A Lady of Letters (13 page)

After all, he had as much explaining to do as she had.

With a touch of irritation, Sheffield tucked the letter of a week ago back with all the others from Firebrand. Now that their correspondence had been interrupted for a time, he was reduced to re-reading past missives. Damnation, he hadn't realized how much he had counted on his friend's companionship, even if it were only in the shape of a looping script on thick paper.

But he still was rather miffed at having been denied an active role in whatever the fellow was up to. He had certainly proved his usefulness by providing a wealth of information on the six suspects. Now it seemed quite unfair to be so summarily excluded. Well, that would likely change when he proved to his friend that he was thoroughly capable of furthering the investigation—perhaps even solving it for him. Yes, it would help if he could proffer some more concrete information, instead of mere offers of help. And that, he hoped, would be soon.

Very soon.

He stalked from his study, stopping in front of the cheval glass hanging in the entrance hall to make one final adjustment to the folds of his cravat. Then he took up his gloves and top hat and signaled for his butler to summon the carriage. Leaning back against the squabs, he found himself wondering yet again on how things the other night had gone so awry. He still had not quite figured out how one moment he had been in total command of the situation, only to find himself suddenly nursing a bruised body and haring about the room to help that impossible female cover her tracks.

To make matters even worse, she had somehow come away with the papers while he had ended up with nothing!

He winced as the carriage hit a bump and jostled his tender knee. Well, not exactly nothing. His ribs would be black and blue for another few days, but at least his limp had become less pronounced. The impudent chit! Acquaintance with her was becoming downright dangerous. At this rate, he ought to consider adding a man from the medical profession to his staff, for who could predict what means of assault on his person she would think of next?

His mouth thinned to a tight line. And if she thought she could avoid explaining just what she was doing in that study, riffling a gentleman's desk, she was sadly mistaken! He'd have those papers from her in short order, too, just as soon as he managed to lay his hands on the maddening young lady.

To his consternation, the thought of physical contact with her was eliciting the most strange reaction in his nether region. Damnation, he didn't even like the chit, but he couldn't seem to put out of his mind the feeling of that long, lithe body beneath his, how the swell of her firm, rounded breasts had made him want to run his palms over the soft flesh, tease the nipples into taut nubs and make those fascinating hazel eyes look at him with some expression other than disdain—

The devil take it, what was he thinking! He stared balefully at his well-tailored pantaloons and found his anger rising along with a certain portion of his anatomy. How had he allowed such an odd female to get under his skin? It had never happened before, not with any female, and it was decidedly uncomfortable. He shifted once more to ease the aches and pains in his body, then sat glowering out the carriage window as the brightly lit townhouses of Mayfair rolled by. His own base urges to the contrary, he vowed that the only physical contact likely to occur between himself and Miss Hadley was if he had to wrap his fingers around that long, elegant neck of hers to squeeze out the information he wanted.

It was not in the best of moods, then, that the Earl alighted from his conveyance and walked rather stiffly up the circular marble stairs into the capacious ballroom. The dancing was already in full swing, the ladies in their swirling silks and sparkling jewels gliding by in the arms of their partners. Sheffield's scowl deepened as his eyes swept over the clusters of mamas and chaperones seated around the periphery of the dance floor and caught no sight of his quarry. Taking up a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing footman, he set off to make a closer inspection.

Augusta pressed herself closer to the arrangement of weeping fichus trees. It was a fortuitous thing she had chosen to wear a gown of emerald green, she thought, though it would have been even better had it sleeves of any kind, to allow her to blend in even more. She let out her breath as the Earl made his way into the card room. However, the respite was short-lived. He appeared again moments later, his expression looking grimmer than ever.

One of the words she had learned from the Earl came to mind on seeing him turn in her direction. This was proving more difficult than she imagined. Though she knew it was best to get it over with, she could not help but wish she had stayed home in bed just one more evening.

Suddenly she spied a figure passing close her, a glass of ratafia punch in each hand. "Jamie!" she cried.

Ashton paused. "Why, good evening, Gus." A slightly perplexed smile came to his lips. "But whatever are you doing, skulking around in those trees?"

She batted her eyelashes just as she had seen Miss Hopewell do. "Dance with me, Jamie."

If his jaw had dropped any farther, it would have been in his waistcoat pocket. "B... but I'm bring some p . p... punch to Cynthia," he stammered, his eyes locked on the low décolleté of her new gown.

"She will survive without you for a moment," replied Augusta in a low voice as she took the glasses from his unresisting grip and put them aside. "While I may not."

Ashton looked even more confused, but he allowed himself to be dragged out onto the dance floor. Augusta breathed a sigh of relief. Bruised toes were a small price to pay for such sanctuary. Perhaps with a bit of luck the Earl would fail to spot her among the capering couples and simply go away.

That hope was quickly dashed.

"I say," remarked Ashton, as he made an awkward attempt to execute a box step turn. "Lord Sheffield seems to be, er, remarking on your new style of gowns again—that is, he has been staring quite pointedly at you for the last several minutes."

She refused to look around.

"Er, he's right, you know. Can't imagine why you didn't do it sooner. The dress, I mean. Looks marvelous." His words were moving about in as disjointed a manner as his feet.

"Ah, I don't suppose you could take me for a stroll in the garden?" Augusta gave what she hoped was a brilliant smile. "I'm feeling rather warm."

His face looked to be on fire. "But I...I'm to dance with Cynthia next set."

"Oh, dash it," she muttered. "You were never one to abandon a friend in the heat of battle."

Ashton eyed her with concern. "You, er, haven't perchance repeated that little experiment of sneaking into your father's supply of French brandy? I thought you decided it was an experience you did not wish to repeat—"

"Of course I'm not foxed," she snapped. "It's just that—oh, never mind."

The music was coming to an end, and out of the corner of her eye, she could see a tall, dark shape moving toward them, like a storm cloud sweeping in from the North Sea.

"No need to see Miss Hadley back to her chair, Ashton," came a deep voice. Its ominous rumble reminded her of approaching thunder. "I shall make sure she is looked after."

Her friend nearly tripped in his haste to get away.

Sheffield's gloved hand came firmly around her elbow as the first lilting notes of a waltz sounded from the violins.

Augusta smiled sweetly. "Are you sure you wish to dance, my lord? I would have thought in your present condition, it might prove a bit too strenuous."

His eyes narrowed. "Oh, don't worry about me, Miss Hadley. But now that you mention it, are you sure you did not suffer any lasting injury when I fell so heavily on top of you?"

The color rose to her cheeks as she recalled how the Earl's muscular form had molded to her every curve. "No," she said quickly. "It had no effect at all."

"Perhaps you are right, though," he continued. "Let us forego the pleasure of a dance and, say, take a stroll in the garden."

"Ah, I would prefer to stay right here, sir. I fear I might... take a chill outside."

The Earl eyed her gown for a moment. It was one of the ones Marianne had chosen for her, with bare shoulders and a plunging neckline that her sister had said suited her figure very well indeed. Judging by the look on Sheffield's face, she was by no means assured that was true. All he finally said was, "I can see why."

Augusta felt herself getting redder.

"However, we will have to chance it, for you are going to accompany me outside, Miss Hadley, if I have to throw you over my shoulder and carry you out there."

This time she actually muttered one of the rude words under her breath, but she reluctantly placed a hand on his arm and allowed him to lead her through the french doors. At least, she thought with some small measure of satisfaction, he was still walking with a slight limp. It served him right for being such an arrogant, odious, overbearing, high-handed.... She had not come close to running out of adjectives when the Earl came to a halt by a small, circular pool screened by a low trellis of climbing roses and began to speak.

"Perhaps you would care to explain your actions of the other night." He had turned to face her. Dressed entirely in black, save for the white silk cravat knotted in a perfect Trone d'Amour, with his dark brows drawn together and his arms crossed across his broad chest, he could not have looked more intimidating. She imagined that was the general idea.

"Actually, I would not."

It was obviously not the answer he had expected to hear. For a moment he looked nonplussed, then he quickly recovered and took a step closer to her. "I'm afraid I really must insist, Miss Hadley."

She crossed her arms herself. "Oh? And just how do you plan to do that? Whips and chains? The rack and thumbscrews?"

"Don't tempt me." There was a brief pause, then he tried another tack. "I don't know what you are up to, but whatever is, it's a dangerous game, one you have no business playing."

"Why? Because I am a female? It seems to me, my lord, that it was I who had the forethought to set a watchman, it was I who jimmied the drawer, and it was I who had a planned route of escape."

"You should not have been there in the first place." He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another. "I had my own plans for making a quick exit," he muttered. "And I could have opened the damn drawer just as quickly as you did."

"Well, I do have to admit that idea of making things look like a simple burglary was fast thinking on your part...." Her words trail off as a wide smile spread over her face. "Good Heavens, sir, it was a burglary. Do you think our hosts realize they have invited a hunted criminal to their gala. Why even now, the Runners are probably combing the stews, looking for you and the missing silver."

His lips twitched. "It was extraordinarily ugly. It deserved to disappear."

"Hideous," she agreed, trying her best not to laugh aloud.

"By the way, shouldn't you be making that plural?" Try as he might to remain stern, a chuckle escaped his lips at the notion of how absurd they must have appeared, in their haste to throw the study into disarray. "The porcelain was no doubt priceless."

"It was hideous as well." Her eyes were alight with humor. "But I didn't abscond with it."

For a moment their muted laughter mingled with the distant notes of the musicians. Then Sheffield became serious again. "You may not have purloined any family heirlooms, but I did see several of the papers disappear into your, er, shirt. I should like to ask you again what exactly you were doing there. "