Goddamn spawn of Satan.
Augusta kepta smile pasted on her face, all the while trying to keep her eyes from searching the room for the earl. A surreptitious glance or two revealed that he was still standing in the shadows of the cascading ivy, but his expression was unreadable in the play of light and dark.
“I trust Dunham was not making himself disagreeable back there.” The steps of the dance had brought her and her partner together.
She gave a brittle laugh. “I’m afraid Lord Dunham and I are usually being disagreeable to each other.” After a tiny pause, she added, “It was nothing important. We were merely discussing something about which we could not find a common ground.” Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Marcus quitting the room and heading in the direction of the grand staircase.
“Indeed? I cannot imagine why anyone would wish to quarrel with you, Lady Augusta,” replied her partner. “Pray, what topic could you possibly be arguing over?”
A slight flush came to Augusta’s cheeks. “Actually there is precious little on which we don’t argue.”
His brow once again arched up, but as a perfect gentleman, he forbore to press her further on the matter. A slight smile came to his well-formed lips as he inclined his head a fraction.“Perhaps you would allow me to take you in for supper when this set is finished. I promise I shall endeavor to be more agreeable company than the earl.”
“How kind.” She dropped her eyes to hide the gleam of satisfaction that came alight in them. “I should be delighted to sit down with you, Lord Ludlowe. You know, I believe we are neighbors in the country …”
Marcus turnedthe page of his morning newspaper with a loud snap. With a peevish snort, he rang for more coffee and waved away the remains of the toast that lay broken into a mound of dry crumbs on his plate. “Cannot Cook manage to turn out a decent slice of bread this morning?”
The footman batted nary a lash as he whisked the offending mess out from under the earl’s disgruntled gaze. “Perhaps His Lordship would care for shirred eggs or broiled kippers?”
“Just the coffee, Harding,” grumbled Marcus. “And make sure it is hot.” What His Lordship would really care for, he added silently, was a little more sleep and a little less agitated state of mind. Why he had allowed the maddening lady to affect him in such a way was still an utter mystery. It wasn’t as if there was any attraction between them—rather quite the opposite. As she had said, sparks seemed to fly whenever they rubbed together for long. And for whatever the reasons, she did not wish for either his help or his company.
Rather than pacing the floor for a good part of the night, he should have been tossing back a bottle of the finest French brandy to celebrate his good fortune at being freed from the confounded nuisance of worrying about what sort of trouble she would stumble into next. He would do just that tonight, hepromised himself. He would join his long neglected friends this evening and thoroughly douse any lingering thoughts about a certain obstinate, willful, opinionated female.
Marcus pursed his lips. Ha, that was the problem.Females.One couldn’t expect them to be rational. What he really wished for was a chance to share his frustrations and pique—if only on paper—with the one true friend he had. At least Firebrand could be counted on to somehow understand and empathize with his strange mixture of emotions. Damnation, why was the fellow proving so elusive these days?
With a harried sigh, he turned his attention back to the newspaper, determined to forget about the entire matter. However, the meaning of the endless string of sentences proved as muddled as before. After no more than a minute, he thrust the paper aside and took a gulp of the fresh cup of coffee, nearly burning his mouth on the scalding brew in the process.
An exasperated oath rattled the china. Flinging the heavy damask napkin across the table, he rose and stalked from the breakfast room.
A retreat to the library did nothing to improve his mood. He stared balefully at the scribbled notes for another planned speech in Parliament, realizing that before he could continue he needed to consult a certain obscure text in order to verify that his references were correct. As luck would have it, Hatchard’s had just that morning answered his urgent request with the news that their only copy had been sold.
Perhaps if he sent around to?—
Marcus’s head suddenly came up with a jolt.Hell’s teeth!He knew he had seen the book recently and now he remembered where.
In Lady Augusta’s arms.Right before it had fallen smack into the back of his head when they had collided in the bookstore.
Once again he was on his feet, threatening to wear a hole through a narrow swath of the expensive Aubusson carpet. After a number of turns, he paused, poker in hand, to stir the banked fire into life. The flames licked up, the logs hissed and crackled, sending off a shower of sparks. The earl watched them fly up, rather like an explosion of fireworks at Vauxhall Gardens.
Sparks be damned!He needed that book. Surely she wouldn’t begrudge him the loan of it for a short time, especially since the chances were quite good that she had not managed to plough through even the first chapter. Why, he had no allusions as to how many hours he would need to pore over the pages, to make sure he had got the reasoning right. Given his acquaintance with the author’s oblique style, it was unlikely that anyone save for, say, Firebrand would find the going easy.
And if his visit proved that despite her harsh judgment to the contrary, his commitment to a serious issue had not wavered from its course, well, there was no harm in that either.
Mind made up, Marcus returned to his desk and rang for his carriage to be brought around.
Ten
“Do let me know, dear friend, just what the Redbreasts discover. Much as I am loath to accede to your request to refrain from further action at the moment, I shall respect your wishes. However, if the Beaks prove unable to solve it quickly, I must insist that you allow me to continue, for I feel that I am on the right track. I shall not burden you with the details, but rest assured that I have come upon a most interesting lead. And the sooner this case is solved, the better. I am not the least ashamed to admit how much I miss our intimate—if odd—conversations.
Would that they may begin again soon, my dear friend.”
Augusta dropped the note onto her desk, trying hard not to think about the strong, capable fingers that had penned it. Fingers that would never again be pressed at the small of her back or twine with hers as the earl twirled her in a graceful arc around the dance floor. Nor did she wish to think about the rest of him—the broad, muscled shoulders, the chiseled jaw, and especially not his eyes. Eyes as deep as an ocean, with currents swirling within it that threatened to drown her in a sea of emotions she never knew existed every time her gaze met his.
She sucked in a lungful of air. This would not do at all. She must no longer think of the earl as a flesh-and-blood gentleman, but as simply a … kindred soul. Her only contact with him was now going to be strictly through pen and ink. She took out a fresh sheet of paper to dash off a quick reply to his note, but as another fleeting image of his well-formed lips curled in a rakish smile came to mind, the nib skipped and a spray of droplets marred the letters.
“Bloody hell,” she swore under her breath, then added a few of the other more descriptive adjectives she had recently learned. This was not going to be easy.
Ignoring the slight tremor in her hand, she finished off the last sentences without further mishap and sealed it. Then she unlocked the top drawer of her desk and carefully removed several items wrapped in cloth. A knock on the door nearly caused her to drop the last one as she was placing them into her reticule.
