Rendezvous

  Peter bit back another oath. “Well, you have certainly had your revenge.”

  Harry folded his arms across his chest, amused by the wrangling.

  “May I ask when you first realized I was playing the role of Scruggs?” Peter growled.

  Augusta smiled wickedly. “Why, ’twas that night when you drove Graystone and me about London for an hour or so before taking us back to Lady Arbuthnott’s. I recognized your real voice when you tried to tell Harry that the drive might not be such an excellent notion.”

  “As you are happily married now, madam, it seems to me you should be thanking me for playing the role of coachman that night,” Sheldrake retorted. “You should be feeling gratitude, not a desire for a paltry vengeance.”

  “That,” Augusta said, “is a matter of opinion.”

  “Is that so? Well, allow me to point out—”

  “Enough.” Harry hastily interrupted as he realized he did not care for the direction in which the sparring was headed. The last thing he wanted tonight was for Augusta to recall how she had been coerced into a hasty marriage because of what had occurred in Sally’s darkened carriage that night. He had enough problems on his hands without dredging up that bit of ammunition for her to use against him. “The two of you are beginning to remind me of a pair of small children and we do have guests to see to.”

  Peter muttered grimly under his breath. “I suppose I had better see about making that apology. Do you really think Claudia meant that part about me getting down on my knees?”

  “Yes, I do,” Augusta assured him.

  Peter grinned suddenly. “I always knew she had spirit beneath that prim, angelic facade.”

  “Naturally,” Augusta said. “Claudia may be not a Northumberland Ballinger, but she is still a Ballinger.”

  A long while later, when the great house was dark and silent at last, Harry sprawled in a chair in his bedchamber and considered the real reason he did not want to take Augusta to London.

  He was afraid.

  Afraid that in London she would once again find friends of a kindred spirit who would encourage her in her inclination toward recklessness.

  Afraid that even though The Season was over she would still find ways to plunge herself into the whirl of activities and pleasures that she had enjoyed so much before her marriage.

  Afraid that in Town she might just possibly encounter the kind of man who would appear to be a far more appropriate mate for a passionate female of the dashing Northumberland Ballinger clan than the man she had married.

  Afraid that in London she might encounter the man to whom she could truly give her heart.

  And yet he knew that even if that should occur, Augusta would honor her wedding vows, come what may. She was a woman of honor.

  It struck Harry that he had everything that he thought he had wanted from the start. He had a woman who would be faithful as a matter of honor, even though her heart might be given to another.

  Yes, he possessed her loyalty and her sweetly responsive body and they were no longer enough.

  No longer enough.

  Harry looked out into the night while he carefully opened the locked door deep inside himself. For an instant he peered very briefly into that hungry, desperate, smoldering darkness. He slammed the door shut at once but not before he had understood something he had not wanted to face until now.

  For the first time he admitted that he longed to have Augusta’s wild, passionate Northumberland Ballinger heart as well as her vow of faithfulness.

  “Harry?”

  He turned his head as the connecting door between Augusta’s bedchamber and his own opened. Augusta stood there, soft and sweet and alluring in her white muslin nightdress.

  “What is it, Augusta?”

  “I am sorry I made such a fuss earlier tonight when you told me you must go to London.” She trailed slowly into the room, the white muslin floating around her. “I understand that you fear Meredith and I will tie you down in Town. Perhaps you are right. If we would be a constant source of concern for you, then we would hamper your efficiency. I would not want that. I know finding the Spider is very important to you.”

  He smiled slowly and held out his hand. “Not as important as one or two other things in my life. Come here, Augusta.”

  She put her hand in his and he pulled her down onto his lap, cradling her against him. She smelled warm and womanly and very, very inviting. He felt his manhood stir and begin to throb against her thigh.

  Augusta wriggled against him. “You had best forget about that sort of thing if you are to leave first thing in the morning,” she said with a soft little laugh.

  “I have changed my mind.”

  “You are not going to London tomorrow?”

  “No.” He nuzzled the curve of her shoulder, delighting in the sweet vulnerability of that particular spot. “I shall let Sheldrake go on ahead and get started on the investigation. You and I and Meredith will follow the day after tomorrow. I believe it will take at least a day to get you two ladies packed and ready.”

  Augusta leaned away to study his face. “Harry, you are going to take us with you, after all?”

  “You were right, my sweet. You have a claim on Richard’s poem and you deserve to be near while Sheldrake and I pursue our investigations. And, quite frankly, I do not want to spend a great many nights alone. I have grown accustomed to having you in my bed.”

  “So you are bringing me along to serve as a bed-warmer?” Her eyes were brilliant in the shadows.

  “Among other things.”

  She hugged him jubilantly. “Oh, Harry, you will not be sorry, I swear it. I will be a model of perfection, a paragon of wifely behavior. I will be terribly conscious at all times of the proprieties. I will take good care of Meredith and make certain she does not get into any trouble. We shall attend only educational entertainments. I will—”

  “Hush, love. Do not go making rash promises.” Harry wrapped his hand around the nape of Augusta’s neck and brought her lips down to his, effectively silencing her.

  Augusta sighed softly and nestled warmly against him, her hand stealing inside the opening of his dressing gown.

  He slid his palm up along her leg under the hem of her gown and when he felt her shiver in response, he let his fingers roam higher, coaxing, teasing, probing gently. After a very short time he could feel the hot honey.

  “So sweet,” he said against her breast. He felt her shudder again as he tested her gently with his finger. She closed around him, tight and eager. Slowly he eased his finger out of her silken sheath. He pushed the muslin gown to Augusta’s waist.

  Then he opened his own gown and his aroused manhood sprang free. He eased Augusta’s legs apart and arranged her so that she straddled his thighs.

  “Harry? What are you doing?” Augusta caught her breath. “Oh, my goodness. Harry. Here?”

  “That’s it, darling. Take me inside. Oh, God, yes.” He reveled in the soft, clinging heat of her as he brought her down onto his fiercely erect shaft. His hands cupped her buttocks, squeezing softly.

  Augusta’s fingers bit into his shoulders as she found the rhythm of the mating dance. Her head fell back and her hair streamed down behind her.

  And then Harry felt the first tiny shudders deep within her and he was once more caught up in the sweet fire he had ignited. He let himself be whirled away into the flames and gloried in the knowledge that in this, at least, he was as wild and free as any Northumberland Ballinger.

  Lady Arbuthnott’s housekeeper was attending the door at Pompeia’s four days later when Augusta and Meredith, preceded by a footman, went up the steps. There was no sign of Scruggs.

  “Mr. Scruggs is indisposed, madam,” the housekeeper explained when Augusta questioned the absence. “Or so I’m told. And likely to be for some time.”

  Augusta hid a smile. She was well aware that between Harry’s demands on Peter’s time these days and Claudia’s distinct disapproval of her new fiancé’s habit of amusing himself by
playing at butler, poor Peter was unlikely to ever don his makeup and whiskers again.

  The housekeeper closed the door behind Augusta and Meredith. “But as he was rather unreliable in the first place, I don’t suppose it will make much difference around here.” She eyed Meredith with some misgivings. “Will you both be wanting to visit Lady Arbuthnott, then? Or shall I take the young lady down to the kitchens for a bite to eat?”

  Meredith looked anxiously at Augusta, silently asking if she was going to be deprived of the promised visit to the club, after all.

  “Meredith will be staying with me,” Augusta said as the drawing room door was opened.

  “As you wish, madam.”

  Augusta led the way into the drawing room. “Here we are, Meredith. Welcome to my club.”

  Pompeia’s was quite lively this afternoon, even though The Season was over. Augusta greeted her friends and paused to speak to several of them as she made her way down the long room to Lady Arbuthnott’s chair.

  Rosalind Morrissey paused in the middle of a conversation and smiled at Meredith. “I see the members of Pompeia’s are becoming younger by the day.”

  Meredith blushed and looked at Augusta for guidance.

  “One should never overlook an opportunity to expand an intelligent young lady’s education,” Augusta declared. “Allow me to introduce my new daughter. She is my guest today.”

  After a moment’s chat, she and Meredith continued on their way.

  Meredith was wide-eyed, taking in every detail of the club, from the paintings on the walls to the newspapers on the tables. “Is this really what Papa’s clubs are like?”

  “Very similar, so far as we were able to establish,” Augusta whispered. “Except that they are filled with gentlemen instead of ladies. The stakes are not as high at our tables as they are in the gaming rooms of the St. James Street establishments, of course, but other than a few details such as that, I think we did an excellent job of providing the proper atmosphere.”

  “I like the paintings very much,” Meredith confided. “Especially that one.”

  Augusta followed her gaze. “That is a picture of Hypatia, a famous scholar in Alexandria. She wrote books on mathematics and astronomy.”

  Meredith absorbed that information. “Perhaps I shall write a book someday.”

  “Perhaps you shall.”

  At that moment, Augusta glanced down the length of the room and saw Sally’s head turn toward her. A wave of dismay crushed the enthusiasm she had been experiencing at the thought of seeing her old friend again.

  There was no denying that Sally’s health had deteriorated a great deal during the past month. She had taken great care with her attire, as usual. But the elegant gown could not conceal the pale, translucent skin, the air of extreme frailty, and the stoic acceptance of never-ending pain in Sally’s eyes. It was almost more than Augusta could bear. She wanted to cry and knew she would only upset Sally.

  Instead, she rushed forward and leaned down to hug her friend gently. “Oh, Sally, it is good to see you again. I have worried about you so.”

  “I am still here, as you can see,” Sally said in a surprisingly firm voice. “And more busy than ever assisting that tryant you married. Graystone always was a severe taskmaster.”

  “Assisting Graystone? Not you, too?” Augusta groaned as she realized the implications. “I should have guessed. You were part of his—” She broke off, remembering Meredith’s presence.

  “Of course, my dear. You knew I had a rather sordid past, did you not?” Sally’s chuckle was weak, but it contained real amusement. “Now, introduce me to this young lady. Graystone’s daughter, if I am not mistaken?”

  “Just so.” Augusta made the introductions and Meredith made her curtsy.

  “The resemblance is unmistakable,” Sally said affectionately. “Same intelligent eyes. Same slow smile. How lovely. Run along, Meredith. You may help yourself to some cakes from the buffet.”

  “Thank you, Lady Arbuthnott.”

  Sally watched Meredith hurry toward the array of food on the other side of the room. Then she turned slowly back to face Augusta. “A most charming child.”

  “And every bit as scholarly as her father. She tells me she might write a book.” Augusta seated herself in a nearby chair.

  “She probably will. Knowing Graystone, I imagine she is being taught a very comprehensive curriculum. One shudders to think of it.”

  Augusta laughed. “Never fear, Sally. I have taken care to make up for the lack of certain frivolous subjects in Meredith’s curriculum. I have started her on an intense program of watercolor painting and novels. In addition, I have enlisted the assistance of her governess in exposing Meredith to a view of history she will never get from her father’s books.”

  Sally laughed. “Oh, my irrepressible Augusta. I knew you would be good for Graystone. Some part of him must have known it, too, or he would never have put your name at the top of his list.”

  “At the top of the list, did you say? I always assumed I was at the bottom. A sort of afterthought.” Augusta helped herself to tea and replenished Sally’s cup. As she set the pot back down she noticed the small jar of tonic that sat on the table near Sally’s chair.

  When Augusta had left Town, Sally had been in the habit of only calling for her tonic when she needed it. Now she apparently kept the bottle beside her all the time.

  “You were never an afterthought. Quite the opposite. Graystone was never able to get you out of his mind after he met you.”

  “Rather like a case of hives or an itch he longed to scratch?”

  Sally laughed again. “You underestimate yourself, my dear. By the way, I have a complaint to lodge with you. You have cost me an excellent butler.”

  “Do not blame me. ’Tis my cousin who obliged poor Scruggs to quit his post.”

  Sally smiled. “So I am given to understand. I saw the announcement of the engagement in the Post yesterday morning. I believe it will be an excellent match.”

  “Uncle Thomas was pleased.”

  “Yes. Sheldrake is a bit of a rake, but I have always believed he longs to be reformed. He has been racketing about London since returning from the continent, searching for a mission. Getting married and attending to his father’s estates will give him the direction he has been seeking.”

  “I formed the same opinion,” Augusta agreed.

  “You are very perceptive, my dear Augusta.” Sally reached for the tonic. She opened the jar and added two drops of the medication to her tea. She noticed Augusta watching sadly and smiled. “Forgive me, Augusta. As you no doubt have guessed, I am having more difficulty these days.”

  Augusta reached out and touched her hand. “Sally, is there anything I can do? Anything at all?”

  “No, dear. This is something I shall be obliged to handle on my own.” Sally’s eyes drifted thoughtfully to the jar of tonic.

  “Sally?”

  “Calm yourself, my dear. I am not going to do anything drastic just yet. I am much too busy at the moment seeking information for Graystone on the Saber Club. Heaven knows I always adored this sort of work. I have been in touch with old contacts I have not heard from in nearly two years. Amazing how many are still around and looking for employment.”

  Augusta sat back slowly in her chair. She glanced at Meredith, who had paused beside the writing desk to observe something Cassandra Padbury was showing her. Probably Cassandra’s latest effort at an epic poem, Augusta thought.

  “My husband is very determined to track down the information he seeks,” Augusta murmured to Sally.

  “Yes. Graystone has always been a very determined man. And he wants the Spider very much. The connection to the old Saber Club is an interesting one. It makes a great deal of sense when you think about it.”

  “What do you know of the club?”

  Sally shrugged elegantly. “Not a great deal. It did not last long. Attracted young military officers who thought themselves quite daring and dashing and in need of a club th
at catered to their image of themselves. But the place burned down within a year after it had been established and that was the end of it. I have not been able to discover any of the members as yet, but I believe I may have tracked down one of the former employees. He may well remember some names.”

  Augusta was fascinated in spite of her misgivings about what might eventually be discovered in the course of this investigation. “How exciting. Have you spoken to this person?”

  “Not yet. But I expect to do so soon. Arrangements are being made.” Sally’s shrewd gaze settled on Augusta for a long moment. “You are personally concerned with this project of Graystone’s, are you not?”

  “I am interested in the outcome, yes. I know it is important to him,” Augusta said evasively.

  “I see.” Sally was silent for a moment and then she appeared to come to a decision. “Augusta, my dear, you are aware that Pompeia’s betting book is always left open to the current page?”

  “Yes. What of it?”

  “If you were ever to find it closed, I would have you take the book to Graystone. Make certain it is opened.”

  Augusta stared at her. “Sally, what are you talking about?”

  “I know this must all sound quite mysterious and melodramatic, my dear, when in reality it is not. ’Tis merely a precaution. Just promise me that you will see that the book gets to Graystone in the event something unexpected should happen.”

  “I promise. But Sally, will you tell me what this is all about?”

  “Not yet, my dear. Not yet. Graystone knows I always prefer to verify my information before I turn it over to him. Harry can be the very devil about unverified information. Your husband has very little tolerance for mistakes.” Sally smiled at some private memories. “Just ask our old friend Scruggs. I shall never forget the time he got into trouble with a French officer’s wife and … ah, but that is an old story.”

  “I see.” Augusta sipped her tea in silence, aware once more of the familiar sense of being on the outside looking into a warm room. She knew that she held no place in the intimate circle of friendship that bound Harry, Sally, and Peter together.