by Eva Devon
He cleared his throat. “To be honest, initially that's what I had planned on doing, but you seem such an interesting sort of person that I feel like that would be almost a death sentence for you."
An interesting person, was she? Thank goodness he had decided so or her life would have taken a disastrous, if comfortable, route.
“Perhaps there are other things that I can help you with too,” she blurted.
"Other things?" he queried, shaking his head. "What could you possibly help me with?"
She hesitated, then took a sip of coffee as if to fortify herself. She blinked rapidly at the strong stuff. "I'm very good with numbers, you know. I can look at the account books if you like for the estates, or. . . I’m quite good with words too. Perhaps I can go over your speeches before you give them."
He stared at her as if she'd grown another head. "Augusta, I know so little about you, but if you wish such a thing, I suppose we can try. No harm can be done from trying."
He was going to give her a chance at such an important thing?
It was remarkable.
All her life, her father had treated her with such disdain. His confidence in allowing her to try buoyed her.
How could such a thing be possible?
Was she about to have a life that was more interesting than drinking tea, mending gowns, and trying to take care of accounts that wouldn't match up?
"I'm grateful to hear you say it, Adam,” she replied honestly.
"Now, your sisters do seem to be late sleepers," he observed, as if he did not wish to be caught in emotion.
She took his cue changing subjects, realizing that he didn't want to be seen as generous towards her.
"They are indeed,” she agreed lightly. “They both like to lay about in the morning after a party. I am a very early riser."
"As am I," he said, peering down at her. "I sleep little, actually. I haven't for years."
“I too need little sleep.”
His words amazed her. How had she thought that he spent most of his hours lounging about in a silken robe, drinking brandy, and lazing the day away whilst he awaited a night’s revels?
"I thought most young ladies like to lie about in their bed and read novels."
His surmise was dangerously akin to her own about him, she realized. Were all her ideas about him false? Were they both living under the auspices of falsehoods propagated by society?
"Oh, I do read novels," she said, "but not while I lie about in bed. I far prefer a nook in some library or morning room."
"Well, you'll be able to find both of those in this house, whichever pleases you. But now, I must be off.”
“Adam,” she began carefully, her insides tightening at the thought of asking for his help. “There's one thing I do wish to speak to you about."
He paused. “Yes.”
She sat a little straighter and leapt in, ”My sister Felicity wishes to marry."
He let out a small groan. "Is the world to be peopled with married couples?"
"It does seem so," she admitted before pressing on. "She's been waiting a very long time to marry her young captain."
"A handsome young captain," he drawled. “Is this a novel?”
"She loves him dearly, or at least so she proclaims.” She hesitated. “But I have very seldom met Captain Barrow."
A skeptical frown turned his mouth. “She wishes to marry him, but you know him but little?"
"It's true," she said.
"You wish me to inspect him?” he prompted with little emotion.
"If you would be so kind.” She met his gaze and said earnestly, “I do not wish my sister to make a poor marriage."
"As you have done?" he teased then, his seriousness dimming.
"I have not made a poor marriage, Adam. I have made one of the greatest ones. It is just unfortunate that we do not love each other."
Ignoring her venture into the topic of love, he replied quickly, “I shall ensure that your sister's marriage is not one that is set for heartbreak and scandal."
"Thank you,” she said, trying not to think about how easily he had evaded her comments about their marriage. “That means a great deal."
"I would do it for anyone," he said. “Disastrous marriages should be avoided at all costs.”
"I see," she said, realizing at least he did not find marriage to her disastrous.
"Good day, Augusta,” he said factually. “I wish you the best as you investigate your new life."
She resisted the urge to stare after him as he strode from the room.
She felt lonely with his presence gone, which really struck her as quite odd, because she had not felt such loneliness before. Usually, she could bolster herself with a good book or a task right away, but this was going to be her life.
She'd had more conversation with him than she expected, but she probably would have very little of it in the future.
This was a period that he was being kind to her, she supposed, in the first days they were forced to be in such proximity. It was most irritating. She hated that sort of kindness. She wished that they could be genuine friends, but they had so little in common.
Or was that true?
Perhaps they did have some things in common. She looked back at the newspaper that he'd laid down upon the table. She too was very interested in how people were treated, and she too was very interested in the running of his estates, so perhaps they had more in common than either of them thought.
Could it be enough to make their lives bearable together? Augusta took a deep swallow of coffee.
She bloody well hoped so.
Chapter 19
"Marriage seems to agree with you, old boy."
Adam rolled his eyes. “Devil take it, Brookhaven, must you bring up my marriage every moment we meet?"
“Indeed, I must. It's absolutely fascinating," Brookhaven said, waggling his brows. "I cannot believe that you’ve done it. I keep thinking I shall awake from a dream to find you back at your rakish ways."
Adam gestured with his sheathed rapier. "Shall I skewer you to prove your wakefulness."
Brookhaven laughed. “The lady has not expired from the shock of being wed to you?"
Blacktower blew out a breath. "She seems to be experiencing no particular traumatic signs, if that's what you were trying to ask. She has not run hysterically into the night."
"You two did seem at odds. I've been wondering if we were going to see your house burned down or some such thing given the sparks between you."
Adam narrowed his eyes. “I do not think Augusta will set fire to the drapes. I’ve no intention of running mad myself, if that is what you fear.”
"That's not exactly what I had in mind," said Brookhaven. “But what I’ve seen between you, there is something there which could easily strike a flame."
Bloody hell, that was true.
Sparks between them had certainly flown last night and not the kind that arose from anger. It had been a revelation to him. In his many, many years, he had not experienced such a thing, and he'd had many opportunities.
Prim, proper, duty-bound Augusta had touched some part of his soul that he had not even known existed.
Any part of him that had been soft or gentle, he'd assumed had died years ago when he had shut that side of himself off. But now it seemed that she had found a crack in his demeanor and was whispering her way through it.
If he had any sense at all, he should shut her out immediately. Yet, at present, he did not find himself able to resist. Worse, nor did he wish to.
This morning at breakfast had been another revelation.
She was the most interesting woman who was clearly fascinated by the way in which the world ran. She was no baahing sheep either.
Her interests appeared vast and varied. She was the sort of woman that one could become friends with, and that was very dangerous indeed.
"Ha!" Brookhaven suddenly drawled. "You like her, don’t you?"
Adam ground his teeth. “I confess it.”
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Brookhaven pressed his lips together for a moment then quipped, "The young spinster is not quite so dowdy and parsimonious as you thought?"
Scowling, Adam said, “I may have made some misjudgments about Augusta."
Brookhaven folded his long arms over his perfectly tailored morning coat. "And I'm wagering that she may have made a few about you."
"It is possible," Adam admitted begrudgingly. "But none of that truly matters. We're not a match, no matter what you might try to insinuate. I am not her Romeo. She is not my Juliet."
"Romeo and Juliet.” Brookhaven blew out a derisive snort. “Those two fools had nothing on love. Two lust-driven idiots with parents who were complete tossers. If that blasted friar—”
"We have nothing on love either," Blacktower cut in immediately, knowing that Brookhaven could pontificate on Shakespeare for hours. "There is nothing about love in our marriage. We are simply two people who must be together and will likely produce an heir."
"An heir, eh?" said Brookhaven, rubbing his immaculately shaved, square jaw. "Good to know that the Blacktowers will continue peopling the earth for the foreseeable future."
It was a rather odd thought, but his family had been in possession of the Blacktower dukedom for five hundred years.
Some people might call it a shame if it was to end.
He wasn't particularly one of them.
He'd loathed his father, a despicable human being who had only been interested in the pursuit of duty. Duty, duty, duty. Quite frankly, that duty had almost ruined his life.
No, deuce take it.
There was no almost about it.
It had ruined his life, and it had ruined Anna's. He would never forget that day when he'd read, read, that she had slipped away from him, taking their child too.
It had been a travesty, and if his father had just... He shook his head. No, he wouldn't think of that.
Brookhaven cocked his head to the side. "You're looking quite out of sorts. Are you unwell?”
"Well enough.” Adam struggled to draw breath for a moment and looked away, pretending to cough. “Well enough. Now, are we here to gossip like lace wearing fops or are we hear to get on with it?"
Brookhaven eyed him carefully as he picked up his own rapier and slid it from its leather scabbard. “A good match will be just the thing for you, old boy.”
They stepped up to the dueling strip in the exclusive dueling club.
It was a secret institution in which aristocrats had been coming for centuries to vent their furies, practice their war making, and settle scores if necessary.
Adam quickly whisked off his coat and his waistcoat, leaving him in just his linen shirt. He picked up his gloves, pulled them on, and grabbed his rapier.
"Shall we?"
Brookhaven nodded. "Indeed, we shall. Let's see if she has left any energy within you."
"Must you?” Adam demanded. He'd known leaving the bachelor club would leave him open to ribbing but, for some reason, when it came to Augusta, he felt decidedly serious.
"Indeed I must.” Brookhaven shrugged his linen-clad shoulders. “It is my life's curse to be merry and make such jests."
"Brookhaven," Adam countered, "that is not true. You are a most serious soul."
"Ah, but I must hide it from people," corrected Brookhaven, taking up position. "I wouldn't want people to know the truth of what truly lies beneath my jests and grin."
"Well, I know," Adam said. “No amount of cavorting can fool me.”
"Of course, you know,” Brookhaven said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, “because you are actually a serious soul too. You and I are both jokers parading about the world with our masks on, hoping no one will notice the mad dance we do to seem amused, even as we are bitter and burned inside."
It was an apt description, though Adam hated to hear it aloud. He thought he'd done such a marvelous job over the years, creating an artifice that no one would be able to see through.
It did not surprise him that Brookhaven could, just as he could see through Brookhaven’s.
The earl, too, had suffered over the years.
Nothing had been easy about his life, except for the fact that he had a title and a fortune, but sometimes a title and a fortune could not make up for the love of one's parents or family.
Brookhaven brandished his own rapier, the silver flashing in the light. "Come on then, Blacktower. Have at me!"
Adam took his stance, ready for a good fight.
He needed to work his wild energy out, to make his dark thoughts shake away.
Yet as their blades began to clang and clash in a flurry of flashing silver, Augusta would not leave him.
He had assumed that whatever occupation he'd had with her would begin to slip away now. Now that their wedding night had occurred, now that they were married, surely she would not hold any sort of possession over him.
But, much to his horror, he found instead that the more time he spent with Augusta, the more time he wished to spend with her, which was most annoying. He’d no intention of making friends with his wife.
Yet every word that she spoke seemed to suggest that she was a most sensible and not all depressing young woman. He'd assumed that she would be dour, dogmatic, wishing to make sure that everyone did exactly as they were supposed to do.
While she was certainly preoccupied with duty, she did it in a sort of merry way that made him admire her rather than begrudge her.
Brookhaven advanced, and Adam took several steps back. Their blades struck against each other as they parried and thrust.
In quick succession, Adam darted forward down the strip, and then Brookhaven, in a quick bend and turn, brought his blade up. Blacktower riposted, but the blade came so close to his chest that it sliced one of the drawstrings of his shirt.
"Awake, are we?” Brookhaven drawled, one brow arching.
"I am indeed," Blacktower said, pulling at his ribboned shirt.
"I don't know,” Brookhaven mused. “It appears to me that you might be sleeping. Are you still in the pillows of your lady love?"
"Cease,” Adam gritted. “I compel you. I will not have you speaking about pillows and Augusta or anything to do with my chamber."
"If you insist," Brookhaven humored. “But it is so fun to rib you. She’s clearly leading you in a merry dance. You like her well, indeed.”
“There's no merry dance,” Adam choked out. “And I don't. There's nothing particularly about Augusta to like so well."
But even as Adam said it, he realized that it was not a claim with any true credence, because to claim such a thing was a disservice to Augusta.
"She loves her sisters," Adam allowed.
"Ah, a point to her. Well done, young lady,” Brookhaven said grandly, “for taking care of her sisters with such a horrible old father."
Adam sighed. It was true. He admired her for that. Some young ladies would not have been up to the task, but clearly Augusta had the mettle for it.
"Come on then,” Adam urged, hoping beyond blasted hope to shake Augusta from his lusts and his thoughts. How the devil had such a young woman, who he’d given no thought to in the past, suddenly turned his blood so hot that the only thing which could quench it was her body under his?
It was a damned mystery.
They readjusted their stance.
Adam drove forward until their blades met once again, and again they parried back and forth.
The sounds of the blades ricocheted through the air.
Adam's hands felt the reverberation of the blades as they flashed up and down across the strip. Just as he was about to thrust home a fast blade, he thought of Augusta's long throat and the way it had arched as he'd kissed it.
His foot caught on the ground, and he nearly went to one knee.
Brookhaven's blade sang forward, nearly cutting his throat.
"Good God, man,” exclaimed Brookhaven, alarm widening his emerald-colored eyes. “Are you trying to make me a murderer today? It'd be most i
nconvenient to have to mop up all that blood."
Blacktower drew in a quick breath, caught his footing, and jumped back. “Yes. Most inconvenient, indeed. I suppose I need a bit more coffee this morning. It's been a most interesting day."
"Coffee," Brookhaven added with a roll of his eyes. "Of course, that's all that's necessary."
Blacktower refused to admit that thoughts of Augusta had taken his attention away from the situation at hand to such an extent he’d nearly let his throat be slit.
Was she going to be the undoing of all of his enjoyments? His boxing? His fencing?
Would she also encumber his speech writing and his ability to argue well in Parliament?
He damn well hoped not.
Somehow, he was going to have to get a hold of himself. He hadn’t been an emotional creature in years, and he wasn't about to start again now.
Pleasure was what he had always achieved before. He'd never ever been besotted. But from the look on Brookhaven's face, he was afraid that he was losing control of himself. And the source of that loss just happened to be his new wife.
It was a bloody nightmare. That's what it was.
Chapter 20
Bond Street teemed with young and older ladies alike, all looking for the paraphernalia of the fashionably dressed women of the ton.
Their feathered hats bobbed as they walked down the pavement, their multicolored gowns were a rainbow hue of beautiful colors in an often-drab world.
The wealthy women of the ton’s skirts waved in the gentle, late spring breeze, like flower petals in an English garden.
Augusta, on the other hand, was a dandelion.
Some might insist she was a flower, but in the end, she knew the truth.
She was a weed.
She followed her sisters and her dear friend, Charlotte, down the pavement trying to look as duchess-like as she could.
It was no easy feat in her simple blue gown, which she'd had made up just before the wedding, but truly looked as if it belonged to a governess. She had so little opportunity in the past to buy herself gowns that she had picked something plain and serviceable when left to her own devices.
