A Lady of Letters

by Andrea Pickens

  Marianne's chin jutted out. "As if I should want to be leg-shackled to a gentleman who would not want to know what I truly think," she said under her breath. Then her expression lightened a bit. "But you are trying to change the subject, and that won't fadge. We were discussing the Earl's skill at kissing—"

  "We were not discussing any such thing," interrupted Augusta. "What I started to say was, Lord Sheffield and I were having a difference of opinion over... philosophical ideas. Why, you heard him yourself. He was here to borrow a book."

  "Ah, no doubt one from Minerva Press, judging by the sort of debate you two were engaged in."

  Augusta's hands set on her hips.

  "Oh, very well, I shall stop teasing you. But for someone who is wont to be very observant, Gus, I think you are missing a good deal of what is right before your nose. Literally, that is."

  Augusta chose to ignore what her sister might mean by that remark. "I have been trying to keep Lord Sheffield from becoming too involved in my investigation, but—" She paused and pulled a face—"it looks as if I shall be forced to let him do as he pleases, now that he can hold the threat of blackmail over my head."

  Marianne frowned. "Because you have written some opinions for Mr. Pritchard?"

  "You might say that," muttered Augusta under her breath.

  "Well, Lord Sheffield does not strike me as such a narrow-minded gentleman—"

  "Hah!"

  "—as to think that a female cannot have an independent thought," finished her sister. "Er, how did he know of your writings?"

  "Because a certain someone saw fit to allow him to enter my private study and have free rein among my personal things."

  Marianne swallowed hard and looked somewhat abashed. "You cannot deny that he has proven a considerable help so far. I should think you would welcome his help. After all, a short while ago, you were lamenting that the sort of information we needed was most easily obtained by a man. Ah, Lord Sheffield is most definitely that."

  Augusta's eyes narrowed, but her sister kept her features schooled in an expression of great innocence. "Hmmph," she finally said. "I suppose he may prove of some use." Tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear, she turned a moody gaze upon the blazing fire. "I had better see what it was Mama wanted to see me about. Then, perhaps I might be allowed some peace and quiet to get some work done before I must dress to go driving with the Earl."

  "Be sure to wear your new sprigged moss green driving dress, along with the matching chip straw bonnet."

  Augusta looked up, utterly nonplussed. "What?"

  "Naturally you shall want to look your best for the Earl, won't you?" With that, Marianne ducked out of the room, before one of the Staffordshire figurines adorning the mantel came hurtling at her head.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  "While I, too, miss our frank exchange of confidences, I must beg of you to respect my wishes, dear friend, and let me settle this affair as I see fit. There are certain aspects about all of this that I prefer to remain private. It is clear from your tone that you are not happy with this decision, however I assure you it is all for the best. I trust it will not be a great deal longer before all of this is behind me, and we may return to our former routine."

  The brief letter was tossed onto the desk, along with the Earl's York tan driving gloves and the book he had borrowed. Ignoring all of them for the moment, Sheffield made for the sideboard and poured himself a stiff brandy. Though not in the habit of beginning his libations at such an early hour, he decided the events of the past hour merited a glass. Perhaps more than one.

  Threading his hand through his dark locks, he took a long swallow, hoping the amber liquid might help dampen his heated emotions. Even now, he was hardly aware of how he had managed to guide his team back through the crowded streets of Mayfair, so reeling had his mind been with the staggering revelation that had taken place in Miss Hadley's study.

  It still seemed beyond belief. On more than one occasion during the drive home, he had pressed his eyes firmly shut, hoping that when he opened them again, he might find himself awakened from a terrible dream. Alas, the book under his arm and the lingering taste of the fiery kisses on his lips were all too real. A muttered oath spilled forth from those same lips as the Earl sought to make some sense of the strange feelings burning inside him. Anger. Desire. Shock. Longing—he couldn't begin to put a name to it all.

  To think that the prickly, opinionated Miss Hadley was, underneath that rather rigid exterior, such a brilliant and original thinker defied imagination. And not only that, her intelligence was not of a dry, ethereal sort, but made infinitely more compelling by her sensitivity and, yes, passion. Sheffield took another hurried gulp of brandy. Passion, indeed! The fiery spirits were not nearly as potent as the memory of her response to his kisses.

  After pouring another glass, he took a seat at his desk and took out the packet of her letters from the top drawer where they were safely stowed under lock and key. It was quite some time before he finished re-reading each one of them. With a long sigh, he laid them aside, though his eyes could not help from straying back to the flowing script that covered the sheets of crisp ivory paper.

  She was right. The perceptiveness and wisdom of their contents were undiminished by the knowledge that their author was a female. Why, if anything, it added a certain allure to the words. The Earl steepled his long fingers under his chin and his mouth quirked in a rueful grimace. More than that, it was impossible to deny that a bond had developed that went beyond intellectual matters. Good Lord, they had shared each other's hopes, fears and weaknesses. And while a part of him might feel angry or deceived, he could not, in all honesty, claim that the relationship had been aught but a source of quiet strength and support to him.

  Hell's teeth, it was all so damned confusing! He didn't know quite what he was feeling. His gaze slowly drifted to the banked fire in the hearth. As they lingered on the glowing coals, a realization suddenly flared up within him, as if a match had been set to tinder.

  Indeed, he knew damn well what he was feeling. He simply did not want to admit he was hopelessly, maddeningly in love with the impossible female.

  Someone had managed to burn away all the barriers he had carelessly allowed to build up around his true self. It was both frightening and exhilarating—frightening in that he felt so vulnerable, exhilarating in that he no longer had to face the doubts and fears alone. His expression then turned very thoughtful. It was all very well for him to wax romantic over the momentous discovery of his true feelings, but what of Miss Hadley's notions on the matter? What had she meant when she had said that had she known it was him, she never would have said what she did?

  His fingers began to drum on the leather blotter. One didn't have to possess an extraordinary intellect to know exactly what she meant.

  She might have tender feelings for the author of the letters, but she didn't like him above half.

  Sheffield drained off the rest of his glass and put it down with a thump. Well, he was simply going to have to convince her that the flesh and blood part of him was just as attractive as his more cerebral attributes. As he recalled the feeling of her every curve molded close to him, the warmth of her lips, the gossamer touch of her fingers on his skin, he felt a surge of heat pooling in his groin. Oh, yes, he most definitely would have to convince her of that.

  However, he had no allusions that it was going to be easy. It was important that he not rush his fences, but rather proceed at a more deliberate pace, giving her time to get used to the idea that they might rub along together without creating sparks of the wrong sort. The thought of fireworks brought back to mind their most recent encounter, and her response to his embraces. It seemed there was some cause for hope. After all, she hadn't taken a poker to the side of his head.

  The clock on the mantel chimed the hour, reminding him of several obligations that must be seen to before he called once again at Lord Farnum's townhouse. He got slowly to his feet and tucked the bundle of Firebrand's letters
carefully back into the desk drawer. So much for ink and paper. It was now time to face the real flame.

  As the spirited team of greys slowed to a sedate walk, the two of them eyed each other with a certain wariness. Neither had spoken since the Earl had handed Augusta up into his phaeton. Indeed, though nods and greetings had been exchanged with a number of acquaintances also out for a drive at the fashionable hour, neither had so much as glanced in the other's direction. But now, as the vehicle turned onto a quieter path leading to a distant part of the park, an exchange of words seemed unavoidable.

  "I suppose I had best apologize—" began Sheffield

  "No doubt you think me—" said Augusta at the same time.

  In some embarrassment, they both fell silent. It was the Earl who finally spoke up again first. "Er, I would have you know I had no intention of snooping among your things, Miss Hadley. I truly had come to borrow the book, and your sister indicated that I might look for it in your room. That the letter was on your desk was—"

  "Was most unfortunate," finished Augusta. She drew in a deep breath. "Still, I was wrong to hurl such accusations at you, sir."

  Sheffield cleared his throat. "As to what else took place within the room...."

  "Please. You needn't mention it." Her cheeks turned a fiery red despite all her resolve to remain cool. "I'm afraid we were both angry and not thinking clearly."

  "Angry?" he repeated faintly.

  "Perhaps furious is a better way of putting it," she replied, not meeting his probing gaze. "In any case, could we simply forget that it ever happened?"

  Not bloody likely, thought the Earl, but if that is what she wished, he would try to act as if it was no great effort to dismiss it as easily as she evidently had done. "Very well, Miss Hadley. It won't be spoken of again."

  Augusta breathed an audible sigh of relief. "Good," she said brightly. "Now that we have settled everything, you may take me home."

  "Oh, we have by no means settled everything. In fact, we have not even begun to discuss the most pressing issues."

  The brittle smile disappeared from her face. "What do you mean?" Her voice took on a note of apprehension. "I... I thought you said you had no intention of ruining all that I have worked for."

  "I don't. Of that you have my promise." He was gratified to see tension in her shoulders relax ever so slightly. "However, there is the serious matter of your investigation."

  Her lips pressed together in a tight line. "I was afraid you were going to bring that up."

  Sheffield couldn't help but chuckle. "Is it really so odious to contemplate my offer of assistance? It seems to me that I have been of some help."

  Augusta still seemed set on avoiding his eyes. "I do not deny that you have been useful, sir, but as to everything else...." She bit her lip. "It is all very confusing. How are we ever going to sort things out?"

  Useful, repeated the earl to himself. She might have been speaking about the bootboy or the under footman. Good Lord, this was going to prove even more difficult than he imagined.

  "Perhaps we might put aside all personal concerns, as well as our penchant for quarreling, until we have brought whoever is responsible for these terrible deeds to justice."

  "You mean, work together?"

  He nodded.

  She seemed to consider the proposal for an inordinate amount of time. "I suppose the idea does has some merit."

  "How kind of you to allow it," replied Sheffield, with a tad more edge than he intended.

  Her lips curled upward. "No quarreling, sir. Remember?"

  "I doubt you shall let me forget it for a moment." He edged slightly closer to her. "Now, suppose you begin by telling me everything that you have been holding back. And I mean everything."

  She stole a quick glance at the Earl's diminutive tiger, who was doing his best not to appear fascinated by the most unusual conversation that was taking place. "Ah, perhaps we should wait for some other time."

  Sheffield tossed the reins aside. "Henry, take charge of the horses," he called as he jumped down from his perch. "Let us take a stroll among these trees, Miss Hadley. I assure you we will be quite alone, so no more prevaricating." His hands were already around her waist, leaving her precious little room for argument.

  They moved off the carriage path and into the shade of the swaying boughs. It was hard to discern her expression in the flickering light, but it appeared that she had decided to go along with his proposal, at least for the present.

  "There is really little that you do not already know," she began. As she followed with a more detailed account of all that had happened, it became clear that her words had not been an exaggeration.

  The Earl ran his fingers along his jaw. "Hmmm. It does seem as if we have narrowed the probable suspects down to two." He slanted a sharp glance at Augusta. "That is, unless you have engaged in some other outrageous exploit that has succeeded in eliminating one of them from consideration?"

  "Really, sir!"

  He thought he detected a slight deepening of her color. "Miss Hadley, you haven't answered my question."

  "I haven't done anything," she said tartly. "Under her breath she added, "At least, not yet."

  "I heard that."

  "Jamison and I were merely having a look at the place," she said defensively.

  "Absolutely not," he growled.

  Her eyes took on a certain spark. "Just because I agreed to allow you to help does not give you the right to lord it over me as if you were—"

  "As if I were what? Your brother?" His head bent closer to hers. "No, I am most definitely not your brother, but for his sake as well as your own, I intend to see that you don't end up in Newgate. Or Bedlam, for that matter. Surely you can see the sense of coming up with a plan that does not entail foolhardy risks."

  The footpath had taken a turn into a denser copse of trees, and before Augusta had a chance to answer him, two rough looking figures leapt out from the shadows and hurled themselves at the Earl. As one of the men knocked her down, Augusta caught the glint of steel.

  "They have knives!" she cried, struggling to regain her feet.

  Sheffield was quick enough to parry the first strike. He twisted away to one side, lashing out with his boot to catch his assailant a vicious blow to the knee. With a screech of pain, the man feel to his knees. The second one held up and approached with a bit more caution. The Earl slowly backed up, trying to draw both men farther away from Augusta. "Run," he ordered in a low voice. "Go back to the carriage."

  "I'll not leave you alone!"

  "Goddamn son of a poxed—" Sheffield's words cut off as the first man recovered his footing and made another lunge at the Earl's midriff. This time, he knocked the man's arm up with one forearm, then delivered a hard jab to the fellow's ribs, drawing a torrent of foul curses.

  "Watch your bloody language," snapped the Earl as he landed another punch. "There is a lady present."

  While Sheffield was engaged in fighting off one attack, the second assailant had edged around to come at him from the rear.

  "Behind you, sir!" warned Augusta, throwing herself forward.

  Sheffield tried to dodge away, but the fellow managed to get a firm hold of his arms. The first attacker's blade slashed out, but at the last moment it fell short as his head snapped back from the impact of a flying reticule. The man staggered back, dazed, the knife falling from his grasp. His comrade, on seeing what had happened, let go of the Earl and took to his heels. The other man, his wits fast recovered, decided to do the same.

  Sheffield drew in a deep breath and regarded the wicked looking slash through his clothing.

  "Good Heavens, are you alright, my lord?" cried Augusta, running up to take hold of his arm.

  His head came up, a wry expression on his face. "Ah, another waistcoat slain, I'm afraid."

  "It's nothing to joke about. You might have been killed!" Her fingers came out to touch his side. "Why, you're hurt!" she cried in stricken voice, staring at the trace of blood on her glove.


  "Hardly a scratch," he said lightly. "They were certainly very desperate footpads, to risk accosting law-abiding citizens in broad daylight."

  Her mouth compressed in a grim line. "I should hope you wouldn't think me so addlepated as that, sir. You know as well as I those were no thieves in search of a plump purse. They meant to do you harm."

  "Yes," he agreed. "They did. How perceptive of you, Miss Hadley." The irritation in his voice was becoming more pronounced with each word. "So why, may I ask, did you not obey my order and take yourself off to safety when you had a chance?"

  She fixed him with a withering look. "Oh, that would have been a fine thing to do, leaving you alone to face two of them by yourself. Did it occur to you that a female might possess a sense of honor as well as a brain? Besides, we just agreed we are working together. Remember?"