Chapter 11 #2
Marcus tossed the reins aside. “Henry, take charge of the horses,” he called as he jumped down from his perch.
“Let us take a stroll among these trees, Lady Augusta. I assure you we will be quite alone, so no more prevaricating.” His hands were already around her waist, leaving her precious little room for argument.
They moved off the carriage path and into the shade of the swaying boughs. It was hard to discern her expression in the flickering light, but it appeared that she had decided to go along with his proposal, at least for the present.
“There is really little that you don’t already know,” she began. As she followed with a more detailed account of all that had happened, it became clear that her words had not been an exaggeration.
The earl rubbed his fingers along his jaw. “Hmm. It does seem as if we have narrowed the probable suspects down to two.” He slanted a sharp glance at Augusta. “That is, unless you have engaged in some other outrageous exploit that has succeeded in eliminating one of them from consideration?”
“Really, sir!”
He thought he detected a slight deepening of her color. “Lady Augusta, you haven’t answered my question.”
“I haven’t done anything,” she said tartly. “Under her breath she added, “At least, not yet.”
“I heard that.”
“Jamison and I were merely having a look at the place,” she said defensively.
“Absolutely not,” he growled.
Her eyes took on a certain spark. “Just because I agreed to allow you to help does not give you the right to lord it over me as if you were—”
“As if I were what? Your brother?” Marcus leaned in closer to her. “No, I am most definitely not your brother, but for his sake as well as your own, I intend to see that you don’t end up in Newgate. Or Bedlam, for that matter.”
He blew out a sigh. “Surely you can see the sense of coming up with a plan that does not entail foolhardy risks.“
The footpath had taken a turn into a denser copse of trees, and before Augusta had a chance to answer him, two rough-looking figures leapt out from the shadows and hurled themselves at the earl. As one of the men knocked her down as he rushed at Marcus, Augusta caught the glint of steel.
“They have knives!” she cried, struggling to regain her feet.
Marcus was quick enough to parry the first strike. He twisted away to one side, lashing out with his boot to catch the first assailant a vicious blow to the knee. With a howl, the man fell to the ground, writhing in pain . The second one held up and approached with a bit more caution.
The earl slowly backed up, trying to draw both men farther away from Augusta. “Run,” he ordered in a low voice. “Go back to the carriage.”
“No! I’ll not leave you alone!”
“Goddamn spawn of—” Marcus’s words cut off as the first man recovered his footing and made another lunge at the earl’s midriff. This time, he knocked the man’s arm up with one forearm, then delivered a hard jab to the fellow’s ribs, drawing a torrent of foul curses.
“Watch your bloody language,” he snapped as he landed another punch. “There’s a lady present.”
While Marcus was engaged in fighting off one attack, the second assailant had edged around to come at him from the rear.
“Behind you, sir!” warned Augusta, throwing herself forward.
He tried to dodge away, but the fellow managed to get a firm hold of his arms. The first assailant’s blade slashed out, but at the last moment it fell short as his head snapped back from the impact of a flying reticule.
The man staggered back, dazed, the knife falling from his grasp.
His comrade, on seeing what had happened, let go of the earl and took to his heels.
The other man, on recovering his wits, decided to do the same.
Marcus drew in a ragged breath and regarded the wicked-looking slash through his clothing.
“Good Heavens, are you injured, milord?” cried Augusta, running up to take hold of his arm.
His head came up, a wry expression on his face. “Ah, another waistcoat slain, I’m afraid.”
“It’s nothing to joke about. You might have been killed!” Her fingers came out to touch his side. “Why, you are hurt!” she cried in stricken voice, staring at the blood on her glove.
“Hardly a scratch,” he said lightly. “They were certainly very desperate footpads, to risk accosting law-abiding citizens in broad daylight.”
Augusta chuffed a snort. “I should hope you wouldn’t think me so addlepated as that, sir. You know as well as I those were no thieves in search of a plump purse. They meant to do you harm.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “They did. How perceptive of you, Lady Augusta.” The irritation in his voice had become more pronounced with each word. “So why, may I ask, did you not obey my order and take yourself off to safety when you had a chance?”
She fixed him with a withering look. “Oh, that would have been a fine thing to do, leaving you alone to face the two of them by yourself. Did it occur to you that a female might possess a sense of honor ,as well as a brain? Besides, we just agreed we are working together. Remember?”
He muttered something under his breath.
“And instead of raking me over the coals for it, you should be thanking the fact that I didn’t fall into a fit of vapors, else your so-called scratch may have been considerably worse.”
“What the Devil was in that reticule?” he demanded, walking rather gingerly to where it lay among the leaves.
“Oh, a brass spy glass, a tape measure and a set of picklocks.” On catching sight of the expression that came to his face, she hastened to add, “I told you, we were just having a look.”
She added an injured sniff. “You could say thank you.”
He returned to her side. “I could also do a number of other things, but being a gentleman, I shall restrain the urge to throttle you.”
She opened her mouth to retort but stopped abruptly on seeing the look in his eyes.
“However,” he continued in a soft voice, “You are right. Thank you.”
“Y-You are quite welcome, my lord.”
Marcus’s hand brushed hers as he looped the strings of the reticule over her wrist.
Augusta ducked her head, hiding her face. “Falling coping stones, murderous cutthroats—I see that for your sake as well as that of the children, we shall have put our heads together and solve this as soon as possible.”
“Not to speak of my wardrobe,” he added dryly. “Though no doubt Weston will be delighted to—” His words cut off in mid-sentence and his hand came up to smack his forehead. “Good Lord, how stupid of me! Why didn’t I think of it before?”
“What?”
“Waistcoats!”
“Really, sir, I am aware of your sartorial reputation, but I hardly think the matter of your torn waistcoat is of primary importance at the moment.”
“Not my torn waistcoat. Come, Lady Augusta, I expect sharper thinking from you.”
Augusta’s brow creased. “Y-You mean, the scrap of silk I found at the scene of the crime?”
“Precisely.”
“I still fail to see the connection.”
“You just voiced it a moment ago,” he replied. “As I am a leader of fashion, every tailor to the beau monde would jump through hoops to have my business. I need only to show a bit of material that has caught my fancy and ask if the man has it—”
“And who else he has made such a garment for,” finished Augusta. A brilliant smile spread over her face. “That’s very clever, milord. It seems I was correct in thinking you would be of some use.”
Marcus took a firm grip of her elbow. “Aren’t I just,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “Perhaps I might also make myself useful by conveying you home. It’s getting late.”
They began walking back toward the earl’s waiting phaeton Augusta slanted a glance at the scowl darkening his face and slowed her steps. “Are you by chance angry about something, my lord?”
“Angry? Why, quite the contrary, Lady Augusta.” The sarcasm in his voice couldn’t have been thicker had he mixed it with linseed oil.”I am in alt on being deemed useful. Think of all the marvelous things that are considered useful—a dog, a walking stick,
a—”
“Oh dear.” She blinked. “I’ve hurt your feelings.”
“I’ve more real injuries to worry about than a blow to my pride,” he growled, wincing slightly as his boot slipped on a loose stone.
She came to a complete stop. “Forgive me, sir,” she said softly. “With all the talk of ruffians and fabrics, I’d quite forgotten about your wound.”
“Really, it’s naught but a—OUCH! What are you doing?”
Augusta continued to work at the buttons of his waistcoat.”Stop squirming. I am taking a look at your … ribs.” She swallowed hard as her hand parted the fine linen of his shirt and revealed a goodly amount of flesh.
Marcus ceased all movement.
The tips of her fingers started to trace along the thin gash made by the knife.
”It does not look overly serious, but you must make sure to put some basilicum powder on it and have it bandaged properly,” she said after a moment, trying hard not to stare at the chiseled muscles of his abdomen.
Then, letting the shirt fall closed, she straightened and made a show of adjusting the hem of her glove.
“You are very lucky, milord. Another inch and you might have been … k-killed.” And then, all at once, tears began to bead on her lashes.
Marcus reached out and pulled her close. “No need to upset yourself. I assure you, I have no intention of cocking up my toes any time in the near future.” A gentle humor stole into his voice. “At least not until I have finished being useful to you in this matter.”
Augusta, her face buried against the soft wool of his jacket, made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “I don’t usually behave in such a silly, missus fashion.”
He gave a chuckle. “I daresay you’ve experienced enough shocks today to throw even Boadicea into a fit of vapors.
” His hand stroked lightly over her shoulder.
“You know, you were quite as magnificent as the legendary Warrior Queen herself, attacking that ruffian with the knife.” There was a slight pause.
“However, if you ever do anything that foolhardy again, I shall forget I am not your brother and shake you until your teeth rattle and fall from your gullet to the ground”
“Milord!” Her head jerked up, the tears gone, replaced by a martial light in her hazel eyes. “If you think—”
“Augusta,” he interrupted.
The rest of the words seemed to catch in her throat.
“Considering all we have been through together, I think it might be appropriate that we call each other by our Christian names from now on. Mine is Marcus, in case you have forgotten.”
She stood absolutely still, save for the flutter of a pulse at her neck.
“Actually, I think I prefer to call you Gus,” he went on. “That way, I can delude myself into thinking I am still speaking to a male friend.”
There was a slight waver to her voice when she finally spoke. “Are you so very disappointed that I am not … a man?”
“Hmm. Well, on second thought, the fact of your being female adds some rather interesting facets to the relationships.” His head dropped a touch lower, placing his lips quite close to hers.
“Milord,” she stammered.
“Marcus,” he corrected. The progress of his mouth toward hers was arrested by the sound of rapid footsteps.
“Guv!” The little tiger skittered to a halt on regarding the earl with Augusta in his arms. “I seen two werry seedy lookin’ coves scarper from here, and when ye didn’t appear soon arfter, I thought I best see if ye was alwright.
” He kicked at the dirt. “But I sees ye ain’t in need of any assistance. ”
Marcus repressed an oath, along with his simmering desire.
“Sharp eyes you have, Henry,” he said dryly.
“I thank you for your concern, but the seedy-looking coves were only a minor distraction to our stroll. However, since I think Lady Augusta has had enough excitement for one day, why don’t we return to the carriage and see her home without further ado. ”