A Lady of Letters (23 page)

"Damnation! All the same, you should have told me!"

"Why?" she cried, anger mixing with some other emotion. "What does it matter that we don't like each other in the flesh, when something that was of real value to both of us might have been saved?"

The Earl took a deep breath." Is that why you chose to quarrel with me last night?"

Augusta didn't answer, but turned her head to avoid meeting his gaze. He was surprised to see a glimmer of wetness in her eyes. "On top of everything, I suppose you are now going to reveal the true identity of Firebrand and ruin everything I have been working for."

"I should hope you know me better than that," he said in a low voice as he moved even closer.

Her mouth quirked upward in grim humor as she considered his words. "It does appear we know each other very well."

"Hmmm. Very well, indeed." Sheffield was now standing quite close to her and could breathe in the faint scent of lavender and lemon from her person.

"Yes, well, er, if you are not going to unmask me, what do you suggest we do about this unfortunate mess?"

"This."

His mouth came down upon hers, with an urgency that nearly scorched both of their lips. She struggled to speak but instead of allowing a word, he slipped his tongue deep inside her, twining with hers in a most intimate kiss. All attempt to elude his arms ceased, and with a low cry, she melted against his chest. Tentatively, she began to return his embrace, her fingers stealing up to brush the hard planes of his cheeks.

Her untutored response to him only stoked the fires of his passion. Wild thoughts flamed in his head as his hands pulled her close, molding every soft curve to his body. At that moment, he wanted nothing so much as to strip off all her clothes, lay her glorious body on the carpet before the crackling fire and make passionate love to her, uniting them physically as one, just as they were joined in thought.

A groan escaped him as her thumb ran along the line of his jaw. Never before had his self-control gone up in smoke like this. Her simple touch was threatening to burn away every last vestige of the defenses he had carefully constructed around his soul, leaving him naked in his need. Good Lord, in another second he would—

"Lord Sheffield, have you had any luck in—" Marianne's words ended in a squeak of surprise as she clutched at the polished knob to keep the door from swinging open any farther. Eyes widening slightly, she stared in some fascination at the scene before finding her voice again. "Er, well, it seems you are in no need of my help." With that, she pulled the door shut.

Augusta pulled away from Sheffield's chest. "Marianne knew you were here?" she managed to stammer.

"Er, yes. I came here this morning in hopes of borrowing a certain book. She let me in... to look for it." His voice sounded equally dazed.

"What book?

He told her the title.

She moved rather unsteadily to the stack of books by the window and took up the one on top. "Here," she said, hurrying back and thrusting it in his hands. Without waiting for a reply, she continued on in a rush of steps and disappeared into the hallway.

Sheffield followed behind her.

They caught up to Marianne in the entrance foyer. "Lord Sheffield has found what he was looking for," announced Augusta in an overloud voice.

Her sister kept her eyes averted from both of them. "Yes, so it seems," she murmured.

Augusta shot her a withering look, then bit her lip.

The Earl remained silent as he accepted his curly brimmed beaver hat and walking stick from the elderly butler, who was appeared to be staring at his disheveled locks and creased cravat with great interest. Then he cleared his throat with some awkwardness. "I shall return at four, to take you out for a drive in the Park."

"I'm afraid that may not be convenient—"

"At four, Miss Hadley." The tone of his voice left little doubt as to whether it was a request or a command.

"Oh, very well."

As soon as the Earl was gone, Augusta took her sister by the arm and drew her none too gently into the drawing room. For yet another time that morning, a door was pulled firmly shut.

"I vow, I shall strangle you if you ever mention a word to anyone—including me—about what you witnessed back there," she said through gritted teeth. "It was not as it might have seemed. As usual, we started to argue over, er, a certain matter, and I'm afraid Lord Sheffield had become rather furious with me !"

Marianne arched one delicate brow. "I'm not sure I would have described the Earl's emotional state as furious, Gus."

Her face turned a distinct red. "You don't understand how things are between us," she muttered. "Trust me, what was happening back there—"

"It's called kissing, Gus." There was a twinkle in Marianne's eyes. "And it looked like Lord Sheffield was doing it very well indeed."

"If he is very good at it, I imagine it is because he has had a great deal of practice." She let out a ragged sigh. "His kiss did not mean, well, what kisses usually mean. As I was saying, what happened back there had nothing to do with whether the Earl feels any attraction for me, but rather with...." Her voice trailed off in some confusion.

"Lust?" suggested Marianne.

Augusta tried to appear shocked, but the twitch of her lips gave her away. "Really, Marianne, it's all very well for me, who has no wish to be part of the Marriage Mart, to voice ideas that no proper young miss should be aware of. But you, who have such great prospects, must have a care what you say, even in private, lest you let such words slip out in public."

Marianne's chin jutted out. "As if I should want to be leg-shackled to a gentleman who would not want to know what I truly think," she said under her breath. Then her expression lightened a bit. "But you are trying to change the subject, and that won't fadge. We were discussing the Earl's skill at kissing—"

"We were not discussing any such thing," interrupted Augusta. "What I started to say was, Lord Sheffield and I were having a difference of opinion over... philosophical ideas. Why, you heard him yourself. He was here to borrow a book."

"Ah, no doubt one from Minerva Press, judging by the sort of debate you two were engaged in."

Augusta's hands set on her hips.

"Oh, very well, I shall stop teasing you. But for someone who is wont to be very observant, Gus, I think you are missing a good deal of what is right before your nose. Literally, that is."

Augusta chose to ignore what her sister might mean by that remark. "I have been trying to keep Lord Sheffield from becoming too involved in my investigation, but—" She paused and pulled a face—"it looks as if I shall be forced to let him do as he pleases, now that he can hold the threat of blackmail over my head."

Marianne frowned. "Because you have written some opinions for Mr. Pritchard?"

"You might say that," muttered Augusta under her breath.

"Well, Lord Sheffield does not strike me as such a narrow-minded gentleman—"

"Hah!"

"—as to think that a female cannot have an independent thought," finished her sister. "Er, how did he know of your writings?"

"Because a certain someone saw fit to allow him to enter my private study and have free rein among my personal things."

Marianne swallowed hard and looked somewhat abashed. "You cannot deny that he has proven a considerable help so far. I should think you would welcome his help. After all, a short while ago, you were lamenting that the sort of information we needed was most easily obtained by a man. Ah, Lord Sheffield is most definitely that."

Augusta's eyes narrowed, but her sister kept her features schooled in an expression of great innocence. "Hmmph," she finally said. "I suppose he may prove of some use." Tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear, she turned a moody gaze upon the blazing fire. "I had better see what it was Mama wanted to see me about. Then, perhaps I might be allowed some peace and quiet to get some work done before I must dress to go driving with the Earl."

"Be sure to wear your new sprigged moss green driving dress, along with the matching chip straw bonnet."

Augusta looked up, utterly nonplussed. "What?"

"Naturally you shall want to look your best for the Earl, won't you?" With that, Marianne ducked out of the room, before one of the Staffordshire figurines adorning the mantel came hurtling at her head.

"While I, too, miss our frank exchange of confidences, I must beg of you to respect my wishes, dear friend, and let me settle this affair as I see fit. There are certain aspects about all of this that I prefer to remain private. It is clear from your tone that you are not happy with this decision, however I assure you it is all for the best. I trust it will not be a great deal longer before all of this is behind me, and we may return to our former routine."

The brief letter was tossed onto the desk, along with the Earl's York tan driving gloves and the book he had borrowed. Ignoring all of them for the moment, Sheffield made for the sideboard and poured himself a stiff brandy. Though not in the habit of beginning his libations at such an early hour, he decided the events of the past hour merited a glass. Perhaps more than one.

Threading his hand through his dark locks, he took a long swallow, hoping the amber liquid might help dampen his heated emotions. Even now, he was hardly aware of how he had managed to guide his team back through the crowded streets of Mayfair, so reeling had his mind been with the staggering revelation that had taken place in Miss Hadley's study.

It still seemed beyond belief. On more than one occasion during the drive home, he had pressed his eyes firmly shut, hoping that when he opened them again, he might find himself awakened from a terrible dream. Alas, the book under his arm and the lingering taste of the fiery kisses on his lips were all too real. A muttered oath spilled forth from those same lips as the Earl sought to make some sense of the strange feelings burning inside him. Anger. Desire. Shock. Longing—he couldn't begin to put a name to it all.

To think that the prickly, opinionated Miss Hadley was, underneath that rather rigid exterior, such a brilliant and original thinker defied imagination. And not only that, her intelligence was not of a dry, ethereal sort, but made infinitely more compelling by her sensitivity and, yes, passion. Sheffield took another hurried gulp of brandy. Passion, indeed! The fiery spirits were not nearly as potent as the memory of her response to his kisses.

After pouring another glass, he took a seat at his desk and took out the packet of her letters from the top drawer where they were safely stowed under lock and key. It was quite some time before he finished re-reading each one of them. With a long sigh, he laid them aside, though his eyes could not help from straying back to the flowing script that covered the sheets of crisp ivory paper.

She was right. The perceptiveness and wisdom of their contents were undiminished by the knowledge that their author was a female. Why, if anything, it added a certain allure to the words. The Earl steepled his long fingers under his chin and his mouth quirked in a rueful grimace. More than that, it was impossible to deny that a bond had developed that went beyond intellectual matters. Good Lord, they had shared each other's hopes, fears and weaknesses. And while a part of him might feel angry or deceived, he could not, in all honesty, claim that the relationship had been aught but a source of quiet strength and support to him.