by Heather Boyd
“I hate to rush you, but we really should get you home,” he said. “We don’t want anyone to hear of this escapade, do we, precious?”
Precious.
Only one man had called her that.
This time Agatha trembled for an entirely different reason. She did know this rambling gentleman. She just hadn’t heard him speak recently. And he’d changed; his voice was now so devoid of his usual warmth that she hadn’t recognized him at all. Where had the gentleman hailed as the most charming lord of London gone?
Agatha slumped against the tree, mostly to keep from flinging herself into the deceptively safe haven of his arms. He could lie for a living and still be seen as a charming innocent. “Oscar! You cannot be here. You promised to stay away.”
His footsteps drew closer. “I never did promise. How could you think I’d let any harm come to you?”
A dark outline appeared before her and then he was there. Oscar Ryall, Viscount Carrington, filled her vision until she saw none but him. Hands—strong, firm, and terribly warm—wrapped around Agatha and pulled her from the safety of the tree. She shuddered as she was settled against the fine linen and brocade covering Oscar’s body.
“I have you now, precious. I have you.”
Agatha lifted her face away from the warmth of his chest. A quick pant of breath crossed her cheek before Oscar attempted to claim her mouth. She turned her face aside. “You cannot.”
Shifting her hands between them to push away from his body, Agatha ignored the familiar rush of longing to wrap her arms tighter about him. She’d missed him. She’d missed the charming liar far too much.
But the cold rush of reality sobered her. He was a man engaged for an advantageous match. He was to marry an heiress. A woman hailed as a diamond of society. By comparison, Agatha had no place in Oscar’s life except for a sordid one as his mistress.
Oscar groaned, attempting to drag her close again. “Change your mind.”
His ardent whisper brought tears to her eyes, but she pushed against his embrace until there was some space between them. “I cannot be your mistress.”
Oscar’s fingers closed about her hands and trapped her firmly in place. “Please.”
Agatha shook her head and tried to extract her hands from his grip. But he curled his fingers about hers, lacing them together as he had done so often.
The tears in her eyes fell at the familiar gesture. “You know it’s impossible. I cannot be the woman you want.”
“The woman I want is you. Exactly as you are. How can you deny us our only chance for contentment?”
Agatha took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She’d had a lot of time to consider her past behavior, to see that she’d been swept away by an unbecoming lust and lulled by the intimacy of frequent proximity. She should have taken greater care with her heart and kept him, a man far above her station in life, at arms’ length.
But she’d been foolishly smitten by his charm and had missed the obvious signs that they had no proper future together. Oscar held opinions that were so very different from hers. He’d wanted her to warm his bed, but didn’t want to marry her. Why would he? He lived a charmed life, dined among the best circles in London, and frittered away his time with meaningless pursuits. To her horror, she’d discovered his goal had always been to marry to better his estate, to marry a daughter of a peer and elevate his family in his rarified world. Marriage to a merchant’s granddaughter hardly fit in with his grand schemes.
He must have been vastly amused with her feeble resistance to his seduction.
She pressed her hands to his chest and shoved hard. “You ask me to fulfill a role that is held in low regard. I cannot be your mistress. I would become a pariah in good society. I won’t risk being denied the right to work with the orphans if rumors of my fall were to spread. Thanks to our past familiarity, I already have a somewhat questionable reputation. But I won’t give up the chance for a meaningful life because you cannot take no for an answer.”
Across from her, Oscar stiffened. “You spend too much of your time thinking about those damn orphans.”
Agatha pressed the point of her finger into his breastbone. “And you, my lord, think of nothing at all and no one but yourself. You do exactly what is expected of you, instead of what you should. Now get out of my way. I’m going to find my maid.”
Chapter Three
YET AGAIN, AGATHA Birkenstock’s tart tongue left Oscar speechless. He dragged in a heavy breath, intent on calming his frantic heart. How dare she label him a heartless bastard? Hadn’t he just fought tooth and nail to keep her safe? Usually her direct way of speaking was one of the things he enjoyed about her. But not today.
Not when his blood was still coursing with a wild desire to thrash the life out of the men who had dared touch his precious Agatha. Not when Oscar was still shaken by his own recent behavior. Behavior that he wished no one would discover. But secrets were hard to keep from society at the best of times, and he was biding time until the news reached the ton’s flapping ears. How society would regard him then was anyone’s guess. How Agatha Birkenstock took the news was another matter entirely.
Ahead of him, Agatha was calling for her maid and creeping through the square with outstretched arms. He caught up to her. “You go too far, Agatha.”
She blinked. “Well you, my lord, have not the right to tell me what I should or should not do. Kindly stay out of my business.”
“You are my business.” Oscar dragged her into his arms. She could have been hurt. He could have lost her. He forced a large breath into his lungs and let it out slowly. She appeared unhurt, but it had been a very near thing. What if he hadn’t become so frustrated with his mother’s party and escaped early? Who knew what he would have found.
Oscar ran his hands over her cloak, molding her tighter against him, discreetly attempting to gauge her state of health. It had been too long since he’d seen her without a crowd or closed window between them. Too long since he’d held her in his arms. Yet when she forcefully resisted his embrace, he let her go. He’d never force Agatha to stay, but her need for independence worried him.
As she stepped around him, Oscar caught her arm again and dragged her to his side. “We are not finished speaking about your lack of a suitable escort. Why is a footman or such not with you?”
Agatha stiffened. “Do you listen to me at all, Lord Carrington? Stay. Out. Of. My. Business.”
Her blue eyes blazed with defiance and Oscar’s heart pounded harder in his chest. She was, in a word, a formidable woman. Much like his own mother, with her determination to steer her own path. But the path Agatha had chosen would separate them, and Oscar, despite knowing it was in her best interests, was no longer sure he could bear that.
A groan to Oscar’s right startled them both.
Agatha pulled from his grip and rushed toward the sound. “Nell, where are you?”
“Damn it, Agatha,” Oscar hissed, frustrated all over again by his inability to continue a conversation with her. Just when he thought he had a chance to plead his case, she darted away.
“Here, miss. I’m here.”
The weak call turned him around until he stumbled over Agatha crouching low to the ground.
“Oscar. Nell is hurt. You have to help me.”
The young woman at Agatha’s feet groaned. Poor girl. He’d been too late to prevent her from coming to harm.
Agatha tugged on his trouser leg. “What are you waiting for? Help her up so that I may have her seen to.”
“No,” the maid squeaked.
Oscar took a step back. While he was more than happy to carry out Agatha’s request, as any gentleman should, he understood better than Agatha why the maid might not wish him to place his hands on her. The scoundrel that had accosted the girl had been very free with exploring her body, despite her vigorous protests. She might see any assistance he tried to give as another threat against her.
Oscar gripped Agatha’s arm and dragged her a few steps away so he could s
peak freely. “She’s been handled in the worst way possible, Agatha. Be gentle with her. It would be my honor to help you, however I think she fears me.”
Agatha blinked up at him for a full minute as she assessed his words. Then her blue eyes widened with understanding. She flew to her servant’s side. “This is all my fault, Nell. I’m so sorry. So very sorry, indeed. I should have allowed George to accompany us.”
The maid’s tears started as soon as Agatha helped her stand and made a fuss of straightening her gown. “We do not look too bad. If asked about our mussed attire, we will say we were almost struck by a carriage and fell to the hard ground. However, instead of returning below stairs or to your chamber, Nell, you will come straight to mine. I will say I have need of you, so there shall be no prying eyes until you feel better.”
Oscar grimaced. Agatha involved herself in matters best left to the servants far too much. She should hold herself aloof from their contretemps. But no matter how often Oscar had warned her that her efforts would be resented, she persisted in thinking them her friends.
Agatha lifted the maid’s chin to look in her eyes. “Nell?”
The maid sniffled. “Thank you, miss.”
Agatha slung her arm about the girl’s waist and moved off slowly without waiting for him.
Frustrated to be summarily ignored again, Oscar rushed to stand before them, his arms outstretched. “Agatha? My cane?”
Her huff of annoyance was loud. “Beside the tree.”
After a few turns about the tree base, Oscar spotted it and then hurried to catch up. But by then the women were at the edge of the park and, without a backward glance, they limped across the street.
Careful to remain out of sight, as they ascended the front stairs of the building beside his and disappear inside. He leaned against the wrought-iron fencing as his heart squeezed. For all the annoyance Agatha brought to his life, he missed her dreadfully. Her sudden smiles, her infectious laugh, and the way her gaze had once fallen upon him with a steady acceptance, despite his flaws.
And he had many. Society might claim him to be the most charming man in society, but his inner thoughts were oftentimes less than graceful. Especially now, when society expected so much from him and gave nothing back to help him accept this loveless match in which he’d been bound.
He needed someone to confide in, yet he couldn’t bear to open his heart. Not when the one who still held it looked upon him with such disdain. What Oscar wanted most was to ease her hurt, but he feared that losing Agatha was a suffering he’d never be free of.
Oscar tucked his hands under his arms and rocked on his feet. Months of unanswered questions stirred within him. He needed to speak with Agatha privately, but he dreaded hearing her responses.
Oscar pushed off the fence and crossed the street, hopefully appearing as if he hadn’t a care in the world, should he pass anyone foolish enough to be abroad on this wretched night. He hurried up his front steps, pulled the key from his pocket, and let himself inside the quiet house. But he couldn’t hope to evade his butler.
“You have an urgent message, my lord.”
His butler held out his little tray. Mother? What new scheme she had hatched in the last half hour? Oscar headed for his tiny bookroom, breaking the seal as he went.
He swiftly read the elegantly worded note. Another inescapable invitation to another tediously dull luncheon. And tomorrow no less. Why hadn’t she mentioned it tonight? A quick glance at his appointment book showed he had promised to take his future wife driving in Hyde Park at five, but he should have enough time to fit both outings into his schedule.
Oscar ran his finger over his engagements for the rest of the week. Penelope, Penelope, Penelope. How dull. He groaned and dropped his head to the open page. Life was not going the way he’d planned.
But there was nothing to be done now. Only make the best husband he could and forget about Agatha Birkenstock. Except that was proving more than difficult.
Of course, living in the house beside Agatha was certainly responsible for keeping her uppermost in his mind. That place should be occupied by Lady Penelope, a socially acceptable earl’s daughter.
Yet no matter how hard Oscar tried, he couldn’t dredge up the necessary enthusiasm for the chit. The dark-haired beauty didn’t affect him at all. Her conversation didn’t draw him into a greater understanding of her character. Her smile, when she chose to bestow one in his direction, lacked warmth. And unless matters changed and she stepped from her family’s shadow long enough to speak with him alone, he’d be just as oblivious on his wedding day.
At least her father, the Earl of Thorpe, hadn’t pressed for an actual wedding date as yet. Indeed, her brother-in-law, Lord Prewitt, was very quick to suggest a long engagement so they could become better acquainted. But how Oscar was supposed to do that, when Lady Penelope never left her family’s company, stumped him.
Oscar rubbed a hand across his face. He’d thought to make a proper marriage to the advantage of his family. He’d thought to marry a woman with impeccable breeding and decorum. What he got was being discovered in a state of dishabille beside Lady Penelope. But he’d not been the one to muss her prim gown.
No, that was the worst of it.
Lord Thorpe had concluded, quite wrongly, that Oscar had been responsible for his daughter’s state. Yet all Oscar had done was stumble upon her straight from having Agatha Birkenstock in his arms. But Lady Penelope had claimed firmly that he’d been the one to do the deed, as it were.
Of course, with no repeatable explanation for his less-than-pristine appearance, matters had quickly spiraled out of his control. He couldn’t very well say that he’d tumbled Agatha over Lady Archer’s pianoforte. So, his planned slow courtship of Lady Penelope had become a quick engagement, and then, to his shock, he’d lost something more precious than gold.
Agatha wasn’t fearless. Despite his extravagant offer of carte blanche, she refused to become his mistress. Instantly. The memory of that painful interview haunted him, because he had discovered that Agatha had presumed to be his wife. Offering her the position of mistress, when she’d assumed otherwise, had turned her cold to him. When she’d walked away without a backward glance, he knew he’d made a grave mistake.
Oscar leaned back in his chair and considered what he’d so foolishly thrown away. He and Agatha had become friendly not long after her arrival in her grandfather’s house. Her sad, pinched face and darkly hued mourning attire had tugged at his heart, sitting as she was tucked into her windowsill. But when she had realized he was so close, she had hidden herself from view.
For a month of Tuesdays, he had placed a bag of sweets on her windowsill, determined to wipe the unhappy frown from the grieving girl’s face. When at last she didn’t throw the bags back over the railing, he caught a glimpse of her smile. After that day, he’d gained her trust, gained her friendship, and the desire to never see her so unhappy again.
He’d thought everything was perfect.
But then he’d never spoken a word about their future, so he didn’t know they each had a far different plan in mind.
Now he was engaged to marry a woman he didn’t know, didn’t care for, and certainly didn’t trust, while the one he wanted shunned him. So far, he’d been unable to detect one glimmer of embarrassment in his future wife’s eyes. If she suffered from a broken heart at her separation from her own lover, he certainly couldn’t sense it.
He stood suddenly, morose resignation weighing heavily on his shoulders. Perhaps he should attempt a fresh start after the wedding away from Town. He couldn’t continue to live beside Agatha Birkenstock every day of his marriage. Despite her demand that he stay away, Oscar didn’t know if he could maintain a distance between them. That irked him.
And to hell with the betrothal clause stating he had to reside in the Earl of Thorpe’s residence upon his marriage to Lady Penelope. Such a restriction to his life was not to be borne without resistance.
Perhaps a home in the country would be b
est. The Berkley Square townhouse was entailed, but his fortune was enough to purchase a little place in the country. Of course, given the townhouse’s position, he’d have no trouble renting it out during the season, freeing him of the temptation to return to London and see Agatha just one last time.
The thought gave him no joy.
These last months since the engagement were the worst of his life, and he could see no happy ending in sight.
Cast down, he made his way up the narrow staircase to an upper floor rear door and stepped onto the dark balcony. He walked to the rail, slung one leg over carefully, mindful of the spikes atop the metal work, and stepped onto Agatha’s adjoining balcony.
Someone moved about inside her bedchamber. Objects clanked against wood, or was that a scraping of a chair? Was Agatha still attending to the poor maid? He tapped on the glass once, dropped a sack of sweets on the windowsill, and then settled in to wait until she doused the light. After a little while the window rattled, and then Agatha’s head popped out into the night. “You have to stop doing this.”
“Come out, precious.”
The sack of sweets landed at his feet. “I can’t.” She ducked her head back inside.
“Please, Agatha. We need to talk and then I’ll leave you be.”
She huffed another breath. “Oh, all right. But you must mind your manners.”
The window inched higher and, after a slither of sound, she stood beside him. Oscar reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. Her smooth skin and the sweet scent of her perfume made his blood run hot. He quickly led her to the rail, stepped over, then turned to help her, intent on swinging her nightgown clear of the spiked rail.
As his hands settled about her waist, desire made his palms sweaty. When she was on her feet on his balcony, he was very quick to lead her inside before they were seen together.
Despite his earlier decision to leave her in peace, Oscar gathered Agatha into his arms to hold her tight against him. After a moment’s hesitation, Agatha returned his embrace, wrapping her arms low around his hips.
