd of people he’d have been better off not knowing. Miles deeply regretted ever touching those cards and he suspected Jenkins might feel the same one day.
Regardless of what might happen to the man eventually, however, Miles had to deal with him today. He could not wait for inevitable fate to intervene and show him the error of his ways. Jenkins finally moved from the table to use the outhouse and Miles followed at a slight distance. He waited under the eaves of the inn until Jenkins was finished and he hurried back through the rain toward the taproom. Miles stepped in front of him, blocking his entrance.
“Damn you, I’m getting wet.” Jenkins lifted his gaze and a smirk quirked his lips. “Ashwick, I never expected to find you at a place like this.”
“I am not here by choice.”
“Well, then you had better get going. Now, if you do not mind...” He tried to step around Miles but Miles moved in front of him again.
“I need a word, Jenkins.”
“And you may have it, but, pray, can we have it inside? This moleskin does not do well in rain.”
Miles shook his head and snatched Jenkins by the collar of his coat, hauling him away from the entrance to the recesses at the entrance to the stables.
“Ashwick, I know you are fond of your fists but there really is no need for brutality.” Jenkins tore his jacket from Miles’s hand, his amused expression distorting. “I had heard you were rather a brute back in the day. I had not realized it was true until you threw that punch.”
Miles ground his teeth together. He supposed it was only a matter of time before Jenkins heard tales of his exploits now that he was spending time in such places. Some of Miles’s acquaintances understood he’d been rather a ‘naughty boy’ when he was younger but did not wish to delve any further. He preferred it that way.
“I’m not here to talk about whether I can throw a punch or not,” Miles said tightly, keeping his stance as threatening as possible. “I’m here to put a stop to these rumors you have been spreading.”
Jenkins’s lips curled. “Rumors? My dear fellow, you should know better than anyone that there are always rumors amongst high society.”
“I know for a fact these come from you.”
“And what rumors mig
ht these be?”
Damn the man, he was going to make him say it aloud. “About Miss Snow.”
“The delectable Miss Snow...”
Miles fisted his hands and forced a hot breath through his nostrils as he willed himself to remain calm. He had not come here to fall back into old patterns. All he wanted to do was protect Augusta.
“You say another word about her, and you will regret it, Jenkins.”
“I cannot help it if people make assumptions.” He shrugged. “It is strange for people to see this little wallflower bloom while her fiancé’s brother stalks her every step.” He cocked his head. “I congratulate you on noticing her so quickly. I’ll admit it took me a little while but you found quite a treasure there.”
“I swear to God, Jenkins, you’re begging me to hit you,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Do it.” Jenkins folded his arms. “You titled folk think you are something special because you’ve clung onto your money for so long but I’d love to see the man beneath all the shine.”
Miles chuckled. “If you think attacking my money or my title will bother me, you need to find another rung to cling to.”
“Miss Snow bothers you, though. Not that I can blame you. I did rather fancy getting between her thighs before your bro—”
Miles felt the give of flesh before he’d registered what he’d done. Jenkins doubled over and fought to draw in breaths. Miles’s knuckles throbbed slightly and he kept his hand fisted while heat roared through him. “You have no right to speak of Miss Snow,” Miles hissed.
Jenkins lifted his head. “And...you...do...?” he gasped.
“More right than you.” He put a hand to Jenkins’s shoulder, forcing him up against the wall. “You leave Miss Snow alone or I will show you how dark my past really was.”
Jenkins’s gaze flickered and a tiny smile dared to quirk on his lips before vanishing. “I will,” he rasped.
Miles searched his gaze then stepped back, allowing Jenkins to drop down to his knees. He drew in a breath of cooling air and looked up briefly, letting the raindrops spatter over his heated skin.
“Just so long as you do,” he heard Jenkins mutter as Miles stepped away.
He stilled. Jenkins was the sort of man who was determined to have the last word. He’d probably let himself be beaten to a bloody pulp and still be spitting insults. The man wasn’t worth it. Miles flexed his fist and eyed the door of the tavern. He hadn’t wanted to use threats. Hadn’t wanted to unleash his anger. It reminded him too much of who he’d once been.
He sighed. He needed a damned drink and no weak ale this time.
Ducking back into the inn, he ordered a whisky.
“Still throwing punches I see?”
Miles glanced at the man who approached him from the side. Damn it. There was no way this whiskey was worth it. “Nester,” Miles said in greeting then turned his focus back onto his drink, draining it quickly and slamming the glass down.
“Haven’t seen you around here for a long time.”
“For good reason.” Miles stood but Nester put a hand to his arm. The man had aged significantly in the past few years, his beard fully grey and his eyes slightly cloudy. Deep crevasse cut lines through his forehead and around his mouth. Tobacco stains tinged the edge of his moustache a dirty yellow color. His face had always told a story of rough living with scars and a twisted nose but Miles spotted a few newer ones that shone pink.
“We’ve missed you.” Nester looked to the whisky glass. “Looks like you missed us too.”
“That couldn’t be farther from the truth.”
“You should put those fists to better use than using them to beat soft lads like that boy.”
“My fists do not need a use.”
Nester grinned, revealing chipped, yellow teeth and gaps. Miles struggled to understand why he had ever looked up to the man. His only reasoning was that the man was so far removed from his father who had such high expectations of Miles.
“You can pretend to be some hoity, toity lord all you like but some people just don’t have it in their blood. You have fighting in you, my lad. Just look at you. Even in those posh clothes, you can’t disguise it. You were meant for more exciting things than sitting in some large house in the middle of the countryside, listening to rich people complain and gossip.”
Miles shook his head. “Sorry, Nester, I’ve put my fighting days behind me.”
He pursed his lips, making his moustache bristle. “We’ll see you back here soon enough when you realize what you really are.”
Ignoring him, Miles moved past and stepped outside. Jenkins had made himself scarce and for that, Miles was grateful. The last thing he needed to do tonight was prove Nester right—that under all the manners and clothes, he was no better than any of them.
Chapter Fifteen
Augusta kept her hands in her lap, watching the dancers swirl by. She crossed her eyes and uncrossed them but could find no joy in making everyone appear ludicrous. She wore her finest gown yet, a cream affair of silk overlaid with delicate lace. It had been cinched so tight she almost had breasts. Her hair had taken a good two hours to style. She almost missed the days when it was just pulled back tightly with a few curls around her face.
And what a waste of time all the preparation had been.
A minuet was announced and dancers hastened to get in line. All of Hampshire society and many more were here tonight. All here for the same reason—to celebrate her fiancé’s return.
She twined her fingers tightly together and kept her back straight, urging her muscles to keep her upright and for her expression to remain neutrally content. It was all she could do to resist dropping at the waist and pressing her face into her hands.
“I cannot believe I am in this position again,” she lamented to Joanna, who had remained steadfastly at her side all night. Chloe had also kept her company aside from the one dance with her fiancé
Her gaze strayed to Miles. He had remained away from her and she suspected it was these rumors that was forcing him to keep his distance though she had not heard anything more about them. Whatever he had done to find the culprit, apparently he’d put a stop to the chatter.
He met her gaze and she regretted she’d even looked his way. He cut a fine figure as usual, even if he remained at the edges of the ballroom, watching the dancers with a dark intensity. Every fiber of her longed to rush to his side and take comfort in his arms and it made her muscles ache to remain where she was—the neglected fiancée once more.
“I cannot believe he has not arrived yet,” Chloe muttered. “What is wrong with the man?”
Augusta gave a little shrug, feeling her chin wobble. There was fashionably late and there was this. Henry appeared to be showing no sign of attending. She frowned. He’d been so remorseful of what he had put her through, it was hard to fathom he would leave her here alone. No one had acknowledged his distinct absence to her but it was only a matter of time and she had little idea what she would say once it happened. What sort of a woman had no idea why her fiancé was not attending the ball thrown in his honor in his own house?
“Perhaps something has happened,” mused Joanna. “You said he had seemed very apologetic and genuine?”
Augusta nodded. “I really believed he regretted how he had treated me.”
“But to do it all over again.” Chloe folded her arms. “I should give him a piece of my mind.”
“I should give him more than that,” said Joanna, “but perhaps we should find out the truth of the matter first. Why do you not speak to his brother? He must have some knowledge of Henry’s whereabouts surely?”
Augusta shook her head vigorously. “I cannot.”
“Why not?” Joanna gave her a look. “Has something else happened between you?”
Augusta wanted to lie but she never had been any good at falsehoods. She lifted a shoulder. “He came to speak with me prior to Henry’s return. It was...well, it does not matter. He has made it clear he regrets his actions and
with that gossip going around, I cannot possibly be seen to be sharing secrets with him.”
“Well, no one can say anything of me.” Joanna stood and cut a path through the throngs of people until she reached Miles’s side. They both glanced her way then talked in earnest. She saw Joanna lift her hands in what appeared to be dismay.
Augusta swallowed. Perhaps Henry had decided he’d been foolish to return and had vanished again. If so, she could break things off without fear of reprise. Though it still did not help her future. She would most certainly become a penniless spinster then.
Joanna leaned in and Miles bowed his head to speak to her over the noise of the orchestra. She envied Joanna then, being so close to Miles. If only she could speak to him without fear, if only she could...well, none of it mattered anyway. He had only ever shown great remorse over any interactions with her. There was no sense on dwelling on what would never be.
Joanna returned to join them and drew out her fan to waft it rapidly in front of her face. “I loathe the heat of these places.”
“You do look a little peaked,” Augusta pointed out.
“Well?” demanded Chloe. “What excuse does he have for his brother’s behavior?”
“No excuse. In fact, I think he is angrier at him than any of us.” Joanna snapped the fan shut. “He said his brother was here this morning and he had to head out but vowed he would be home in time for the ball. Lord Ashwick has little idea where he went.”
Augusta scowled. She never would expect Henry to lie to his brother. Despite Henry’s recent behavior, he and Miles had a great respect for one another. She recalled many a time when Henry would speak of his brother in only the kindest of terms. What could be so urgent that he needed to leave and stay away from a ball thrown for him?
“I doubt he has gone forever,” Joanna assured her.
Married to the Lord (The Wallflower Brides Book 2) Page 10