Lady August

by Becky Michaels

  “None,” August said, cutting him off before he could say any more. “I thought I would be a governess for my entire life. As I said, I was curious and didn’t want to die an old maid.” She laughed harder this time. “All these books and poems about… about… Well, you know. I wanted to understand them.”

  “Do you understand them now?” August faltered, staring at him, her laughter and smile fading. “Do you?”

  “Not really,” she murmured, shaking her head and turning away from him. “If I’m honest, the event in question was quite disappointing.”

  Brooks sighed, maybe from relief, and they stood in silence for a moment. He took a step toward her, close enough so that he could take her cheek in the palm of his hand. He kept his thumb underneath her chin, pressing against it, tilting her head upward until his gaze captured hers. She sharply inhaled.

  “Are you still curious?” he asked softly. August wildly searched his face, appearing confused. He took his free hand and gestured to the books lining the walls. “About what all the naughty books and poetry are about, I mean.”

  He was certain August nearly stopped breathing. “To a foolish extent,” she finally managed to whisper. Her lips trembled, but not for long. Brooks brought his head down to hers, capturing her mouth with his.

  * * *

  August never knew kisses had the power to make her light-headed. But when the solicitor’s soft lips captured hers, she was thankful he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her toward him, for she was afraid she might faint at any moment. He leaned into her, their torsos molding together until she felt like he was part of her.

  As they kissed, she felt a familiar heat stir in her core. She knew right away she wanted more than this, more than only frenzied kisses and roaming hands beside the heat of the fire. She would have liked Brooks to pick her up and carry her to the nearby settee made of red velvet, to kiss her in places that weren’t just her lips. She wanted him to take his time with her, to show her what Henry couldn’t. She wanted to feel him inside of her.

  With her arms wrapped around his shoulders, her right hand was free to snake its way deftly up his back. August found the curls at the nape of his neck, gently playing with them with deft fingers. She felt him moan against her mouth, the vibration reaching the bottom of her stomach. There was no question that she wanted him, and he wanted her. But he pulled away, leaving her to look up at him with swollen lips and hooded eyes.

  At some point, she became aware of a horrified look in his eyes. She blinked, shutting her mouth. Slowly, he stood up straight, her hands gripping his upper arms for balance as he brought her with him. He didn’t have to say anything for her to know he regretted it. He had seen the lust in August’s eyes and suddenly remembered the rules. And he didn’t want to marry.

  She wasn’t sure which bothered her more—his remembering or the fact he didn’t want to marry. August frowned at him.

  “There you two are!”

  August dropped her hands to her side, quickly turning to find her aunt standing in the doorway. If she had seen or noticed anything, she gave no indication. Meanwhile, August’s heart pounded like a drum in her chest.

  “Have you convinced Mr. Brooks to stop hiding and come play charades?” Lady Ramsbury asked. August’s mouth was so dry that she felt incapable of speaking. She turned over her shoulder, giving Brooks a pleading look. He cleared his throat.

  “I was just telling Lady August how tired I am, and we were saying our goodbyes,” he said. The fire in August’s stomach had slowly dissipated, leaving her with an uncomfortable emptiness inside her gut. Listening to Brooks speak to her aunt, she knew she must have suddenly become white as a ghost.

  “Then you trust me with her care?” Lady Ramsbury asked, arching her brow as if she were skeptical.

  “Of course,” he replied with what appeared to be a forced smile. “It was foolish of me to doubt you. You are more than capable of introducing August to suitable young men to marry.” The emptiness inside her twisted, and she very nearly winced in pain. Brooks turned to August, his expression unreadable. “Could you tell my mother I have gone home?”

  Reluctantly, August nodded, then helplessly watched as Brooks swiftly left the room.

  Chapter Fifteen

  August’s aunt noticed her pallor after the incident with Brooks right away. She walked toward her niece, who still stood in front of the fire. Lady Ramsbury reached out to hold her by the elbows. “Are you all right, dear?” she asked.

  Realizing she couldn’t tell her aunt what happened unless she wanted Brooks to be in terrible trouble, August cleared her throat, trying to regain her power of speech while thinking up some sort of excuse. “I am fine, Aunt. Just a bit offended, I suppose.”

  Lady Ramsbury offered her niece a pitying glance. “Oh, you mustn’t let Brooks discourage you.” August raised her brow, remembering that the man in question’s mother had said the same thing. “No one’s ever been able to catch his eye, and there are much more eligible men you should focus your attention on.”

  August looked down. She did not want to think of other men, especially not after what just happened. The gentlemen she sat next to at dinner were entertaining enough, but she kept stealing glances at Brooks throughout the evening whenever she could.

  But she was acting ridiculous! She had only known the man for a few days. One kiss didn’t mean anything, and she had the whole of Mayfair to meet. “You are right,” August finally said, giving a firm nod.

  “And if he is interested in you, surely he will call,” her aunt drawled, wrapping her arm under her niece’s and guiding her into the hall. August furrowed her brow. Would he call? She refused to hope, or at least she told herself she shouldn’t after he had run from her like a child only a few moments earlier. She turned to her aunt, trying to recall the name of the gentleman who sat on her right side at dinner, hoping to distract herself.

  “What was the name of the young man with the dark hair that sat beside me at dinner?” she asked.

  “That was Lord Ridlington,” her aunt replied as they walked down the hall together.

  “He is very amusing.” Her aunt looked at August with a raised brow, smiling slightly. August tried not to blush. She had not expressed interest in any man for a long time, not since she once told Jane stories about Henry. “Do you think he could be my partner this evening?”

  “The marquess is usually my partner, but I suppose you could borrow him for the evening. I don’t mind being only a spectator for tonight’s game.”

  Usually her partner? August couldn’t help but wonder if the marquess was one of her aunt’s many lovers that Rosamund mentioned. August flushed, turning away from her aunt. “Oh, that’s all right,” she said with a slight shrug. “You are tonight’s hostess! You have to play. I think I’ll have fun watching.”

  Lady Ramsbury shook her head. “Being, as you said, tonight’s hostess, I’m afraid I must insist you play. I must ensure all my guests have fun, and you will have plenty more playing than watching, especially with Lord Ridlington as your partner. He will be perfect for you.”

  But August grew suspicious. “Aunt, are you planning a match between the marquess and me? From the way you said he is usually your partner, I thought… well, I thought…” August searched for the right words. “Rosamund mentioned you developed quite a reputation after your husband died.” Her voice dropped an octave, whispering furtively. “Is it true you have taken many lovers?”

  Her aunt gasped. “Do you mean to tell me that my niece has been the one spreading that awful gossip about me?” she asked. August’s face fell, then her aunt suddenly grinned. “I am only joking. Rosamund is completely right.”

  August stared at her aunt with wide eyes, her jaw very nearly on the floor. “And Lord Ridlington?” she managed to ask.

  Lady Ramsbury winked, but they came upon the drawing room before August could ask any more. After regaining her composure, August scanned the room for Mrs. Brooks. “There she is,” August said. “And
she’s with Lord Ridlington as well.”

  The two ladies walked toward the marquess and Mrs. Brooks, who shot August a concerned look. “Where is my son?” she asked.

  “I’m afraid he left, Mrs. Brooks,” August explained, frowning apologetically.

  Mrs. Brooks looked from August to Lady Ramsbury then back to August. The older woman’s nostrils flared. “Left?” she asked.

  “He said he was tired,” August explained, hoping that would be the end of it. There was no use trying to make sense of Brooks’s actions. He would do whatever he wanted, and August would remain at this dinner party. She ought to make the best of it as she always did.

  But then Lord Ridlington surprised her by laughing. August stared at him, waiting for him to regain his composure. “I’m afraid your man Brooks is not one for social engagements like these,” he said when he was through laughing. “I’m surprised he even made it this long. A testament to your charm, Lady August.”

  “If I had any charm, I would not have been left partnerless for charades,” August countered. She glanced at her aunt, waiting for the dowager duchess to say something. The older woman smiled.

  “Ridlington, will you be Lady August’s partner this time?” Lady Ramsbury and the marquess exchanged some sort of peculiar look that August didn’t quite understand. She decided then and there that they were most certainly lovers. “She must play, and I don’t mind only watching.”

  “I would love to be her partner,” Ridlington said, turning to August and smiling, revealing two dimples, one on each cheek, as he did. Between his boyish grin and bluish-gray eyes, August was impressed her aunt was having relations with such a handsome man. After a rousing game of charades where Ridlington proved himself to be a more than capable partner, he and August sat on one of the settees in front of the fire together. The hour was late, and everyone had gone home except for him. Lady Ramsbury sat at the pianoforte, playing what sounded like some sort of experimental tune of her own.

  “I hope you and your aunt come to my ball next month,” Ridlington said softly. August glanced at her aunt, who she didn’t think was listening. She turned back to the marquess.

  “That depends on whether or not my aunt thinks I’ll be ready to go to a ball in a month,” she replied, smiling slightly. Ridlington clucked his tongue on the top of his mouth.

  “You, Lady August Finch, would be ready to go to a ball tomorrow.”

  August fought back a blush. “That’s very kind of you, my lord, and I’m sure my aunt and I would love to attend next month if she thinks I’ll be ready like you do.” She paused a moment, carefully considering her next words. “You said earlier that my solicitor Mr. Brooks is not one for social engagements. Does that include balls?”

  He grinned. “I’m afraid so, but I’ll send him and his mother invitations if you would like. You never know—he might surprise us all and show up.”

  Meanwhile, Lady Ramsbury rose from the pianoforte. August noticed that wherever her aunt went, the woman exuded regalness. She floated more than walked, looking as if she didn’t have a care in the world—and why should she? A wealthy, independent woman with a man like Ridlington at her beck and call? August was beginning to think that her aunt was the most powerful woman in the universe.

  “I believe it’s time for my niece and I to retire, Ridlington,” Lady Ramsbury said. August watched as the marquess and dowager duchess stared at each other, neither flinching despite the intensity of their gazes.

  “Very well,” Ridlington finally said, rising from the settee. August followed suit, and the marquess looked from her to Lady Ramsbury. “Shall I come round tomorrow afternoon?”

  The dowager duchess shook her head. “I’m afraid there can be no more gentleman callers until August has had her official debut.”

  “Is that so?” Ridlington asked, his tone almost skeptical. He narrowed his eyes at Lady Ramsbury. “Then why the dinner party?”

  “Why? Because that’s how I planned it.” The marquess and August exchanged confused looks. They turned back to the dowager duchess, awaiting further explanation. She looked disappointed that they did not see her genius right away. “After tonight, the intrigue surrounding her sudden appearance in London will start, but now I must hide her away and teach her until the opportune time when she can wow the entire ton comes. A bit of mystery never hurt a young lady’s popularity.”

  “Then I hope you’ll consider my ball as the first event where you can show her off to society.”

  Lady Ramsbury looked marquess up and down, then shrugged. “I will consider it. Good evening, Ridlington.”

  Although he still seemed reluctant to go, the marquess offered them both a swift bow, then left the room. August watched him, frowning, before glancing at her aunt. “You know, you do not have to become celibate for my sake. I’m not sure what Brooks said to you, but—”

  “It will be good for Ridlington to spend some time away from me,” her aunt said, cutting her off. “Did you know he’s twenty years my junior? It’s not natural.”

  “Aunt—”

  But Lady Ramsbury did not let August finish. “Shall I show you to your room?” she asked brightly. August reluctantly nodded, following her upstairs.

  Her bedroom at her aunt’s was much larger than Lucy’s and even the one she stayed in at Linfield Hall. There was a sitting area in front of the fire, opposite the bed. A young maid with light brown hair peeking out from underneath her cap stood at attention by the dressing table in one of the room’s corner

  “Lady August, this is Agatha Wallace,” Lady Ramsbury said, gesturing toward the maid, who curtseyed, eyes facing downward. “She will be your lady’s maid. I admit Wallace has no experience serving a lady directly, but she is the best chambermaid I have. And she knows how to style hair according to my housekeeper.”

  August smiled at Agatha, who nervously smiled back. “We can learn together, then. Me how to be a lady, and Agatha how to be a lady’s maid.”

  “We call the servants by their last name at Park Street,” her aunt sternly said. August shot her a sheepish look. She supposed that was her first etiquette lesson.

  “Well, good night, August,” the dowager duchess continued. “Breakfast is at ten in the morning room. We will head to Bond Street right after that.”

  “Bond Street?” August asked, confused. Her aunt nodded.

  “Yes, we must go about finding you new clothes right away.” She glanced at August’s trunk, which had been delivered from Dover Street and now sat at the foot of the bed. “I’m sure you can’t possibly have all that you need in that tiny trunk of yours.”

  Her aunt said good night one last time, then swept out of the room, leaving August and Agatha alone together. “Shall I take down your hair first, my lady?” Agatha asked, gesturing toward the upholstered chair in front of the vanity.

  “Very well,” August said, sighing, moving across the room to sit. She looked at Agatha through the small mirror on top of the vanity. The girl reminded her of Jane, petite and pretty with deep-set eyes, a slightly upturned nose, and full lips. August smiled at Agatha through the mirror.

  “If I decide to call you Agatha, will you promise not to tell Lady Ramsbury? Wallace feels so impersonal, and if you are going to be bathing and dressing me every day, I’m afraid I must call you by your Christian name.”

  Agatha moved behind her and began removing the pins in her hair. “You may call me whatever you like, my lady.”

  As August watched Agatha remove the pins from her hair, she recalled doing the same task herself every night only a few nights ago—how things had changed! Her mind eventually drifted to Brooks, and she wondered what the solicitor was doing at that very moment. He must have been sleeping, probably not dreaming about their scorching kiss earlier in the library that night. He probably didn’t think it was scorching at all. She frowned.

  Still, Brooks was all she saw later that night after she snuffed the candles, climbed into bed, and closed her eyes. She dreamt of him, the red se
ttee in the library, and all the wicked things he could have done to her there.

  * * *

  Brooks awoke the morning after Lady Ramsbury’s dinner party in such a state that he hardly recognized himself. He wasn’t the type of man to drink himself into a drunken stupor, but he had the night before. That morning he was paying the price, not just with a headache but also with a deep sense of regret.

  He had practically run away from the library—run away from August—like the worst sort of coward. After stumbling into his study and closing the door behind him the night prior, he poured himself another drink and lay down on the settee by the window. That’s where he found himself the following morning.

  He must have fallen asleep without realizing it, for when he regained consciousness, light spilled in from the window, and his glass was only half empty, still in his hand, resting on his chest. Brooks regarded the remaining amber-colored liquid with a look of disgust, getting up and placing it back on the sideboard. He was lucky he hadn’t spilled it while he slept.

  With an aching head, Brooks remembered why he hardly touched the stuff. He stumbled from the sideboard to his desk, where he sat down, dizzy. He ran his hands through his hair, exhaling deeply.

  He couldn’t believe he had kissed August. He recalled his hands on her waist, his lips against hers. He couldn’t forget the feel or taste of her—or the passionate look in her eyes when he finally pulled away from her. That was the moment when he finally regained something of a conscience, realizing he was taking advantage of her and her untamed passion.

  Or maybe he was only scared of the hunger he saw in her eyes. August would have let him have his way with her if he had just taken her to the nearby settee and started undressing her. She needed no promise, no sacred vows from him to let him have her. For some reason, that bothered him. August deserved more than her father’s solicitor eagerly pawing her when he could offer no hope of love or marriage.