by Heather Boyd
God, he was so unbelievably stupid.
Giving up Agatha was going to kill him. He let her go with reluctance, clutched her hand in his, and led her to his bedchamber where a fire burned hot enough to ward off the chill of the foggy night.
As they crossed the threshold, Agatha’s hand slipped free of his. “What do you want, Oscar?”
Instead of answering immediately, he crossed the room to sit and regarded her. So far he could see no change to her body that hinted she might be carrying his child. But he had to be sure. Despite the surge of desire sweeping him at the sight of her in his bedchamber again, dressed for bed in familiar white linen, he steeled himself to remain at a distance. But with her hair unbound and lying thick about her shoulders, she was everything he’d ever wanted and more.
“How are you, precious?”
His question appeared to take her off guard. She stared at him a long time. Her gaze flowed over his face. A frown line appeared between her eyes. “Better than you, it would seem. You look dreadful.”
Oscar nodded. He couldn’t explain his weary appearance without telling her what he’d done—what circumstance had forced him to do in the name of friendship.
“Are you unwell?”
“I am very well, but I’ve not been sleeping the best. No doubt there are peas hidden under my mattress.”
Agatha scoffed and rose to her feet. Fearing she was about to bolt, Oscar started to stand, but she closed the distance between them to press her hand to his head, keeping him in place.
“You are no warmer than usual. Does something trouble you?”
Oscar closed his eyes, drinking in the concern in her voice. Her fingers slid into his hair in an intimate caress he’d missed. Oscar shuddered. “Aside from missing you like the devil, what could be wrong?”
Her fingers cupped his jaw and then slipped away. “It’s more than that, isn’t it?”
Agatha resumed her seat, but she sat forward, apparently eager to hear his confession. Was she as starved for the sound of his voice as he was for hers?
No matter the reason, he couldn’t tell her the truth. “I asked you here to speak about you.” Now that the moment had come to ask his question, he was afraid of the answer. “I am most particularly concerned that there might have been consequences from our nights together. A somewhat awkward expectation. You never wrote to me as I asked.”
“Awkward?” Agatha’s face filled with hot color as she understood the significance of his question. “Oh, there are no consequences. I knew that almost immediately.”
Oscar hung his head, filled with deep sadness. In the back of his mind, he’d begun to formulate a plan to set Agatha and the child up somewhere. Somewhere he might visit often. Somewhere with green fields to take picnics upon. As he looked up, Agatha swiped her fingers across her cheeks, brushing away tears. He dropped to his knees and crawled across the room to pull her into his embrace. Sweeping her hair aside, he pressed his face against the smooth skin of her neck and waited for her to compose herself again.
When she eventually raised her head, Oscar sat beside her, clasping her fingers in his grip. “It’s for the best, then.”
Agatha nodded, but he could tell she didn’t agree. He didn’t believe himself, either.
With her neck exposed to the candlelight, an angry red mark upon her skin was revealed. “You were hurt. Why didn’t you tell me?”
His fingers grazed her skin, then he dropped kisses beside the mark to make her better. For a moment or two, Agatha allowed it, but too soon twisted away from him.
Her eyes, when he met them, were twin pools of pain. “I must return home before Nell frets.”
Oscar let the sight of her fill his vision, let the precious memories of her friendship fill his mind, until his heart settled into a deep, steady rhythm. “I know. How is she?”
Agatha twisted her fingers together nervously. “Quite shocked, I fear.”
“Give her time to come around.” He stood and held out his hand. After a moment, Agatha came to him, let him wrap her in an embrace, and finally let him kiss her as he’d dreamed.
Distance and longing heated the exchange, until they were both grasping for breath and each other. The thin nature of her nightgown proved little barrier to his questing fingers, and he felt every contour, ever delicious dip and sway of her body.
But she had refused him. He wouldn’t seduce her into breaking her word. “Agatha.”
She whimpered, threading her fingers into the waistband of his trousers in a manner that drove him insane. “Yes, Oscar.”
Ignoring the husky quality of her voice, he pressed his lips to her hair. He would not make a mistake tonight and take her to his bed. He couldn’t lie with her again. The risk was simply too great. “I’ve not slept with another woman since our first kiss. I want you to know that.”
“If you had, it is no longer my concern.” Agatha sniffed. “Let me go.”
He deserved that, he supposed. But Agatha needed to know the truth from his lips. He should have been honest with her from the start. With an ocean of regret on his shoulders, Oscar led her to the back of his house, lifted her over the railing, and watched her take his heart away.
Chapter Four
LIVING WITH HER grandfather had, at one time, been very easy. When she’d been younger and still distraught over her parents’ sudden deaths, Thomas Birkenstock had set his business affairs aside to soften her heartbreak. He’d been gently patient with her wish to remain apart from the world. Unfortunately, such sympathetic treatment hadn’t lasted much beyond her sixteenth year, the time when he realized she was of an age to need a husband. The once gentle prodding had grown to become a daily lecture—an interview where Agatha struggled to be an agreeable, dutiful grandchild, but not commit herself to any man he favored.
Agatha surreptitiously watched him scanning the London Times while he dug into a heaped plate of fried beef and cabbage with a saucer of mead to wash it down. Normally, she could ignore the combination. Today, however, she was hard pressed to keep her countenance when he belched into his hand. Meal times were the worst of living with him.
The flick of the paper signaled an end to his silence and the continuation of his routine. He was a man of exact habits, neat to a fault, and growing obsessed with seeing her married now that she was an old maid of one-and-twenty years.
She counted the times he folded the paper: in half, then thirds. As he stood and tucked it under his arm, she felt the weight of his stare settle over her. Her grandfather’s lips had compressed, signaling his thoughts had probably turned to her unwed state again.
“Shall we meet at eleven today, child? I have some letters of business to write before our discussion.”
A brief reprieve, but certainly not an escape from the inevitable. “Of course, sir.”
She smiled until he disappeared from view then let her ladylike pose crumple. How was she supposed to commit to marry a man of his choosing? It wasn’t that she disliked the idea of marriage, a home, children, or the happy slide into comfortable old age. Yet her foolishness three months ago had made that respectable future utterly impossible.
Agatha lifted her teacup to her lips and sipped, glancing about the morning room with a critical eye. The chamber was in a bright, sunny position, being at the rear of the house, and she’d gathered her grandmother’s best possessions together to make the room feel homey for her grandfather. She was a good housekeeper for him. Couldn’t he be happy to let their situation remain a long-term arrangement?
She let the cup clatter noisily onto its saucer. No, he wouldn’t let the matter rest, but she had an hour in which to enjoy her life before the lecture began again. She had temporary freedom. Leaving the morning room behind, Agatha hurried to her little corner of the house—a narrow slice of room that she’d taken over completely. The cluttered space held her favorite things: books, needlepoint, a soft quilt belonging to her mother that she liked to tuck about her legs on cold days. The dark walls and lavender-scented ch
amber offered Agatha more comfort than any other part of the house these days.
Dragging out the heavy, cushioned chair before her writing table, Agatha sat to write out the menu for tomorrow night’s dinner then wrote a reply to her newly married friend’s letter, being sure to make her life sound more wonderful than it really was. Virginia, Lady Hallam, didn’t need to know the truth of her situation.
She didn’t need to know that Agatha’s heart had shattered into a million pieces the night Oscar became engaged after compromising the incomparable Lady Penelope. The wealthy debutant possessed a healthy dowry and an equally angry father. Agatha’s lips curled into an unladylike snarl. Damn that conniving strumpet. Lady Penelope had insinuated that she had given herself to Oscar that very night. And by the time Agatha had returned unobserved to the ballroom, neat and once more respectable after she’d succumbed to Oscar’s affections, he was being threatened by Lady Penelope’s irate father.
When Oscar’s gaze had fallen upon her across the ballroom, her heart had stopped. He’d appeared unconcerned with his entrapment. He’d smiled and had immediately agreed to the match. Heartbroken, Agatha had clapped along with the other guests, and then escaped as fast as her grandfather could be convinced to leave.
It wasn’t until later, when Oscar had knocked on her window as if nothing had changed between them, that she’d discovered her error.
Oscar’s marriage to Lady Penelope was in the wind all along. He’d been courting her behind Agatha’s back. She’d only been a diversion from boredom.
Furious over his duplicity, of his plan to marry Lady Penelope and keep her as his mistress, she’d sent him away. But later, as the enormity of her mistake became apparent, she grieved for what might have been.
Her only consolation now was that Oscar appeared miserable too.
A shadow fell upon Agatha’s table, blocking the light filtering in through the window as her butler, George, passed by on his way through to the kitchen garden. Nell, standing in a patch of bright sunlight, was gathering lavender stalks by the far wall.
Agatha dropped her quill to the table and stood. After yesterday, she wasn’t sure how Nell would react to the male servants in the household. She’d been considerably distressed last night, and it had taken all of Agatha’s powers of persuasion to convince Nell that she was not about to be let go. After all, the assault was hardly her fault. She was an innocent victim of a lustful man. Just as Agatha had been three months ago.
She pulled the curtain aside and peered out. With the window closed, she couldn’t discern what the conversation was about, but so far Nell seemed to be holding her own. George took a step forward, closer to Nell, and blocked her view. Anxious that he not question Nell about her late night duties, Agatha headed outside to intervene. The cool morning air gave way to the warmth of sunshine, but with George towering over Nell now, Agatha didn’t linger to enjoy.
“Have I done something to offend?” George asked, a hard edge to his tone.
Nell took a step away. “No, of course not.” The maid retreated another step, and George followed.
The anxiety in her maid’s voice tugged at Agatha’s heart. She stepped to the side, letting Nell see her approach. Her maid’s eyes widened.
George turned to take in Agatha’s approach. “Can I be of assistance, Miss Birkenstock?”
“No thank you, George. I am here to speak with Nell. You may go about your usual duties.” The butler looked about to say something more to Nell, but he clenched his jaw over the words, nodded, and then turned on his heel to return to the house.
“Nell?” Agatha took a step and caught the miserable expression in her maid’s eye. Oscar claimed she should hold herself aloof from the servant’s contretemps, but Nell needed her support, at least for the moment. The girl certainly needed a distraction. “I believe the flowers would do better with a little less pressure around the stems.”
As hoped, Nell glanced down and made a show of checking the poor flowers.
“What did George want?”
Nell shrugged. “He wanted to know if I was ill. I missed dinner last evening and picked at my breakfast since my stomach just churns over and over. It was remarked upon below-stairs.”
“A pity he didn’t know that my late supper last night was for you, but no matter.” Agatha picked a few more sprigs and tucked them into Nell’s drooping bunch. “The less he knows about last night, the better, am I correct?”
Nell looked up, yet her misery remained as clear as day. If she kept up that sort of mournful expression she would be faced with many more questions below-stairs.
“Try to push the memory from your mind.” Heedless of the impropriety of behaving with such familiarity to a servant, Agatha stroked Nell’s arm. The maid nodded just as the clock began to strike.
Already eleven! Dash it all. Now she had to face her grandfather.
Agatha picked up her long skirts and hurried inside. Punctuality, or lack thereof, was also another favorite topic to be discussed at length. At her grandfather’s study door, she smoothed her hair, then tapped on the wood and waited. Just as the final chime rang through the house, he bade her enter.
Almost at once, Agatha was cast back to her first day in the house. The decidedly masculine chamber had intimidated her then, just as it did now. Striving to appear placid, to be the dutiful granddaughter he expected, Agatha crossed the room and took her usual seat.
He waved a letter at her. “I’ve received a letter of invitation from the Marquess of Ettington to spend Christmas at his estate in the country. However, given certain changed circumstances, I am undecided on the value of whether to accept.”
Concerned, Agatha leaned forward. “What has changed?”
He scrubbed his hand across his jaw. “Given the recent spate of marriages amongst his set, I fear the time and unnecessary disturbance to attend would not be worth the effort. It doesn’t do you any good to associate with gentlemen already committed in marriage. I can hardly imagine the marquess would widen his circle with eligible men just to be sure you had the opportunity to be properly admired.”
Agatha pressed her lips together to keep from crying out. He would refuse an invitation to spend Christmas with her friends simply because there would be no marriageable gentlemen in attendance? Was that the only reason he had forced her into society, into the presence of peers far above her expectations when the invitations had come from Ettington House? She longed to see Virginia, Lady Hallam, and Constance, the Marchioness of Ettington, again. But if he said no today, his decision would be final.
Determining it best not to let her anxiety show, she said nothing while he paced the room. If she spoke up with too much enthusiasm for the trip, he’d try to make a bargain with her. A typical businessman, he’d press her into committing to meet another gentleman of his acquaintance in return for indulging her.
Abruptly, he threw the letter to the desk. Agatha exhaled slowly, certain, given his rushed gesture, that he hadn’t made a decision as yet.
He circled the desk and sat as if he were negotiating a difficult meeting. “Now we have the orphanage’s charity tea tomorrow, and I want you to wear something pretty. There’s many a lady there with sons in want of a wife who should be greeted with the utmost civility. After that, we shall take a turn around Hyde Park in the new carriage, eh?”
Agatha clasped her hands together to hide her nervousness. “As much as I would like to please you in this, Grandfather, I am already committed with duties during the performance. I am to escort the children and provide the accompaniment on the pianoforte.”
Behind her, the footsteps halted. Agatha waited. She’d given her word to help convey the children to Ascot House. If she changed her plans at this late stage, her actions would reflect badly on her grandfather. Perhaps it would be enough that she was to play the pianoforte in public, a feat he was always attempting to arrange. Usually performing in public would set her nerves to chaos, but for the children’s happiness she was prepared to endure the
embarrassment.
“Very well, but do your best to be agreeable during any introductions. You will have little time to make an impression with your conversation. Let us hope there is a gentleman in the room with the ability to detect your superior playing under the noisy racket the children will strike up. I’d not like the occasion to be a disappointing waste.”
“Yes, of course. I will do my best to make a good impression.”
When her grandfather nodded and picked up his paper again, Agatha made her escape. With luck, she’d go unnoticed by the guests attending the concert. And with more luck, the unmarried gentlemen seated for the concert would be tone deaf.
Chapter Five
ESTELLA RYALL, LADY Carrington, liked nothing better than to be the center of attention at any society gathering. However, today she wasn’t as keen on the sensations caused by the warm regard afforded her as usual.
“Mother, could you remove your fingers from my arm? Your grip is causing me considerable discomfort.”
Estella glanced at her rigid fingers gripping her son’s arm and made a greater effort to calm herself. She was one of the ton’s most influential hostesses and should be above being ruffled. But the vexation of having her lover and her oldest acquaintance in the room was proving a real point of contention. Having them both watch her so closely, with exactly the same predatory expression, proved unsettling in the extreme. Flustered, she smoothed her hand over her gown like a green debutant then silently scolded herself for her foolishness. She raised her chin. “The performance is almost ready to start, Oscar.”
His eyes lit up. “Yes, that was what I’d mentioned several times already. Perhaps we should sit.”
As Oscar unwittingly tried to maneuver her close to both men, Estella managed to direct him to an unoccupied row some distance away. Her son’s eyebrows rose in query as he settled in his chair. “Well, Mother, you have me all to yourself. You must have a somewhat urgent matter to discuss to shun your friend’s company.”
