“So it would appear.”
“Perhaps if you were to tell me the title of what you are looking for I could?—”
“Lady Marianne!” Her mother’s maid appeared at the doorway, her thin face looked more agitated than normal. “Your Mama swears she shall fall into permanent decline if she doesn’t locate the special lavender and rosemary vinaigrette she ordered from Gillen and Trout immediately. She seems to think you might have an idea where it is.” The tone was more plea than question.
Marianne bit her lip.
“Don’t let me keep you,” murmured Marcus.
She looked around uncertainly. “Oh dear, I have no idea where to start. Perhaps it would be best if?—”
“I shall just take a quick look around. If I can’t find what I’m looking for, I shall come back when your sister is at home.”
“You’re sure you don’t mind?”
“ Not at all.”
She flashed him a grateful smile. “I shan’t be long, my lord.”
Marcus’s gaze traveled slowly around the room once Augusta’s sister had left. The wallpaper was a pleasant creamand sage stripe, not some flowery confection, its hues picked up by the subtle patterns of the oriental carpet. The simple drapes were pulled back to allow the sunlight to wash over the carved floor-to-ceiling bookcases, each shelf filled to capacity with all manner of leatherbound volumes. Several watercolors hung over the mantel. They were landscapes, showing a bold use of color and unusual technique.
Interesting choices, he reflected, and ones that revealed a discerning and sophisticated eye.
He turned his attention back to her desk and his mouth quirked upward.A few notes? That appeared to be a vast understatement, though why she was engaged in making such copious jottings was a bit puzzling. However, that was none of his concern, he thought, as he approached the cluttered top. He would just peruse the spines of the books and see if the one he wished to borrow was close at hand.
Marcus ran a finger over the gold-leafed spines of first one stack, then another. Having no luck, he moved around to the other side of the desk and bent over slightly to check the titles of the third stack. As he shifted some of the papers to have a look at the bottom book, his gaze fell on a sheet of cream-colored stationery lying among the larger pieces of foolscap. Though folded in half, an edge curled up, just enough to reveal several lines of the handwriting.
Hishandwriting.
Marcus froze in disbelief. After a moment, he gingerly lifted the paper open completely, as if to assure himself he was not hallucinating. But there was no doubt—letter for letter his words stared back at him.
It suddenly felt as if Gentleman Jackson, the legendary boxer, had landed a punishing blow smack in the middle of his chest. Breathless, as if the wind had been knocked out of him, he sunk into the desk chair.
What the Devil was his letter to Firebrand doing on Lady Augusta’s desk? It made absolutely no sense.
None whatsoever.
Dazed, Marcus let his eyes fall half closed, barely taking in the other papers lying face up on the ink-stained blotter. It was some moments before his gaze slowly focused on the distinctive script that covered each sheet, a script that had become nearly as familiar to him as his own hand. In some confusion, he glanced at the open drawer, where he spied the rest of his letters, tied in a neat bundle with a length of ribbon.
And the awful truth finally hit home.
For a brief second, the room appeared to be spinning. Yes gods, surely he was hallucinating—no, more than that, surely he was going stark, raving mad! The world was turned totally on its ear, with Lady Augusta writing as a man, and him about to fall in a dead faint, like some excitable schoolroom miss.
That embarrassing thought helped him get hold of himself.
As he drew in a steadying breath, shock started to give way to anger. Why, the nerve of the outrageous lady!To attempt such a colossal masquerade … to pretend to such wisdom and insight …Just wait until he got his hands around that slender neck of hers, he fumed, and then?—
The sound of rapid footsteps in the hallway caused him to look up
“I shall be just a minute. Tell my mother I will be upstairs shortly, as soon as I straighten up some things in my study. Er, what was that, Jenkins?” The brass knob turned with some force and the door was flung open. “You will have to speak up …”
The words cut off abruptly as Augusta caught sight of the earl seated at her desk, the telltale letter still grasped between his fingers.
Her hand came up to her throat as she closed the door behind her. “How dare you, sir!” she said in a strangled whisper.“How dare you break into my private study and paw through my things. Get out! Get out at once!”
“Not until I have some answers from you.”
“I—I have nothing to answer for,” she rasped.
