Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Mason couldn’t sleep. The mere memory of Augusta’s luscious mouth opening beneath his and her hands pulling him closer made him ache to kiss her again.
Good God, what was he to do about her? How could he even face her?
He felt certain she’d been actively participating in the kiss, but how could he be sure?
He’d taken her by surprise, and she might merely have responded because she didn’t want to insult him, her guardian of sorts. Her brother-in-law.
Yes, he must keep reminding himself of that, of the fact that nothing could come of it.
Except now he was envisioning having Augusta to talk to, having her running their household while he managed his estate … having her to bear their children one day.
He and Esther hadn’t been blessed with children, although they both had hoped for them. Then, she’d caught an ague that killed her, one that had been going around in London. He wasn’t sure why it had passed him by, but once it did, he’d realized he was all alone. Again.
Not that he’d minded that at first. He preferred a calm, untroubled life, one not plagued by hopes and dreams and surprises like Esther’s death.
Lately, however, he’d been chafing at the lack of color in such a life, the lack of affection and those little niceties that a wife brought to a household.
And he’d been aching for Augusta. He would think he was merely attracted to aspects of his late wife in her, except that the two women were as different as peas and porridge.
Esther had been flashy and obliviously selfish; Augusta was steady and kind. Esther would never have figured out what Lionel was up to on her own; Augusta had caught on to it in an instant.
Thinking of Lionel sobered him. He couldn’t be mooning over Augusta like a lovesick lad. Instead, he must prepare himself for his plan tomorrow. It would be the only way to make amends to her for kissing her senseless.
He hoped he’d thought the matter through without a single misstep.
The mourning trappings had a purpose beyond just shaming Lionel.
The added advantage was that most other people who came to see the supposed Rembrandt collection would probably not even attempt to enter once they spotted the mourning trappings outside.
So, he and Augusta wouldn’t be completely beleaguered by people whom Lionel could hide behind when he arrived.
For those who didn’t assume that the exhibition was cancelled, he’d already arranged to have servants on hand to soothe ruffled feathers with ready explanations, plenty of tea, and the scores of tarts he’d arranged to have delivered early from a bakery to go along with the bowls of fruit his tenant’s cook had been paid to provide.
As he went through his plan yet again, he grew drowsy and, at long last, fell into a fitful asleep.
The next morning, by the time Augusta arrived at 117 Park Street shortly after dawn, Mason had been on a ladder for some time, helping his servants to hang the black crape and other items meant to hoax the hoaxer.
She gazed up at him in clear astonishment. “What are you doing up there?”
“Helping. Go inside. I’ll be with you shortly.”
He watched as she disappeared through the door. In her cheery gown of bright green silk with its matching embroidered shawl, she looked like an angel disguised as a fair maiden. His fair maiden. Even though he knew he couldn’t claim her as any such thing.
Consumed with his attempt to figure out her mood after last night’s unwise kiss, he turned too fast on the ladder, fell off it, and subsequently ripped his attire.
Good God, he was such a clumsy fool. He was lucky he hadn’t injured himself.
But now, he’d need his coat repaired. Fortunately, one of his footmen was good with a needle and volunteered to sew it up, leaving Mason to enter the building in his shirt sleeves.
He paused a moment outside of the drawing room where Augusta was pacing before the fire.
God, even so clearly agitated, she was amazing, with her purposeful stride and all that lush auburn hair that he ached to free from its hairpins.
Her normally sparkling eyes, now dulled by worry for her brother, fixed on him.
He would banish that worry if it took him a year. “Everything’s ready.” He entered the drawing room and closed the door, though he knew that was the last thing he should be doing.
She blinked. “Where’s your coat?”
He shrugged. “One of my footmen is sewing up the hole in the sleeve. I caught the sleeve on a nail when I fell off the ladder, and ripped it right down to the cuff, along with my shirt.”
“Fell off the ladder! Are you mad?” She rushed over to him, her clear concern only amplifying his need for her. She felt along his ribs and arms as if searching for broken bones. “Why didn’t you let the footmen hang the black crape? You could have killed yourself!”
“Nonsense.” That was merely what he got for trying to watch her from the ladder, like some fool. “The footmen are all busy preparing for the hordes. I figured they could use the help.” He forced a smile for her. “And I only fell far enough to bruise my pride.”
“Let me be the judge of that,” she told him curtly. “Roll up your sleeve.”
As soon as he did so, she began examining his arm, making his heart pound. “Just a scratch,” she said, “thank heaven.”
An uncomfortable silence fell between them as he rolled down his sleeve and went to stare out the window.
“I do hope no one has thought to find out where Mrs. Bowman really lives,” Augusta said. “It does us no good if she suffers from Lionel’s prank despite your machinations.”
“She won’t. I had them put the name in as Mrs. Lowman, another ‘misprint.’ And there are dozens of Lowmans in London.”
“That’s good, then.” She glanced at the clock. “It’s still only 8 a.m. Do you think Lionel will show up here early and try to stop the so-called exhibit once he sees the listing in the paper?”
Mason eyed her askance. “Since your brother has never risen before nine in his life, I doubt it.”
“But you do think he’ll come here and try to make things right, don’t you?”
“He’d better. If he hides somewhere to avoid detection instead, I swear I will, at the very least, yank him out of Eton and put him into another school away from his rascal friends.”
“I don’t blame you,” she muttered. “I only hope that when he sees the house in mourning, he’ll regret what he’s done.”
“I’m more concerned with how he acts afterward.
If he witnesses the havoc and slinks away, then we have deeper problems to address.
If, however, he comes to the door and tries to make amends, I’ll know for certain he has a conscience.
That he has the potential to become a responsible young man.
” It was a sound plan in theory. But . . .
“I don’t know if I’d make too much of it if Lionel does slink away,” Augusta said, practically reading his mind. “After realizing he’s inadvertently caused such pain to a family in mourning, he will surely be horrified. It is a rather extreme consequence for what was really only a prank.”
He whirled on her. “Only a prank? That was meant to gull hundreds, perhaps thousands of people?”
“Yes, of course you’re right,” she mumbled.
When he saw her stricken expression, he let out a low oath. “Forgive me for being curt. Honestly, he’s only behaving like every other idiot lad his age.”
She eyed him skeptically. “I daresay you never did anything so foolish.”
“I did, actually.” He flashed her a rueful smile.
“When I was fifteen, my schoolboy friends and I played a spectacular prank on our pompous Latin professor. We hatched the bright scheme of taking the pins out of the hinges on his classroom door. We used wooden pegs to hold it in place, knowing that they would break when he made his usual grand entrance, and the door would, of course, come off.”
His smile vanished. “And it did. It fell on him and broke his leg. Watching him writhe in pain cured me of playing pranks for good. It had a much more profound effect on me than the canings we were all given afterward.”
She gazed at him with such pity on her face, he had to look away.
“I’m so sorry, Mason,” she said.
“Don’t be. I learned a valuable lesson.” He straightened his spine.
“And Lionel will, too. At the very least, he’ll learn that pranks can have dire consequences beyond what he assumes.
For example, he probably didn’t even consider the very real possibility that this hoax could be traced back to his family and embroil them in a scandal, too. ”
She swallowed. “I suppose it would reflect very badly on you if it got out that he was involved. And considering how kind you’ve been to us all these years—”
“It wasn’t me I was worried about,” he snapped, his head pivoting back to her. “It was you.”
When she gaped at him, he took a shuddering breath, then continued in a more controlled voice, although every word was a struggle.
“In a few weeks you’ll have your first season since Esther’s death.
You have a real chance at finding a husband.
But the last thing some respectable fellow will want is to take on a woman whose brother has proved to be so irresponsible and wild. ”
“You needn’t worry about that,” she said, her distress clear. “I have no intention of marrying.”
He frowned. “That’s absurd. Of course you must marry.”
She flinched. “Am I that much a trial to you? Are you in such haste to hand me over to some man?”
“Good God, no,” he growled, then caught himself. “That’s not what I meant.”
She edged closer to him. “Then what did you mean?”
Feeling desolate now, he turned away to ignore the question.
She grabbed him by the arm. “Tell me, Mason. Why must I marry? Why can’t I just live at Orton Hall as your sister?”
“Because I don’t see you as a sister!” He stared her down. When he continued, he couldn’t hold back the words. “Because I could never see you as a sister. Couldn’t you tell that last night, when I practically ravished you in the hall?”
Damn, why must he always speak the first thing that came into his head when he was with her? “Forgive me, it was wrong of me to have said that.” He caught her hand to remove it from his arm.
But she grabbed it, enfolding it in both of hers. “Thank heaven you did.” When his gaze shot to her, his blood in wild riot, she added, “Because I haven’t seen you as a brother in some time. And you didn’t do anything to me last night that I didn’t want.”
Then, to his shock, she kissed him. And he was lost.
Putting his hands on her slender waist, he caught her close, determined to make this kiss last. There was still no future for them, of course, but surely he could create one sweet memory for all the years he must spend without her, watching some other man make her his.
His heart felt as if it would beat right out of his chest, and the sweet taste of her, the orange water scent of her, the very essence of her …
He had no words for her. All he knew was she belonged in his embrace, her body held tightly against his, her hands roaming wherever they pleased, tempting him to do the same with his.
Breaking their kiss, he meant to put her away from him, but instead he kissed a path up her cheek to her ear. “Tell me to stop, sweetheart … and I will …”
“Don’t stop,” she whispered back. “Mason. My Mason …”
The tender words nearly unmanned him. Scarcely knowing what he did, he covered her breast with his hand.
Instead of pushing him away in outrage, she leaned into the caress as if seeking to feel more.
So, he gave her more, thumbing her nipple, and she gasped, then nuzzled his jaw before kissing him again.
This time their kiss was wild and hungry and needy. He could eat her up and still never get enough of her lush, honeyed mouth, so warm, so passionate … not to mention her plump breast, with its hardening nipple.
But when she uttered a low moan, he came to his senses. “Augusta,” he rasped against her lips. “Oh, God, Augusta . . .” He caught her head in his hands. “We cannot do this.”
Her beautiful eyes shone up at him. “Why not?”
“You know why not. You’re Esther’s sister.”