Rendezvous

3

"You sent the notices off to the papers? Uncle Thomas, I do not believe it. This is a disaster. 'Tis obvious a terrible mistake has been made."

Still reeling from the stunning blow of her uncle's offhanded announcement that he had accepted an offer of marriage on her behalf, Augusta paced the library. She was ablaze with a furious energy and she scowled fiercely as she tried to think her way clear of the dreadful situation.

She had just come in from an afternoon ride in the park and was still wearing a dashing new ruby-colored riding habit trimmed in gold braid à la militaire. The matching confection of a hat with its perky red feather was still perched on her hair and she was still wearing her gray leather boots. A servant had told her that Sir Thomas had a message for her and she had breezed straight into the library.

Only to be met with the shock of her life.

"How could you have done such a thing, Uncle Thomas? How could you have made such a mistake?"

"Don't think there was any mistake," Sir Thomas said vaguely. Having delivered his announcement from his armchair, he had immediately plunged back into the book he had been reading before Augusta had arrived. "Graystone appeared to know exactly what he was doing."

"But there must have been a mistake. Graystone would never offer for me." Augusta pondered the problem furiously as she paced back and forth. " 'Tis obvious what happened. He offered for Claudia and you misunderstood."

"Don't believe so." Sir Thomas buried himself deeper in his book.

"Come, now, Uncle Thomas. You know you get quite absentminded on occasion. You have frequently confused Claudia's name with mine, especially when you are working on one of your books, as you are now."

"What do you expect? You were both named after Roman emperors," Sir Thomas said by way of excuse. "Bound to be the occasional mistake."

Augusta groaned. She knew her uncle. When he was concentrating on old Greeks and Romans it was impossible to get his full attention. He had no doubt been just as preoccupied earlier when Graystone had called. No wonder matters had gotten confused. "I cannot believe you have done something that will affect my future so drastically without even consulting me."

"He'll make you a sound husband, Augusta."

"I do not want a sound husband. I do not particularly want any sort of husband at all, least of all a sound one. What the devil does that mean, anyway? Sound. A horse is sound."

"The thing is, my girl, you are not likely to get a better offer."

"Very likely not. But don't you see, Uncle Thomas, the offer was not for me. I am quite certain of it." Augusta whirled about, the ruby skirts of her habit pooling around her boots. "Oh, Uncle Thomas, I do not mean to be short with you. Heaven knows you have been all that is kind and generous to me and I shall be forever grateful, you must know that."

"Just as I am grateful to you, my dear, for all you have done for Claudia this Season. You have brought her out of her shell and turned her from a shy little mouse into a sensation. Her mother would have been proud."

" 'Twas nothing, Uncle Thomas. Claudia is a beautiful, accomplished woman. She merely needed advice on her clothes and on the proper ways of conducting herself in Society."

"All of which you could provide."

Augusta shrugged. "A legacy from my mother. She entertained frequently and taught me much. I have also had the assistance of Lady Arbuthnott, who knows everyone. So you must not hand me all the credit. I am well aware you gave me the task of launching Claudia as a remedy for my melancholy. And it was kind of you. Truly it was."

Sir Thomas grunted in surprise. "As I recall, I merely asked you to accompany Claudia to a soiree one evening. You took charge from there. You made her one of your projects. And whenever you are involved in a project, my dear, things have a way of happening."

"Thank you, Uncle Thomas. But about Graystone. I must insist—"

"Now, don't you worry about Graystone. As I said, he'll make you a sound husband. Man's solid as a rock. Got brains and a fortune. What more could a woman want?"

"Uncle Thomas, you don't understand."

"You're just feeling a bit emotional at the moment, that's all. The Northumberland side of the family always was emotional."

Augusta stared at her uncle in seething frustration and then she rushed from the room before she burst into tears.

Augusta was still simmering with frustration later that evening as she dressed for the night's array of soirees and parties. But at least she was no longer on the point of tears, she told herself with pride. This was a crisis that called for action, not emotion.

Claudia studied Augusta's scowl with gentle concern. Then, with a naturally graceful gesture, she poured two cups of tea and offered one to her cousin with a soothing smile. "Calm yourself, Augusta. All will be well."

"How the devil can all be well when such a dreadful mistake has been made? Dear God, Claudia, don't you understand? Disaster is upon us. Uncle Thomas got so excited he went ahead and sent the notices off to the papers. By tomorrow morning Graystone and I shall be officially engaged. There will be no honorable way for him to get out of the arrangement once the news is in print."

"I understand."

"Then how can you sit there pouring tea as if nothing has happened?" Augusta slammed her cup and saucer down and shot to her feet. She whirled about and began striding back and forth across the width of her bedchamber. Her dark brows were drawn together above her narrowed eyes.

For once Augusta was hardly aware of what she was wearing. Her mind had been in such turmoil that she had been unable to concentrate on the usually pleasant task of choosing her attire. Her maid Betsy had selected the rose-colored evening gown with its daringly cut neckline edged with tiny satin roses. It was Betsy who had chosen the matching satin slippers and elbow-length gloves. And it was Betsy who had decided to dress Augusta's dark chestnut brown hair in the Grecian style. The cascading ringlets bobbed about wildly as Augusta stalked back and forth.

"I fail to see the problem," Claudia murmured. "I had the impression you were growing rather fond of Graystone."

"That is simply not true."

"Come, now, Augusta. Even Papa noticed your interest in the earl and remarked upon it just the other day."

"I asked to read a copy of one of Graystone's recent treatises on some moldering old Roman, that's all. You can hardly call that a sign of deep fondness."

"Well, be that as it may, I am not surprised Papa went ahead and accepted Graystone's offer on your behalf. He assumed you would be delighted, as indeed you should be. It is a wonderful match, Augusta. You cannot deny it."

Augusta stopped pacing long enough to give her cousin an anguished glance. "But don't you see, Claudia? 'Tis all a mistake. Graystone would never have asked for my hand in marriage. Never in a million years. He thinks me a terrible hoyden, an unruly scapegrace who is always one step away from falling into a scandal broth. To him I am an ungovernable little baggage. In his eyes I would make a most unsuitable countess. And he is quite right."

"Nonsense. You would make a lovely countess," Claudia said loyally.

"Thank you." Augusta groaned in frustrated annoyance. "But you are quite wrong. Graystone has already been married to a most suitable female, from what I have heard, and I have no desire to try to live up to my predecessor's standards."

"Oh, yes. He was married to Catherine Montrose, was he not? I seem to recall Mother talking about her. Mrs. Montrose was a great believer in the value of Mother's books for young ladies. She raised Catherine on them, I believe. And Mother always claimed Catherine Montrose was a fine example of the efficacy of her instructional techniques."

"What a jolly notion." Augusta went to the window and stood gazing forlornly down into the gardens behind the town house. "Graystone and I have absolutely nothing in common. We are violently opposed on all the modern questions. He does not care for free-thinking females, you know. He has made that quite clear. And he does not even know the half of it. He would no doubt have a fit of the vapors if he realized some of the things I have done."

"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 Northumberland 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.

"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 further 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 guarded 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.

The question surprised him. It also annoyed him, although he knew he should have been expecting it. Augusta was not the type to let a subject drop easily.

"There are any number of sound, logical reasons," he told her brusquely as he paused at the gate to check that the lane was empty. "None of which I have time to go into tonight." Cold moonlight revealed the cobbled pavement' quite plainly. The windows of Sally's house glowed warmly at the far end of the narrow lane. There was no one in sight. "Pull your hood up over your head, Augusta."

"Yes, my lord. We certainly would not want to risk anyone seeing me out here with you, would we?"

He heard the prim, offended note in her voice and winced. "Forgive me for not being as romantic as you might wish, Augusta, but I am in somewhat of a hurry."

"That is obvious."

"You may not care about your reputation, Miss Ballinger, but I do." He concentrated on getting her safely down the lane to the back entrance of Lady Arbuthnott's garden. The gate was unlocked. Harry urged Augusta inside. He saw a shadow detach itself from the house and start forward with a crablike motion. Scruggs was still in full costume, he noted wryly.

Harry looked down at his new fiancée. He tried to see her expression but found it impossible because her face was hidden by the hood. He was very aware of the fact that he was probably not behaving like every maiden's dream of a romantic husband.

"Augusta?"

"Yes, my lord?"

"We do have an understanding, do we not? You are not going to try to cry off tomorrow, are you? Because if so, I must warn you—"

"Heavens, no, my lord." She lifted her chin. "If you are content with the notion of marrying a frivolous female who wears her gowns cut much too low, then I expect I can tolerate a stuffy, sober-minded, unromantic scholar. At my age, I rather suspect I should be grateful for what I can get. But there is one condition, my lord."

"What the devil is that?"

"I must insist on a long engagement."

"How long?" he demanded, suddenly wary.

"A year?" She eyed him with an assessing gleam in her eye.

"Good God. I do not intend to waste a year on this engagement, Miss Ballinger. It should take no more than three months to prepare for the wedding."

"Six."

"Bloody hell. Four months and that's my final offer."

Augusta lifted her chin. "So very generous of you, my lord," she said acidly.

"Yes, it is. Too generous by half. Go on into the house, Miss Ballinger, before I regret my generosity and do something quite drastic for which we will both no doubt be extremely sorry."

Harry turned and stalked out of the garden and back down the lane. He seethed every step of the way over the fact that he had just bargained like a fishmonger over the length of his own engagement. He wondered if this was how Antony had felt when dealing with Cleopatra.

Harry was inclined to be more sympathetic with Antony tonight than he had been in the past. Previously he had always considered the Roman a victim of his own unbridled lust. But Harry was beginning to understand how a woman could undermine a man's self-control.

It was a disturbing realization and Harry knew he would have to be on his guard. Augusta was displaying a talent for being able to push him to the edge.

Hours later, safe in her bed, Augusta lay wide awake and stared at the ceiling. She could still feel the commanding warmth of Harry's mouth on hers. Her body remembered every place he had touched her. She ached with a strange new longing to which she could not put a name. A heat seemed to be flowing in her veins, pooling in her lower body.

She realized with a shiver of awareness that she wished Harry were here with her now to finish whatever it was he had started there on the floor of his library.

This was what was meant by passion, she thought. This was the stuff of epic poems and romantic novels.

For all her vivid imagination, she had not truly understood how enthralling it would be, nor how dangerous. A woman could lose herself to this kind of glittering, compelling excitement.

And Harry was intent on marriage.

Augusta felt a wave of panic rise up inside her. Marriage? To Harry? It was impossible. It would never work. It would be a terrible mistake. She had to find a way to end this engagement, for both their sakes. Augusta watched the shadows on the ceiling and warned herself that she would have to be very careful and very clever.