“Yes, well, everyone seems to have taken a notion to do that lately. I wonder why that is?”
“Perhaps it is because you tend to be so serious all the time. There’s nothing wrong with enjoying yourself once in a while, Gus. Like when you are dancing with an attractive gentleman.”
Augusta tried to banish all thoughts of the earl’s lithe fingers pressed at the small of her back, the breadth of his shoulders and the flash of his intriguing eyes. “I have a lot to be serious about,” she said in a low voice. “There are still three missing children, and more likely to suffer unless we can learn for sure who is to blame.”
Eight
“… So that is what I think of the Earl of Dunham’s latest speech. I should like to hear your opinion, though I fear that for some reason, you still look at his efforts in a harsh light. Perhaps you have been listening to rumors rather than his actual words …”
Marcus paused, realizing he was in danger of revealing too much, and after a moment’s reflection, quickly finished off that train of thought.
My experience, especially lately, has been that outer appearances may fool you.
But enough on that. Though you have cried off on our correspondence for a time, I am hoping that you might choose to confide in me a bit more concerning your investigation. I have made some furtherdiscoveries on my own, but it is difficult to judge their significance until I know the whole.
He paused again, pen hovering above the thick vellum.
Even if you choose not to trust me, I am hoping you might consent to dashing off a quick note just to let me know you are well. You know, with your sage advice, gentle criticism and quiet encouragement, you have become the truest friend I have. Quite simply, my dear Firebrand, I miss our comfortable talks and hope they may resume soon.”
After scrawling a simple signature across the bottom of the page, Marcus set the letter on the silver tray for outgoing post. However, he continued to stare at it, lost in deep thought, until the gilt clock on the mantel began to chime the hour.
Jarred out of his reverie, Marcus took several other sheets of folded paper from his desk drawer and tucked them into the pocket of his bottle-green evening coat. After sending word for his coach, he rose and left the room.
The Flaversham ball was, as might be expected, a great crush, given the family’s wealth and position in Society. That Lady Flaversham was also known for her imaginative decorations and sumptuous suppers only made it more difficult than usual to negotiate the crowd seeking to make its way up the circular marble staircase. The earl was tempted to turn and retreat to the quiet of his club, for this was just the sort of evening he had come to consider tedious in the extreme.
But he had promised to attend.
His gaze began to scan the perimeter of the room, as he knew Augusta would likely be seated with the aging mamas and retiring chaperones.Or hidden behind some damn pot of greenery.Somehow, that thought caused a faint twitch of his lips. She was certainly a most unusual young lady, with a knack of turning up in the most unexpected places.
A flash of teal caught his eye. The willowy shape moved in a quick graceful spin past his nose, but not before he recognized the shape of the cheek, the wheaten color of the hair.
Damnation.The lady said she never danced. What was she doing out there?
He watched her circle the floor with her partner, his mood growing darker by the moment, even as he was forced to admit that her movements were a pleasure to watch. In fact, he couldn’t seem to pry his gaze away from her swan-like neck and creamy shoulders, bared by yet another lovely gown that took every inch of advantage of her magnificent body.
And neither could he ignore the firm hand cupping her slender fingers or the well-formed chest leaning in much too close to her breasts.
“Good Lord, Dun, what was that you just said?”
“Nothing,” he growled, turning to face his friend.
Hobart stifled a grin. “Best remember we’re not in some gaming hell or other establishment. Here the females would faint dead away at hearing such language.”
“Ha,” he remarked under his breath, his eyes for a moment stealing back to the sight of Augusta in the arms of her partner.
“What has you in such a pucker? Some encroaching Mama try to corner you with her young innocent?” Hobart shook his head. “Though I can’t imagine any of them would have the nerve to try that on you.”
The earl didn’t answer.
“Come, what say we roll that black look off your face with an evening of dice at the tables, followed by a visit to a new place I’ve discovered off St. James’s Square.” He lowered his voice to a discreet whisper. “The ladies are as skilled as they are lovely—it will not be your face that is growing longer by the second once we get there.”
“I have some matters to attend to here,” muttered Marcus.
Hobart pursed his lips. “Forgive me for saying so, but you’ve been acting deucedly strange of late. What’s happened to your sense of adventure, your devil-may-care attitude? Why, we used to always be able to count on you to come up with some crazy scheme or other.”
“Have no fear,” he muttered. “I’m not only still crazy, I think I may be insane.” The music had come to an end. Leaving his friend looking thoroughly perplexed, the earl walked off toward a quite nook near the card room where Augusta had taken a seat.
“What were you doing out there?” he demanded
