A Lady of Letters (20 page)

As she toyed with the thick paper, taking in the faint scent of bay rum and tobacco, it slowly occurred to her that things didn't have to change, not if he never learned the true identity of "Firebrand." She might not ever be able to hope for his love, but she had his friendship and that was equally as precious. She meant to keep it.

She began pacing with renewed vigor. Though he suspected some common thread somehow tied the two crimes together, she was sure he had not begun to guess at the real truth. The note she had just sent off in which she announced the hiring of the Runners might serve to delay any further action on Firebrand's behalf for a bit. He was too astute to be fobbed off for long, but in the meantime, she would have a chance to think of something other reason to put him off—or to solve the crimes herself.

Dealing with the Earl on paper was one thing. Facing those mesmerizing blue eyes was quite another. She made another turn around the room, then paused once again before the desk. Her jaw set on edge. There was really no choice but to sever all contact with him, and the sooner the better. The waltzes, the carriage rides, the conspiratorial walks in the garden would all have to end. It was far too dangerous otherwise—for a number of reasons. She feared his deductive powers were too sharp not to eventually cut through the shroud of mystery surrounding this entire affair, leaving her exposed as the incendiary reformer.. But more than that, she feared she would never be able to hide her true feelings from his penetrating gaze. Would he find it amusing that even an aging bluestocking was not immune to his charms? Or merely pitiable? That she wasn't sure she could bear.

No, she had already revealed too much of her soul, however unwittingly, to the Earl of Sheffield. The state of her heart she preferred to keep her own little secret.

Of course there would have to be a reason to cut things off. A bitter smile played on her lips as she picked up the brass letter opener and ran her thumb along its edge. It should not be so difficult to find a reason to quarrel—after all, they had a good deal of practice in it. This time, however, she would have to make sure that, despite his feelings of duty to the memory of her brother, he was put off for good.

"Gus?" The note of concern was evident in Marianne's whisper as she took her sister by the arm and drew her aside at the entrance to the drawing room. "You look as though you haven't slept a wink all night." Her eyes narrowed. "You and Jamison haven't—"

Augusta gave a tight smile. "No," she answered. "I promise you I haven't engaged in any more nocturnal adventures. I'm afraid this time my claim to being indisposed by a headache is all too real."

Marianne's tone sharpened. "What has happened?"

"Nothing has happened save for this throbbing at my temples which you are only making worse."

"Fustian! You never have headaches. Did Lord—" Her words cut off abruptly as the ample form of Lady Thorlow sailed past them in a flutter of mauve flounced silk to join the other morning callers already clustered around the tray of cakes. Augusta made to follow in her wake, but Marianne's hand remained on her sleeve. "Don't try to put me off. Did Lord Sheffield discover anything of note in the papers you showed him?"

"Only that we may eliminate Dunham as a suspect."

"Well, what does he suggest—"

"I have no idea, since I didn't ask." Augusta hoped her voice did not sound as brittle as it did to her own ears. "His Lordship merely filled me in on several facts that explain the contents of the papers I discovered in Dunham's drawer. Aside from that, I have no intention of involving him any further in this matter."

Marianne did not look to be satisfied with the explanation. "But—"

A pointed cough from their mother made further private conversation impossible. With a resigned shrug, Marianne moved off to join Lady Hawley's two daughters, who were busy perusing the latest copy of La Belle Assemble. However, the look on her face before she turned away promised that the interruption was by no means an end to the matter.

Augusta took a seat near the tall, mullioned windows and prayed that no one would take much notice of her presence. The clink of china and the trill of voices echoed through the room, but she found herself unable to pay the slightest heed to what was being said. Instead her gaze wandered to where the first drops of rain were running down the paned glass and her thoughts strayed far from any discussion of the shocking color of Lady Walton's latest gown or the size of Miss Hepplewhite's dowry.

".... I heard it was Lord Sheffield who held the poor boy's vowels. The man certainly has a reputation for uncanny luck. His winnings were over two thousand pounds in less than an hour."

There was a slight titter. "The reputation is for more than luck, my dear Honoria. But pray, what happened?"

Augusta's attention was suddenly engaged. Her head turned discreetly toward the nearby settee where two of her mother's acquaintances were bent together in earnest gossip.

"Oh, Linton was forced home to Yorkshire in disgrace, and just when he was on the verge of making the Grenville chit an offer," replied Lady Reston.

Her friend made a disapproving cluck. "I heard the young man was obviously in his cups. Really, has the Earl no scruples, making sport of mere boys?"

It was the other lady's turn to give a slight laugh. "Why, of course he has no scruples. That's what makes him so... interesting. Why, have you heard who his latest conquest among the ton is rumored to be? Lady Stansfield has not been a widow these three months and yet.... " The voices dropped into a flurry of whispers too low to be followed, but Augusta had heard enough.

Her mouth thinned to a grim line as she let her eyes drift back to the windows. Though the sight of the leaden skies only served to further dampen her already heavy spirits, she forced herself to consider what she had just overheard with a purely rational detachment. It would seem these latest rounds of innuendo, however specious, gave her more than enough ammunition with which to slay any lingering feelings of obligation that Sheffield might feel in regard to her.

The rest of the tedious hour she spent marshalling both the words and the resolve for an attack on his character. It should not prove so very difficult to precipitate a final quarrel. After all, through his letters she was intimately acquainted with his most vulnerable spots. While in the past she had unintentionally wounded his feelings, now she knew just where to strike with greatest effect. By the time the guests rose to take their leave, she had no doubt that after their next encounter she could make sure that the last thing in the world the Earl of Sheffield would want was to spend a moment more in her presence.

Perhaps that was why Marianne, on taking one look at her pinched face, let her retreat to her study without further remonstrance.

The Earl watched with growing impatience the shifting patterns of the country dance. Would the cursed music never end? he thought, his foot tapping the floor more in irritation than in rhythm with the melody. And would the maddening chit never sit down? Ever since she had taken to wearing those vastly improved gowns, it seemed she had no dearth of dance partners. His eyes grudgingly followed her graceful steps across the polished parquet and he couldn't help admit how utterly wrong she was about being awkward in movement, just as she was utterly wrong about a number of other assessments about her person. He drew in a deep breath, hoping that his self-control would extend down past his clenched jaw to a certain other region.

The notes did indeed finally die away and Augusta was escorted by her partner toward a quiet spot between two towering urns spilling a profusion of ivy twined with white shrub roses. The Earl waited until it was clear that no other gentleman was coming to claim her for the following set before making his way to where she sat.

"It appears that you suffer from no bout of fatigue tonight, Miss Hadley." He was surprised at the note of asperity in his own voice. But even more surprising was the tightness of the delicate skin around her eyes and the drawn expression on her pale features as she slowly looked up at him. If anything, she looked even more exhausted than the day before. His irritation deepened into something more than mere peevishness. "Have you no sense at all?" he snapped. "You should be home in bed, not—"

"Yes, no doubt beds are quite on your mind these days," she retorted. "Only I should have thought it would be you who would be tucked between the sheets by this hour, my lord, not me."

His dark brows came together in an ominous line and he took a step closer to her chair. "Just what is that supposed to mean?" he demanded.

"Use your prodigious intellect to figure it out."

Sheffield's mouth compressed at the obvious sarcasm, but there was more puzzlement than pique in his voice as he studied her pale face once again." What the devil is wrong?"

"The fact that you insist on hovering about my person, sir." Her mouth set in a prim line. "It is becoming quite tiresome."

It was his face that became a shade paler. "Tiresome?" he repeated softly.

"I should imagine you would prefer to be with Lady Stansfield or—what was the name of the opera dancer?"

"Hell's teeth, is that what is upsetting you?"

Augusta's lips curled in a mock smile. "Why in heaven's name would that upset me, sir?" she inquired. "I couldn't care less how you choose to amuse yourself, or with whom. What I do care about is having you make sport of serious matters by pretending to care about aught but pleasure. I have no idea why you persist in trying to convince me that your concern is anything deeper than mere whim."

A flare of anger flashed in his eyes. "It is clear you have been listening to the gossips again and giving their wagging tongues far more credence than they deserve. Perhaps it is your intellect that should be ridiculed, not mine, for it appears right now that your brain is no bigger than a pea if you still insist on taking such rumors seriously."

"Well at least I try to use my brain, however small, rather than some other parts of my anatomy. Common sense says that where there is smoke, there is fire."

The Earl sought to control the sparking of his temper. "The only thing smoky is the idiotic way you are acting. I thought we had come to some understanding regarding the sorts of accusations you are hurling in my face, but evidently we have not. Come, let us take a stroll in the garden and discuss this in the rational manner I have come to expect from you."

She refused his hand. "I thought you didn't want or expect rational behavior from a female."

There were several moments of silence. "I think, Miss Hadley, that you owe me some sort of explanation for this outburst. I cannot quite believe that it has only to do with what the tabbies are bandying about."

"Believe what you wish, sir, but even you cannot be so vain as to not realize when your presence has become distasteful. Or are you truly so puffed up with conceit that you think every female is waiting for a chance to fling herself at your feet?"

His jaw worked but before he could make a reply, another gentleman approached.

"I believe we are engaged for the next dance, Miss Hadley, but if I am interrupting...." His brow rose a fraction as he regarded Sheffield's rigid features.

"Not at all," replied Augusta, fixing the gentleman a brilliant smile. "Lord Sheffield was just taking his leave." She extended her hand to him and there was nothing for the Earl to do but step aside.

He watched them walk away to the far end of the dance floor where the next set was forming. If Miss Hadley wished to add to her growing collection of colorful language, she would have been well advised to stay for a moment, he fumed, silently giving vent to a number of words that would have scorched the ears of many of his male friends. He turned abruptly to go in search of some champagne to quench his anger, but after several steps, he paused.