The King's League Box Set: Regency Romance

by Lucy Adams

  “How could I step out boldly when I do not have any place other than here to reside?” he asked, carefully, making certain that he was not giving her the impression that he agreed wholeheartedly with her idea. “And what reason might I give to your father to be found here?”

  Lady Augusta frowned, her expression darkening for a moment. And then, she threw up her hands, her eyes sparkling with a sudden excitement. “I might throw a house party!” she exclaimed, quickly. “I can convince my father that, since I am not to go to London, the least I can be permitted is to have a house party with those that I have, at one time or another become acquainted with.” The light in her eyes dimmed and she suddenly seemed to shrink into her seat. “Although I do not have a good many acquaintances, now that I come to think of it.”

  “Then we shall invite some from the League,” he suggested, his heart lifting as she raised her head to smile at him. “There are one or two gentlemen who have recently married and I am certain they and their wives would be very glad to know you.” He eyed her carefully. “Are you able to find some pertinent excuse for your father as to how you supposedly are acquainted with these people?”

  She nodded fervently, her eyes beginning to brighten once more. “I am,” she said, eagerly. “Then you might attend also, my cousin and father both present and free for the League to watch and study.”

  “And in the meantime,” Marcus added, quietly, “I will need your help in searching Mr. Stayton’s rooms, Lady Augusta. Might you be willing to do such a thing?”

  She did not even hesitate. “But of course,” she said, nodding. “Now, if you will excuse me, Lord Rushton, I must go at once to find my father and, thereafter, the invitations must be written and sent out.” Rising to her feet, she turned towards the door only to glance back at him. “Might you be able to provide me with addresses and the like?”

  He nodded, choosing not to rise but rather to study her as she walked away, a clear determination in her frame. Quietly, Marcus marveled at her tenacity, her desperation to have the courage she so eagerly pursued. He just prayed that he would be able to protect her from the danger that was sure to surround him the moment he stepped out into full view.

  Chapter Eight

  “A house party?”

  Augusta looked at her father steadily, ignoring Stayton’s snort of disapproval.

  “Indeed,” she said, firmly. “I have a few acquaintances that I very rarely have the opportunity to see and thus, I should like to have a house party so that they can attend.”

  “Acquaintances?” Stayton interrupted, drolly. “Come now, Augusta, do not be so foolish. You cannot have any particular acquaintances given that you spend your time here.”

  She lifted her chin a notch and glared at him. “My come out was some years ago and, during the party, a few additional guests arrived and made their introductions,” she lied, darting her gaze back to her father who did not look either surprised or interested. “I have been writing to some for many years and would very much like to see them again.” Turning her head back towards her father, she cleared her throat gently. “Father?”

  Lord Berwick shook his head, his eyelids lowering. “I do not want visitors, Augusta.”

  Augusta pressed her lips together tightly, looking at her father steadily and wondering if she dared speak to him with as much openness and vulnerability as she had with Lord Rushton. Her stomach tightened uncomfortably, her hands tightening on her lap as she took in a deep breath, steadying herself.

  “Father,” she began, as Stayton lifted his glass to his lips and drank noisily. “You may not wish to have visitors but I do not wish to remain here, summer after summer, without any hope of going to London for the Season.”

  Lord Berwick’s eyes lifted to her face, his expression still rather dull. “You have no right to demand anything, Augusta,” he said, a tone of warning in his voice. “You know very well that you have a good life here.”

  “Do I?” Augusta retorted, a ball of anger forming in her stomach as she spoke with a little more boldness, despite the anxiety that racked her. “You think that my life here is a joyful one, father? Do you truly think that all I have ever wished for is to remain here, spending a good deal of time on my own and doing all I can, whenever I can, to encourage you?” She put her hands flat on the table and rose to her feet, aware that her father’s eyes had flared with evident surprise. “I have long had dreams of going to London, of securing an arrangement and of setting up my own home and building my own family!” she cried, her emotions coming out of her like a storm, billowing out around her and slamming hard into her father. “You do not take me to London, you do not allow me to have a Season and even my brother does not consider me. Why then should you deny me this?”

  Silence followed her words, thick and heavy. Augusta caught herself breathing heavily, her hands still flat on the table, her body riddled with tension. Her father appeared quite astonished, staring at her with wide eyes, his color a little heightened and his mouth ajar.

  “Good gracious, Augusta!”

  She narrowed her eyes and shot an angry glance towards her cousin, who was holding his glass out towards the footman, who stepped forward to fill it a little more with wine.

  “You are quite extraordinary, thinking that you can speak to your father in such a fashion,” Stayton continued with a shake of his head. “What you need is a firm hand, my girl.”

  Augusta gritted her teeth, finding herself quite angry now. Her courage in speaking to her father in such a fashion had led her to quite another feeling, it seemed, and it was one she now struggled to contain. “I think this is a matter for myself and my father, Stayton,” she said, with as much dignity as she could muster. “If you will excuse me.” She threw him a glance and then turned back to her father, who was frowning heavily. “Father?”

  Lord Berwick glanced uneasily towards Stayton, who was looking at Augusta in evident dislike, his lip curling. With a heavy sigh, he lowered his brow, a deep groove forming between them.

  “Augusta, I am displeased at your manner of expression,” he said, making her close her eyes in embarrassment and shame. “But I am surprised to hear that you are as disillusioned as you are at present.”

  Something in his voice made her open her eyes and look at him, seeing, for the first time, a hint of compassion in his expression. Hope began to soar in her heart, praying that there was even a hint of willingness about him.

  Lord Berwick cleared his throat heavily, before bestowing his decision upon her. “If you can ensure that there are no great demands made upon my person, and that I am easily able to retire with ease whenever I choose.” His brows lowered again but Augusta nodded quickly, praying silently that he would not change his mind. “And I beg you not to have too many guests, Augusta.”

  “I shall not, father,” she said, slowly lowering herself into a chair and feeling her heart quicken with excitement. “I thank you.”

  Her father did not look exactly delighted but he did give her a small nod of approval, which Augusta accepted with delight.

  “Just who do you think you will invite, cousin?” Stayton asked, his tone not at all one of interest but rather of dull disinclination. “Anyone I might be acquainted with?”

  She did not want to answer him, finding his presence and his character rather odious indeed. Just as he had always been, Stayton went from amiability to displeasure and rudeness in a moment, clearly displeased with her about something.

  “I could not say,” she murmured quietly, looking away from him. “But I can say that I am certainly looking forward to the better company.” She was well aware that Stayton glared at her, that his jaw worked angrily and that he struggled to find a retort, but she did not give him another moment’s notice. If her cousin was involved with this dreadful situation that Lord Rushton had been investigating, then Augusta did not want to have any sort of closeness with him. She wanted to remain as far away from him as possible, wanted to keep back from him and distance herself away from
him. Her father should have no opportunity to even consider a match between the two of them, for she intended to make it quite clear that she had not even a modicum of affection for him.

  “When would this be?” Lord Berwick enquired, as Stayton glowered at her from the depths of his chair. “Would you send out the invitations soon?”

  “Tomorrow, in fact,” Augusta answered, telling her father that the arrangements had already begun and that the house party would take place very soon. Her heart quickened at the thought of having guests from The King’s League present, wondering what would happen when the perpetrator was revealed. Her stomach twisted as she thought what it would feel like when the house would, once again, be empty of everyone save for herself, her father and Stayton, should he still remain. Her smile fell to the floor, shattering at her feet as she considered it, realizing just how much more alone she would feel, especially with Lord Rushton gone from her company.

  “You look a little sorrowful,” Stayton said loudly, catching Augusta’s attention. “Is something troubling you? Someone you wish to ask to this house party that you fear will not attend?” Something sharp glinted in his eye and Augusta suppressed a shiver, looking back at him with a swift lift of her chin.

  “I was only hoping that news of the death of the man in the woods would not bring a morose melancholy to the house party,” she said, briskly, seeing the smile drop from Stayton’s face almost at once. “That is all.” Rising from her chair, Augusta quickly excused herself, leaving her father and Stayton to their port. Inwardly, she felt all manner of emotions, swirling with a mixture of confidence, worry, trepidation and excitement. It was all rather overwhelming and it took her some minutes to calm herself, approaching the west wing of the house in order to retire to her room. As she came to the door where Lord Rushton resided, Augusta hesitated. It was late in the evening and she ought not to interrupt him in case he had already fallen asleep—but yet she wanted desperately to tell him that her planned house party was now going ahead without any concerns from her father. In addition, she felt quite buoyant with delight, glad that she had been able to express such courage and speak so honestly with her father when she had never found the strength to do so before.

  To her surprise, the door opened before she had even decided whether or not to knock on the door. Lord Rushton stood there, framed in the doorway, still in his breeches and shirt, although there was no cravat nor jacket. For a moment, her throat seemed to constrict, her cheeks catching with heat, as she struggled to drop her gaze from him.

  “Good evening, Lady Augusta,” he said, quietly, a slight look of mischief in his eyes as he grinned at her. “It may have escaped your notice but I work for The King’s League and have certain…. instincts and skills when it comes to hearing others sneaking around nearby.”

  “I was not sneaking,” she stated, a little too firmly and making him laugh in response. Her face burned all the more and she dropped her eyes, but she could not help but smile. “I was considering telling you that my father has agreed to the house party.”

  “I see.” When she looked up, he was smiling still but with a warmth in his gaze that had not been there before. “And did you speak to him at length on this matter?”

  She hesitated. “I spoke with a good deal more firmness and honesty than I have ever done,” she answered, a little surprised when he reached out and took her hand in his, pressing it gently as though he wanted to encourage her all the more. “I believe he was quite shocked at my exclamations but it appears to have done what I hoped.”

  Lord Rushton’s fingers tightened on hers and, much to her astonishment, Augusta felt a rush of warmth climb up her arm and into her face all over again. She looked away, a little embarrassed.

  “You have done very well, Lady Augusta,” Lord Rushton said, his voice low as he spoke with a gentle tenderness that seemed to reach into her heart. “I think you should be very proud of yourself.”

  She smiled back at him but said nothing, her heart quickening as she looked into his eyes. And then, in that moment, something shifted in his expression. He dropped her hand, cleared his throat abruptly and then spoke with a good deal more firmness.

  “Your father and Mr. Stayton are at their port, then, I presume?” he said, as she nodded slowly. “Good. Then mayhap now is the opportunity for us to –”

  “Lord Rushton!” Augusta protested, her eyes wide. “You cannot think that this present moment would be a good time for us to search through Stayton’s things?”

  He looked at her steadily and a cold chill ran over Augusta’s skin.

  “When else does your cousin leave this house?” Lord Rushton asked, quietly, making her close her eyes to quell the panic that rose in her chest. “He is almost always present, from what you have said.” He lifted one shoulder as she opened her eyes, not wanting to accept a word of what he said. “If not tonight, then we shall have to do so tomorrow.” Tilting his head just a fraction, he watched her with sharp eyes. “We could continue to wait, to linger. Or we could simply press ahead to discover what we can of Mr. Stayton.”

  “But—but what if he discovers us?” she asked, one hand to her throat as though Stayton’s fingers were already there, pressing hard against her, threatening her, demanding to know what she had been doing. “What then shall we do?”

  Lord Rushton did not appear to be in the least bit afraid, giving her a small smile that she simply could not understand.

  “Then,” he said, quietly, “I shall defend you.”

  It was a simple statement but brought with it such a calm and gentle quietness to her soul that she wanted to fling her arms about Lord Rushton’s neck and cry out her thankfulness. It was such an overwhelming emotion that for a moment, Augusta found herself swaying forward, as though her body intended her to do precisely what she wished. With that came a blush and she dropped her head, trying to return her thoughts to all that was now expected of her.

  “Then it seems I can have no excuse,” she said, quietly, daring to lift her gaze to his, seeing that quiet smile still present. “Then let us go, Lord Rushton.”

  He reached out and took her hand in his again, pulling her back momentarily.

  “You must lead the way, Lady Augusta,” he said, quietly. “Remember that I know nothing of this house. Be careful and wary but do not present a secretive front.” He smiled at the startled look in her eyes, as though fully aware of just how much she now feared doing something wrong, of acting in some way that would bring a good deal of difficulty to them both. “If you should see someone approaching, then continue on towards them as you normally would and do not look behind to see where I might be.” His eyes shone as though he had missed doing such a thing as this and now thoroughly enjoyed it. “I will have found a place to hide. Do you understand?”

  She nodded, feeling such a weight of responsibility weighing down upon her that she wanted to shake her head and step away from him almost at once, return to her room and bolt the door. Instead, she swallowed her fears and stepped out along the hallway, just as she would normally do, feeling the last touches of Lord Rushton’s fingers on hers drift away. As much as Augusta wanted to look behind her to see precisely where Lord Rushton had gone to, she forced herself to look straight ahead, moving with quick steps as tension coiled in her belly.

  “Lady Augusta!”

  Lord Rushton’s hiss caught her attention and she turned her head, aware of just how he smiled at her as he drew near.

  “You are walking very quickly indeed,” he told her, squeezing her arm lightly. “Just as you normally would, Lady Augusta. There is no need for alarm.”

  Pressing her lips together, she did not say a word nor respond in any way, turning back slowly towards the long staircase and beginning to make her way down the stairs. She could not tell whether she was walking too quickly nor too slowly, feeling sweat form on her brow as she proceeded. Lord Rushton’s feet made no sound and, had she not known that he was somewhere behind her, she would have thought she was quite alone
.

  They made it to Mr. Stayton’s rooms without any particular difficulty. It was already late and most of the staff would have gone below stairs to eat together in their kitchen. She could not tell whether or not Mr. Stayton and her father were still in the drawing room—although she suspected that they would be. With a small sigh of relief, she stopped beside the door to Stayton’s rooms and turned around, expecting to see Lord Rushton just behind her. There were a few candles lit in the hallway, sending eerie shadows across the walls and making her feeling of tension and fear rise all the more.

  When she turned, there was no-one there. Her eyes were wide as she looked all about her, trying to discover where Lord Rushton might be. She did not want to call out his name for fear of what would happen if she did so. If Stayton was nearby, then he would hear her and thereafter, would demand to know what she had meant by such a thing. With a stifled gasp, she suddenly saw a figure emerging from around the corner, unable to tell in the dim candlelight whether it was Lord Rushton or Mr. Stayton, come back from his drinks with her father.

  “Well done, Lady Augusta.”

  Weak with relief, she sagged against the wall for a moment as Lord Rushton drew near, his expression turning to one of concern as he looked at her, clearly a little confused by her relief.

  “Are you quite all right?”

  She nodded, one hand over her heart as though she might stifle the loud beat of it that chased her with such ferocity. “Indeed,” she breathed, seeing the light shift across his features as the candle flickered and burned. “Mr. Stayton may be within, however, might he not?” Keeping her voice low, she looked up into Lord Rushton’s face, seeing his eyes dart towards the door and then back to her face again.

  “He might well be,” he answered, with a small shrug. “Let us see.”