“I’ll thank you, Mrs. Brandon, to keep gossip to a minimum. Most of us avoid town in order to avoid it. Such glee at the ruin of another person does you little credit,” he stated firmly before stalking from the room.
After he was gone, the silence lingered. Mrs. Brandon’s face had paled considerably and her daughter appeared ready to crawl beneath the table. It was Rachel who came to the rescue.
“Mrs. Brandon, I must compliment you on your choice of gown. That color is remarkably pretty on you. Did you choose it or was it recommended by your modiste?”
The woman spoke more softly, clearly chastened by Lord Elwynn’s reprimand. “My modiste recommended it, Mrs. Wilmont. I confess that I would never have chosen it myself, but I do trust her judgement on such matters. It is her profession, after all, is it not?”
“Absolutely. I find that it is always best to leave such matters to those who possess an expertise in the area,” Rachel concurred.
Eventually, the hum of conversation returned to normal if somewhat subdued levels. When the meal had finally ended, Augusta pleaded a headache and all but ran from the room. Rushing up the stairs, she was desperate to avoid further parlor games such as they’d played that morning. Charades has been a nightmarish event, especially with the Misses Tate. Lord Elwynn and Mr. Atwell had been noticeably absent, vanishing without a word to anyone, no doubt having escaped to pursue such masculine ventures as hunting or riding or anything that would spare them the fresh hell that was country entertainments for ladies. The ease with which he escaped the house was yet another black mark against him, she thought.
Rounding the corner to the corridor that housed her room, she stopped abruptly as she smacked solidly into another person. There was no mistaking the identity. The scent of his shaving soap was achingly familiar to her.
“Excuse me,” she said and made to step back from him but his hand gripped her forearm, holding her fast. She looked at it and then up at him. “Let me go.”
“I need to speak with you, Augusta, and if I let you walk away from me right now another opportunity will not be presented. You will make certain of it,” he said mildly.
She let out a sigh born of long suffering the whims and demands of others. All she wanted was a reprieve, a moment alone, where no one looked at her as either an object of pity, or worse, a form of entertainment. It was so seldom that people could boast of entertaining a scandalous woman and her former beau under one roof. It played out like a Drury Lane farce. “Then say what you need to, my lord, so that I can safely retreat to my room.”
“We are all in hiding. Another game of charades and someone may set the house ablaze just to escape,” he muttered.
She refused to laugh, but she had to bite her lips to keep her smile from creeping out. “The Misses Tate do have an unfair advantage it would seem.”
“That they speak a language no one else understands? I’d call that cheating, Augusta, not simply an advantage.”
“Stop,” she insisted.
“Stop what?”
“Using my given name. I have not granted you permission to do so, and when you utter it, an intimacy is implied that does not now and can never exist between us!”
“You are wrong… the intimacy exists. You simply do not wish to acknowledge it,” he chided. “But that isn’t what I wished to discuss with you.”
“What is it then?”
“Mrs. Brandon does not speak for everyone here… Her ridiculous attempts at subtly veiled insults aside, you must know that no one in this house save for her believes you to be anything less than a paragon of virtue.”
“I’m hardly a paragon, my lord. As for Mrs. Brandon, her opinion is of little concern to me. Nonetheless, if I can avoid further encounters with her, I shall. I see no need to make everyone else in the house uncomfortable by engaging in barbed word play.” The last thing she wanted was to make the Atwells regret inviting her into their home or, even worse, regret their offer to lease the small cottage to Rachel and herself.
“Be that as it may… She does not speak for anyone in this house save for herself and if need be, I can remind her that the season she plans to give her daughter is dependent upon my good will and generosity. That will shut her up quite effectively.”
“Don’t do that… do not make more of it than it is,” she pleaded in panic. “If you do you only confirm for and everyone else that the past is not forgotten, that what was once between us is not forgotten!”
He raised an eyebrow at her. “Is it forgotten? Not by me… and if I believed for one solitary moment that you had truly forgotten it, I would leave this house within the hour.”
“Then you should set your valet to packing, my lord,” she lied.
Voices sound in the distance, drawing ever closer. It was Mrs. Brandon and her daughter and within seconds they would round the corner into the corridor where they stood. Desperate to not be caught in such a compromising position, “You have to hide.”
“Your room. Invite me in, Augusta, or I will greet them with a smile,” he vowed.
There was steel in his voice and Augusta had little doubt that he was sincere. Exasperated but with no other options, she ducked past him toward her chamber door and opened it wide. She’d no more than ushered him inside and closed the door behind them, when she heard them in the hallway.
“The gall of that woman!” Mrs. Brandon’s voice rang out, “Can you imagine having the audacity to show your face in society after the whole of the Ton discovered her utter lack of fortune? And that is to say nothing of her lack of morals!”
“She was pleasant enough,” the daughter replied.
“Pleasant! Mind yourself, Elaine. Stay away from her or I’ll make certain your father hears of it!”
Their voices faded as they continued down the hall. When they were completely out of ear shot, Augusta turned to him. “You need to leave. Now.”
“No.”
“What?”
Hugh was enjoying their verbal sparring more than he cared to admit. She challenged him, fought him, insulted him, and above all, she made his heart race. Her very presence reminded him that life need not be boring. “We are not done here… you and I.”
“We most certainly are. Now get out!” Augusta demanded angrily.
“On one condition,” Hugh said. He needed to know if her feelings for him were truly beyond resurrection. If there was the smallest bit of hope then he would persevere regardless of any barbs or barricades she placed in his path. There was only one way he could think of to accomplish that Herculean task.
She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. “What is it?”
“The night of the Fairmont Ball,” he said softly, stepping closer to her until there were scant inches separating them. “I went to that small drawing room in the hopes of only one thing… to steal a kiss from you. Let me have that kiss now and I will leave.”
“You are completely mad! I would never grant you such liberties!”
“Then I will make myself comfortable here,” he retorted, eyeing the armchair set before the fireplace.
He could see her mentally calculating whether or not she would be able to remove him bodily from her chamber. The answer was clearly no. And calling for help would only succeed in securing the very fate she was trying to avoid—discovery.
“One kiss,” she said. “And then you will leave me be… not today, not tomorrow, but forever! Agreed?”
“One kiss, and if you remain unmoved by it, then I will never importune you again… But if you are moved, then I will pursue you, Augusta, whatever the cost.” The warning was uttered as a caution to them both.
She raised her chin defiantly. “Then I shall remain unmoved, my lord.”
Hugh snaked one arm around her waist, tugging her close until there bodies were molded to one another.
“Is this really necessary for only a kiss?” she asked.
“A kiss between a man and a woman, Augusta, is not the chaste thing in stories or exalted by poe
ts… A kiss, if done well, is a primal thing that stirs the heart and dulls the senses.”
Hugh knew this was no time for talking so before she could formulate a retort, he swept in, claiming her lips. It wasn’t a kiss as much as a series of tactical maneuvers—a sensual assault intended to batter her defenses. When her lips parted in surprise, he took advantage of the opportunity without hesitation. Invading the sweet recesses of her mouth, he stroked his tongue against hers.
She stiffened with shock initially but as the kiss deepened, she relaxed against him. It was an unconscious thing, he was certain. Whatever else could be said, she was not immune to him nor to his touch. Pressing her back against the door, pinning her there with his weight, he nipped at her bottom lip with his teeth. A soft sound escaped her, part moan and part sigh. It made him ache for more, but she’d agreed to a kiss and that was all that he would take. For the moment, at least, he thought.
He kissed her until they were both breathless, until she was straining against him, her yearning having overtaken her anger at him. When his own control was stretched to the breaking point, only then did he draw back from her. They stood there for the longest time, still locked together in an embrace that neither one was willing to end.
Hugh was the first to speak. “I think we can both agree that neither of us remained unmoved by that kiss, Augusta… Fight me at every turn, sling your barbs and arrows at will, but I will not be swayed. We were destined for one another and delayed or not, that destiny will be met.”
She looked up at him, searching his face. “Did you know? Whatever schemes are afoot here, tell me truthfully, were you a party to them?”
“I will admit that I’m perfectly aware that all of the women in this house save you, those twins, and the viperous Mrs. Brandon, have been part of this diabolical plot to throw us together time and again. But that awareness occurred after the fact of both my arrival and yours. As for your being here under this roof as I am, I need you to believe that I had nothing to do with it.”
“Very well, I concede that in this one regard you are blameless. Now unhand me.”
She’d attempted a firm tone but had failed miserably. There was a quaver to her voice that belied just how much his kiss had effected her. But the evidence was there in the flush of her cheeks, in her quickened breath and the slight tremor of her hand as it rested on his arm. Closing his hand over her wrist, he lifted her hand to his heart and held it there that she might feel the way it pounded and raced just for her.
“There is an ugly past between us… but there is also the present, and God willing, a future. I will not be shut out, Augusta.”
“And I will not be made a fool of again,” she said, a bite returning to her tone.
He smiled. “How fortuitous that such is not my intention. I will see you at dinner.”
Chapter 9
Augusta sipped her wine as the last course was being cleared from the table. She willed her hand not to tremble as she lowered the glass. Regardless of her outward appearance, she was not immune to his presence. Every movement, every sly look or sidelong glance from him took her back to those moments in her chamber earlier. She could think of nothing but the press of his body against hers, of the taste and feel of his lips on hers. It was maddening.
“Tell me, Miss Penworth, have you enjoyed much of the Season before retreating to the country?” Mrs. Brandon asked in a tone that was overly sweet.
Drawing her gaze away from Hugh, Augusta defused the woman’s attempt to bait her by simply uttering the truth. “I am no longer in society, madam. Given the altered financial circumstances of my grandfather at the end of his life, it was deemed best to withdraw from it. And due to the callous and uncharitable attitudes of many I encountered, I have elected never to return to it, even were I to be invited.”
The woman clearly had not been expecting so frank an answer. She stared at Augusta wide-eyed for a span of several heartbeats. Finally, she gave a nervous laugh and turned her attention back to attempting to engage the Misses Tate in conversation.
“I do believe that might be the first time in all of our long and unfortunate acquaintance that anyone has managed to render her speechless.”
Augusta let out a sigh as his all too familiar voice sounded softly behind her. When she rose, she looked at him imperiously and said, “She’s your family.”
“Oh no,” he protested, falling into step beside her as they removed themselves from the dining room. It was customary for the men and women to separate, but the short walk to the drawing room allowed for some conversation. “She is family to my late wife. While I confess to having a wealth of affection for Felicity’s younger sister, Prudence, I have never been able to develop the same degree of feeling for Constance. She’s never had any great luck in developing either tolerance or affection for me either.”
“The drawing room is only a short distance, my lord. I hardly need an escort,” she said, hoping to put distance between them.
“Then I confess my motives for offering escort are purely selfish. I wanted the pleasure of your company.”
Augusta glanced at him from beneath raised brows. “I’ve done everything short of striking you to make my company as unpleasant as possible.”
He shrugged. “And yet it is still your company, and therefore preferable to all others.” They had reached the drawing room door. “I will bid you goodnight, Miss Penworth… May your dreams be as pleasant as mine surely will.”
Augusta stood there for a moment, watching his retreating figure as it disappeared down the corridor toward the billiard room. She could feel the weight of Mrs. Brandon’s disapproving stare and the unbearable expectation of both Mrs. Atwell and Rachel. It was too much.
“I find that I am still quite exhausted from our recent journey. Please forgive me, Mrs. Atwell, for retiring so early,” she said. Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and made for the relative sanctuary of her room. She needed to escape all of them. If the truth were told, she also needed to escape herself.
“I’m so very worried that we’ve made a terrible error in judgement,” Daisy whispered, or as close as Daisy Atwell ever came to whispering. Not that it mattered, the men were playing billiards down the hall while the women remained sequestered in the drawing room after dinner. Across the room, Mrs. Brandon was standing sentry over her daughter at the pianoforte while she labored over a piece of music that was clearly beyond her skill level. The Misses Tate were playing a card game and again communicating by means that were beyond the ken of any observer.
“What mistake could we have possibly made? They belong together,” Rachel said. “Even his late wife knew that! She orchestrated every bit of this!”
“Her heart has hardened toward him,” her cousin protested. “It’s clear to me that she’s grown so bitter towards him—and who could blame her! And I know that I played a part in what befell poor Miss Penworth but truly—on my honor and the honor of our family, Rachel—we did not know that he loved her, nor that she truly loved him. We were only told by Lady Elwynn that her son had fallen into the clutches of a fortune hunter! Sadly, we learned too late just what a scheming and hateful woman she is and that little she ever said to anyone was truthful.”
Rachel knew all of it. It was a certainty that Augusta suspected she knew more than was being said, but there were certain elements of the story, if they could avoid telling them, would be best for everyone if left unsaid. Daisy’s role in providing details of their conversation which she’d eavesdropped on the night of the Fairmont Ball had made the note penned by Lady Elwynn and Mrs. Redmond believable. She’d deduced just what lure to use to get him to take the bait.
That, Rachel had long since decided, should be concealed at all costs. Otherwise, Augusta would never believe for one moment that their coming together to share household expenses was mere coincidence. She could never know that almost from the moment she’d discovered her illness, Felicity Elliott nee Redmond, Lady Elwynn, had plotted and schemed to give h
er husband the happiness she’d been party to denying him.
“Her heart will soften again… It’s been the downfall of women since the dawn of time—our inability to sustain the hardness of our hearts.”
Daisy threw up her hands in despair. “You sound as bitter as she does! I know your husband was a vile man, but there’s no need to take on so. There are good men in the world, Rachel. Lord Elwynn, my dear Simon… he’s a bit absent minded and he hardly pays attention to a thing I say, but he is a good man. That is what you need cousin. To find yourself a good man, have a pair of healthy children and just see how full your life is!”
“And where are your children, cousin Daisy?” Rachel asked.
Daisy pshawed. “Well, you’d need to ask their nurse that, wouldn’t you? Heavens, who wants them to be under foot all the time? All sticky hands, sticky faces, and they’re forevermore asking why and what and how. No, indeed. Have them, give them to a nurse, and when they’ve learned how to hold a conversation on your level, then get to know them! Just like the lovely Miss Brandon there. That’s a perfect age to begin getting to know one’s children, I think.”
“Indeed,” Rachel said, casting a sympathetic glance in the direction of the girl in question. “I think we must change our approach. It isn’t enough to simply have them in the same house together and let nature take its course. I think we must put them in a slightly more intimate environment!”
“Are you suggesting that we allow Lord Elwynn to compromise her?” Daisy asked, scandalized and clearly enthusiastic about the prospect.
“I think that the opportunity has to be placed before them, but it should be up to them what to do with it… and if he elects to trap himself a wife the way he was once trapped as a husband, well I call that poetic, don’t you?”
Daisy grinned, a hedonistic light in her eyes. “I’ll send her out tomorrow to view the cottage and send him off to her rescue when the storms come in! If we time it just right, they’ll have to be alone in the cottage… together!”
Worth the Wait Page 7
