“Gus?”The note of concern was evident in Marianne’s whisper as she took her sister by the arm and drew her aside at the entrance to the drawing room. “You look as though you haven’t slept a wink all night.” Her eyes narrowed. “You and Jamison haven’t?—”
Augusta gave a tight smile. “No,” she answered, “I promise you that I haven’t engaged in any more nocturnal adventures. I’m afraid this time my claim to being indisposed by a headache is all too real.”
Marianne’s tone sharpened. “What has happened?”
“Nothing has happened, save for this throbbing at my temples, which you are only making worse.”
“Fustian! You never have headaches. Did Lord—” Her words cut off abruptly as the ample form of Lady Thorlow sailed past them in a flutter of mauve flounced silk to join the other morning callers already clustered around the tray of cakes. Augusta made to follow in her wake, but Marianne’s hand remained on her sleeve.
“Don’t try to put me off,” she said. “Did Lord Dunham discover anything of note in the papers you showed him?”
“Only that we may eliminate Becton as a suspect.”
“Well, what does he suggest?—”
“I have no idea, since I didn’t ask!” Augusta hoped her voice didn’t sound as brittle to Marianne as it did to her own ears. “His Lordship merely filled me in on several facts that explain the contents of the papers I discovered in Becton’s drawer. Aside from that, I have no intention of involving him any further in this matter.”
Marianne didn’t appear to be satisfied with the explanation. “But?—”
A pointed cough from their mother made further private conversation impossible. With a resigned shrug, Marianne moved off to join Lady Hawley’s two daughters, who were busy perusing the latest copy ofLa Belle Assemble. However, the look on her face before she turned away promised that the interruption was by no means an end to the matter.
Augusta took a seat near the tall mullioned windows and prayed that no one would take much notice of her presence. The clink of china and the trill of voices echoed through the room, but she found herself unable to pay the slightest heed to what was being said. Instead, her gaze wandered to where the first drops of rain were running down the paned glass and her thoughts strayed far from any discussion of the shocking colorof Lady Walton’s latest gown or the size of Miss Hepplewhite’s dowry.
“… I heard it was Lord Dunham who held the poor boy’s vowels. The man certainly has a reputation for uncanny luck. His winnings were over two thousand pounds in less than an hour.”
There was a slight titter. “His reputation is for more than just luck at cards, my dear Honoria. But pray, what happened?”
Augusta’s attention was suddenly engaged. Her head turned discreetly toward the nearby settee where two of her mother’s acquaintances were bent together in earnest gossip.
“Oh, Linton was forced home to Yorkshire in disgrace, and just when he was on the verge of making the Grenville chit an offer,” replied Lady Reston.
Her friend made a disapproving cluck. “I heard the young man was obviously in his cups. Really, has the earl no scruples, making sport of mere boys?”
It was the other lady’s turn to give a slight laugh. “Why, of course he has no scruples. That’s what makes him so … interesting. Why, have you heard who his latest conquest among thetonis rumored to be? Lady Stansfield has not been a widow for three months and yet …” The voices dropped into a flurry of whispers too low to be followed, but Augusta had heard enough.
Her mouth thinned to a grim line as she let her eyes drift back to the windows. Though the sight of the leaden skies only served to further dampen her already heavy spirits, she forced herself to consider what she had just overheard with a purely rational detachment. It would seem these latest rounds of innuendo, however specious, gave her more than enough ammunition with which to slay any lingering feelings of obligation that Marcus might feel in regard to her.
The rest of the tedious hour she spent marshalling both the words and the resolve for an attack on his character. It shouldn’t prove difficult to precipitate a final quarrel. After all, through hisletters she was intimately acquainted with his most vulnerable spots. While in the past she had unintentionally wounded his feelings, now she knew just where to strike with greatest effect.
By the time the guests rose to take their leave, she had no doubt that after their next encounter, she could make sure that the last thing in the world the Earl of Dunham would want was to spend a moment more in her presence.
Perhaps that was why Marianne, on taking one look at her pinched face, let her retreat to her study without further remonstrance.
Marcus watchedwith growing impatience as the patterns of the country dance shifted across the dancefloor. Would the cursed music never end? he wondered, his foot tapping the floor more in irritation than in rhythm with the melody.
And would the maddening Lady Augusta never sit down?
Ever since she had taken to wearing those vastly improved gowns, it seemed she had no dearth of dance partners. His eyes grudgingly followed her graceful steps across the polished parquet and he couldn’t help admit how utterly wrong she was about being awkward and ungainly. Just as she was utterly wrong about a number of other assessments about her person.
The notes did indeed finally die away and Augusta was escorted by her partner to a quiet spot between two towering urns spilling a profusion of ivy and white shrub roses. Marcus waited until it was clear that no other gentleman was coming to claim her for the following set before making his way to where she sat.
“It appears that you suffer from no bout of fatigue tonight, Lady Augusta.” He was surprised at the note of asperity in hisown voice. But even more surprising was the tightness of the delicate skin around her eyes and the drawn expression on her pale features as she slowly looked up at him. If anything, she looked even more exhausted than the day before. His irritation deepened into something more than mere peevishness. “Have you no sense at all?” he snapped. “You should be home in bed, not?—”
“Yes, no doubt beds are quite on your mind these days,” she retorted. “Only I should have thought it would beyoutucked between the sheets by this hour, milord, not me.”
His dark brows came together in an ominous line and he took a step closer to her chair. “Just what is that supposed to mean?” he demanded.
“Use your prodigious intellect to figure it out.”
