Pursing her lips, Augusta blew out a breath. “Perhaps not. Either way, I feel foolish indeed for accepting him back into my life. Especially when I was making great progress in showing that I did not need him,”
“Well, you can still show him. There is no need for you to be a wallflower tonight.” Joanna tugged on her dance card. “I have seen several men glance longingly at you. There would be no shame in dancing to pass the time.”
“I suppose...”
“Oh, Mr. Henley, are you looking for a dance partner?” Joanna said to one of the gentlemen who had been stealing looks their way, though Augusta thought it was more in the direction of Joanna than her. “Miss Snow is looking to dance now. She was feeling a little delicate but do you not think a lively dance will help perk her up?”
“Oh, um.” Mr. Henley tugged at his cravat. “Of course, Miss Snow, I should be delighted.” He gave a little bow.
Augusta grimaced but took up the offer and allowed herself to be escorted out into the center of the ballroom for a quadrille. Mr. Henley was a fine dancer, though his fragrance was too strong and it made her wrinkle her nose to fight the desire to sneeze. However, Joanna’s plan had worked and by the time she had finished, several men asked to fill out her dance card. Although her heart and feet felt heavy, at least it passed the time better than staring at the various entrances into the rooms, waiting for Henry to arrive. Not one gentleman asked her about Henry, either, much to her relief.
After three dances, she stepped back to retrieve a drink. “You did wonderfully,” Joanna said, flipping open her fan and wafting it in Augusta’s face.
Augusta closed her eyes and took pleasure in the brief respite from the growing heat of the room and her exertion. When she opened them and straightened, she released a small squeak as the back of her heel connected with something. She staggered backward a step to connect with a solid body. She did not need to turn to know who it was.
Breath held, she turned slowly and lifted her gaze upward. Even if she’d wanted to take another breath, she could not have. From a distance, Miles was handsome and beautiful, like a stone statue that one could admire in cold indifference. When he was up close, however, there was nothing cool about her. Even if she was not already warm from dancing, he would have set ablaze under her skin.
Every inch of him sparked of intensity, as though he were a thunderstorm threatening to shoot off lightning bolts. She had heard of a man once who had survived a lightning strike and he’d talked of how the hair on his head stood on end and his scalp prickled before he was hit. That was exactly how she felt right now.
“Miles,” she said, cringing at her breathy tone.
“I was wondering if I might have the next dance.”
She glanced around him, aware of a few gazes watching their interaction. “Are you certain we should?”
“If I cannot dance with who I want in my own house, then what’s the point in even holding these infernal balls?”
“But you do not like dancing,” she pointed out.
“I forgot that I should defer to Miss Snow before deciding what I do and do not like. Forgive me, I will not forget again.”
“No, that is not what I meant...it is just...”
“You have danced with many men tonight, Gus. One dance with me will do no harm. In fact, I think it better that we dance rather than spend all evening avoiding each other, as though the gossips were correct.”
She bit down on her bottom lip. “I suppose you are right.”
“High praise indeed.”
She rolled her eyes at him and allowed herself the first proper smile of the night. “A man like yourself does not need my praise, Miles.”
“There you are wrong. Praise from a beautiful woman means more than praise from a single one of my contemporaries.”
Warmth rose up in her face and she tried to will away the soft feeling his words created in her chest. To think she was so simple as to fall for a tiny compliment. Of course, it was not the compliment so much that had the effect but the source of it.
The next dance was announced, saving her from replying. They lined up for the slow country dance that most of the guests were pleased to partake in. It was an easier one for those who were not so sure footed or less inclined to dance the vigorous reels. It also gave the dancers plenty of time to talk. However, for the first few beats, Miles remained silent.
Augusta was not certain she trusted herself with anything so she remained quiet too, following the simple steps until they were in the center together, palm to palm. She swallowed hard and kept her focus ahead of her.
“I am sorry,” he said finally.
“Whatever for?”
“Henry, of course.”
“You do not need to apologize for him.”
“Of course I do. He’s my brother, my responsibility.”
Augusta turned to look at Miles. “He is a grown man, what can you do? Lock him in a dungeon?”
“If I had one, I’d be damned tempted to.” They split apart, ending up on opposite sides of the line. Augusta clapped her hands in time with the music until it was time for them to meet again, this time turning around one another.
“Do not blame yourself,” she said.
“How can I not when you have spent half of the evening looking heartbroken?” He shook his head. “You would make a fine gothic heroine, Gus, and all men would wish to come to your aid and make you smile again.”
“I had rather thought I was doing a fine job of looking utterly complacent.”
“You were, I suppose. But I noticed.” His gaze locked onto hers as they did one last twirl. “I always notice you, Gus.”
Chapter Sixteen
Guests departed and the crowds thinned, leaving a few stragglers determined to draw out the last of the entertainment as the grey light of dawn dripped in through the long windows of the ballroom. Miles was ready for the event to be over but he doubted he’d sleep. Damn his brother. How could he do this to Augusta? There was no sign of him still. After all the promises he’d made to her...
He finished the last dregs of his glass of port and put the glass down, too hard for the delicate crystal. The stem shattered and he winced at the sting that cut into his fingers. Shaking his head at himself, he put his finger to his mouth and sucked away the worst of the damage.
He scanned the room. A few people had mentioned Henry’s absence and he had no doubt it fanned the flames of doubt surrounding Augusta and Henry’s courtship. Dancing with her might not have been the best idea but seeing her looking so forlorn had torn a ragged hole in his heart. He couldn’t resist a brief moment with her.
He scowled upon seeing Augusta’s parents still lingering. Her friends had long since retreated home but there was no way they would still be here if Augusta had left the ball. So where the devil was she? It was easy to lose someone in the prior crowds but he’d known where she was for most of the night. He couldn’t help himself. No matter how many times he tried to prevent his gaze from betraying him, it snuck over to her. She’d been exceptionally pretty tonight and he hated that it was all meant for Henry. His brother did not deserve her one jot.
Miles did a casual loop of the room, peering into some of the anterooms but there was no sign of her. He paused by the large windows, almost dismissing the thought that she would be outside until he caught sight of her by the lake. His scowl deepened. Augusta never set foot by that lake and he did not appreciate the sight of her there. It reminded him all too much of the day he’d nearly lost her.
Exiting the ballroom, he made haste to join her outside. Sunlight teased from behind the hills, bringing the promise of a bright and sunny day. A little mist from the damp grass rose and swirled about Augusta’s skirts, making her look other-worldly. Her carefully styled hair had come free from its confines, leaving several curls dropping over her shoulders. She walked with her arms around her, her head bowed low, following the line of the lake.
“Gus!” he called.
She jerked her h
ead up and stilled, a slight but tense smile flattening her lips. “Miles.”
“What are you doing here?”
She pressed her lips together. “Walking, of course.” she continued her slow pace around the generous, uneven edge of the water where reeds jutted up and concealed the threshold between water and land.
Miles mirrored her footsteps. “By the lake, though?”
She gave a light laugh. “Perhaps I was trying to be brave.”
“I’d rather you did not.”
“Do you think me foolish enough to fall in?” She wrapped her arms tighter about herself and peered ahead of her. “Well, I imagine many people think me a fool after tonight.”
“Henry has a great deal of apologizing to do but no one thinks you a fool.”
She twisted her head. “No? You cannot deny that I look silly indeed, waiting around for a fiancé for so long only for him to avoid me at his own ball.”
“His behavior reflects only upon himself,” he said through gritted teeth. He could wring his brother’s neck for upsetting her.
“Do you think me a fool? For waiting so long?”
He shook his head. “Gus, you are one of the smartest women I know. A little too generous at times, but you are no fool.”
“So I have been too generous to Henry,” she murmured.
“Perhaps.” Miles clamped his mouth shut before he said anything further. He’d love to tell her to end things with him but his motives were not pure enough for that sort of advice.
Augusta paused and sank onto the grass, plucking a reed and beginning to shred it in her fingers. Her white skirts spilled about her and she curled up her legs to one side, making her look like a delicate, creamy concoction. Miles hesitated. No one would think to look for either of them here and he’d already vowed he would not muddy the waters of their relationship again. But to see her so fragile, so small and in need of comfort—it would take a lot of willpower not to draw her into his arms and kiss away her pain.
Reluctantly, he sat next to her. “Henry will set a date,” he assured her. “I am not certain what he is going through at the moment but he was determined that he would marry you, Gus.”
He watched her expression, searching for some sign of delight or love or excitement at the idea. She did still love Henry, did she not?
She kept her gaze focused on the reed in her hand while she ripped at it, making it smaller and smaller. “Your father’s death had a great impact on Henry.”
“It did.”
“I wonder if your father had not died, whether he would have offered for my hand.”
“The two of you were always meant to be together. Everyone knew that.”
She glanced sideways at him and smiled. “You did not answer my question.”
“Questioning such things is not helpful.”
“Do you think we were always meant to be together, Miles?”
He clenched his jaw. It would be so easy to plant seeds of doubt, to ensure that she and Henry were never together again. But it would mean nothing. Henry was an ass for his current behavior but he had always been the better of them. If he could sort himself out, he’d be the best husband for Augusta, Miles was certain of that.
“You always seemed to like him,” he said vaguely.
“Yes, I suppose I did.” She looked down. “Oh, you’re bleeding!”
Frowning, he peered at his hand. A well of blood had pooled on his palm—enough to make it drip through his fingers. He grimaced. He’d completely forgotten he’d even cut himself. “Had a little fight with a glass.” He tilted his lips. “The glass won.”
“I can see that.” Augusta retrieved a handkerchief from her bodice before he could fish out his own and forcefully grabbed his hand. Swiftly, she wrapped the delicate fabric around his large palm and pressed down upon it.
He swallowed at the sight of her delicate, pale fingers upon his slightly tanned and worn skin. Too much time fighting had left his knuckles scarred, tiny white strips criss-crossing over them. In the pale light of dawn, the marks seemed brighter.
He wished he could will them away—will his past away even. Go back to a time when his hands were scar-less and smooth. He could not help but wonder if he had never fallen down the hole of drinking, fighting, and gambling, would he have been able to court Augusta? Make her his? Or was it simply that she and Henry really were always meant to be together? After all, they were closer in age and Henry’s temperament complimented Augusta’s. Miles’s quieter disposition was no use to her. Together, the two of them would be about the quietest couple in the ton.
His train of thought came to a standstill when he felt her soft fingers brush across his knuckles.
“I have ruined your glove.”
She glanced at the discarded garment in question, the white fabric marred by a small red stain. “They are not my favorite.”
“Well, that is a relief.”
“How did you get so many scars?” she asked, continuing her torturous exploration of his hands with her own. Her thumb fell upon a particularly large scar that was still puckered.
“Fighting,” he murmured reluctantly.
“And this one?”
“All fighting.”
She tilted her head. “What sort of fights?”
“Gus...” he protested, voice tight.
“Was this when you went away?”
He shook his head. If he were a clever man, he’d stand up now and ignore her incessant questioning. Unfortunately for him, he had to be about the stupidest man in England.
He remained where he was, reveling in the feel of her soft fingertips, drawing in the sweet fragrance of her, and taking far too much pleasure in the way her dark lashes fanned out against slightly shimmering, pale skin as she studied his hands. Her distraction gave him far too much time to absorb the sight of her.
He most definitely was the stupidest man in England. Why the hell did he want to prolong his torture?
At least he would remember this...remember her. Once she was married and wrapped up in life with Henry, he could recall sitting here and feeling as though he was in the presence of the sweetest, prettiest woman he’d ever known. He smirked to himself. His warped humor and gruff ways were certainly no good for her. No wonder she had always been drawn to Henry.
“Why did you fight, Miles?”
He blew out a breath. Here he was hoping her curiosity would wane. Did he know nothing about women? It seemed so.
“Who can say? Sometimes because I had to. Sometimes because I wanted to.”
There, that would scare her away.
“Why did you want to?”
Damn her.
“Because I was hungry for blood.” He released a dry laugh. “And a fool.”
She peered up at him, her eyes wide. “I think you are one of the cleverest men I have known.”
“Then I think perhaps you are the fool, Gus.”
Her lips curved slightly. “Did I not just say that I was?”
It would be so damn easy. There was no one around, no one to catch them. The last place anyone would expect Augusta to be would be by the lake so her parents certainly would not come searching for her. He even suspected he could have her eager and willing for him.
But that was only because of Henry’s foolish neglect of her.
Christ, his brother did not even know what he had here. Augusta kissed with the passion of a thousand women. She was open and eager and a quick learner. All he would have to do is lean in and brush his lips over hers. She’d taste of wine maybe or even brandy snaps. If he pressed her down against the grass, he’d be able to explore her body with his hands, take in the feel of her lithe body in a way that he’d never been allowed to do. He’d commit it all to memory and relive the moment forever.
Swallowing hard, he removed her hand from his and eyed the dry cut. “Another scar to add to my collection.” He handed her back her handkerchief. “And it seems I owe you gloves and a handkerchief.”
“That handkerchief w
as my favorite,” she said with a smile.
He narrowed his gaze at her. “Are you teasing me, Gus?”
“A little. Does it feel strange?”
“No.” He shook his head. “No, I quite like it.”
“Miles, I—” She pressed a palm to his chest and his heart came to a standstill. Her lips parted, her eyes darkened, pupils wide. He heard her intake of breath. This was it, the moment he could steal for himself. Every fiber of his being warred against each other, making him feel as though he were being torn in two. He wanted to kiss her more than anything in the world but there was no forgetting that she was Henry’s bride-to-be.
Whatever mistakes he’d made while Henry was away, whatever idiocy his brother was involved in to make him behave this way, Miles could not betray him. Not again.
“Your parents are likely looking for you,” he said hastily. “We had better return to the ballroom.”
“Oh.”
He could think of a few harsher ways to put it. Drawing up his shoulders, he stood and offered her a hand. She took it and allowed him to aid her to her feet. As soon as she was stable, he withdrew his hand. “The day looks to be growing pleasant. I think I may take a walk.”
“Oh,” she said again.
“Are you broken, Gus?”
She shook her head vigorously and gave a bright smile. “No, of course not, though I am a little tired.”
“I would escort you in but I suspect you and I arriving together after vanishing would not be the cleverest of ideas.”
“No, of course. You are right.”
“Stay away from the lake edge,” he warned as he turned away. “I have little desire to take a dip today.” He didn’t look back but he could have sworn he heard her mutter about what an ass he was. Blast, the woman just could not help making him smile.
Chapter Seventeen
“I really think I should speak with your father.” Augusta’s mother wrung her hands together, pacing the length of the oriental rug in the drawing room before turning and repeating the movement.
Augusta resisted pinching the bridge of her nose and lowered herself onto the sofa to retrieve her embroidery. She peered at her unfinished pattern without really seeing it. All she could remember was yesterday.
Married to the Lord (The Wallflower Brides Book 2) Page 11