Rendezvous (7 page)

“I cannot envision Lord Graystone having a fit of the
vapors under any circumstances, and in any event I do not think you behave so very poorly, Augusta.”

Augusta winced. “You are too generous by half. Believe me, Claudia, Graystone cannot possibly want me for his bride.”

“Then why did he ask for your hand?”

“I do not believe he did,” Augusta announced grimly. “In fact, I am certain he did not. As I told you, it was all a ghastly error. He no doubt thought he was asking for your hand.”

“Mine?” Claudia’s cup clattered in the saucer. “Good heavens. That is impossible.”

“Not at all.” Augusta frowned intently. “I have been thinking about it and I can see precisely how the mistake occurred. Graystone no doubt arrived here this afternoon and asked for the hand of a
Miss Ballinger
. Uncle Thomas persuaded himself the earl meant me because I am the eldest. But of course he did not. He meant you.”

“Really, Augusta. I doubt Papa would have made a mistake of that magnitude.”

“No, no, it is entirely possible. Uncle Thomas is always mixing us up. You know that. Only think of all the times he calls one of us by the other’s name. He gets so involved in his studies that he frequently forgets us altogether.”

“It does not happen all that often, Augusta.”

“But you must agree it has happened,” Augusta insisted. “And in this situation where he no doubt wanted to convince himself he was going to get me married off at last, it is easy to see how the mistake occurred. Poor Graystone.”

“Poor Graystone? I hear he is quite wealthy. Estates in Dorset, I believe.”

“I am not talking about his financial situation,” Augusta said impatiently. “The thing is, he will be quite horrified when he sees the notice in the papers tomorrow. Horrified and trapped. I have got to do something immediately.”

“What on earth can you possibly do? It is nearly nine
o’clock. We shall be leaving for the Bentleys’ soiree in a few minutes.”

Augusta set her jaw with grim determination. “I must pay a brief call on Lady Arbuthnott this evening.”

“You are going to Pompeia’s again this evening?” Claudia’s gentle voice held a hint of reproof.

“Yes. Would you like to come with me?” It was not the first time Augusta had made the offer and she already knew what Claudia’s answer would be.

“Heavens no. The name alone must give one pause.
Pompeia’s
. All those rather nasty connotations about unvirtuous behavior. Really, Augusta, I do believe you spend entirely too much time visiting that club.”

“Claudia, please. Not tonight.”

“I know how much you enjoy the place and I know you are fond of Lady Arbuthnott. Nevertheless, I do wonder if Pompeia’s might not be encouraging certain characteristics in you that are known to be latent in the blood of the Northumberland branch of the family. You should be working to restrain and control those streaks of impulsiveness and recklessness. Especially now that you are about to become a countess.”

Augusta narrowed her eyes at her lovely cousin. There were times when Claudia bore a striking resemblance to her mother, the renowned Lady Prudence Ballinger.

Augusta’s Aunt Prudence had been the author of several volumes for the schoolroom. The books had titles such as
Instructions on Behavior and Deportment for Young Ladies
and
A Guide to the Improvement of the Mind for Young Ladies
. Claudia was intent on following in the illustrious footsteps of her mother and was hard at work on a manuscript tentatively titled
A Guide to Useful Knowledge for Young Ladies
.

“Tell me something, Claudia,” Augusta said slowly. “If I get this horrid tangle straightened out in time, will you be happy to marry Graystone?”

“There is no mistake.” Claudia rose and walked sedately toward the door. Dressed for the evening in a gown selected
by Augusta to accentuate her image, she appeared angelic indeed. The elegantly cut pale blue silk gown she was wearing swung gently around her slippered feet. Her blond hair had been parted in the center and dressed in the fashionable Madonna style. The coiffure was accented with a small diamond comb.

“But if there
has
been a mistake, Claudia?”

“I shall do as Papa wishes, of course. I have always tried to be a good daughter. But I truly feel you will discover there has been no mistake. You have been giving me excellent advice all Season, Augusta. Now let me offer some to you. Endeavor to please Graystone in all things. Work hard to conduct yourself in a manner befitting a countess and I believe the earl will treat you tolerably well. You might want to reread one or two of Mother’s volumes before your wedding day.”

Augusta stifled an oath as her cousin walked out of the bedchamber and closed the door behind her. Living in a household populated by members of the Hampshire branch of the family could be extremely trying at times.

No doubt about it, Claudia would make Graystone a perfect countess. Augusta could just hear her cousin now as she sat across the breakfast table from the earl and discussed the proposed schedule of the day.
I shall do as my lord wishes, of course
. The pair would no doubt bore each other to death in a fortnight.

But that was their problem, Augusta told herself as she paused in front of her looking glass. She frowned at her own reflection, aware that she had not yet selected any jewelry to complement the rose gown.

She opened the small gilt box on her dressing table. Inside were her two most valuable possessions, a carefully folded sheet of paper and a necklace. The folded paper, marked with ominous brown stains, contained a rather unpleasant little poem Augusta’s brother had penned shortly before his death.

The necklace had been the property of the Northumberiand
Ballinger women for three generations. Most recently it had belonged to Augusta’s mother. It was composed of a strand of blood-red rubies interspersed with tiny diamonds. In the center hung a single large ruby.

Augusta clasped the necklace carefully around her throat. She wore the piece often. It was all she had left of her mother’s. Everything else had been sold to buy Richard his precious commission.

When the necklace was in place, the large ruby nestled just above the valley between her breasts, Augusta turned back to the window and feverishly began making her plans.

Harry arrived home from his club shortly after midnight, sent his staff to bed, and headed for the sanctuary of his library. His daughter’s latest letter detailing the progress of her studies and the weather in Dorset lay on the desk.

Harry poured himself a glass of brandy and sat down to reread the painstakingly penned letter. He smiled to himself. Meredith was nine years old and he was extremely proud of her. She was proving to be a serious and diligent student, anxious to please her father and to perform well.

Harry had personally designed Meredith’s curriculum and supervised each stage carefully. Frivolous elements such as watercolor painting and the reading of novels had been ruthlessly expunged from the program. As far as Harry was concerned such things were much to blame for the general flightiness and romantical inclinations that characterized so much of the female population. He did not want Meredith exposed to them.

The day-to-day instruction was carried out by Meredith’s governess, Clarissa Fleming. Clarissa was an impoverished Fleming relation whom Harry felt extremely fortunate to have available in his household. A serious bluestocking in her own right, Aunt Clarissa shared his views on education. She was fully qualified to teach the subjects Harry wanted Meredith to learn.

Harry put down the letter, took another sip of his brandy, and contemplated what would happen to his strictly regulated household once he put Augusta in charge of it.

Perhaps he truly had lost his wits
.

Something shifted in the shadows outside the window. Frowning, Harry glanced up and saw nothing but darkness. Then he heard a faint scratching noise.

Harry sighed and reached out for the handsome black ebony walking stick that was never far from his side. London was not the continent and the war was over, but the world was never a completely peaceful place. His experience of human nature told him it probably never would be.

He got up, cane in hand, and put out the lamp. Then he went to stand to one side of the window.

As soon as the room went dark, the scratching noise increased. It had a frantic quality now, Harry decided. Someone was hurrying through the bushes alongside the house.

A moment later there was an urgent tapping on the window. Harry looked down and saw a figure in a hooded cloak peering through the glass. Moonlight revealed the small hand raised to rap again.

There was something familiar about that hand.

“Bloody hell.” Harry stepped away from the wall and put the ebony stick on the desk. He opened the window with a brusque, angry motion, planted both hands on the sill, and leaned out.

“Thank goodness you are still here, my lord.” Augusta threw back the hood of her cloak. The pale moon revealed the relief in her face. “I saw that the light was on and I knew you were in there and then quite suddenly the lamp went out and I was afraid you had left the room. What a disaster if I had missed you tonight. I have been waiting for over an hour at Lady Arbuthnott’s for your return.”

“If I had realized there was a lady waiting for me, I would have made it a point to return much sooner.”

Augusta wrinkled her nose. “Oh, dear. You are angry, aren’t you?”

“Whatever gave you that notion?” Harry reached down, grasped her arms through the fabric of the cloak, and hauled her bodily in through the window. It was then he saw the other figure crouching in the bushes. “Who the devil is that?”

“That is Scruggs, my lord. Lady Arbuthnott’s butler,” Augusta said breathlessly. She righted herself as he released her and straightened her cloak. “Lady Arbuthnott insisted he accompany me.”

“Scruggs. I see. Wait here, Augusta.” Harry swung one leg over the windowsill and then the other. He dropped down onto the moist earth and beckoned to the stooped figure in the bushes. “Come here, my good man.”

“Yes, your lordship?” Scruggs came forward with an awkward, limping gait. His eyes glinted with laughter in the shadows. “May I be of service, sir?”

“I think you have already done quite enough for one night, Scruggs,” Harry said through his teeth. Aware of Augusta hovering in the open window, he lowered his voice as he confronted Peter Sheldrake. “And if you ever assist the lady in another adventure of this sort, I shall personally straighten out that extremely poor posture of yours. Permanently. Do you understand me?”

“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.