A Lady of Letters (28 page)

She took up her pen and dashed off a reply with enough force on the nib to send a fine spray of droplets spattering across the paper.

Promptly at four, a knock on the door heralded the Earl's arrival. He was nothing if not punctual, she thought grimly as she tied the ribbons of her bonnet snugly under her chin. Then, like a knight settling his helm in place for battle, she gave it one last tug and set off, ready to begin their jousting.

Sheffield seemed unperturbed by her deliberate silence. In fact, he appeared to be whistling under his breath as they turned into the park. Augusta had expected a clash of verbal swords rather than this nonchalant display of good humor. Rattled, she dropped her own pose of disinterested detachment.

"Well?"

He slanted a sideways look at her. "A fine afternoon for a drive, is it not, Gus?"

"The weather has been uncommonly nice for this time of year, the price of kid gloves has become exorbitant, the neckline of gown Lady Fitzwilliam wore last week was shocking and the latest offering at Haymarket Theatre is said to be quite entertaining. There, we have dispensed with all the rest of the platitudes, so now can we get down to business?"

The Earl chuckled. "You forgot one thing." His eyes ran over the navy merino carriage dress and snug little jacket frogged in military fashion that Marianne had chosen for her. "You are looking very well, Gus."

She ducked her head, hoping to hide her blush. Good Lord, it was difficult enough sitting close beside him and pretending to be unmoved without having to listen to such pleasant banter. Teeth on edge, she forced a cool reply. "I believe you have something of greater importance to tell me, sir."

"Alex," he corrected. "I thought we had come to an agreement on that."

"Well, have you?"

"Have I what?"

"Something to tell me!" she snapped with some impatience.

His brow rose slightly.

"Alex," she added in a near whisper.

He lips twitched. "As a matter of fact, I have." The horses slowed to a sedate trot. "Weston and Stutz have never seen the fabric. Nor have any of the other tailors on Bond Street or Jermyn Street."

"Oh, that's helpful," she remarked rather snidely.

He shot her an aggrieved look before continuing. "I didn't say that was all, did I? There are others, of course, in less fashionable locations that are not as well-known, but more willing to offer a gentleman generous terms in return for his patronage." He paused to grimace. "You have no idea how many ghastly waistcoats and ridiculous chitterlings I have been forced to view."

"A sore trial, I am sure."

"Just so. Now, neither Gibbons nor Thurgood nor Haskins had the silk. Then I remembered Joshua Hallinsworth near Regent Park...."

She began to grind her teeth.

"But alas, no luck there. Although oddly enough, I did find a rather attractive paisley pattern in dark burgundy and navy that—"

"Alex!"

"You do not care for paisley?"

"If you say another word about a color or pattern other than the one which we are seeking, I will finish the job those two ruffians set out to do myself!"

"Don't tell me you have added a knife to the gruesome assortment of weapons in that reticule of yours." Before she could snap a retort, he ceased his teasing. "But if you insist, we'll dispense with your opinion on sartorial splendor. What you wish to hear is the name Shackleford."

Augusta looked thoroughly perplexed.

"I wouldn't have thought of his name either. Not my taste at all. But the dreadful fellow was so anxious to curry my favor that he dug around in his workshop until he emerged victorious with several yards of the silk."

"Our silk?"

"The same. And a rare one at that. Apparently only one bolt survived a leaky hull and long passage from China. He bought it, along with several other remnants, from the shipper at a favorable price."

"So we may assume that not many garments have been made from the stuff," she said very slowly.

"I think it is safe to say so."

"And this Shackleford, he remembers his clientele?"

"He does, though hastening his recall cost me the order of a garment I shall relegate to the waste bin as quickly as possible."

"Please stop teasing," she urged. "What did he tell you?"

The Earl took a moment to guide his team around a sharp bend, then brought the phaeton to a complete stop among a copse of elm and hawthorn. "Ludlowe is our man." he said softly.

"Oh, now we know for certain who is the miscreant behind these terrible crimes." She leaned toward him with a radiant smile and placed a hand on his arm. "Alex, how very clever of you!"

"I've proven useful, haven't I?"

There was something about his tone that caused her expression to turn wary. "Yes, indeed you have," she answered rather hesitantly.

"Then perhaps I should be rewarded for my efforts."

Augusta couldn't quite believe her ears. Her mouth dropped open, but for a moment she was unable to speak. "Shame on you, sir," she finally managed to sputter. "I had not thought you so mercenary as to expect a sum—"

"It's not money I'm speaking of, Gus."

She bit at her lower lip. "J...just what did you have in mind?"

There was no answer as he dropped the reins and bent his head toward hers. This time the kiss was softer, gentler, his lips merely grazing over hers at first. She recoiled as if burned, but his hands had come up around her shoulders and stopped her from pulling away. "Am I truly that odious?" he murmured before taking possession of her mouth again.

She knew she should do something to put out the flames licking up inside of her but all such resolve seemed to go up in smoke. Leaning into his embrace, she gave in to the urge to run her fingers down the hard plane of his jaw. Then, as if knowing that in another instant she would be consumed by the fire, she managed to draw back. Her hands came up against his chest. "I... think you had better take me home, sir."

"Gus," he began.

"Please! At once!" She was mortified by the note of rising panic in her voice. Flighty heroines and gothic melodramas had always seemed so laughable to her, yet here she was, enacting her own Cheltenham tragedy. It would have been a most amusing scene, she supposed, had she not been the leading lady.

Sheffield looked at her uncertainly. "I'm sorry but—"

The sound of an approaching carriage only threatened to turn high drama into farce.

The little tiger, who had studiously kept his eyes averted from what was going on in the front of the vehicle cleared his throat. "Er, Guv. There's somebody coming up on us fast. Ye might want te replace wot's in yer hands with the reins, if ye knows wot's good fer ye.."

The Earl's response was a rather long curse.

"Don't go yelling at me," muttered the tiger "I ain't the one drivin' the udder team." He gave an affronted sniff. "Nor is I the one what's been doing the kissing." His breath came out in a doleful sigh. "Wimmen!"

Sheffield bit back another oath as he made to follow his tiger's advice. He snatched up the reins and set his own horses in motion just as the other carriage came tooling around the bend. There was no room to pass and so it was forced to slow down until the trees were cleared and the path widened once again. Lord Wilford gave a brief wave as he swung out to pass. The other occupants—two maiden aunts and spotty faced younger sibling just down from Oxford—nodded as they went by.

Augusta studiously avoided their speculative gazes while silently giving thanks that the current state of her bonnet and dress were as easily due to the brisk breeze encountered in an open carriage as to any other cause. The park was rapidly filling with other vehicles, making all but the most banal conversation impossible. As neither of them seemed inclined to revert to such topics, the drive home was accompanied by naught but the sound of the jingling harnesses and the cadence of the matched team.

On drawing to halt in front of her townhouse, the Earl hesitated in dismounting. "I'm sorry if I upset you." His eyes seemed to be searching her face for something. "Perhaps we had best... talk about what is happening."

That was the last thing in the world she wished to do. "Perhaps we had best try to avoid letting it happen again," she snapped. "Obviously, the heat of the chase is affecting our reason."

If she didn't know better, she would have thought she detected a look of hurt in his eyes. But whatever had been there quickly masked by a cool detachment that matched her own. "Ah, you think that is what it is?"

"What else could it be?" There was a fraction of a pause. "At least for me. You, no doubt, are quite using to stealing kisses in carriages." She stared down at her tightly clasped fingers. "I imagine if it had been—" She caught herself, aghast at the words that had been about to slip out. Of course he would rather have kissed Marianne. She didn't blame him in the least, for any man would. But she would never wish to reveal to anyone, much less the Earl, how much that hurt.

"If it had been what?" he asked quietly.

"If... if it had been any female, the result would have been the same," she stammered.

"Goddamn son of a poxed whore!" Though the words were barely audible, she could see that he was truly angry. "Bloody Hell," he added for good measure. "You have read my letters and yet you insist on seeing me as nothing more than a profligate wastrel? Then perhaps your depth of understanding runs only as deep as ink on paper, for in person you show remarkably little perception or empathy." His jaw worked slightly. "Your intellect may be unassailable, but in matters of feeling, you should think twice about signing yourself as Firebrand. In truth you are as rigid and cold as ice." He threw down the reins and climbed down without further words.

It was all Augusta could do to keep from bursting into tears as he escorted her up the marble stairs. He was wrong. Her intellect was as suspect as her emotions. She was a fool—a bloody fool, to borrow his words. Now she had lost everything that mattered, her best friend as well as her heart.

And she thought she was so clever. With such hubris, she supposed she deserved what she got.

As Sheffield gave a rap with the brass knocker, she asked in a small voice, "About Lord Ludlowe... "

"If you mean will I abandon the quest for justice, you may be assured I will not succumb to boredom and walk away from the matter."

She didn't dare look at him. "But what do you intend to do?" she went on, her eyes locked on the hem of her dress.

There was a moment of silence. "Perhaps I'll send you a note to keep you informed," he replied coldly.

The door swung open.