Rendezvous

18

Augusta stirred in the big bed, aware of the hard, solid, disturbingly masculine body beside her. The heavy scent of the recent lovemaking hovered in the air and her body was still damp.

She opened her eyes and saw a pale moon outside the window. Slowly she stretched out her legs, wincing at the slight soreness in her thigh muscles. It was always this way after Harry had made love to her. She felt as though she had ridden a blooded stallion long and hard. Or perhaps it was she who had been ridden. She smiled to herself.

"Augusta?"

"Yes, Harry?" She turned on her side and propped her elbows on his bare chest.

"There is something I would know about this night's work."

"And what is that, my lord?" She twined her fingers in the crisp mat of hair on his chest. It was amazing how what they shared together in bed could affect both their moods, she reflected. For example, she was no longer feeling at all belligerent and defensive.

"Why did you not come to me immediately with that note the lad handed you this afternoon? Why did you try to keep such a dangerous rendezvous on your own?"

Augusta sighed. "I doubt that you would understand, Harry."

"Try me."

"Even if you do understand, you will doubtless not approve."

"You have the right of it on that point. But tell me why you did not come to me with that note, Augusta," he ordered gently. "Was it because you feared the information you would be given would be evidence against your brother?"

"Oh, no," she said quickly. "Just the opposite, in fact. I assumed from the note that it would be the proof I needed to remove the cloud of suspicion that hangs over Richard's name."

"Then why did you not confide in me? You knew I would be interested in whatever transpired tonight."

She stopped toying with his chest hair. "I wanted to show you that I could be as useful and helpful in your investigations as your close friends."

"Sally and Sheldrake?" Harry frowned. "That was most foolish, Augusta. They have had a great deal of experience at this kind of thing. They know how to take care of themselves. You know nothing about conducting an investigation."

"But that is just it." She sat up beside him. "I want to learn. I want to be part of your circle of truly close friends, the ones with whom you share your deepest thoughts. I want to have the kind of bond with you that Sally and Peter do."

"Hell, Augusta, you are my wife," Harry muttered, exasperated. "Our bond is far more intimate than any I share with Sally or Peter Sheldrake, I assure you."

"The only time I feel truly close to you is when we are in bed together as we are now. And that is not enough, because even then there is a distance between us."

"There is no distance at all between us at such times, madam." He smiled as he stroked a hand down over her hip. "Or need I remind you?"

She wriggled away from his touch. "But there is a kind of distance because you do not love me. You only feel some physical passion for me. It is not at all the same thing."

His brow rose. "You are an expert on the difference?"

"I expect every woman is an expert on the difference between passion and love," Augusta retorted. " 'Tis no doubt an instinct."

"Are we going to get ourselves mired again in that useless argument with all its confounded feminine logic?"

"No." Augusta leaned forward eagerly. " 'Tis just that I have decided if I cannot have your love, Harry, I would have your friendship. Your close friendship. I want to be a part of your inner circle of companions. The ones with whom you share everything. Do you not understand, my lord?"

"No, I do not understand. You are not making sense."

"I want to feel as though I belong to your special circle of intimates. Do you not see, my lord? It would be like being part of your real family."

"Damnation, Augusta, you are talking a lot of emotional nonsense. Hear me well, wife, you are most certainly a part of this family." He caught hold of her chin, his eyes intent. "And do not ever forget that fact, madam. You are not, however, a trained intelligence agent and I will not have you playing dangerous games the way you did tonight. Is that quite clear?"

"But I did a good job, Harry. Admit it. I brought you some very interesting evidence. Only think, my lord. Someone went to all that trouble just to make us think that the Spider was my brother and has therefore been dead for two whole years. That raises some interesting possibilities, does it not?"

His mouth twisted wryly. "Indeed it does. The most interesting of which is that the Spider is no doubt very much alive and wants everyone to think him dead. Which leads us to the conclusion that he may presently be enjoying a position as an accepted member of Society and wants to continue living his new life. He clearly has a great deal to lose now if the truth about his past should emerge. And that makes him more dangerous than ever."

Augusta considered that closely. "Yes, I see what you mean."

"The more I reflect on tonight's event's, my dear, the more I believe you had a very close brush with disaster. I have only myself to blame."

Augusta grew alarmed. She was learning that whenever Harry got that tone in his voice, he usually started issuing orders. "Oh, pray, do not blame yourself, my lord. It was an accident and will most certainly not happen again. The next time I receive a strange note I shall come straight to you with it, I swear."

He eyed her morosely. "We shall take steps to ensure that you do so, Augusta. You and Meredith are not to leave this house without either myself as an escort or at least two footmen in attendance. I shall choose the servants I wish to accompany you and I shall inform Craddock you are not to go anywhere without them."

"Very well, my lord." Augusta heaved a sigh of relief. It was not as bad as it could have been, she told herself. He could have gone so far as forbidding her to leave the house without him. As he was rarely available these days, that would have meant virtual imprisonment for herself and Meredith. She congratulated herself on a narrow escape.

"Do I make myself clear, madam?"

Augusta inclined her head acquiescently, as a dutiful wife should. "Very clear, my lord."

"And furthermore," Harry added deliberately, "you are not to go out at night, with or without the footmen, unless I am with you."

That was too much. Augusta promptly fought back. "Harry, you go too far. I assure you Meredith and I will take an entire brigade of footmen with us at all times if that is your wish, but you cannot confine us to the house every evening."

"I am sorry, Augusta," he said, not ungently. "But I will not be able to concentrate on my investigations if I am not assured you are safe at home."

"Then you can be the one to tell your daughter that she cannot go to Astley's Amphitheatre tomorrow night," Augusta announced.

"You were planning to take her to Astley's?" Harry frowned. "I am not at all certain that would have been a particularly sound choice of entertainment. Astley's is famous for its silly spectacles and melodrama. Women flying about on horseback and that sort of thing. Not particularly elevating or educational for a young child, do you think?"

"I think," Augusta said bluntly, "that Meredith will enjoy it immensely. And so will I."

"Well, in that case, I believe I can adjust my schedule to allow me to escort the two of you to Astley's tomorrow evening," Harry said smoothly.

Augusta was caught completely off balance by the unexpected capitulation. "You will?"

"Pray do not look so astounded, my dear. As the victor in our duel tonight, I can afford to be generous to the loser."

"Victor? Who named you the victor?" Augusta grabbed the pillow and began pummeling him unmercifully with it.

Harry's laughter was husky and liberally laced with masculine passion.

The entertainment at Astley's was not nearly as dull as Harry had feared. It was not, however, the ladies dashing about on horseback, the music, or the inane melodrama with its fireworks and singing heroes that held his serious attention. What held Harry's gaze was the sight of his wife and daughter leaning precariously out of the box to watch the proceedings below.

Augusta had been right about one thing. Meredith was enjoying herself to the hilt. It struck Harry again just how much his overly serious daughter had blossomed during the past few weeks. It was as if she were discovering the pleasures of childhood for the first time.

The sight made him do something he rarely did, and that was to doubt the wisdom of one of his own carefully considered decisions. It occurred to Harry that the strict educational curriculum he had ordained for Meredith during the past few years might have been a bit severe. Perhaps he had not allowed for enough harmless fun and play in the schedule.

Harry watched Meredith gasp with amazement as a young lady in the ring below vaulted over a barrier of several scarves and landed safely on the rump of a galloping pony. It was obvious his daughter was thriving under the new regime, he thought ruefully. He would be lucky indeed if she did not develop aspirations to take a balloon voyage or join Astley's troop of daring bareback riders.

His gaze shifted to his wife, who was pointing out the villain of the piece to Meredith. The brilliant glow from the huge chandelier suspended over the center of the stage caught the rich highlights in Augusta's hair. The words she had spoken to him so beseechingly last night rang in his ears. I want to feel as though I belong…

He knew she was still struggling with the feeling of not being part of a family like the one she had once known. She was the last of the Northumberland Ballingers and she had been feeling very much alone since her brother's death. He understood that now.

But how could Augusta not realize just how much a part of his small family she had become? Harry wondered. Surely she saw how Meredith was becoming increasingly dependent on her. True, the child did not yet seem inclined to call Augusta Mother, but that no longer seemed quite so important to Harry.

Augusta 's tendency to agitate herself because her husband did not get down on his knees and proclaim his everlasting love was ridiculous. A typical example of her overly emotional nature. As far as Harry was concerned he had more than amply demonstrated his affections. And his trust. Harry scowled, thinking of just how indulgent he had been with his new countess.

Any other man who had witnessed a wife climbing back into the house through a window at midnight would have assumed he had just been cuckolded.

Last night Augusta should have been begging for forgiveness and vowing to never again pursue adventure. Instead, she had lost her temper and challenged her husband to a duel.

The woman had been reading too many novels, that was the problem.

I want to have the kind of bond with you that Sally and Peter do.

Naturally he had excluded her from the investigations, Harry thought. Not only because she lacked experience, which was reason enough, but because he had not wanted her troubled by further indications of her brother's connection to the case.

Now Harry wondered if he had a right to keep Augusta out of the investigation. Like it or not, she was involved because her brother had apparently been involved. Perhaps the last of the Northumberland Ballingers had a right to know the truth.

Harry listened to the music swell as the performance below came to a conclusion. Horses and actors both took their bows to several rounds of enthusiastic applause.

Meredith talked nonstop in the carriage on the way back to the town house.

"Papa, do you think I could learn to ride a horse the way the lady in pink did?"

"I do not think you would find the skill particularly useful," Harry said, his eyes flicking to Augusta's amused face. "One rarely is called upon to ride standing up on top of a horse."

Meredith frowned at that logic. "I suppose not." Then she brightened again. "Was it not exciting when the pony rescued the lady?"

"Very."

"What part did you like best, Papa?"

Harry smiled slowly, his eyes again on Augusta. "The scenery."

As the carriage came to a halt in front of the town house, Harry touched Augusta's arm. "Stay a moment, if you please." He glanced at Meredith. "Go on inside, Meredith. Augusta will be along in a moment."

"Yes, Papa." Meredith hopped down from the carriage and started to regale the footman with details of the thrilling performance she had just witnessed.

Augusta gave Harry an inquiring glance. "Yes, my lord?"

He hesitated and then took the plunge. "I am going on to meet Sheldrake at one of my clubs."

"More investigations, I suppose."

"Yes. However, the three of us—Sally, Sheldrake, and myself—have arranged to hold a conference much later tonight. We are going to discuss everything we know about the investigation so far and see if we can find some answers. You may join us if you like."

Augusta's eyes widened. "Oh, Harry. Truly?"

"You have some rights in this matter, my dear. Perhaps I have been wrong to exclude you."

"My lord, how can I ever thank you?"

"Well, I—umph." Harry was taken by surprise as Augusta threw her arms around him.

She hugged him ecstatically even though the door of the carriage stood wide open and at least one groom and a footman had a full view of the interior.

"What time shall I expect you back here, Harry?"

"Uh, somewhere around three o'clock this morning." He gently untwined her arms from around his neck, aware that his body was already reacting to the soft, round contours of hers. "Be in the library. We shall take the shortcut through the garden."

"I will be there." Her smile was more brilliant than the lights over the stage at Astley's.

Harry waited until she was safely inside the house and then he signaled his coachman to drive on to the club, where he was to meet Peter. As the vehicle moved off, Harry tried to assure himself that he was doing the right thing by allowing Augusta into the heart of the small group involved in the investigation.

He might be doing the right thing, but he was definitely going against his own better judgment. Harry gazed thoughtfully out the window, aware of a deep sense of unease.

Peter Sheldrake, stylish as always in trousers and an elaborately ruffled shirt, was just coming out of the card room when Harry walked into the club. He was carrying a bottle of claret, which he waved cheerfully at Harry.

"Oh-ho. I see you have survived the evening's frivolity. Come join me in a glass or two and tell me all about the wondrous sights you must have seen at Astley's. Took a couple of nephews there once a few years back. It was all I could do to keep them from signing on with the bareback riding troop."

Harry smiled reluctantly as he followed Peter to a private corner of the room and sat down. "I was concerned I might face a similar problem myself. And it was not just Meredith I feared losing to the stage. I have a suspicion that Augusta was entertaining dreams of glory, too."

"Well, look at it from her point of view," Peter said with a mocking grin. "Being the Countess of Graystone probably seems rather dull compared to the notion of performing daring feats of horsemanship in front of a cheering crowd. Think of the applause. Think of the cheers. Think of the gentlemen leering down from the upper boxes."

Harry grimaced. "Don't remind me. As it happens, however, Augusta's life is about to become a bit more exciting."

"Oh?" Peter took a swallow of claret. "How is that? Are you going to allow her to go about without a fichu to fill in the neckline of her gowns? What a thrill that will be for her."

Harry shot Peter a brief, quelling glare and wondered glumly if perhaps he had been something of a tyrant about Augusta's gowns. "We shall see how you feel about the subject of your wife's choice of necklines after you are married."

"So we shall." Peter chuckled.

"What I was going to tell you about Augusta's exciting new life is that she will be joining you and me and Sally later tonight when we have our meeting."

Sheldrake sputtered and frantically swallowed claret. He stared at Harry. "Bloody hell. You're going to allow her to get involved in this thing? Do you think that's wise, Graystone?"

"Probably not."

"With everything pointing toward her brother, it's bound to be painful for her."

"It's obvious Ballinger was involved in this mess somehow. But trust me, Sheldrake, when I tell you that there's no way he could have been the Spider."

"If you say so." Peter looked sceptical.

"I do. What we have now are strong indications that someone very much wants us to believe the Spider died two years ago." Harry quickly ran through a description of the journal Augusta had found in the lane behind the town house.

"Good God," Sheldrake breathed. "The journal is real? Not a fake that someone fixed up to trick us?"

"I am certain it is real. I will tell you truthfully, Sheldrake, it gives me a cold chill to think about who may have been watching Augusta in that lane last night."

"I see what you mean."

Harry was about to discuss the details of what he had discovered in the journal when he realized that Lovejoy was crossing the room to join them. The man's green eyes glittered with bored menace.

So many bored and dangerous men floating about London like so much flotsam after the storm of war, Harry thought.

"Good evening, Graystone. Sheldrake. I am surprised to find you both here tonight. Would have thought you'd have been dancing attendance on your ladies. Congratulations on your engagement, by the way, Sheldrake. Although, I must say, it was rather unsporting of you to remove one of the few viable heiresses from the scene. Not much left for the rest of us to choose from, hmmm?"

"I am certain you will find one to your taste," Peter murmured.

Harry turned the half-empty glass of claret in his hand, studying the ruby highlights. "Was there something you wanted, Lovejoy?"

"As a matter of fact, there was. Thought I'd warn you both that there's a master cracksman operating in Town these days. Broke into my library a few weeks ago."

Harry looked at him without expression. "Is that so? Did you report the loss to the magistrate?"

"Nothing was taken that cannot easily be replaced." Lovejoy smiled coldly, turned, and left.

Harry and Peter sat in meditative silence for a few minutes.

"You may have to do something about Lovejoy," Peter finally observed.

"Yes, it would appear so." Harry shook his head. "The only thing I do not understand is why he has settled on me as his target."

"In the beginning, he was probably simply intent on seducing Augusta for the hell of it. But now he has no doubt reasoned out that you ruined his little game by breaking into his library to get Augusta's vowels. He would no doubt like to even the score. He has not had the opportunity because you have been out of town for the past few weeks."

"I shall keep an eye on him."

"Do that. I would assume from his not-so-veiled threats that he will try to use Augusta to gain his revenge."

Harry thought about that as he finished his claret. "I still believe there is more in this Lovejoy business than meets the eye. Perhaps it is time I paid another late-night visit to his library."

"I shall go with you. It might prove interesting." Peter grinned slowly. "But surely you do not intend to try anything like that tonight. Your schedule is already rather crowded this evening."

"You are quite right. Some other evening when I am free. We have other important business tonight."

Augusta was pacing the library when Harry and Peter arrived. She had dressed appropriately for the adventure. She was wearing a black velvet cloak over her black gown, a pair of matching black gloves, and black velvet half boots. She had chosen the boots because she thought they would stand up to a tramp through the garden and down the lane better than her pumps or slippers.

She had sent the staff to bed hours ago and had been fidgeting with excitement ever since. The significance of being invited to join Harry and his friends tonight nearly overwhelmed her. She had gained admission to his special circle at last.

Augusta realized she was at last going to share with Harry that wonderful close friendship he shared with Sally and Peter. Together they would solve a mystery and Harry would see that Augusta could do her part. He would learn to respect her cleverness, she promised herself. He would start to see her as one of his true friends, a woman he could trust and with whom he shared the secret aspect of himself.

The soft sound of the door opening and closing in the hall brought Augusta to a halt. There was a murmur of men's voices and the sound of booted feet on the tile. She whirled around quickly and ran to the library door. When she opened it she found a dour-looking Harry and a grinning Peter Sheldrake.

Peter sketched a gallant bow. "Good evening, madam. May I be allowed to tell you how perfectly attired you are for this evening's event? The black velvet cloak and boots are extremely dashing. Does she not look splendidly dressed for this sort of thing, Graystone?"

Harry scowled. "She looks like a damn highwayman. Let us be off." He motioned both of them out the door with his ebony cane. "I want to get this over as quickly as possible."

"Are we not going to go out through the library window?" Augusta asked.

"No, we are not. We are going to go out through the kitchens in a normal, reasonably civilized manner."

Augusta wrinkled her nose at Peter as they followed Harry out of the library. "Does he always get like this when he is involved in an investigation?"

"Always," Peter assured her. "Quite a killjoy, our Graystone. No sense of adventure."

Harry threw his companions a quelling glance over his shoulder. "Be still, both of you. I do not want to waken the staff."

"Yes, sir," Peter murmured.

"Yes, sir," Augusta whispered.

The trio made their way safely out into the garden without incident and found they did not need a lamp to light the route down the lane. There was enough moonlight to reveal the paving stones, and the warm glow from the upstairs windows of Lady Arbuthnott's house served as a beacon.

As they drew closer to their goal, Augusta noticed that the downstairs of the big house was dark. "Will Sally be waiting for us at the kitchen door, then?"

"Yes," Peter said softly. "She'll take us into her library and we will talk there."

When they reached the gate of Lady Arbuthnott's garden, Harry paused. "It's open."

"No doubt she sent a servant out earlier to unlatch it for us," Peter said, pushing at the heavy gate. "I do not think she has the strength to walk this far on her own anymore, poor dear."

"I am amazed she can continue to operate Pompeia's," Augusta whispered.

" 'Tis all that keeps her going. That and the pleasure of being involved in one last investigation for Graystone, of course," Peter confided.

"Silence," Harry ordered.

Augusta clutched the folds of her cloak around her and followed Harry in dutiful silence. Peter brought up the rear of the short column.

Because she was directly behind him, Augusta nearly collided with Harry when he came to an abrupt halt.

"Ooomph." She caught her balance. "Harry? What is it?"

"Something is wrong." There was a deadly flat quality in Harry's voice which alarmed Augusta as nothing else could have done. She realized he was grasping his ebony walking stick in a rather odd manner.

"Trouble?" Peter spoke softly in the shadows, all trace of banter gone from his voice.

"The back door is standing open. There is no light and no sign of Sally. Take Augusta back to the house. Rejoin me once you have seen her safely inside."

"Understood." Peter reached out to take Augusta's arm.

Augusta sidestepped him hurriedly. "Harry, no, please let me come with you. Sally might have become gravely ill. Perhaps that is why—" Augusta cried out as her toe tangled in the hem of a woman's gown that had drifted out from beneath a clump of bushes. "Oh, dear God, no. Sally."

"Augusta? What the hell—" Harry spun around and started toward her.

Augusta was already on her knees, crawling frantically beneath the heavy foliage. " 'Tis Sally. Oh, Harry, I know 'tis her. She must have collapsed out here. Sally."

Augusta touched her friend's body, fumbling with Sally's expensive silk gown. Her black gloves were instantly soaked in warm blood. A shaft of starlight gleamed dully on the hilt of the dagger that was still buried in Sally's breast.

"Goddamn his bloody soul." Harry's voice was savage as he tore his way through the bushes and dropped down beside his old friend. He groped for Sally's wrist and felt for a pulse. "She lives."

"Christ." Peter found his way to Sally's side. He stared at the dagger and swore again. "The goddamned son of a bitch."

"Sally?" Augusta grasped the limp hand and was horrified by the cold feel of it. Sally was dying. That was a certainty.

"Augusta? Is that you, dear?" Sally's voice was barely a whisper of sound. "I am glad. Glad you are here. 'Tis not pleasant to die alone, you know. 'Tis the one thing I reared."

"We are all here, Sally," Harry said quietly. "Peter and Augusta and I. You are not alone."

"My friends." Sally's eyes closed. " 'Tis better this way. The pain was getting so bad. So bad. I did not think I could go on much longer, you know. Still, I would have preferred to do the thing myself."

Tears started in Augusta's eyes. She gripped Sally's hand fiercely, as if she could hold on to her through sheer physical strength.

"Sally, who did this?" Harry asked. "The Spider?"

"Oh, yes. It must have been him. Never saw his face. But he knew about the list. Knew I had it. Got it from the cook."

"What cook?" Peter asked gently.

"Cook at the old Saber Club. Got it this morning from him."

"Damn the Spider's bloody soul to hell," Harry whispered. "I will see that he pays for this, Sally."

"Yes, I know, Graystone. This time you shall have him. Always knew that one day you would settle accounts with the Spider." Sally started to cough dreadfully.

Augusta held on to the frail hand more tightly, the tears spilling down her face to mingle with her friend's blood. Once before she had held someone like this and watched helplessly as the life within dwindled to a tiny flame and then flickered and went out. There was no more terrible task in the world than this kind of vigil.

"Augusta?"

"Sally, I shall miss you so," Augusta said through her tears. "You have truly been my friend."

"And you have been a true friend to me, my dearest Augusta. You have given me more than you will ever know. Now you must let me go. 'Tis past time."

"Sally?"

"Do not forget to open the book, Augusta."

"No. I will not forget."

And then Sally was gone.