She drew in a breath. “Of the gossips, sir. I was not entirely in jest the other night when I mentioned that people were talking about the fact that you seem to be paying attention to me. Since no one has any notion of the real reason, it is bound to cause some discussion. In fact, I have already overheard more than one reference to it, and I should not wish to see you … embarrassed in any way by the connection.”
A pause as he spun her through another twirl. “So you might want to avoid any further conversations in public with me, and certainly any further dances.”
His lips came to within an inch of her ear. “May the gossips all be turned into goddamn spawns of Satan, Lady Augusta.”
The clock had long ago struckmidnight, but Augusta still sat in her study gazing into the flickering flames, her heavy silk wrapper pulled tightly around her shoulders. Sleep had proved impossible. She couldn’t help but feel her decision to take the Earl of Dunham into her confidences was going to prove a most dangerous one. It was not that she didn’t trust him. Rather it was her own confused reaction to him that was in question.
Drat the man!
She didn’t know quite how it had come about, but somehow she no longer thought of him as odious and overbearing, but clever and compassionate. It was abundantly clear he had a keen intellect as well, along with the sort of humor and strength of character that she could admire in a man.
Not to speak of what she felt at his physical touch. It was as if someone was holding a match to her skin every time his hand brushed against her. And the sight of those chiseled lips when his face bent tantalizingly close to hers made her mouth go dry. Why, every time she looked at him it was becoming more and more difficult not to imagine how it might feel if he … kissed her.
At that, her own lips twisted into a mocking smile. Well, that was not ever likely to happen. She might harbor insane fantasies, but she was not a candidate for Bedlam. If even half the rumors were true, the earl had his choice of most any lady—and quite a few who were not exactly ladies. All of them undoubtedly had the sort of lush feminine charms that could attract an experienced rake.
She grimaced. The only things he noticed about her were her sharp tongue, advanced age, and hoydenish behavior.What man would want to kiss a female who had verbally raked him over the coals, knocked him on his rump, punched him in the ribs, and caused him to fall into a desk?
And then, of course, there was the little matter of the lemonade.
Her eyes squeezed shut. And that was not the half of it. If the earl knew what other activities she was engaged in, he would no doubt think her an even more unnatural sort of female than he already did. Despite his words on forming hasty judgments, it was quite clear he thought her—and any of her sex—incapable of reading anything more strenuous than a horrid novel, so if he ever discovered that she wrote …
Not a chance!
Augusta clenched her teeth. He had shown he was adept at discovering certain intimate details about other people, but she would make sure that he never learned her secret.
When the butlerannounced the arrival of the earl the next afternoon promptly at the appointed hour, Augusta had managed to get her personal feelings well under control. She greeted him with a cool nod and allowed him to hand her up to the perch of his smartly-appointed phaeton with nary an outward hint of the frisson his touch sent down her spine.
They didn’t speak until he had guided his team into the park and past the occasional carriage to a less traveled path. It was still some time before the fashionable hour to make an appearance, so there was no one else around them. He slowed the horses to a leisurely walk, and although Augusta had made a point of not looking at him during the trip, she couldn’t help but notice the sure command with which he handled the reins. She bit her lip and forced her eyes away. There was important business to attend to. It would not do to let her thoughts start straying to where else she might like those lithe fingers to be touching. …
“You are looking as though you would like to take that dainty parasol of yours and bat someone over the head with it.”
Myself, she thought with an inward grimace.
Marcus ran an appraising eye over her rigid profile, taking the dark circles under her eyes and the tautness of her mouth. “You also look as if you have had precious little rest lately.”
She flushed slightly, grateful that he could not guess the cause of her sleepless night. “How gentlemanly of you to notice, my lord,” she snapped. “But I have little need of you to tell memy looks do not match up well with those of other ladies of your acquaintance.”
His brows drew together, but he refrained from any response. Instead he merely turned to the business at hand. “I believe you were going to tell me the whole story of the crime you are seeking to solve.”
“Yes.” Augusta let out a sharp sigh. “That is, forgive me if I seem on edge. I … I have been very busy these days.”
“No doubt,” he murmured. “Doing the job of Bow Street is deucedly hard work, as I have also discovered.”
Augusta stole a glance at him to see if he was mocking her, but it seemed his blue eyes held only a glimmer of sympathy, or as close to such a softer sentiment as the earl was capable of. To mask the effect that look was having on her insides, she forced a scowl and a sharp retort. “Harder work than being a rake?”
“Much. And the rewards are less immediate.”
That drew a grudging laugh. “You are impossible, milord.”
“Well, that is a step up from being insufferable, I suppose.” A smile twitched on his lips. “Now that I have returned the favor of coaxing you out of your sullens, shall we get on with our business? I admit, I’m quite anxious to know all the facts.”
Augusta seemed to hesitate. “Milord, before I tell you everything, there is still one question I should like for you to answer. What is the real reason that you have spoken out on the issue of child labor?”
His face hardened. “Ah, you think it still the result of a drunken wager, or mere whim? Are my ideas so lacking in merit that you think them a jest?” There was no mistaking the growing edge in his voice. “It’s clear you consider it unfair that people don’t believe you capable of understanding intellectual concepts or forming opinions simply because of who and what you are.”
Marcus drew in a measured breath. “Has it ever occurred to you that I might feel the same?”
He paused. “You want to know why I have spoken out? Because I read things, too, Lady Augusta. Does it shock you that I’m capable of turning back the covers of more than just a bed? Or is it that you think an—how did you put it—indolent wastrel could not possibly care about anything more than his next mistress or hand of cards?”
