Marcus chuckled. “That’s exactly what I was afraid of.” He linked his arm with hers. “Come, let us find some refreshment.” In a lower voice he added, “There appears to be a quiet spot in the corner where we might continue this discussion with a modicum of privacy.”
Augusta let him lead her away from the crowd and fetch her a glass of ratafia punch. “You don’t imagine that I mean simply to hand over the only hard bit of evidence I possess and go back to my embroidery, do you?” she asked as he passed her a glass.
“You embroider?” He took a long swallow of his champagne. “I would not have imagined it possible.”
“Oh, you know what I meant.”
“Unfortunately I do.”
“Lord Dunham,” she began.
“Marcus,” he corrected in soft voice. “Remember?”
Her mouth suddenly felt very dry. “Very well … Marcus. It’s just that I … you see, I, too, have a plan. Of sorts. That is …” Why was it that she couldn’t seem to manage a coherent sentence?
The earl appeared to ignore her stammerings. “Did you bring the piece of the waistcoat?”
“Of course I did.” She fumbled with her reticule and withdrew the scrap of silk.
He slipped it into his pocket. “Now, you may as well tell me what plan you have been cultivating in that fertile mind of yours. I daresay I shall learn about it soon enough.”
Augusta tiled her chin up a fraction higher.
“Gus,” he warned. “I thought we had a deal. If we are to work together, we must keep each other informed as to our intentions.”
The trouble was, she thought with wry dismay, she hadn’t realized the deal would include having her pulse start to race out of control whenever he was near her. Her fingers tightened around her glass as the faint scent of bay rum wafted from his freshly shaven cheeks. Daring a quick glance in that direction, she found herself fighting the urge to run her hand over his sun-kissed flesh and twine her fingers in the long, silky locks curling around his ear.
Appalled at where her thoughts were headed, as well as the fact that they might be transparent, she forced her gaze out to where the couples were swirling by in a blur of color.
The earl gave a bemused smile. “Is it that bad?”
Had he really guessed even the half of it?She sucked in her breath. “Is what so bad?” she asked faintly.
“Your plan, of course.” He regarded the contents of her glass with an arch of his brow. “Has someone dumped a bottle of blue ruin in the punch, for you are beginning to act a trifle foxed?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she muttered, secretly relieved it was that to which he had been referring. “I am in complete control of my senses.”
“That might be a matter of some debate, but enough of this verbal fencing, Gus. Out with it.”
“It is nothing to make such a fuss over. I merely intend to see if I might encourage Lord Ludlowe’s attentions …”
Marcus’s expression turned very grim.
“… and manage to coax some slip of the tongue from him.”
“And just how, may I ask, do you intend to coax a slip of the tongue,” he asked in a very deliberate voice.
“Well, er, in the usual way that females do such things.”
There was a moment of ominous silence before the earl’s jaw unclenched enough for him to speak. “Absolutely, unequivocally not.”
“You have no right to order?—”
“Are you stark, raving mad?” he continued, ignoring her feeble protest. “Have you conveniently forgotten that if your suspicion is at all right, Ludlowe is a very dangerous man? If he is indeed, our culprit, you saw just this afternoon what he is capable of if he thinks his plans are in the least threatened.”
“I shall be careful, of course.”
“Of course,” he mimicked. “And of course, since the brilliant Lady Augusta is infinitely more clever than any mere male, there is no chance of any mishap along the way.”
