Chapter 9 #2
“… I heard it was Lord Dunham who held the poor boy’s vowels. The man certainly has a reputation for uncanny luck. His winnings were over two thousand pounds in less than an hour.”
There was a slight titter. “His reputation is for more than just luck at cards, my dear Honoria. But pray, what happened?”
Augusta’s attention was suddenly engaged. Her head turned discreetly toward the nearby settee where two of her mother’s acquaintances were bent together in earnest gossip.
“Oh, Linton was forced home to Yorkshire in disgrace, and just when he was on the verge of making the Grenville chit an offer,” replied Lady Reston.
Her friend made a disapproving cluck. “I heard the young man was obviously in his cups. Really, has the earl no scruples, making sport of mere boys?”
It was the other lady’s turn to give a slight laugh.
“Why, of course he has no scruples. That’s what makes him so …
interesting. Why, have you heard who his latest conquest among the ton is rumored to be?
Lady Stansfield has not been a widow for three months and yet …
” The voices dropped into a flurry of whispers too low to be followed, but Augusta had heard enough.
Her mouth thinned to a grim line as she let her eyes drift back to the windows.
Though the sight of the leaden skies only served to further dampen her already heavy spirits, she forced herself to consider what she had just overheard with a purely rational detachment.
It would seem these latest rounds of innuendo, however specious, gave her more than enough ammunition with which to slay any lingering feelings of obligation that Marcus might feel in regard to her.
The rest of the tedious hour she spent marshalling both the words and the resolve for an attack on his character.
It shouldn’t prove difficult to precipitate a final quarrel.
After all, through his letters she was intimately acquainted with his most vulnerable spots.
While in the past she had unintentionally wounded his feelings, now she knew just where to strike with greatest effect.
By the time the guests rose to take their leave, she had no doubt that after their next encounter, she could make sure that the last thing in the world the Earl of Dunham would want was to spend a moment more in her presence.
Perhaps that was why Marianne, on taking one look at her pinched face, let her retreat to her study without further remonstrance.
Marcus watched with growing impatience as the patterns of the country dance shifted across the dancefloor. Would the cursed music never end? he wondered, his foot tapping the floor more in irritation than in rhythm with the melody.
And would the maddening Lady Augusta never sit down?
Ever since she had taken to wearing those vastly improved gowns, it seemed she had no dearth of dance partners.
His eyes grudgingly followed her graceful steps across the polished parquet and he couldn’t help admit how utterly wrong she was about being awkward and ungainly.
Just as she was utterly wrong about a number of other assessments about her person.
The notes did indeed finally die away and Augusta was escorted by her partner to a quiet spot between two towering urns spilling a profusion of ivy and white shrub roses.
Marcus waited until it was clear that no other gentleman was coming to claim her for the following set before making his way to where she sat.
“It appears that you suffer from no bout of fatigue tonight, Lady Augusta.” He was surprised at the note of asperity in his own voice.
But even more surprising was the tightness of the delicate skin around her eyes and the drawn expression on her pale features as she slowly looked up at him.
If anything, she looked even more exhausted than the day before.
His irritation deepened into something more than mere peevishness.
“Have you no sense at all?” he snapped. “You should be home in bed, not—”
“Yes, no doubt beds are quite on your mind these days,” she retorted. “Only I should have thought it would be you tucked between the sheets by this hour, milord, not me.”
His dark brows came together in an ominous line and he took a step closer to her chair. “Just what is that supposed to mean?” he demanded.
“Use your prodigious intellect to figure it out.”
Marcus’s mouth compressed at the obvious sarcasm, but there was more puzzlement than pique in his voice as he studied her pale face once again. “What the devil is wrong, Lady Augusta?”
“The fact that you insist on hovering about my person, sir.” Her mouth set in a prim line. “It is becoming quite tiresome.”
His face turned even paler than hers. “Tiresome?” he repeated softly.
“I should imagine you would prefer to be with Lady Stansfield or—what was the name of the opera dancer?”
“Hell’s teeth, is that what is upsetting you?”
Augusta’s lips curled in a mock smile. “Why in heaven’s name would that upset me, sir?
” she inquired. “I couldn’t care less how you choose to amuse yourself, or with whom.
What I do care about is having you make sport of serious matters by pretending to care about aught but pleasure.
I have no idea why you persist in trying to convince me that your concern for my investigation is anything deeper than mere whim. ”
A flare of anger flashed in his eyes. “It is clear you have been listening to the gossips again and giving their wagging tongues far more credence than they deserve. Perhaps it is your intellect that should be ridiculed, not mine, for it appears right now that your brain is no bigger than a pea if you still insist on taking such rumors seriously.”
“Well at least I try to exercise my brain, however small, rather than some other parts of my anatomy.” A pause. “Common sense says that where there’s smoke, there’s fire.”
Marcus sought to control the sparking of his temper.
“The only thing smoky is the idiotic way you are acting. I thought we had come to some understanding regarding the sorts of accusations you are hurling in my face, but evidently we have not. Come, let us take a stroll in the garden and discuss this in the rational manner I have come to expect from you.”
She refused his hand. “I thought you didn’t want or expect rational behavior from a female.”
There were several moments of silence. “I think, Lady Augusta, that you owe me some sort of explanation for this outburst. I can’t quite believe that it has only to do with what the tabbies are bandying about.”
“Believe what you wish, sir, but even you can’t be so vain as to not realize when your presence has become distasteful. Or are you truly so puffed up with conceit that you think every female is waiting for a chance to fling herself at your feet?”
His jaw worked but before he could make a reply, another gentleman approached.
“I believe we are engaged for the next dance, Lady Augusta, but if I am interrupting …” His brow rose a fraction as he regarded Marcus’s rigid features.
“Not at all,” replied Augusta, fixing the gentleman a brilliant smile. “Lord Dunham was just taking his leave.” She extended her hand to him and there was nothing for the earl to do but step aside.
He watched them walk away to the far end of the dance floor where the next set was forming.
If Lady Augusta wished to add to her growing collection of colorful language, she would have been well advised to stay for a moment, he fumed, silently giving vent to a number of words that would have scorched the ears of many of his male friends.
He turned abruptly to go in search of some champagne to quench his anger, but after several steps, he paused.
The music had started, the couples were moving in tune with the melody, but something was definitely off key in all of this.
His gaze sought Augusta and her current partner for a moment.
What the devil was she up to? He suddenly recalled that this wasn’t the first time this particular gentleman had shown her a marked attention.
With a slight clenching of his fists, he realized that he was the fellow with whom she had been waltzing the other evening.
Why, if he hadn’t known her better, he would have thought she was engaging in the same sort of behavior most females indulged in when trying to attach the interest of an eligible and attractive gentleman.
And perhaps that was a possibility. There was no question that the gentleman was eligible and attractive. However, he was also something else.
He was one of the two names left on her list of suspects.
An involuntary snort escaped his lips. Romantic infatuation indeed!
Bloody hell, the chit had some sort of devious scheme planned, he was sure of it!
She had already tried housebreaking and thievery.
Was abduction and torture next? After all, she had a rather large footman at her beck and call, so there were a number of possibilities. …
Marcus found that he was suddenly in great need of that champagne.
As he tossed back a long swallow, his thoughts turned to the heated exchange that had just taken place.
Or perhaps quarrel was a better term for it, since it had quickly escalated into a nasty war of words.
His breath came out in a sharp sigh. They had certainly crossed verbal swords in the past, but he had thought that a truce had been reached some time ago.
In fact, if truth be told, he thought it more than that. On reflection, he found he would have described it as an understanding of sorts. While they might not agree on a number of things, they seemed to have developed a mutual respect for each other. In a word, they had become … friends.
Or so he had thought.
That made her sharp words even more cutting. She, of all people, should know that the picture of him painted by the broad brushes of innuendo was hardly an accurate portrait of his real self.