Chapter 6 #2
“Umm, I don’t suppose you could take me for a stroll in the garden?” Augusta gave what she hoped was a brilliant smile. “I’m feeling rather warm.”
His face looked to be on fire. “But I … I’m to dance with Cynthia for the next set.”
“Oh, dash it,” she muttered. “You were never one to abandon a friend in the heat of battle.”
Ashton eyed her with concern. “You, er, haven’t perchance repeated that little experiment of sneaking into your father’s supply of French brandy? I thought you decided it was an experience you did not wish to repeat—”
“Of course I’m not foxed,” she snapped. “It’s just that—oh, never mind.”
The music was coming to an end, and out of the corner of her eye, she could see a tall, dark shape moving toward them, like a storm cloud sweeping in from the North Sea.
“No need to see Lady Augusta back to her chair, Ashton,” came a deep voice. Its ominous rumble reminded her of approaching thunder. “I shall make sure she is looked after.”
Her friend nearly tripped in his haste to get away.
Marcus’s gloved hand came firmly around her elbow as the first lilting notes of a waltz sounded from the violins.
Augusta smiled sweetly. “Are you sure you wish to dance, my lord? I would have thought in your present condition, it might prove a bit too strenuous.”
His eyes narrowed. “Oh, don’t worry about me, Lady Augusta. But now that you mention it, are you sure you did not suffer any lasting injury when I fell so heavily on top of you?”
The color rose to her cheeks as she recalled how the earl’s muscular form had molded to her every curve. “No,” she said quickly. “It had no effect at all.”
“Perhaps you are right, though,” he continued. “Let us forego the pleasure of a dance and, say, take a stroll in the garden.”
“Ah, I would prefer to stay right here, sir. I fear I might … take a chill outside.”
Marcus eyed her gown for a moment. It was one of the styles that Marianne had chosen for her, with bare shoulders and a plunging neckline that her sister had said suited her figure very well.
Judging by the look on Marcus’s face, she was by no means assured that was true. All he finally said was, “I can see why.”
Augusta felt herself getting redder.
“However, we will have to chance it, for you are going to accompany me outside, Lady Augusta, if I have to throw you over my shoulder and carry you out there.”
This time she actually muttered one of the rude words under her breath, but she reluctantly placed a hand on his arm and allowed him to lead her through the french doors.
At least, she thought with some small measure of satisfaction, he was still walking with a slight limp.
It served him right for being such an arrogant, odious, overbearing, high-handed … .
She had not come close to running out of adjectives when the earl came to a halt by a small, circular pool screened by a low trellis of climbing roses and turned to confront her.
“Perhaps you would care to explain your actions of the other night.” He was dressed entirely in black, save for the white silk cravat knotted in a perfect Trone d’Amour, and with his dark brows drawn together and his arms crossed over his broad chest, he could not have looked more intimidating.
Augusta imagined that was the general idea.
“Actually, I would not,” she replied.
It was obviously not the answer he had expected. For a moment he looked nonplussed, then he quickly recovered and took a step closer to her. “I’m afraid I really must insist, Lady Augusta.”
She, too, crossed her arms. “Oh? And just how do you plan to do that? Whips and chains? The rack and thumbscrews?”
“Don’t tempt me.” There was a brief pause, then he tried another tack. “I don’t know what you are up to, but whatever is, it’s a dangerous game, one you have no business playing.”
“Why? Because I am a female?” she asked. “It seems to me, milord, that it was I who had the forethought to set a watchman, it was I who jimmied the drawer, and it was I who had a planned route of escape.”
“You should not have been there in the first place.” He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another. “I had my own plans for making a quick exit,” he muttered. “And I could have opened the damn drawer just as quickly as you did.”
“Well, I do have to admit that the idea of making things look like a simple burglary was fast thinking on your part …” Her words trailed off as a sudden smile blossomed on her lips.
“Good Heavens, sir, it was a burglary. Do you think our hosts realize they have invited a hunted criminal to their gala? Why even now, the Runners are probably combing the stews, looking for you and the missing silver.”
His lips twitched. “It was extraordinarily ugly. It deserved to disappear.”
“Hideous,” she agreed, trying her best not to laugh aloud.
“By the by, shouldn’t you be making the word “criminal” plural?” Try as he might to remain stern, a chuckle escaped his lips at the notion of how absurd they must have appeared, in their haste to throw the study into disarray. “The porcelain was no doubt priceless.”
“It was hideous as well.” Her eyes were alight with humor. “But I didn’t abscond with it.”
For a moment their muted laughter mingled with the distant notes of the musicians.
Then Marcus became serious again. “You may not have purloined any family heirlooms, but I did see several of the papers disappear into your, er, shirt. I should like to ask you again what exactly you were doing there.”
Augusta’s face became a stony mask. “I should like to ask you the same question. I assume you aren’t in the habit of climbing into strange houses and making off with assorted geegaws, no matter how ugly.” In truth, she was just as puzzled by his presence in the study as he was by hers.
They both eyed each other warily, each seeming to wait for the other to speak.
Finally, the earl gave a harried sigh. He had known she was obstinate, but he hadn’t realized just how obstinate. Short of resorting to the methods she had mentioned earlier, it looked as if he had precious little hope of forcing any information out of her. So this time, he tried a compromise.
“If I give you—in broadest terms, mind you—an explanation, will you agree to do the same?”
Augusta pursed her lips. “I shall consider it.”
He resisted the urge to stamp his foot. He hadn’t done that since he was six and hadn’t yet learned to charm women in general and his nanny in particular. “Confound it, Lady Augusta. That’s hardly a fair answer.”
“Perhaps not, but it is the best I can do until I hear what you have to say.”
He rubbed absently at his jaw. “Hell’s teeth. I suppose—”
The earl’s words were cut off by a violent shove from Augusta. He staggered backward, so that the falling coping stone merely grazed his head. Even so, the force of the blow was enough to knock him, half dazed, to the graveled path.
Augusta quickly knelt down beside him and took his head onto her lap. “Lord Dunham!” Her hands smoothed away the thick raven locks from his brow, revealing a nasty cut at the hairline just above his temple. “Good heavens, you’re hurt.”
His eyes fluttered open. “Yes,” he muttered faintly.
“I seem to be risking life and limb every time I get near you.” He struggled to disengage one of the thorny branches of the rosebush from the lapel of his coat, which only widened the tear it had caused in the fine fabric.
“Not to speak of my wardrobe. You aren’t perchance in the employ of Weston, hired for the sake of increasing his trade?
The fellow makes enough off of me as it is. ”
She had already fished a handkerchief out of his coat pocket and had it pressed up against his wound. Her other hand moved around to cradle his shoulders. Although he had recovered his wits, Marcus found himself strangely loath to remove his head from her lap.
“Really, sir, that is most ungenerous of you! I didn’t dislodge that stone from the roof.”
He sat up abruptly, the sudden movement causing him to wince in pain. “Son of a—” He caught himself on seeing Augusta’s face quite close to his. “—of a dog,” he finished lamely.
Her lips quirked. “No, what you really mean to say is, Goddamn spawn of Satan.”
“What?”
“I said—”
“Yes, yes, I heard what you said. What I meant was, where on earth did a gently bred female ever hear such language?”
“Why, from you, sir, when you stepped in that pile of decayed cabbage.”
There was a distinct pause. “Cabbage, eh? I thought it was rhubarb.” He slowly got to his feet and limped over to take a look at the fallen stone. On close inspection, it was clear the mortar had been freshly chiseled away.”Hmmm.”
Augusta was leaning over his shoulder and saw the evidence of tampering as well. “Hmmm, nothing, my lord. That stone didn’t fall by itself.” She pressed the handkerchief back to his forehead, which had started to bleed again. “Have you made any recent enemies that would wish you harm?”
“Well, if you were not present and accounted for …” he murmured.
She flashed him an indignant look. “I was thinking more along the lines of cuckolded husbands or jealous mistresses.”
“I’m flattered by your notion of my prowess with the opposite sex, but as I’ve tried to tell you, perhaps you should not put quite so much faith in gossip.”
She had the grace to color.
A commotion at the french doors saved her from having to make a reply. Voices were raised and a number of gentlemen, as well as several ladies, stepped onto the stone terrace.
“I tell you, I heard a crash, Haverlock.”
Augusta straightened and waved the crumpled handkerchief. “Over here, everyone. I’m afraid there has been a slight accident.”
The group rushed en masse over to where the two of them were standing. One of the ladies shrieked while the evening’s host blanched at the sight of the earl’s blood-streaked face. “Good heavens, Dunham, what the deuce happened?”
Marcus shot Augusta a brief warning look, then pulled a wry face. “It would seem one of the stones on your roof was loose. A gust of wind must have dislodged it.”
Her face betrayed no reaction to his explanation.
Lord Haverlock sucked in his breath. “Why, you could have been seriously injured!”
The earl shrugged. “Yes, well, I suppose I was lucky. No real harm done.” He brushed aside the suggestion of having a doctor summoned and refused the offer of assistance back into the ballroom.
“If you would kindly send round for my carriage, I think, given my current state of appearance, I should prefer to simply leave by the garden entrance and take myself home. I’ve had quite enough entertainment for one night. ”
He brushed at one of the thick smudges of dirt on his sleeve. “Good evening, gentlemen. Ah, and good evening, Lady Augusta. I thank you for running to my assistance.”
His voice did indeed convey a note of gratitude but the look in his eyes as they held hers for the briefest instant told her things were far from settled between them.
The valet gave a violent start at the shout of laughter that came from the tub behind the screen. His employer had taken a nasty crack on the head and perhaps his wits were seriously addled. He peeked around the corner.
“Is … is everything alright, milord?” he ventured. “Perhaps I should send one of the footmen for a doctor or—”
Marcus let his aching body sink even deeper in to the hot, sudsy water, then waved the man away. “Don’t bother, Tebbins. I haven’t taken leave of my senses. Just set the decanter of brandy by my bedside and then you may retire.”
The man looked unconvinced, but did as he was told.
As soon as his head disappeared, Marcus let out another chuckle.
“Goddamn spawn of Satan,” he repeated aloud.
The chit was utterly, maddeningly impossible!
But try as he might to remain angry with her, he felt a grudging admiration nudging in as well.
Along with her willful obstinacy, she had displayed quick thinking and a keen power of observation.
At the sight of blood, she hadn’t screamed or fainted, but had handled the situation with cool aplomb.
And there was no question that she possessed a sharp intelligence.
She hadn’t failed to put two and two together just as quickly as he did, nor had she missed his signal not to say anything about the suspicious nature of the accident.
On top of all that, she seemed to appreciate the dry sort of humor he liked best.
He paused for a moment in his assessment. How had he ever thought her bird-witted or boring?
Or unattractive. Somehow, those interesting hazel eyes, and graceful curves were having more and more of an unsettling effect on him every time he came in proximity of them ….
Damnation! He reached for the pitcher of cold water and doused it over his head.
He’d not let such thoughts distract him from the fact that she still had given him no explanation for her unusual nocturnal activities.
It was unfortunate that his interrogation had been cut short this evening, but she wouldn’t wriggle out of it quite so easily another time.
But that would have to wait for their next meeting. A more immediate concern was who had pushed the stone, and why.
Another chuckle escaped the earl’s lips at the thought of her suggestions. It was remotely possible, he imagined, but not very likely. He had not been as, er, active as she seemed to think. In truth, he had not even looked at a woman since … why, since he had met her.
His lips pursed in thought. The only recent activity of his that had raised any heated reactions had been his two speeches in Parliament.
People may have disagreed with his point of view, but that should hardly have been the sort of thing to get a fellow killed.
The more he considered it, the more it made no sense—none of the pieces seemed to fit together.
Giving up, he stood up to towel off, then pulled on his heavy silk dressing gown.
But somehow he couldn’t shake the feeling that Lady Augusta and the papers she had stuffed down her shirt were key parts of the puzzle.