Rendezvous (19 page)

“You know I have never quite approved of your association with her or that club she operates,” Claudia said slowly. “But I understand that you consider her a dear friend. If you like, I shall undertake to call on her once or
twice a week while you are gone. I can relay news and write to you of her condition.”

Augusta felt an enormous sense of relief. “You will do that for me, Claudia?”

Claudia squared her shoulders. “I fail to see why I should not do so. She might appreciate the occasional visit in your absence. And it would relieve your mind to know that I was keeping an eye on her.”

“I would appreciate that more than I can say, Claudia. Why do we not go to see her this very afternoon? I can introduce you.”

“Today? But you are busy preparing for your departure.”

Augusta laughed. “I can make time for this call. Indeed, I would not miss it for the world. I believe you are in for a surprise, Claudia. You do not know what you have been missing.”

Peter Sheldrake helped himself to the contents of Harry’s claret decanter and turned to eye his host. “You want me to look into Lovejoy’s background? Why the hell do you think that necessary, Graystone?”

“It is difficult to explain. Let us just say that I do not care for the man or for the way he has singled out Augusta for his unpleasant little games.”

Peter shrugged. “Unpleasant they may be, but we both know they are not uncommon. Men of Lovejoy’s stamp play such games with ladies all the time. Usually they are merely seeking to amuse themselves by flirting with another man’s woman. Keep Augusta out of his reach and she will be safe enough.”

“Incredible though it seems, my fiancée has apparently learned her lesson concerning Lovejoy. Augusta is inclined to be somewhat reckless, but she is not a fool. She will not trust him again.” Harry ran one finger along the spine of a book that was resting on his desk.

The volume, titled
Observations on Livy’s History of Rome
,
was a slender one that he himself had written. It had only recently been published and he was quietly pleased with it, even though he knew it would never meet with the sort of popular acclaim that greeted the latest Waverley novels or an epic poem by Byron. Augusta would no doubt find the book deadly dull. Harry consoled himself with the knowledge that he was writing for a different audience.

Peter gave Harry a speculative glance and moved restlessly to the window. “If you feel your Miss Ballinger has learned her lesson, why are you concerned?”

“My instincts tell me there may be more to Lovejoy’s vicious little games than a simple desire to flirt with or perhaps seduce Augusta. There is a calculated quality to the whole thing I do not like. And when I went to see him, he made a point of hinting at how unsuitable Augusta was to be my wife.”

“Likely he planned to try his hand at a bit of blackmail. Mayhap he believed you would pay far more than a thousand pounds for Augusta’s marker in order to keep the whole affair quiet. You have a reputation for being somewhat straitlaced, if you do not mind me saying so.”

“Why should you refrain from mentioning it? Augusta flings the fact in my face at every opportunity.”

Peter grinned. “Yes, she would. That, of course, is one of the reasons why she is going to be so good for you, Graystone. But about Lovejoy, just what are you hoping to discover?”

“As I said, I am not certain. See what you can find out. No one seems to know very much about him. Even Sally admits the man is a mystery.”

“Sally would be the first to hear anything of him, good or ill.” Peter looked thoughtful for a moment. “Perhaps I shall ask her for some help in this little investigation. She will welcome the project. It will remind her of the old days.”

“Use your own judgment, but do not tire her. She has very little strength left.”

“I realize that. But Sally is the kind of woman who would prefer to live every minute right up until the last rather than conserve her strength by taking to her bed.”

Harry nodded, gazing out the window into the garden. “I believe you have the right of it. Very well. See if she would like a taste of old times.” He slid his friend a sharp glance. “I will, naturally, expect both of you to be extremely discreet in this matter.”

Peter assumed an expression of insulted innocence. “Discretion is one of my few virtues. You know that.” Then he chuckled wickedly. “Unlike a certain gentleman I could name who finds himself having to procure a special license today due to a singularly indiscreet act which occurred in a closed carriage.”

Harry scowled in warning. “One word of last night to anyone, Sheldrake, and you may as well set about composing your own epitaph.”

“Fear not. I can be as silent as the tomb on certain subjects. But damnation, man. I wish you could have seen the expression on your face when you stepped down from that carriage with Miss Ballinger. ’Twas priceless. Absolutely priceless.”

Harry swore softly. Every time he thought about last night—and he had thought about little else since—he was astounded. He still could not credit his own deplorable behavior. Never had he been so much at the mercy of his physical nature. And the worst of it was that he was not even sorry the whole thing had happened.

He reveled in the knowledge that Augusta now belonged to him as she had never belonged to any other man. Furthermore, the event had given him the excuse he had needed to push for an early marriage.

His one regret, and it was a deep one, was that his own loss of control had resulted in Augusta’s failure to fully enjoy the experience. But he would soon remedy the bad impression he had left, he told himself confidently. He had never had a woman respond to him the way she had. She
had wanted him. And she had surrendered herself to him with a gentle, eager innocence that he would remember for the rest of his life.

Unlike that deceitful bitch Catherine
.

Peter turned back toward the window. “I have been thinking, Graystone. I wonder what the odds are of getting the Angel alone in a closed carriage.”

“I would imagine that depends on how much interest you display in the book she is writing,” Harry muttered.

“Believe me, I have done nothing but talk about
A Guide to Useful Knowledge for Young Ladies
on every possible occasion since you mentioned it. Damn it, Harry, why did I have to fall for the wrong Miss Ballinger?”

“Just as well you picked the Angel. The other Miss Ballinger is unavailable. Send me word in Dorset if you discover anything of interest about Lovejoy.”

“At once,” Peter agreed. “Now, I must be on my way. Scruggs is due to go on duty at the front door of Pompeia’s in an hour and it takes a while to get into that bloody costume and those false whiskers.”

Harry waited until Peter had left and then he opened
Observations on Livy’s History of Rome
and tried to read the first few pages to see how his work looked in print. But he did not get far. All he could think about was how he would go about making love to his new wife in a proper bed.

After a moment Harry decided he really was not in the mood to read a discourse on Roman history, even if he himself had written it. He closed his own book and went to a bookshelf to take down a copy of Ovid.

“The thing is, Claudia,” Augusta said as she and her cousin went up the steps of Lady Arbuthnott’s town house. “Pompeia’s started out as a sort of salon. And then one day it struck me that it would be much more fun to turn it into a real club in the manner of the St. James Street establishments. You may find it a bit, well, unusual.”

“I am fully prepared for Pompeia’s. I assure you, I shall endeavor not to embarrass you,” Claudia murmured dryly.

“Yes, I know, but occasionally you do have extremely refined notions of propriety and some of the things you see in Pompeia’s may offend them.”

“Such as?”

“Such as the butler,” Augusta murmured as the door was opened by Scruggs.

“Well, well, Miss Ballinger,” Scruggs growled as he spied Augusta on the doorstep. “Bit surprised to see you here today. Heard you were to be married with what some might call indecent haste.”

“That is none of your affair, my good man,” Claudia announced in quelling accents.

Scruggs’s mouth fell open in astonishment as he finally noticed Claudia standing to one side. His brilliant blue eyes widened and then immediately narrowed in amazement. He recovered himself at once. “Good God. Never tell me the Angel has come calling at Pompeia’s. Paying a visit to the nether regions, Miss Ballinger? What is the world coming to, pray tell?”

There was a short, charged silence as Claudia bestowed a disapproving stare on Scruggs. Then she turned to Augusta with royal disdain. “Who on earth is this odd creature?”

“This is Scruggs,” Augusta explained, hiding a satisfied smile. “And you must pay him no heed. Lady Arbuthnott retains him merely to add an interesting atmosphere to the place. She is fond of eccentrics, you know.”

“Obviously.” Claudia looked Scruggs up and down very slowly and then swept past him into the hall. “I cannot wait to see what other bizarre things I shall find in this place. Lead on, Augusta.”

Augusta swallowed her laughter. “Miss Ballinger is a new member of Pompeia’s, Scruggs. She very kindly volunteered to visit Lady Arbuthnott while I am out of town and keep me informed of her condition.”

“And here I was thinking things might be a bit dull without you around to liven up the place and entertain her ladyship.” Scruggs’s eyes never left Claudia, who stood imperiously near the drawing room door.

Augusta smiled as she removed her huge, fashionable, flower-trimmed hat. “Yes, I have no doubt things will continue to be amusing. I only regret I shall not be here to watch.”

Scruggs smiled beatifically as he opened the door of Pompeia’s. Augusta and Claudia stepped into Sally’s drawing room.

Augusta was aware of her cousin taking in the scene around her with an observing eye as she steered her toward where Sally sat near the fire.

“How extraordinary,” Claudia exclaimed softly, her gaze on the paintings of famous Greek and Roman women.

Sally closed the book on her lap, adjusted her India shawl, and looked up expectantly as Augusta and Claudia approached. “Good afternoon, Augusta. Have you brought us a new member?”

“My cousin Claudia.” Augusta made the introductions quickly. “She will be calling on you in my stead during the next few weeks, Sally.”

“I shall look forward to your visits, Miss Ballinger.” Sally smiled at Claudia. “We shall miss Augusta, of course. She has a way of keeping things lively around here.”

“Yes, I know.” Claudia said.

“Do sit down.” Sally waved a hand gracefully toward the nearest chair.

Augusta glanced at the book Sally had been reading. “Oh, you have a copy of Coleridge’s
Kubla Khan
. I intend to read it soon. What do you think of it?”

“Extraodinary. Quite fantastical. He claims that the entire story came to him when he awoke from an opiuminduced sleep, you know. I find the images of his tale fascinating. Almost familiar. I cannot explain it, but there is a certain comfort in it.” She turned to Claudia and
smiled. “Enough of such musings. Tell me, what do you think of our little club thus far?”

“I think,” Claudia said thoughtfully, “that your butler reminds me of someone I have met.”

“I expect ’tis the limp,” Augusta said easily. “If you will recall, Claudia, our gardener walks in the same awkward fashion. Rheumatism, you know.”

“Perhaps you are right,” said Claudia.

Sally turned promptly to Augusta. “So you are to be married by special license and whisked away to Dorset, my dear.”

“It is incredible how gossip swirls through the
ton
.”

“And winds up here in Pompeia’s,” Sally concluded. “I should have known you would not do things in the usual, accepted manner.”

“It was not my idea. It was Graystone’s. I only hope he will not come to regret his decision.” Augusta paused, tilting her head slightly to one side as she accepted a teacup. “On the other hand, it is something of a relief to see that my fiancé has an impetuous side to his nature.”

“Impetuous?” Sally considered that briefly. “I do not think that is quite the right word to describe Graystone.”

“What is the right word, madam?” Augusta asked, curious.

“Deceptive. Shrewd. At times rather hard, perhaps. A most unusual man, Graystone.” Sally sipped her tea.

“I quite agree and I must say it can be very disturbing,” Augusta said. “Do you know he has the most unnerving habit of always being aware of whatever scheme I happen to have set in motion? No matter how secretive I have been? I swear, it is rather like being pursued by Nemesis himself.”

Sally sputtered on a sip of tea and dabbed quickly at her pale lips with a handkerchief. Her eyes were gleaming with laughter. “Nemesis, eh? What an odd thing to say.”

•  •  •

Nemesis
. Augusta was still mulling over that observation the next afternoon as Graystone’s traveling coach bowled along the highway toward Dorset.

The wedding that morning had been quick and efficient. Graystone had appeared to be preoccupied and had taken very little note of her carefully chosen white muslin gown. He had not even complimented her on the demure ruffle that she had ordered sewn onto the low neckline. So much for her first wifely effort to impress her husband with her modesty.

Graystone had insisted on setting out immediately on the honeymoon trip to his estates. Now he lounged across from Augusta on the opposite seat of the coach. He had been sunk deep in his own thoughts since they had left London.

It was the first time they had been alone together since the night they had made love in the carriage.

Augusta fidgeted, unable to read or concentrate for long on the scenery. She plucked at the braiding of her copper-colored carriage gown and fussed with her reticule. In-between these activities she stole glances at Graystone. He looked lean and powerful in his gleaming boots, snug-fitting breeches, and elegantly cut coat. His pristine white cravet was immaculately folded, as always. A paragon.

A paragon
, Augusta thought sadly. How was she ever going to live up to Harry’s standards? she wondered.