Chapter 10 #2
Marcus’s gaze traveled slowly around the room once Augusta’s sister had left.
The wallpaper was a pleasant cream and sage stripe, not some flowery confection, its hues picked up by the subtle patterns of the oriental carpet.
The simple drapes were pulled back to allow the sunlight to wash over the carved floor-to-ceiling bookcases, each shelf filled to capacity with all manner of leatherbound volumes.
Several watercolors hung over the mantel.
They were landscapes, showing a bold use of color and unusual technique.
Interesting choices, he reflected, and ones that revealed a discerning and sophisticated eye.
He turned his attention back to her desk and his mouth quirked upward.
A few notes? That appeared to be a vast understatement, though why she was engaged in making such copious jottings was a bit puzzling.
However, that was none of his concern, he thought, as he approached the cluttered top.
He would just peruse the spines of the books and see if the one he wished to borrow was close at hand.
Marcus ran a finger over the gold-leafed spines of first one stack, then another.
Having no luck, he moved around to the other side of the desk and bent over slightly to check the titles of the third stack.
As he shifted some of the papers to have a look at the bottom book, his gaze fell on a sheet of cream-colored stationery lying among the larger pieces of foolscap.
Though folded in half, an edge curled up, just enough to reveal several lines of the handwriting.
His handwriting.
Marcus froze in disbelief. After a moment, he gingerly lifted the paper open completely, as if to assure himself he was not hallucinating. But there was no doubt—letter for letter his words stared back at him.
It suddenly felt as if Gentleman Jackson, the legendary boxer, had landed a punishing blow smack in the middle of his chest. Breathless, as if the wind had been knocked out of him, he sunk into the desk chair.
What the Devil was his letter to Firebrand doing on Lady Augusta’s desk? It made absolutely no sense.
None whatsoever.
Dazed, Marcus let his eyes fall half closed, barely taking in the other papers lying face up on the ink-stained blotter.
It was some moments before his gaze slowly focused on the distinctive script that covered each sheet, a script that had become nearly as familiar to him as his own hand.
In some confusion, he glanced at the open drawer, where he spied the rest of his letters, tied in a neat bundle with a length of ribbon.
And the awful truth finally hit home.
For a brief second, the room appeared to be spinning.
Yes gods, surely he was hallucinating—no, more than that, surely he was going stark, raving mad!
The world was turned totally on its ear, with Lady Augusta writing as a man, and him about to fall in a dead faint, like some excitable schoolroom miss.
That embarrassing thought helped him get hold of himself.
As he drew in a steadying breath, shock started to give way to anger. Why, the nerve of the outrageous lady! To attempt such a colossal masquerade … to pretend to such wisdom and insight … Just wait until he got his hands around that slender neck of hers, he fumed, and then—
The sound of rapid footsteps in the hallway caused him to look up
“I shall be just a minute. Tell my mother I will be upstairs shortly, as soon as I straighten up some things in my study. Er, what was that, Jenkins?” The brass knob turned with some force and the door was flung open. “You will have to speak up …”
The words cut off abruptly as Augusta caught sight of the earl seated at her desk, the telltale letter still grasped between his fingers.
Her hand came up to her throat as she closed the door behind her. “How dare you, sir!” she said in a strangled whisper. “How dare you break into my private study and paw through my things. Get out! Get out at once!”
“Not until I have some answers from you.”
“I—I have nothing to answer for,” she rasped.
“No?” He rose—as did his voice—and held up the piece of paper with his handwriting on it. “What of this?”
Her eyes dropped to the ground. “What of it?”
“You impudent chit! I can’t believe it! You—you tricked me!”
“Oh, and how do you figure that? Did I give you false advice? Did I betray your confidences? Did I do anything but … act as a true friend?”
He wasn’t sure how to answer.
“ I certainly didn’t know either, sir, if that is what you mean,” continued Augusta. “Not until very recently.” Her eyes were alight with sparks. “Hell’s bells, you can’t imagine I would ever have written such things if I had any idea it was … you!”
Marcus found himself staring at the molten hazel, flecked with amber, and growing hot all over. He took a step closer to her. “Why not?”
“You just answered that yourself, sir. You said you couldn’t believe it—you have made it clear that you could never accept that your learned friend was a female.”
“Damnation! All the same, you should have told me!”
“Why?” she cried, anger mixing with some other emotion. “What does it matter that we don’t like each other in the flesh, when something that was of real value to both of us might have been saved?”
The earl took a deep breath.” Is that why you chose to quarrel with me last night?”
Augusta didn’t answer, but turned her head to avoid meeting his gaze. He was surprised to see a glimmer of wetness in her eyes. “On top of everything, I suppose you are now going to reveal the true identity of Firebrand and ruin everything I have been working for.”
“I should hope you know me better than that,” he said in a low voice as he moved even closer.
Her mouth quirked upward in grim humor as she considered his words. “It does appear we know each other very well.”
“Hmm. Very well, indeed.” Marcus was now standing quite close to her and could breathe in the faint scent of lavender and lemon.
“Yes, well, er, if you are not going to unmask me, what do you suggest we do about this unfortunate mess?”
“This.”
His mouth came down upon hers, with an urgency that nearly scorched both of their lips.
She struggled to speak but instead of allowing a word, he twined his tongue with hers in a most intimate kiss, uniting them physically as one, just as they were joined in thought …
and all her attempts to wiggle free suddenly ceased as her body softened and she melted against his chest. Tentatively, she began to return his embrace, her fingers stealing up to brush the hard planes of his cheeks.
A groan escaped him as her fingertips traced the line of his jaw.
Never before had his self-control gone up in smoke like this.
Her simple touch was threatening to burn away every last vestige of the defenses he had carefully constructed around his soul, leaving him naked in his need. In another second he would—
“Lord Dunham, have you had any luck in—” Marianne’s words ended in a squeak of surprise as she clutched at the latch to keep the door from swinging open any farther. Eyes widening, she stared in fascination at the sight of her sister intimately entwined with the earl before finding her voice again.
“Er, well, it seems you are in no need of my help.” With that, she pulled the door shut.
Augusta pulled away from Marcus’s chest. “M-Marianne knew you were here?” she managed to stammer.
“Umm, yes. I came here this morning in hopes of borrowing a certain book. She let me into your study in order to look for it.” His voice sounded equally dazed.
“What book?
He told her the title.
She moved rather unsteadily to the weighty stack by the window and took up the volume on top. “Here,” she said, hurrying back and thrusting it in his hands. Without waiting for a reply, she continued on in a rush of steps and disappeared into the hallway.
Marcus was quick to follow.
They caught up to Marianne in the entrance foyer. “Lord Dunham has found what he was looking for,” announced Augusta in an overloud voice.
Her sister kept her eyes averted from both of them. “Yes, so it seems,” she murmured.
Augusta shot her a withering look, then bit her lip.
The earl remained silent as he accepted his curly brimmed beaver hat and walking stick from the butler, who was appeared to be staring at his disheveled locks and creased cravat with great interest. Then he cleared his throat with some awkwardness.
“I shall return at four, to take you out for a drive in the Park.”
“I’m afraid that may not be convenient—”
“At four, Lady Augusta.” The tone of his voice left little doubt as to whether it was a request or a command.
“Oh, very well.”
As soon as Marcus was gone, Augusta took her sister by the arm and drew her none too gently into the drawing room. For yet another time that morning, a door was pulled firmly shut.
“I vow, I shall strangle you if you ever mention a word to anyone—including me—about what you just witnessed,” she said through gritted teeth. “It was not what it seemed. As usual, we started to argue over, er, a certain matter, and I’m afraid Lord Dunham became rather furious with me!”
Marianne arched one delicate brow. “I’m not sure I would have described the earl’s emotional state as furious, Gus.”
“You don’t understand how things are between us,” muttered. Augusta. “Trust me, what was happening back there—”
“It’s called kissing, Gus.” There was a twinkle in Marianne’s eyes. “And it looked like Lord Dunham was doing it very well, indeed.”
“If he’s very good at it, I imagine it’s because he has had a great deal of practice.
” She let out a ragged sigh. “His kiss did not mean, well … what kisses usually mean. As I was saying, what happened back there had nothing to do with whether the earl feels any attraction for me, but rather with. …” Her voice trailed off in some confusion.
“Lust?” suggested Marianne.
Augusta tried to appear shocked, but the twitch of her lips gave her away.
“Really, Marianne, it’s all very well for me, who has no wish to be part of the Marriage Mart, to voice ideas of which no proper young miss should be aware.
But you, who have such great prospects, must have a care what you say, even in private, lest you let such words slip out in public. ”
Marianne’s chin took on a defiant tilt. “As if I should want to be leg-shackled to a gentleman who wouldn’t want to know what I truly think,” she said under her breath.
Her expression lightened a bit. “But you are trying to change the subject, and that won’t fadge.
We were discussing Lord Dunham’s skill at kissing—”
“We were not discussing any such thing,” interrupted Augusta. “What I started to say was, the earl and I were having a difference of opinion over … philosophical ideas. Why, you heard him yourself. He was here to borrow a book.”
“Ah, no doubt one from Minerva Press, judging by the sort of debate you two were engaged in.”
Augusta set her hands on her hips.
“Oh, very well, I shall stop teasing you. But for someone who is wont to be very observant, Gus, I think you are missing a good deal of what is right in front of your nose. Literally, that is.”
Augusta chose to ignore what her sister might mean by that remark.
“I have been trying to keep Lord Dunham from becoming too involved in my investigation, but …” She paused and pulled a face.
“But it looks as if I shall be forced to let him do as he pleases, now that he can hold the threat of blackmail over my head.”
Marianne frowned. “Because you have written some opinions for Mr. Pritchard?”
“You might say that,” muttered Augusta under her breath.
“Well, Lord Dunham does not strike me as such a narrow-minded gentleman—”
“Ha!”
“—as to think that a female cannot have an independent thought,” finished her sister. “Er, how did he know of your writings?”
“Because a certain someone saw fit to allow him to enter my private study and have free rein among my personal things.”
Marianne swallowed hard and looked somewhat abashed.
“You cannot deny that he has proven a considerable help so far. I should think you would welcome his help. After all, a short while ago, you were lamenting that the sort of information we needed was most easily obtained by a man.” A pause.
“And Lord Dunham is most definitely that.”
Augusta’s eyes narrowed, but her sister kept her features schooled in an expression of great innocence.
“Hmph,” she finally said. “I suppose he may prove of some use.” Tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear, she turned a moody gaze upon the blazing fire.
“I had better go check on why Mama wanted to see me. Then, perhaps I might be allowed some peace and quiet to get some work done before I must dress to go driving with the earl.”
“Be sure to wear your new sprigged moss-green driving dress, along with the matching chip straw bonnet.”
Augusta looked up, utterly nonplussed. “What?”
“Naturally you’ll want to look your best for Lord Dunham, won’t you?” With that, Marianne ducked out of the room, before one of the Staffordshire figurines adorning the mantel came hurtling at her head.