A Lady of Letters (25 page)

She fixed him with a withering look. "Oh, that would have been a fine thing to do, leaving you alone to face two of them by yourself. Did it occur to you that a female might possess a sense of honor as well as a brain? Besides, we just agreed we are working together. Remember?"

He muttered something under his breath.

"And instead of raking me over the coals for it, you should be thanking the fact that I didn't fall into a fit of vapors, else your so-called scratch may have been considerably worse."

"What the devil was in that reticule?" he demanded, walking rather gingerly to where it lay among the leaves.

"Oh, a brass spy glass, a tape measure and a set of picklocks." On catching sight of the expression that came to his face, she hastened to add, "I told you, we were just having a look." Then she gave an injured sniff. "You could say thank you."

He returned to her side. "I could also do a number of other things, but being a gentleman, I shall restrain the urge to throttle you."

She opened her mouth to retort but stopped abruptly on seeing the look in his eyes.

"However," he continued in a soft voice, "You are right. Thank you."

"You... you are quite welcome, my lord."

Sheffield's hand brushed hers as he looped the strings of the reticule over her wrist.

Augusta gave a tiny shiver and her head ducked down, hiding her face. "Falling coping stones, murderous cutthroats—I see that for your sake as well as that of the children, we shall have put our heads together and solve this as soon as possible."

"Not to speak of my wardrobe," he added dryly. "Though no doubt Weston will be delighted to—" His words cut off in mid-sentence and his hand came up to smack his forehead. "Good Lord, how stupid of me! Why didn't I think of it before?"

"What?"

"Waistcoats!"

"Really, sir, I am aware of your sartorial reputation, but I hardly think the matter of your torn waistcoat is of primary importance at the moment."

"Not my torn waistcoat. Come, Miss Hadley, I expect sharper thinking from you."

Augusta's brow creased. "You mean, the scrap of silk I found at the scene of the crime?"

"Precisely."

"I still fail to see the connection.."

"You just voiced it a moment ago," he replied. "As I am a leader of fashion, most any tailor would jump through hoops to have my business. I have only to show a bit of material that has caught my fancy and ask if the man has it—"

"—and who else he has made such a garment for," finished Augusta. A brilliant smile spread over her face. "That's very clever, my lord. It seems I was correct in thinking you would be of some use."

Sheffield took a firm grip of her elbow. "Aren't I just," he muttered through gritted teeth. "Perhaps I might also make myself useful by conveying you home. It is getting late."

They began walking back toward the Earl's waiting phaeton Augusta slanted a glance at the scowl darkening his face and slowed her steps. "Are you by chance angry about something, my lord?"

"Angry? Why, quite the contrary, Miss Hadley." The sarcasm in his voice couldn't have been thicker had he mixed it with linseed oil. "I am in alt on being deemed useful. Think of all the marvelous things that are considered useful—a dog, a walking stick,

a—"

"Oh dear, I've hurt your feelings."

"I've more real injuries to worry about than a blow to my pride," he growled, wincing slightly as his boot slipped on a loose stone.

She came to a complete stop. "Forgive me, sir," she said softly. "With all the talk of ruffians and fabrics, I'd quite forgotten about your wound."

"Really, it's naught but a—OUCH! What are you doing?"

Augusta continued to work at the buttons of his waistcoat. "Stop squirming. I am taking a look at your... ribs." She swallowed hard as her hand parted the fine linen of his shirt and revealed a goodly amount of flesh.

Sheffield did, indeed, cease any sort of movement.

The tips of her fingers started to trace along the thin red line made by the knife. "It does not look overly serious, but you must make sure to put some basilicum powder on it and have it bandaged properly," she said after a moment, trying hard not to stare at the chiseled muscles of his abdomen. Then, letting the shirt fall closed, she straightened and made a show of adjusting the hem of her glove. "You are very lucky, my lord. Another inch and you might have been... killed." Suddenly, tears seemed to spring from nowhere.

The Earl reached out to pull her close. "No need to upset yourself. I assure you, I have no intention of cocking up my toes any time in the near future." A gentle humor stole into his voice. "At least not until I have finished being useful to you in this matter."

Augusta, her face buried against the soft wool of his jacket, made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "I don't usually behave in such a silly, missus fashion."

He gave a chuckle. "I daresay you've experienced enough shocks today to throw even Boadicea into a fit of vapors." His hand stroked lightly over her shoulder. "You know, you were quite as magnificent as the Warrior Queen herself, attacking that ruffian with the knife." There was a slight pause. "However, if you ever do anything that foolhardy again, I shall forget I am not your brother and take you over my knee."

"My Lord!" Her head jerked up, the tears gone, replaced by a martial light in her hazel eyes. "If you think—"

"Augusta."

The rest of the words caught in her throat.

"Considering all we have been through together, I think it might be appropriate that we call each other by our Christian names. Mine is Adrian, in case you have forgotten."

She stood absolutely still, save for the flutter of a pulse at her neck.

"Actually, I think I prefer Gus," he went on. "That way, I can delude myself into thinking I am still speaking to a male friend."

There was a slight waver to her voice when she finally spoke. "Are you so very disappointed that I am not... a man?"

"Hmmm. Well, on second thought, the fact of your being female adds some rather interesting facets to the relationships." His head dropped a touch lower, placing his lips quite close to hers.

"My lord," she stammered.

"Alex," he corrected. The progress of his mouth toward hers was arrested by the sound of rapid footsteps.

"Guv!" The little tiger skittered to a halt on regarding the Earl with Augusta in his arms. "I seen two werry seedy lookin' coves scarper from here, and when ye didn't appear soon arfter, I thought I best see if ye was alwright." He kicked at the dirt. "But I sees ye ain't in need of any assistance."

Sheffield repressed an oath, along with his simmering desire. "Sharp eyes you have, Henry," he said dryly. "I thank you for your concern, but the seedy-looking coves were only a minor distraction to our stroll. However, since I think Miss Hadley has had enough excitement for one day, why don't we return to the carriage and see her home without further ado."

"I trust the day's activities have not proven too strenuous for you to put in an appearance at the Grenville's ball tonight. Knowing you as I do, I cannot think that such a paltry event as having your life put at risk would have the least effect of dampening your spirit—at least I hope that your nerves are stronger than that, for I need that scrap of waistcoat if I am to begin my inquires first thing in the morning."

It had been rather strange to read the Earl's words, knowing that, for the first time they were truly addressed to her and not some phantom being no more substantial than a scribble of ink on paper. Augusta gave an inward sigh on once again considering their meaning. While it was clear he did not expect her to fall into a girlish fit of megrims, she was not quite sure whether to be heartened or discouraged by that fact. Or the fact that he preferred to call her Gus. No matter that those who knew her best did so too. With him, it was—how had he put it?—so that he might delude himself into imagining his friend was still a man.

Her mouth tugged into a slight grimace. She had best not delude herself into imagining that Sheffield saw her as anything but a feisty bluestocking who hurled argumentative words and reticules with equal abandon. And it really was no use thinking that might change. She had precious little of the delicate sensibilities a man desired in a female. He might prove broadminded enough to tolerate her oddities without overt disgust, but more than that....

"Gus, have you heard a word I have been saying?"

She gave a guilty start and forced her eyes to stop searching the crowded ballroom. "Forgive me, Jamie. I fear my thoughts had momentarily strayed elsewhere."

"To China, by the look of it," murmured Ashton. "Is something the matter? You have been acting rather odd recently."

Odd. There it was again. Even her oldest friend thought her strange. "I have been distracted by certain concerns," she answered vaguely, brushing at the folds of her gown to mask her unsettled feelings.

He shot her a quizzical glance, then all at once a slow smile started to spread across his face. "Does it perchance have anything to do with the attentions of a certain gentleman?"

Much to her chagrin, Augusta's face turned a decided shade of red.

Ashton's expression turned into a sly grin. "I thought I had noticed that Ludlowe was taking a marked interest in you," he said with a note of satisfaction at being so observant. "He seems a fine enough fellow, and now that I think on it, it makes a good deal of sense that he is on the lookout for a suitable bride, what with the prospect of soon coming into his uncle's title." Before Augusta could find her tongue to disabuse him of such a corkbrained notion, he gave her a little wink continued on. "Never doubted you would catch on, especially now that you have chosen to, er, dress a little differently than your usual style."

He took her utter silence as confirmation of his hunch. "Well, I don't blame you for being distracted. When one's thoughts are riveted on...." He began to wax poetic about the object of his own affections, giving Augusta a moment to recover from her friend's conjectures.

Then, her initial urge to dismiss the whole thing as absurd gave way as she thought about it, and a speculative gleam came to her eyes. It was true that she had encouraged Ludlowe's attentions on several occasions, hoping to pump some sort of useful information out of him. After all, his was one of the two names left on her list. But so far their conversations had not progressed past the normal, vacuous comments on the weather and whether the area surrounding Greenfield Manor promised a decent hunt.

However, if she were to give the impression that her feelings were more than simply neighborly, she might be able to learn something of value in some intimate, unguarded moment. Her eyes pressed closed. Could she pull it off? Could she bat her eyelashes or simper convincingly enough to make him think she had developed a tendre for him? And would it do any good? Her brow furrowed slightly. If rumors were at all true, Ludlowe needed a rich wife, so perhaps she wouldn't need to depend on mere charm to fix his attention. After all, it was not a secret that she would come into a marriage with a sizeable dowry.