by Jane Goodger
“And this ball, it is only for this purpose?”
Augustus toyed with his stew a moment. The way Henderson had asked made it clear that rumors about the purpose of the ball had already reached St. Ives and were probably rampant in London. It was obvious his grandmamma was doing her job. “Also to find a bride.”
Henderson, who had taken a sip of ale, started choking. When he’d recovered, he said, “So it is true? You’re planning to marry? Don’t you think holding such a ball is a tad archaic?”
“Perhaps it is, but the ball is having the desired effect if you’ve heard of it.”
“My wife saw it in the Tattler. Something about the reclusive Earl of B holding a ball for the sole purpose of finding a bride. Alice read the bit to me and I told her it could not be referring to you. I thought you were a confirmed widower.”
“Restoring Costille House reminded me that I have a legacy to uphold. I have the earldom to consider. I’m not getting any younger, you know. My grandfather died when he was just thirty-five, which leaves me with only five more years if I follow suit. I’ll be damned if my cousin Arnold inherits. He is an imbecile.”
After letting out a chuckle, Henderson said, “I hardly think you’ll be dead in five years. What did your grandfather die of?”
“A horse kicked him in the head.”
The two men found this funny and burst into laughter. “I do not think that is hereditary,” Henderson managed to say between laughs.
“Still, one never knows. And once I make my mind up to do something, you very well know I follow through in spades. My grandmamma is inviting every marriageable young woman in all of England to the ball, handpicked by her and her cronies.”
“Good God, man.”
Still shaking with laughter, Augustus said, “I realize that sounds like every man’s nightmare, but it’s too late to stop the ball at this point. The invitations have gone out and my crew is working long days to prepare Costille House. It will happen and I will find my bride.”
The two men finished their meal and talked about what it would be like for Henderson when he had an infant in the house. As they left, Henderson said, “Aren’t you going to find that serving girl?”
Augustus hesitated for perhaps two beats. “No. Not tonight.”
“Hmm. An unmarried man who passes up a clear opportunity for a bit of fun. That’s a puzzle, that’s what that is.”
“I would recommend you stop talking.”
Henderson gave his friend a look of innocence. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, nor can I fathom why you would dismiss a girl as pretty and willing as the one in there. Unless, you are smitten with someone else.”
“You didn’t even look at her. I did, for a long appreciative moment. Which means, my friend, that my heart, mind, and body still belong to me.”
“Of course. Forgive me,” Henderson said, sounding completely insincere.
“Sod off, Mr. Southwell.”
Letting out another laugh, Henderson waved goodnight and the men went their separate ways.
But it left Augustus thinking: why hadn’t he accepted the girl’s clear invitation? He was nearly mad with need, and even now he could feel his cock grow a bit heavy at the thought of relief. Standing in the street and watching his friend’s departing back, he gave long thought to turning around and going back into the pub.
“Something else you need, milord?”
Augustus stiffened and turned. There she was, pretty as a picture, all woman. He could imagine her beneath him, her sturdy body beneath his, her wonderful breasts jiggling against his chest. His cock stirred a bit at the thought.
“Not tonight, luv.”
She pouted and slowly turned around, looking back once before closing the door behind her, giving him time to change his mind.
But he didn’t.
Why the hell not? It couldn’t be because of that skinny little woman who had somehow been invading his thoughts of late. He wasn’t even attracted to her. Not overly much, at any rate. He liked voluptuous women.
But he realized as he stalked down the street, he was starting to like thin women with small breasts and plush lips and hair that curled when the air was misty.
Chapter 8
Harriet had been at Costille House for about one hour, directing the men where to place objects in the main hall, when Lord Berkley strode in looking like a man who was not having a pleasant day. All morning, Harriet had been fighting the butterflies in her stomach at the thought of seeing him again. The day she’d been away from Costille House—from him—had seemed inordinately long. No matter how many times she chastised herself for falling into daydreams of him sweeping her into his arms, she could not stop herself.
It simply was not in her nature to halt such fantastical thoughts. She wondered if he had even spared her a second thought, had noted her absence the day before. Had relived their kisses over and over until his skin felt too hot, too tight. Probably not. It had, after all, not been the first time Lord Berkley had experienced such passion. It was nothing to him to kiss a willing woman. Try though she did to make certain she did not make those kisses everything, Harriet found she could not. She’d gone twenty-two years of her life never having come close to kissing a man, never mind participating in such a carnal embrace. It was quite likely she would spend her entire life never again experiencing such passion.
Unless, of course, Lord Berkley decided he wanted to kiss her again.
“Mr. Billings,” Lord Berkley said, not sparing her even a single glance. “When do you think this room will be completed? This is where I shall hold my ball and it is imperative that this room have priority over all other projects. Other than the entrance, of course, which I believe is near to completion.”
Harriet stood in the very center of the room. Above her was the new roof, heavy, dark beams criss-crossing the room. Scaffolding lined each side, and men were whitewashing the walls, the slap of their brushes sounding overly loud in the large room. Sunlight streamed into the east bank of windows, and she stood precisely in one of the squares where the light shone through. He could hardly have missed her standing there. Yet he would not even look in her direction.
In that moment, Harriet felt her foolishness like a heavy, wet cloak of humiliation. Hardly a minute had gone by since she’d left two days ago when she did not think of his kiss, did not wonder if it would happen again. Did not feel his hands on her breasts, his tongue in her mouth. Sleeping had been nearly impossible, with all those delicious feelings swirling inside her. It was as if she were sick with some fever.
“It’ll be done, my lord,” Mr. Billings said gruffly. “As I’ve said.”
Harriet looked at Mr. Billings a bit curiously, for his tone had been slightly disrespectful.
“Yes, you have,” Lord Berkley said levelly.
“We’re very nearly done here,” Mr. Billings said, sounding more like himself. “The men have been working hard, they have, and I expect this room to be completed before the end of the week. Do you agree, Miss Anderson?”
Harriet kept her eyes carefully on Mr. Billings, not trusting herself to look at Lord Berkley lest her feelings might show. “I agree, Mr. Billings.”
“Very good,” the earl said, then spun on his heel and moved toward the door.
Harriet swallowed, hating the burning heaviness in her throat. Suddenly, she felt cheap, like some doxy and not a country girl with dreams that would not die no matter how hard she tried to do away with them. She cleared her throat. “The suit of arms goes directly beneath the west windows, precisely in the center,” she said, glad that her voice sounded normal and not like a woman who was on the verge of tears.
“Miss Anderson.”
And just like that, her heart sped up and those dreams that lay like ashes at her feet sprang to life. She turned to face Lord Berkley, trying desperately to remain cool and indiff
erent. “Yes, my lord?”
“I wonder if you could come to my study. I would like a private word with you.”
“Of course,” she said, and could feel her cheeks flush just a bit. She could not meet his eyes as he turned sideways and indicated that she should precede him out of the great hall. They spoke not a word as they made their way down the narrow hall that led to his study. This room was on the opposite side of the house, lovely when the sun was setting, but this time of day it was rather dark.
The perfect place for a rendezvous, she thought nervously.
“Please, sit down.”
Why did this suddenly feel as if she were a child about to be giving a talking to by a parent? Part of her wished he had closed the door behind them and pulled her into his arms. A too large part, much to her shame. Instead, he’d left the door open and she found herself sitting in an uncomfortable chair (the springs needed replacing) watching as Lord Berkley, looking every inch the earl he was, sat behind his desk and steepled his hands. He looked exceedingly stern, and Harriet wondered if she was about to get a set down for her terrible behavior two days ago.
“We missed you yesterday,” he said.
If he had said “I” instead of “we,” Harriet’s heart would have melted on the spot. As it was, this seemed more the words of an annoyed employer requesting information about an unexcused absence. “Oh, I do apologize. I did not realize I was supposed to request permission to take a day off. I was visiting with my dearest friend, Alice Southwell. I believe you know her husband? At any rate, she is in the family way and as I am so busy, that was the only day I could take to see her with my other friends. I felt confident that Mr. Billings—”
He held up one hand so that she would stop speaking. “You are under no obligation to tell me what days you can and cannot work. That is not why I brought it up. I thought that perhaps the reason you were not here yesterday was because of what transpired the previous day.”
“Oh,” Harriet said, and this time her cheeks went to full blush in a matter of seconds. “No, not at all. At least not entirely,” she finished miserably.
Lord Berkley tapped his fingers together and stared at her over his hands. “What I did was unconscionable. What I said was worse. I want to apologize in the most sincere way possible and to promise you that nothing of the sort will ever happen again. You should feel safe when in my company and it is unacceptable that I betrayed your trust. When you did not appear yesterday, I believed that you had perhaps quit the project, nothing less than what I deserved.”
The first emotion Harriet felt was deep disappointment, as shocking and inappropriate as that was. He was never to kiss her again? Ever? This was quickly followed by a rush of shame tinged with humiliation that feeling disappointment had been her first emotion.
“I told you then that I would continue to assist you and I will. As for the apology, I wish you would not.”
Lord Berkley had been staring at his hands, seemingly lost in thought and self-loathing, and when she said those last words, his head snapped up. “What are you saying, Miss Anderson?”
What was she saying? “Only that you did not force yourself on me. It shames me to say I was a willing participant. Yes, asking me to become your mistress was rather…”
“Terrible?” he supplied.
She nodded, quick jerks of her head, and for a moment it seemed he was distracted by the curls bouncing against her forehead. “And really, I’m not certain what I feel is shame. What I feel is something I’ve never felt before in my life.” She shook her head, trying to find a name for what had been muddling her brain since those kisses, since his hand found her breast and she realized how lovely it was to be touched by a man. Looking him straight in the eyes, she said, “It’s something very much like rebellion.”
That seemed to baffle him, and he sat back, a puzzled look on his face. “Rebellion?”
“Yes,” she said with a small shrug. “All my life, I have been overlooked. By my parents, by boys, and now that I’m older, by men. I am painfully shy around most people; I haven’t any idea why I am not so around you. I’ve been told over and over that good girls never allow men to take liberties, should never allow themselves to be alone with a man, never put themselves in a position where one might be taken advantage of.”
“This is not your doing,” Lord Berkley said.
“You do not understand, my lord. These past few weeks, I have been doing everything I’ve been told I should not do. I’ve taken a position, agreed to take an exorbitant wage, I’ve lied to my parents, I’ve been the only female in the midst of a small army of men.” She shook her head in amazement at what she’d done. Stated all at once, it seemed miraculous. “I’ve been alone with a man. I’ve been kissed.” His eyes darkened and Harriet could not bring herself to look away. “I’ve been touched,” she whispered. “All these things I ought not to do. They are wrong and a sin and if my mother knew, God only knows what would happen to me. And would you like to know how all this makes me feel?”
He nodded, slowly, never taking his eyes off her.
“It makes me feel more alive than I ever have in my life. More alive than I ever thought I’d feel. You say you will not kiss me again. Is that what you want?”
“No.” A low growl.
“It is not what I want either,” she said, feeling bold and rash and, beyond anything else, exhilarated.
“What are you saying, Catalina?”
“I do not want to be your mistress. I want to be your lover.” He breathed in harshly. “For now. Until the ball is over. Then you can find your wife and I can find my little cottage and I shall have wonderful memories.”
* * * *
Augustus became very still, almost as though if he moved, everything she’d just said would be wiped away. He had a sudden and erotic image of himself over her, her thick curls spilling over a white pillow, sinking inside her, her head thrown back in ecstasy. He became instantly and painfully aroused. Rational thought did finally prevail. “Absolutely not.”
She looked for a moment completely nonplussed. “Why ever not? It’s what you wanted, but without any obligation whatsoever.”
Could she not see that he was trying to do the right thing, be honorable and all that rot? “There are dangers.”
An adorable crease formed between her lovely eyes. “Dangers?”
“You could become impregnated.” She blushed, and he wondered at that moment if she even knew what she was asking for. “But I could take precautions,” he added quickly, lest she change her mind. It had become imperative that she not change her mind and just as imperative that he relay all his concerns. My God, was he truly contemplating such an arrangement? “We could get caught and if we do, I want you to know I will not marry you.” There, that ought to do it.
“I don’t want to marry you,” she said boldly. “I have no desire to become a laughingstock.” She closed her eyes briefly. “I do not believe I could bear the gossip, the shame of being forced to marry a man.”
He smiled grimly. “You could fall in love with me and be left with a broken heart.”
“As could you,” she said jauntily.
He let out a laugh. “It is an emotion I have never felt, and as lovely as you are, my Catalina, I do not believe you have the charms to lead me down that path.” He paused, because he thought he saw something flicker in her eyes. Hurt? “Have I insulted you?”
“Not at all, my lord.”
“You shall call me Gus when we are alone. And I shall call you Catalina.”
She pressed her lips together as if annoyed by this last, but she did not argue.
“Do you know what becoming lovers entails?” Again, he found himself tensing, fearful that if she truly thought about it, she would run screaming from the room. And just as fearful that she would continue on this insane scheme. Truly, she had bewitched him if he was even contemplating such
a thing. She was an innocent young woman, his employee. It would be so wrong.
Yet, his body throbbed for her.
“Not in the least,” she said with such confidence, he laughed again. He sat back, well pleased by this day, realizing vaguely that no woman had ever made him laugh as much as this one did.
“Shall I explain matters to you?”
Her eyes, looking preternaturally bright in the gloomy room, crinkled in amusement. “I think if you do, I will lose my courage. No, my lord—”
“Gus.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I truly do not think that name suits you at all. Augustus is much finer. What did your father call you?”
“Greenwich.”
She raised her brows. “He called you by your title?”
“He did. Call me Gus. Please.”
“Very well. Gus.” She wrinkled her nose again and he fought the urge to leap over his desk and kiss her. “Shall we begin?”
He shook his head, still not quite believing what she was suggesting. “What has gotten into you?”
Letting out a small bit of hysterical laughter, she said, “I think a bit of madness. Yet this is not a spontaneous request; it is something I’ve been thinking of ever since you kissed me. I couldn’t help but think that your kiss might be the very last one I ever experience. It seemed unacceptable to me. Am I a terrible person?”
“Not at all,” he said, feeling a sudden urge to prove to her how beautiful she was, how desirable. It had, he realized with a start, nothing to do with his own desire for her. “I admire your courage.”
“Something that suddenly I find very lacking.”
“You may stop this at any time, Catalina. I do not want you to feel you have forged a path that cannot be unforged. A woman’s virtue is all she has, you know. If I am to take it, you would have nothing of yourself to give to the man who will become your husband.” He forced himself to say the words, even while rejecting the notion that any man would have her but him. An illogical thought if there ever was one, given the temporary arrangement they had just settled upon.
