A Lady of Letters

by Andrea Pickens

  Augusta was rendered momentarily speechless by her sister's passionate words.

  "And furthermore, as to the Earl enjoying my company, I'll have you know what he wanted to talk about was you."

  "Me! Whatever for?"

  Marianne thought for an moment, torn between not wanting to lie and not wanting to ruin the plan to keep her sister out of danger. "Ah, he was inquiring as to whether I thought you might be convinced to act with a little... less rashly in regard to your investigation."

  No doubt the Earl had been referring to more than that, thought Augusta as she pulled a face. "Well, unfortunately I seem unable to curb my rash behavior, no matter what the situation." She bit her lip and her fingers began to fiddle with the pen on her desk. "I shall try very hard in the future to stop and think before I act—or speak."

  Her sister didn't miss the note of wistful regret in her voice. "Are you sure you don't wish to tell me exactly what caused the unpleasantness between you and Lord Sheffield this afternoon.?"

  She drew the nib of the pen across a sheet of blank paper, leaving nothing but a thin scar across the surface. "It's rather... complicated.

  "Then I won't press you, if you truly do not wish to speak of it." Marianne brushed an errant curl from her cheek. "But as I said, I imagine you are exaggerating any disagreements with His Lordship. I'd be willing to wager that when you see him tonight at the Yarmouth's ball, the two of you will manage to straighten things out."

  Augusta shook her head. "I mean to cry off from going. I simply don't feel up to facing an evening of festivities at the moment."

  Marianne fixed her with a look that mingled concern with a certain suspicion. "Gus, I trust you are not contemplating anything, well, rash?"

  "Don't worry. Do go along and dress, for I know you have been looking forward to the evening. I promise I am not contemplating anything stupid."

  That, of course, was a matter of opinion.

  Sheffield was already regretting his harsh words as he took up his perch and guided his team back toward his townhouse. She had not deserved such a stinging set-down. It was not her fault that a simmering desire had left his feelings rather raw and vulnerable, just as it was not her fault that she obviously felt no such heated emotions towards him.

  Arrogant coxcomb, he berated himself, to imagine that simply because he wished it, she would fall willing into his arms, like the legion of ladies before her.

  Worse than that, he was a fool, for he had let his damnable temper cause him to lose his best friend. He had not failed to see all expression drain from her face at his cruel words and the way her eyes could not even hazard a glance in his direction after such ungentlemanly behavior. While she might have held some admiration and regard for the person she knew on paper, no doubt she now felt only scorn and disgust for the flesh and blood fellow he turned out to be.

  Could he blame her?

  From the very beginning it was, as she had said, like flint striking steel every time they met. Sparks flew, and though they ignited a certain heat as well, at least in his loins, they usually lit up his worst qualities. Odious. Arrogant. Overbearing. He had been all those things and more whenever they met—and argued. No wonder she hardly welcomed his embraces. Would he ever be able to win the same trust and honesty in real life that his pen had garnered with the scratch of a nib?

  He drew in a long breath. And what did it matter? He had told himself he was helping the feisty Miss Hadley out of regard for her late brother, but it was becoming increasingly clear that the reason was not nearly so simple as that. Up to now, he had studiously avoided probing into his true feelings, perhaps because he feared what he would find.

  Tired of a superficial life, devoid of all challenge or meaning, he has sought to commit himself wholly to something that mattered. The correspondence with Firebrand had only sparked his determination to find a new direction for his considerable energies. What he hadn't anticipated was that more than his intellect would be kindled into a white hot intensity. And he wasn't sure he was ready to make that sort of commitment.

  Miss Hadley. Sharp-tongued, opinioned and possibly more stubborn than he was. She was hardly the type of female that should send a heat coursing through his veins. Yet he also knew she was much more than that. Intelligent, perceptive and capable of great compassion and courage, as she had shown on paper as well as in her determined quest for justice. He found himself unable to describe the feeling she elicited from him, no doubt because he had never met anyone like her before.

  Stifling an oath, he drew to a halt in front of his steps and turned the team over to his tiger. It appeared that not only did he need to solve Miss Hadley's mystery but the conundrum of his own heart in the bargain.

  "Er, she is not here, sir." At the look of exasperation that crossed the Earl's features, Marianne hastened to add, "She was feeling a bit fatigued and decided to spend a quiet night at home."

  His brows drew together.

  "She did promise she would not do anything stupid. In fact, those were her exact words."

  "I don't like the sound of that," he growled. "Not one bit. It is just the sort of thing she would say when she—" His words cut off sharply as a liveried footman approached.

  "Lord Sheffield?"

  At his curt nod, the man discreetly pressed a note into the Earl's glove while handling him a glass of champagne. "There was an urchin below who insisted this be delivered to you immediately, my lord."

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  "Guv, I think you had best come quick. The lady in question has just left her house."

  Choking back a string of curses that would likely have seared the younger Miss Hadley's ears, the Earl quickly tucked the scrap of paper in his waistcoat pocket while taking a swallow of the champagne. Then carefully schooling his features to mask his inner agitation, he set the glass aside.

  "Oh dear," whispered Marianne, not failing to note the slight tightening of his jaw. "Has Gus...." She left the question dangling.

  Sheffield made a deliberate adjustment of his starched cuff. "Do not alarm yourself, Miss Hadley," he answered in a low voice. But he added no further explanation as his gaze scanned over the crowded room. His eyes narrowed slightly on failing to spot what he was looking for, but in the fashionable crush, he couldn't be certain. He had at least managed to catch the attention of his young cousin, who had been hovering nearby.

  The young man hurriedly quit a circle of young bucks ogling a particularly well-endowed miss on the dance floor and came to stand by the Earl's shoulder.

  "Lucas, I trust you will see that Miss Hadley has a pleasant evening and that she and her mother are escorted to their carriage." The note of command was unmistakable in his tone.

  "Of course, sir."

  "But—" began Marianne.

  "I fear I am called away by a trifling matter." He fixed her with a pointed look. "But I have no doubt that I shall be able to see to it without causing any need for worry."

  Marianne ceased any further protest. "Yes," she said slowly. "I trust that you are capable of handling any problem you may face."

  Andover looked slightly confused at the odd exchange, but kept a prudent silence as Sheffield yielded his place by Marianne's side.

  "There is no cause for concern, Miss Hadley," he added on noting that despite her words, her face had gone a shade paler. "I shall see to everything."

  No cause for concern, he repeated to himself as he left the ballroom. Hah! The maddening minx. What was she up to this time? He forced his steps to remain unrushed, though a mixture of anger, exasperation and fear had kindled a blaze of impatience in his breast. Once out on the street, he picked up his pace considerably, threading in and out of the clog of carriages in a rush to locate his own. The man he had employed to keep an eye on Augusta would be waiting for him at the corner of the park and, from the tone of his hastily scrawled note, there didn't appear to be any time to waste. So intent was he on deciding his next move that he didn't notice the two cloaked men who had slipped u
p behind him until the cold barrel of a pistol was jammed into his ribs.

  "Get in the carriage, m'lord."

  A nondescript vehicle, undistinguished by any markings, had slowed to stop and the door was jerked open. Sheffield hesitated a fraction but a rough hand tightened its hold on his coat and shoved him forward. "Quickly, else it'll go worse fer ye, I promise."

  There seemed little choice but to comply. He turned to climb in, and as he did, the butt of the weapon came down on his head with a sickening thud.

  Augusta peered up at the darkened window and swallowed the rising lump in her throat. At home, in the warm confines of her study, it had seemed like a reasonable decision. But now, alone in the deserted alleyway, she found herself fighting the urge to turn tail and abandon her plan.

  Coward, she chastised herself. Just because she hadn't ever undertaken this sort of thing without the reassuring presence of Jamison was no reason to panic. She was perfectly capable of climbing to a window ledge and freeing the catch of the window by herself. And hadn't she proven she could pick a desk lock as well as any thief? The memory of that night came flooding back and she allowed a tiny smile at the recollection of how she and the Earl had been forced to work together in order to cover the real reason for the break-in. Her amusement turned into something warmer as she also recalled the heat of his muscled form pressed hard on top of hers.

  With a firm shake of her head, she sought to banish all such thoughts. It was abundantly clear she would never again enjoy a camaraderie with the Earl in any endeavor, not even on paper. Her mother was right. She was a most unnatural female—tall, ungainly, outspoken, with not a single other attribute that a gentleman would find attractive, unless one counted money as a particular charm.

  Well, the Earl of Sheffield did not need money. And so he certainly had no other reason to want her. His words burned once again in her ears, each one singeing a little piece of her heart.

  Cold. Shallow. Opinionated.

  Augusta blinked back a tear. He might find her all those things, but she was at least determined to prove to him there was nothing wrong with her capacity for clever planning, no matter her other faults. Perhaps if she managed to get hold of the concrete evidence to prove Lord Ludlowe's perfidy, he would end up considering her not totally unworthy of regard.

  Not that it would change things between them.

  Her own sharp tongue had cut through whatever tenuous bond had been forged between them and no amount of remorse could repair the damage. Never again would she feel the warmth of his hand at the small of her back, just as never again would she read the elegant script that those strong capable fingers could pen.

  A stray cat brushed up against her leg, nearly drawing an audible cry from her lips. With shaking hands, Augusta pulled the heavy cloak tighter around her shoulders and sought to quiet the pounding of her heart. After several minutes, she was able to steady both her nerves and her resolve to go ahead with her plan.

  Her own heartache was nothing in comparison to the pain and uncertainty that her friends were feelings. That was what mattered right now. She must put aside all mooning over the Earl and concentrate on seeing that the monstrous scheme concocted by Lord Ludlowe was put to an end.

  She made a methodical check for the picklocks, candle and pistol in her pockets, then patted at the bulge of the small pistol tucked in the waistband of her breeches at the small of her back. All was in readiness. Drawing another deep breath, she stole from the shadows and slipped into the gated garden.

  "May the devil rut with a two faced sheep."

  His voice still groggy, Sheffield struggled to a sitting position and rubbed at the nasty lump on the back of his head. It took him a moment to realize he was no longer in the back of a carriage but lying on a thick Oriental carpet.

  "Really, Sheffield. Hardly the sort of language for a fine gentleman to use in refined company."

  The Earl sought to bring his hazy surroundings into focus. Shaking his woozy head, he was slowly able to make out the barrel of the pistol pointed at his chest, then the glass of brandy that was held nonchalantly in the other hand, then finally the face that sneered down at him from the cushioned comfort of the leather wing chair. Ludlowe crossed his legs and took a leisurely sip of the amber spirits.

  Another oath, this one even more graphic than the first, slipped from Sheffield's lips.

  The other man laughed. "Your eloquent tongue will do you little good now. I warned you not to meddle in any of this, but you wouldn't cease your rantings in Parliament. Now it's far too late. You've become too great of a threat to me."

  Sheffield winced as he sought to remain upright. Hell's teeth, he cursed at himself. He should have been more alert, but he had been so worried about Augusta that he had failed to pay attention to any lurking danger. It had been stupid on his part, but at least the current situation would seem to assure that she would be safe from harm. Not even the headstrong Miss Hadley would be so foolhardy as to attempt to break into a house that was obviously occupied.

  His attention turned back to his own predicament. Measuring the distance between himself and Ludlowe, he saw there was little chance of making a lunge for the man, especially in his present condition. But perhaps if he could keep the fellow talking for a bit, an opportunity would present itself. In the meantime, he needed some time to clear his head. "A threat? So why didn't your men simply stick a knife in my ribs and be done with it?" he asked. "Or did they bungle the attempt yet again?"

  Ludlowe's lips compressed in some irritation. "That harridan Miss Hadley is not around this time to save your neck." He took another swallow of his drink and seemed to relax slightly. "Can't imagine what you have been doing in her presence," he continued in a slow drawl. "From what I witnessed, she quite proved her reputation for having a sharp tongue, not to speak of that ungainly height and angular face. A real Amazon." He grimaced. "You've a reputation for good taste in ladies, and Lord knows, you don't need the blunt. I, on the other hand, have need of a plump dowry, so I shall have to force myself to pretend a continued interest until I have wed the chit. Bedding her will an onerous chore—" A rustle of the curtain caused him to get up and shut the window. "Yet with such willful spirit, maybe it will prove an interesting diversion, at least until I've broken her to saddle." He exaggerated a shudder. "But with any luck, I'll beget an heir on her quickly and can turn my attention to females more to my taste."

  It was only with the greatest of difficulty that Sheffield restrained the urge to lunge at the man's neck, regardless of the distance, and throttle the life from him. "There was no female to stop the bullet earlier tonight," he said through gritted teeth, controlling his anger by telling himself he might learn something of use. "Why risk bringing me here?"

  Ludlowe regarded him coolly from over his drink. "Yes, I admit the first few tries were meant to send you to your Maker forthwith. But the plan had to be, shall we say altered."

  "Really? For what reason?"

  The glass swirled slowly, spinning the contents into a vortex of amber and gold. It was as if the motion itself tugged Ludlowe's mouth down into a smug sneer. "Changed tailors recently?"

  The Earl pressed his eyes closed for an instant and cursed himself for an even bigger fool that before. In his haste to inform Augusta of his discovery, he had not considered that the obscure tailor would reveal his inquiries so quickly. And he had accused her of acting without thinking of the consequences!

  Ludlowe brushed a speck of dust from his embroidered waistcoat and went on. "The nodcock couldn't wait to let me know how such an arbiter of style as yourself had admired my choice of silk. Careless of you, Sheffield. But then again, you have never showed much aptitude for cleverness. Too busy using other parts of your anatomy." He paused once again, this time to refill his glass. "The ladies, no doubt, shall miss you. However, before I speed you to your Eternal rest, I need several answers."

  Sheffield's lips curled slightly. "Is that so?"

  Ludlowe seemed to miss the note of
irony. "Yes. At first I thought your speeches were a mere whim, but now it appears you know all too much about my activities for it to be coincidence. Who else is involved with you? Who was it that discovered the piece of my waistcoat? The damn brat struggled like a hellion, and I didn't dare linger once I'd knocked him unconscious, as several of the nearby farmhands were about to quit for the day."

  "Careless of you, Ludlowe."

  This time the mockery was unmistakable. The other man's mouth hardened. He stood up and sauntered over to where the Earl was lying. "You are in no position to make glib taunts," he snarled, delivering a vicious kick to Sheffield's ribs. "You are also going to tell me the identity of that other rabblerouser who is stirring up the public's interest. Firebrand—" He fairly spat the word out. "That bastard is even more trouble than you are. But I shall deal with him soon enough."