Rendezvous (10 page)

“Are you too warm, Augusta?” Harry asked with polite concern.

She shook her head quickly. “No, no, I am fine, my lord. Now, then, have you come over here to ask me to dance, sir? Or to lecture me on some fine point of behavior?”

“The latter.” Harry took her hand and led her out through the open windows into the garden.

“I was afraid of that.” Augusta toyed with her fan as they crossed the terrace. Then she snapped it closed. “I have been doing a great deal of thinking, my lord.”

“So have I.” Harry drew her to a halt near a stone bench. “Sit down, my dear. I believe we should talk.”

“Oh, dear. I knew it would be like this.
I just knew it
.” She scowled up at him as she sank gracefully down onto the bench. “My lord, this is never going to work out. We may as well face it and be done with it.”

“What is never going to work out?” Harry put one booted foot on the end of the bench and rested an elbow on his knee. He studied Augusta’s earnest face as she confronted him in the shadows. “Are you referring to our engagement, by any chance?”

“I most certainly am. I have been going over this matter again and again and I cannot help but believe you truly are making a grave mistake. I want you to know that I am extremely honored by your offer, but I really feel that for both our sakes it would be best if I cried off.”

“I would rather you did not do that, Augusta,” Harry said.

“But, my lord, surely now that you have had time to
consider the matter you see that an alliance between us simply will not work.”

“I think it can be made to work.”

Augusta’s mouth tightened. She leaped to her feet. “What you mean, sir, is that you think you can force me to conform to your notions of proper female behavior.”

“Do not put words in my mouth, Augusta.” Harry took her arm and forced her gently back down onto the bench. “What I meant was that I think that, with a little adjustment here and there, we shall deal very well together.”

“And which one of us do you envision making the
adjustments
, my lord?”

Harry sighed and directed his gaze thoughtfully toward the massive hedge behind Augusta. “Both of us will no doubt make the slight changes that are required by marriage.”

“I see. Let us try being more specific here. Just what particular modifications do you see me having to make, sir?”

“To begin with, I think it would be best if you did not dance the waltz with Lovejoy again. There is something I do not quite like about that man. And I noticed tonight that he has begun paying you a great deal of attention.”

“
How dare you, sir
.” Augusta shot to her feet again, incensed. “I shall dance the waltz with whomever I wish and you may as well know right now that I would never allow my husband or any other man to dictate my choice of dancing partners. I am sorry if that sort of behavior is too unrefined for your taste, sir, but I vow it is only a hint of the sort of impropriety of which I am capable.”

“I see. I am, of course, deeply alarmed to hear this.”

“Are you laughing at me, Graystone?” Augusta’s eyes blazed with fury.

“No, my dear, I am not. Sit down, if you please.”

“It does not please me in the least. I have no intention of sitting down. I am going straight back into that ballroom,
find my cousin, and go home. And when I get there, I intend to tell my uncle that I am ending the engagement immediately.”

“You cannot do that, Augusta.”

“Why not, pray tell?”

Harry took her arm again and once more gently but firmly urged her down onto the stone bench. “Because I believe you to be an honorable young woman, in spite of your hotheaded nature. A woman who would not, under any circumstances, bestow certain favors upon a man and then jilt him.”

“Certain favors?” Augusta’s eyes widened in shock. “What are you talking about?”

It was time, Harry decided, for a few gentle threats, perhaps even a spot of blackmail. Augusta needed to be prodded in the appropriate direction. She was obviously resisting the notion of marriage. “I think you know the answer to that. Or have you conveniently forgotten what transpired on the floor of my library two nights ago?”

“
The floor of your library
. Good grief.” Augusta sat frozen on the bench, staring at him. “My lord, you cannot possibly mean that simply because I allowed you to kiss me that I am therefore honor bound to remain engaged to you.”

“We enjoyed considerably more than a kiss, Augusta, and I think you are well aware of that.”

“Yes, well, I admit things went a trifle too far.” She began to look desperate.

“A trifle? You were half undressed before it was over,” Harry reminded her with calculated ruthlessness. “And if the clock had not struck when it did, I fear we would have gone very far indeed. I know you pride yourself on your modern ways, Augusta, but surely you are not cruel.”

“Cruel? There was nothing cruel about it,” she snapped. “Not on my part, at any rate. You took advantage of me, sir.”

Harry shrugged. “I believed us to be engaged. Your uncle had accepted my offer and you were paying me a visit in the
middle of the night. What was I to think? Some would say you invited my attentions and were more than generous with your favors.”

“I don’t believe this. The entire sequence of events is getting muddled. Once and for all, I did not bestow any favors on you, Graystone.”

“You underestimate yourself, my dear.” He smiled whimsically. “I considered them very great favors indeed. I shall never forget the feel of your lovely breast cupped in my hand. Soft and firm and full. And it was crowned with a perfect rosebud that flowered beneath my fingers.”

Augusta gave a horrified squeak of dismay. “
My lord
.”

“Do you really believe I could forget the elegant form of your thighs?” Harry continued, well aware of what this intimate recitation was doing to Augusta’s composure. He told himself it was past time the lady received a sharp lesson. “Round and finely shaped like those on a Grecian statue. I will treasure forever the great privilege you allowed me when you let me touch your beautiful thighs, my sweet.”

“But I did not allow you to touch them,” Augusta protested. “You just went ahead and did it.”

“You did not lift a finger to stop me. Indeed, you kissed me with a great deal of very warm, one might even say very willing passion, did you not?”

“No, I did not, sir.” She looked slightly frantic now.

Harry’s brows rose. “You felt nothing when you kissed me? I am deeply hurt. And sadly disappointed to think that you gave me so much and felt nothing in return. For me, it was a rendezvous with passion. I shall never forget it.”

“I did not say I felt nothing. I only meant that what I felt was not precisely a warm and willing passion. I was taken by surprise, that is all. My lord, you are misreading the situation. You should not have placed such a serious significance on those events.”

“Does that mean you find yourself at that sort of
midnight rendezvous so frequently that you no longer take such intimate encounters seriously?”

“I meant nothing of the kind.” Completely flustered now, Augusta glared at him in mounting dismay. “You are deliberately trying to make me feel that I ought to stay engaged to you merely because we got a little carried away on the floor of your library.”

“I feel that certain promises were made that night,” Harry said.

“I made no promises.”

“I disagree. I felt that you very definitely made binding promises when you allowed me the intimate privileges of an engaged man. What was I to think when you gave every indication that you would welcome me as a lover and as a husband?”

“I did not give any such indication,” she retorted weakly.

“I beg your pardon, Miss Ballinger. I cannot bring myself to believe that you were merely amusing yourself with me that night. Nor can you convince me that you have sunk so low as to make a habit of toying with a man’s affections on the floor of his library. You may be reckless and rash by nature, but I refuse to believe that you are heartless, cruel, or completely without regard for your honor as a woman.”

“Of course, I am not without regard for my own honor,” she said through gritted teeth. “We Northumberland Ballingers care a great deal for our honor. We would fight to the death for it.”

“Then the engagement stands. We are both committed now. We have gone too far to turn back.”

There was a sharp cracking sound and Augusta looked down at her fan. She had been clutching it so tightly she had snapped the fragile sticks. “Oh, bloody hell.”

Harry smiled and reached down to catch her chin on the edge of his hand. Her long lashes swept up, revealing her deeply troubled, hunted gaze. He bent his head and
brushed a kiss against her parted lips. “Trust me, Augusta. We shall do very well together.”

“I am not at all certain of that, my lord. I have given this much thought and I can only conclude we are making a grave mistake.”

“There is no mistake.” Harry listened to the first strains of a waltz drifting through the open windows. “Will you honor me with this dance, my dear?”

“I suppose so,” Augusta said ungraciously as she jumped to her feet. “I do not see that I have a great deal of choice in the matter. If I refuse, you will no doubt tell me that propriety demands I dance the waltz with you simply because we are engaged.”

“You know me,” Harry murmured as he took her arm. “I am a stickler for the proprieties.”

He was aware that Augusta was still gritting her teeth as he led her back into the brilliantly lit ballroom.

Much later that evening Harry got out of his carriage in St. James Street and walked up the steps of a certain dignified establishment. The door was opened immediately and he stepped at once into the uniquely comfortable, solidly masculine warmth afforded only by a properly managed gentlemen’s club.

There was nothing else quite like it, Harry reflected as he took a seat near the fire and poured himself a glass of brandy. No wonder Augusta had come up with the notion of entertaining Sally and her friends with a parody of a St. James Street club. A man’s club was a bastion against the world, a refuge, a home away from home where one could either be alone or find companionship, according to one’s personal whim.

In a club a man could relax with friends, win or lose a fortune at the tables, or conduct the most private of business, Harry reflected. He himself had certainly done enough of the last during the past few years.

Although he had been forced to spend much of his time on the continent during the war, he had always made it a point to drop in on his clubs whenever he had been in London. And when he had been unable to keep tabs in person he had made certain to ensure that one or two of his agents had memberships at the more important establishments. The sort of secret intelligence one could glean in this environment never ceased to astound Harry.

He had once learned the name of a man who had been responsible for the death of one of his most valued intelligence officers here in this very club. The killer had suffered an unfortunate accident a short while later.

In another, equally dignified establishment farther along St. James, Harry had contracted to buy the very private journal of a certain courtesan. He had been told the lady enjoyed entertaining the many French spies who, disguised as émigrés, had been sprinkled about London during the war.

It was in the course of deciphering the childishly simple code in which the lady had written her memoirs that Harry had first come across the name
Spider
. The woman had been killed before Harry had had a chance to talk to her. Her maid had tearfully explained that one of the courtesan’s lovers had stabbed her mistress in a jealous rage. And, no, the distraught maid had absolutely no idea which of her employer’s many lovers had done the deed.

The code name
Spider
had haunted Harry for the duration of his work for the Crown. Men had died in dark alleys with the word on their lips. Letters from French agents referring to the mysterious Spider had been discovered on the persons of secret couriers. Records of troop movements and maps thought to have been meant for the Spider had been intercepted.

But in the end the identity of the man Harry had early on learned to think of as his personal opponent on the great chessboard of war had remained a mystery. It was unfortunate that he had a difficult time tolerating unsolved
puzzles, Harry told himself. He would have given a great deal to have learned the truth about the Spider.

His instincts had assured him from the start that the man had been English, not French. It annoyed Harry that the traitor had escaped detection. Too many good agents and too many honest soldiers had died because of the Spider.

“Trying to read your future in the flames, Graystone? I doubt you’ll find any answers there.”

Harry glanced up as Lovejoy’s drawling voice interrupted his quiet contemplation. “I rather thought you might be along sooner or later, Lovejoy. I wanted to have a word with you.”

“Is that so?” Lovejoy helped himself to brandy and then leaned negligently against the mantel. He swirled the golden liquid in his glass and his green eyes gleamed malevolently. “First you must allow me to offer you my congratulations on your engagement.”

“Thank you.” Harry waited.

“Miss Ballinger does not seem your type at all. I fear she has inherited the family inclination toward recklessness and mischief. “Twill be an odd match, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“But I do. Mind, that is.” Harry smiled coldly. “I also object to your dancing the waltz with my financée.”

Lovejoy’s expression was one of malicious expectation. “Miss Ballinger is rather fond of the waltz. She tells me she finds me a skilled partner.”

Harry went back to contemplating the fire. “It would be best for all concerned if you found someone else to impress with your dancing skills.”

“And if I do not?” Lovejoy taunted softly.

Harry sighed deeply as he got up from his chair. “If you do not, then you will oblige me to take other measures to protect my fiancée from your attentions.”