Rendezvous Read online

  “Yes, sir. Most definitely, your lordship. Quite clear, sir.” Scruggs bobbed his head in a servile bow and edged backward, cowering pathetically. “I’ll just wait out here in the cold for Miss Ballinger, sir. Never mind that the night air brings out the rheumatism in these old bones. Don’t concern yourself with my joints, my lord.”

  “I do not intend to concern myself with your joints unless I find it necessary to take them apart one by one. Go on back to Sally’s. I’ll take care of Miss Ballinger.”

  “Sally is planning to send her home in her carriage with a couple of other members of Pompeia’s,” Peter said softly in his own voice. “Do not fret, Harry. No one except Sally and myself knows what is going on here. I’ll wait for Augusta in Sally’s garden. She’ll be safe enough once you get her back there.”

  “You cannot know how that knowledge relieves my mind, Sheldrake.”

  Peter grinned through his false whiskers. “This was not my idea, you know. Miss Ballinger came up with it all on her own.”

  “Unfortunately, I can believe that.”

  “There was no stopping her. She asked Sally to let her sneak through the gardens and down the lane to your house and Sally very wisely insisted I come along. Wasn’t much else we could do except make certain she did not come to harm in the process of getting to you.”

  “Be off, Sheldrake. Your excuses are too lame to interest me.”

  Peter grinned again and faded into the shadows. Harry went back to the open window where Augusta stood peering down into the darkness.

  “Where is Scruggs going?” she demanded.

  “Back to his employer’s house.” Harry climbed back into the library and closed the window.

  “Oh, good. That was very kind of you to send him back.” Augusta smiled. “It is very cold out there and I would not want him standing around in the damp air. He suffers from rheumatism, you know.”

  “That is not all he will be suffering from if he tries anything like this again,” Harry muttered as he relit the lamp.

  “Please, you must not blame Scruggs for my appearance here tonight. It was all my idea.”

  “So I understand. Allow me to tell you it was a distinctly unsound notion, Miss Ballinger. An addlepated, idiotic, entirely reprehensible idea. But as you are here now, perhaps you will explain exactly why you felt it necessary to risk your neck and your reputation to see me in such a fashion?”

  Augusta gave a small, frustrated exclamation. “This is going to be extremely difficult to explain, my lord.”

  “No doubt.”

  She turned to face what was left of the fire, allowing her cloak to fall open as she stood in front of the glowing embers. The large red gem above her breasts glowed with the reflection of the flames.

  Harry caught a glimpse of the sweet curves revealed by the low neckline of Augusta’s gown and stared. Good lord, he could almost see her nipples peeping out from behind a couple of strategically placed satin roses. His imagination soared, providing a vivid image of those barely concealed buds. Firm and ripe, they would be made for a man’s mouth.

  Harry blinked, suddenly aware that he was already half aroused. He fought for his normal, unshakable self-control.

  “I suggest you start the explanations, whatever they may be, immediately. It’s getting late.” Harry propped himself against the edge of his desk. He folded his arms across his chest and contented himself with an expression of severe reproof. It was hard to maintain the scowl when what he really wanted to do was pull Augusta down onto the carpet and make love to her. He sighed inwardly. The woman had bewitched him.

  “I came here tonight to warn you that a disaster is imminent.”

  “May I inquire as to the nature of this disaster, Miss Ballinger?”

  She turned her head to give him an unhappy look. “There has been a dreadful mistake, my lord. You apparently paid a visit to my uncle this afternoon?”

  “I did.” Surely she had not pulled this stunt just to tell him she was going to reject his proposal, Harry thought, seriously alarmed for the first time.

  “Uncle Thomas misunderstood you, sir. You see, he thought you were offering for me, rather than my cousin. Wishful thinking on his part, no doubt. He has been fretting about my spinster status for ages. Feels he has a duty to see me wed. In any event, I fear he has already sent the notices off to the papers. I regret to inform you that the announcement of our betrothal will be all over town tomorrow morning.”

  Harry jerked his gaze away from the satin roses and glanced down at the highly polished toes of his Hessians. In spite of the growing heaviness in his groin he managed to keep his voice free of any inflection. “I see.”

  “Please believe me, my lord, it was an honest mistake on my uncle’s part. I questioned him carefully and he was quite certain you meant to offer for me. You know how he is. He lives in a different world most of the time. He can remember the name of every one of his ancient Greeks and Romans but he can be distressingly vague about the names of the members of his own household. I expect you can understand that.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “Yes, I thought you would. You no doubt suffer the same problem. Now, then.” Augusta swung around, her cloak sweeping out behind her like a dark velvet sail. “All is not lost. It will be difficult for both of us tomorrow when the news bursts upon the world, but never fear, I have a plan.”

  “God help us,” Harry said under his breath.

  “I beg your pardon?” She pinned him with a glare.

  “’Twas nothing, Miss Ballinger. You said something about a plan?”

  “Precisely. Listen closely, now. I know you have not had much experience with schemes and such due to your interest in scholarly matters, so you must pay strict attention.”

  “I assume you have had experience with this sort of thing?”

  “Well, not this sort of thing precisely,” she admitted, “but with schemes in general, if you see what I mean. There is a knack to carrying out a good scheme. One must be bold. One must act as if nothing at all is out of the ordinary. One must be calm at all times. Do you comprehend me, my lord?”

  “I believe so. Why don’t you go over your plan briefly so that I can get the general outline of it?”

  “Very well.” She frowned intently and studied a map of Europe that hung on the wall. “The thing is, once the notice of our betrothal is in the papers, you cannot honorably withdraw your offer.”

  “True,” he allowed. “I would not think of doing so.”

  “Yes, you are quite trapped. But I, on the other hand, can exercise a lady’s privilege and cry off. And that is what I shall do.”

  “Miss Ballinger—”

  “Oh, I know there will be a lot of gossip and I shall be called a jilt, among other things. I may have to leave town for a time, but that is neither here nor there. In the end you will be free. You will have everyone’s sympathy, in fact. When the storm has died down, you may ask for my cousin’s hand, as you had originally intended.” Augusta looked at him expectantly.

  “That is the whole of your scheme, Miss Ballinger?” Harry asked after a moment’s thought.

  “I fear so,” she said in a worried tone. “Does it seem a bit too simple, do you think? Perhaps we could elaborate on it somewhat and make it more clever. But on the whole, I am inclined to believe that the simpler a scheme is, the easier it will be to carry it out.”

  “Your instincts in such matters are no doubt better than mine,” Harry murmured. “Are you so very anxious, then, to get yourself unbetrothed?”

  She flushed a telltale shade of red and her eyes slid away from his. “That is not the point, sir. The point is, you did not intend to get yourself engaged to me. You were asking for Claudia’s hand in marriage. And who could blame you? I understand completely. Although I must warn you I am not certain it will be a good match. You are both too much alike, if you see what I mean.”

  Harry held up a palm to halt the flow of words. “Perhaps I should clarify something before we go any furthe
r with your scheme.”

  “What is that?”

  He gave her a slight, quizzical smile, decidedly curious to find out what would happen next. “Your uncle did not make a mistake. It was your hand in marriage I requested, Miss Ballinger.”

  “Mine?”

  “Yes.”

  “My hand? You asked for my hand in marriage, my lord?” She gazed at him with dazed eyes.

  Harry could not stand it any longer. He straightened away from the desk and deliberately closed the short distance between them. He came to a halt in front of her and caught hold of one of her fluttering hands. He brought it to his lips and kissed it gently. “Your hand, Augusta.”

  Augusta’s fingers were quite cold, he realized. He became aware of the fact that she was trembling. Without a word he drew her slowly into his arms. She was surprisingly delicate to the touch, he thought. Her spine was elegantly curved and he could feel the soft shape of her hips through the rose-colored gown she was wearing.

  “My lord, I do not understand,” she breathed.

  “That much is obvious. Perhaps this will make things clear to you.”

  Harry bent his head and kissed her. It was the first time he had actually embraced her. He certainly did not count the little peck on the cheek she had given him the other night in Enfield’s library.

  He gave her the kiss he had been contemplating for the past several nights as he lay awake alone in his bed.

  Harry took his time with the matter, brushing his mouth lightly, fleetingly across Augusta’s parted lips. He was aware of her tension and also of her deep, feminine curiosity and uncertainty. The range of her emotions simultaneously excited him and made him feel fiercely protective. He longed to ravish her even as he ached to keep her safe. The unholy combination of powerful desires made his head whirl.

  Very gently he guided Augusta’s small hand up to his shoulder. Her fingers clutched at him. Harry deepened the kiss, lingering on her luscious mouth.

  The taste of her was indescribable. Sweet, spicy, profoundly female, it tugged at all his senses. Before he quite realized what he was doing, Harry was sliding his tongue into the intimate depths of her mouth. His hands tightened around her small waist, crushing the rose-colored silk. He could feel the satin roses pressing against his shirt. Beneath the fabric, he felt the taut little nipples.

  Augusta gave a soft cry and abruptly raised both arms to twine around his neck. Her cloak fell back over her shoulders, exposing the upper curves of her breasts. Harry was intensely, blindingly aware of the scent of her and of the perfume she was wearing. His whole body suddenly clenched in anticipation.

  He caught hold of one tiny sleeve of Augusta’s gown and eased it down over her shoulder. Her left breast, small but beautifully shaped, spilled out of the almost nonexistent bodice. Harry cupped the firm fruit in his palm. He had been right about her nipples. The one he was touching with his fingertip was as inviting as a red, ripe berry.

  “Oh, my goodness. Harry. I mean, my lord.”

  “Harry will do nicely.” He let his thumb glide over the budding nipple again and felt Augusta’s instant tremor of response.

  The glow from the hearth danced on the red stones in the glittering necklace. Harry looked down at the beautiful sight of Augusta shimmering in firelight and blood-red gems. He saw the awakening sensuality in her gaze and his brain conjured up haunting images of legendary queens of antiquity. “My own Cleopatra,” he muttered thickly.

  Augusta stiffened and started to draw away. Harry touched her nipple again, lightly, coaxingly. He kissed the curve of her throat.

  “Harry.” Augusta gasped, then shivered and sagged heavily against him. Her arms tightened violently around his neck. “Oh, Harry. I have been wondering what it would be like….” She kissed his throat and clung to him.

  The sudden flare of passion in her confirmed all his masculine instincts. Harry realized that something in him had known all along that she would respond to him like this. What he had not considered or expected was the reaction that response would have on him. The reality of her flowering desire swamped his senses.

  Keeping her breast cradled in one palm, Harry eased Augusta down to the carpet. She clutched at his shoulders, gazing up at him through her lashes. Her beautiful topaz eyes were filled with longing and wonder and something that might have been fear.

  Harry groaned as he stretched out beside her and reached for the hem of her gown.

  “My lord—” The words were a bare whisper on her lips.

  “Harry,” he corrected again, kissing the rosy nipple he had been caressing with his thumb. Slowly he drew the rose silk up the length of her legs to her knees, revealing her delicately striped stockings.

  “Harry, please, I must tell you something. Something important. I would not have you wed me and then feel yourself deceived.”

  He went very still as an icy fire seized his gut. “What is it you would have me know, Augusta? Have you lain with some other man?”

  She blinked, uncomprehending for an instant. And then her cheeks were suffused with a warm blush. “Good heavens, no, my lord. That is not what I wanted to talk about at all.”

  “Excellent.” Harry smiled faintly as relief and exultation shot through him. Of course she had not been with anyone else. All his instincts had told him that weeks ago. Still, it was good to have it confirmed. One less problem to concern him, he thought, not without some satisfaction. There was no lover from the past with which to contend. Augusta would belong to him completely.

  “The thing is, Harry,” Augusta continued very earnestly, “I fear I will make you a very bad wife. I tried to explain to you the other night when you found me in Enfield’s library that I do not consider myself bound by the normal strictures of Society. You must remember I am a Northumberland Ballinger. I am not at all angelic in the manner of my cousin. I care not for the proprieties and you have made it quite clear that you want a very proper sort of wife.”

  Harry inched the hem of her gown up a little higher on her legs. His fingers found the incredible softness of her inner thighs. “I think that with a little instruction you will make me a very proper sort of wife.”

  “I am not at all certain of that, sir,” she said, sounding desperate. “It is very hard to change one’s temperament, you know.”

  “I am not asking you to do that.”

  “You are not?” she searched his face anxiously. “You actually like me the way I am?”

  “Very much.” He kissed her shoulder. “There are, perhaps, one or two areas of concern to be addressed. But I am convinced that everything will work out and that you will make me an excellent countess.”

  “I see.” She bit her lip and clamped her legs together. “Harry, do you love me?”

  He sighed and stilled the movement of his hand on the inside of her thigh. “Augusta, I am aware that many modern young ladies such as yourself believe love is some mystical, unique sensation that descends like magic without any rational process or explanation. But I hold a different opinion entirely.”

  “Of course.” The disappointment in her eyes was clear. “I expect you do not believe in love at all, do you, my lord? You are a scholar, after all. A student of Aristotle and Plato and all those other terribly logical types. I must warn you, sir, that too much rational, logical thinking can seriously rot the brain.”

  “I shall bear that in mind.” He kissed her breast, delighting in the texture of her skin. God, she felt good. He could not remember the last time he had wanted a woman the way he wanted this one tonight.

  He was impatient now. His body was throbbing with desire and the faint, pungent scent of Augusta’s arousal was enthralling him. She wanted him. Deliberately he urged her legs apart again and eased his fingers into her damp heat.

  Augusta cried out in shock and clutched at him. Her eyes widened with amazement. “Harry.”

  “Do you like that, Augusta?” He trailed small kisses over her breast as he stroked his fingers across the soft plump petals that gu
arded her most intimate secrets.

  “I am not sure,” she managed on a strangled gasp. “It feels quite strange. I do not know if—”

  The tall clock in the corner chimed the hour. It was as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over Harry. He came to his senses with a sudden start.

  “Good God. What the devil am I doing?” Harry sat up abruptly and yanked Augusta’s gown down to her ankles. “Look at the time. Lady Arbuthnott and your friend Scruggs will be waiting for you. There is no telling what they will be thinking by now.”

  Augusta smiled uncertainly as he tugged her to her feet and straightened her clothing. “There is no call for alarm, my lord. Lady Arbuthnott is a very modern sort of female, just as I am. And Scruggs is her butler. He will not say anything.”

  “The hell he won’t,” Harry muttered as he struggled to adjust the satin roses around her bodice and pull her cloak over her shoulders. “Damn this gown. You are practically falling out of it. Allow me to tell you that one of the first things you will do after we are married is arrange for a new wardrobe.”

  “Harry—”

  “Hurry, Augusta.” He took her hand and hauled her over to the window. “We must get you back to Lady Arbuthnott’s without further delay. The last thing I want is gossip about you.”

  “Indeed, my lord.” There was a hint of frost in her tone now.

  Harry ignored her irritation. He climbed through the window and reached up to help Augusta down onto the grass. She felt supple and warm in his hands and he groaned. He was still painfully aroused. He thought briefly of carrying her straight upstairs to his bedchamber rather than taking her back to Sally’s. But that was quite impossible tonight.

  Soon, he promised himself as he took her hand and led her through the gardens toward the gate. This marriage would have to take place quite soon. He would not survive this kind of torture for long.

  Good lord, what had the woman done to him?

  “Harry, if you are so concerned about gossip and if you do not believe you love me, why on earth do you wish to marry me?” Augusta wrapped her cloak securely around herself and skipped to keep up with him.