Chapter 12 #2
It was only with great difficulty that Marcus restrained the urge to utter a certain oath aloud.
But he thought it as he watched Augusta walk away arm in arm with the other man.
Hell’s teeth! he added for good measure.
Didn’t she have any idea of how perilous a course she might be setting for herself?
After a moment’s consideration, he decided the problem was not that she failed to grasp the danger, rather that she refused to allow it to stop her.
His foot began to tap impatiently on the polished parquet.
No doubt Lady Augusta would take great pains to avoid being alone with him any time during the rest of the evening.
He could hardly pick her up and bodily carry her from the room, though the thought was sorely tempting—for more than one reason.
Damnation. Why was it that even when he was furious with her, those flashing hazel eyes had the most unsettling physical effect on his person?
As she had brushed past him, he had wanted to reach out and stop her, not the least because his fingers were burning to feel the soft heat of her cheek and bury themselves once more in the silkiness splendor of those wheaten tresses.
With a start, Marcus realized it was waltz that was playing, and that she and her partner were gliding toward where he stood.
His eyes locked on the gentle swaying of her hips, then moved up to the gloved hand lightly pressed at the small of her back.
For an instant it was he, and not just an unknown villain, who was contemplating murder.
Then, getting a grip on his wayward emotions, he turned on his heel and stalked to the far end of the room where he sought another glass of champagne to dampen down the worst of his ire.
“Good evening, Lord Dunham.”
The earl’s head jerked around. He had come to halt next to where Marianne—not yet approved by the patrons of Almack’s to waltz—and one of her admirers were sitting out the dance. Wiping the scowl off his face as best he could, he gave a curt nod in acknowledgement of her greeting.
“Good evening, Lady Marianne. I trust you are enjoying the activities as much as your sister is.” The words came out rather more sharply than he had intended.
Marianne stole a quick glance at Augusta turning in step with Lord Ludlowe and a slight crease furrowed her brow.
It disappeared in an instant, replaced by her usual sunny expression.
“Yes, the music is quite delightful. Indeed, I find I have worked up quite a thirst on the dance floor.” Turning to her partner with a charming smile, she said, “Lord Andover, would you mind terribly fetching me a glass of lemonade? And perhaps another glass of champagne for His Lordship?”
The young man by her side jumped to his feet with alacrity. “Of course, Lady Marianne.”
As soon as he had hurried off, she spoke again, concern replacing gaiety in her voice.”Has something changed that Augusta has not seen fit to mention to me, sir? Or is Lord Ludlowe still one of her prime suspects?”
Marcus slanted her a look of grudging approval for such a quick grasp of the matter, even as his mouth set in a grim line.
“You are not mistaken. Once again, your sister has seen fit to throw caution to the wind and sail full tilt into battle. But this time, I fear she is facing the very real risk of running hard aground.”
He drew in a measured breath. “She means to encourage some measure of intimacy between them, with the idea of wheedling some incriminating evidence out of him. If Ludlowe is the guilty party, he has proven that he is no fool. Nor is he a man to be trifled with, as the events of this past afternoon have proved.”
Marianne went a bit paler. “What do you mean, sir?”
“She didn’t tell you about the attack?”
“No. She did not.”
His lips compressed even more. “As you see, she doesn’t see fit to tell you everything.”
Marianne swallowed hard. “Is there nothing you can do to convince her to abandon such a perilous course? She seems to … pay some attention to you.”
A muttered “Ha!” was his only reply. Marcus then lapsed into a gloomy silence as he contemplated the tips of his polished evening shoes. After several minutes, he cleared his throat and was about to speak again when interrupted by the reappearance of Marianne’s admirer.
“Here is your lemonade, Lady Marianne.” Lord Andover’s cheerful tone faltered on taking in the earl’s stony expressions. “And, er, your champagne, sir.”
“I believe Lady Marianne requested ratafia punch. The champagne you may leave with me.”
The young man handed the glass over to Marcus. “I-I am quite sure she said—”
“Are you contradicting the lady?” inquired Marcus softly. “Or me?”
“Ah, no, sir.”
“Good. Especially if you expect me to put you up for membership in the Four-In-Hand Club any time soon.”
Without further argument, the young man headed off into the milling crowd with even more haste than the first time.
Marianne observed the interchange between the two men with some interest. “You appear to have some acquaintance with Lord Andover, sir. He, ah, seems to defer to your wishes without question.”
“Unlike a certain someone else,” growled the earl under his breath. “But yes, Andover is quite used to me barking orders at him. I’ve been doing it since he was in leading strings.” At her look of puzzlement, he added, “He is my cousin.”
“Oh, I did not know that. How … interesting.” She fiddled with the strings of her reticule. “You were about to say something, milord, before he appeared?”
Marcus pursed his lips. “I have a suggestion that may help to protect your sister from harm. But it involves, shall we say, some subterfuge on your part.” A pause. “It goes without saying that she would not be at all pleased if she were to discover your hand in it.”
“Please tell me what you have in mind.” Her jaw set. “Gus is not the only one capable of action.”
The earl repressed a twitch of his lips.
“So it seems,” he murmured. “Well, I believe there is little likelihood that Ludlowe would attempt anything rash during such a gathering as this. However, an invitation for a drive in the park, an excursion to Vauxhall—these would all be cause for concern. If you were to, ah, keep abreast of your sister’s plans, you could contrive to send word to me of outings. ”
“You mean spy on her?”
“If it comes to that, yes.” He hesitated. “It’s a pity we can’t keep her under lock and key, but at the very least, we can make sure she is kept under a watchful eye. That is, if I can count on your aid.”
Marcus sighed. “I truly don’t like to ask you to betray any confidences, but in truth, I can think of nothing else.”
She nodded in understanding. “I think it an excellent plan. You may depend on me, sir.”
He allowed a faint smile. “I’m sure I may, Lady Marianne. Now, do you think that big groom of hers may be enlisted to be part of our plan?”
“Jamison? Oh, I think we’ll have little trouble convincing him it’s for the best,” Marianne thought for a moment. “But what of during the night. She has been known to, er, slip out on her own at odd hours.”
“Yes, so I have noticed.” He rubbed at his chin.
“I know of a man who will serve our purpose there. Trust me, your sister will not escape unnoticed the next time she takes it into her head to embark on some nocturnal sojourn. In the meantime, of course, I shall be doing my best to resolve this whole matter with my own inquiries.”
“The waistcoat?”
He nodded.
“Oh, I do hope you will discover who the culprit is soon and put an end to his awful deeds.”
“Learning his true identity is one thing, proving it to the authorities is quite another, Lady Marianne. It won’t be easy, but I mean to see that justice will prevail in the end, no matter what it takes.”
On that grim note, the dance came to an end, and the earl saw his earlier suspicions were nor unfounded.
Augusta made a point of being escorted back to where several of her mother’s acquaintances were seated together exchanging the latest ondits.
Taking a chair at the edge of the little group, she leaned forward slightly, as if intent on catching their every word.
Marcus’s eyes narrowed, knowing full well that the gesture was prompted more out of a desire to avoid any look from him rather than any interest in what was being said.
He tossed back the remainder of his drink and handed the empty glass to a passing footman.
“Since it appears unlikely that I shall have any further chance of talking some sense into your sister, I believe I shall excuse myself, Lady Marianne.” He gave a slight bow.
“For the next little while, there will always be a young urchin in the square across from your townhouse—you have only to send one of your footman with a note and it will reach me at any time of the day or night.”
As he walked away, he noticed Andover turn from where he had been studying a towering arrangement of potted flowers and venture back to the young lady’s side, ratafia punch in hand.
The young man had some sense, he noted with satisfaction. He had always been his favorite cousin, and it pleased him that the pup was showing both a laudable tact in his actions—and commendable taste in his choice of females.
And at least his cousin was making some headway with his suit, judging by the smile that came to the Lady Marianne’s face.
Alas, the same could hardly be said for himself.