Devons and his betrothed had sacrificed a great deal to choose each other. Yes, they didn’t seem to care because they loved each other so much, but for Augustus and Rose, it wasn’t the same.
“She is only here temporarily. It doesn’t matter if I like her.”
“You could spend your time in England and abroad.”
Augustus snorted. “I have far too many responsibilities to be away for half the year.”
“Christ, Sinclair! You are richer than almost all of England. You can hire someone to manage your estate and businesses.
He glared at Devons. “I don’t shirk my duties.”
“It isn’t shirking your responsibilities by hiring good people and pursuing other things for the right reason. For a lady who may be your perfect match.”
Augustus took an even larger gulp of his drink, hating that Devons voiced the thoughts he was trying to avoid. “Practically, she isn’t right.”
“Fuck being practical.”
Devons’s declaration caused them both to chuckle, lightening the conversation. The club owner stood and said, “You deserve to be happy. In all the years I’ve known you, you’ve never looked at another woman like you look at Rose Calvert. I suspect that means something.”
Augustus sighed, and Devons threw his hands up. “I will say nothing more.”
He smiled, doubting that, and replied, “I know you mean well.”
Devons winked at him and walked away, leaving Augustus to think about the lady his friend suspected he was falling for—and, truth be told, he was. Having her in his bed wouldn’t improve the situation, but he didn’t care. He would take whatever time he could have with the scholar.
Chapter Seventeen
Rose sat acrossfrom Augustus, tempted to blurt out that she’d seen his true love at a ball the night before, but she hesitated. She didn’t want things to change between them just yet. Still, she knew they would. Augustus was hunting for a bride this Season, and the one woman he wanted to wed was now available.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” he said dryly from across the carriage.
She flushed and was grateful the darkness of the carriage concealed some of it. “I’m not.”
He leaned forward so he could see her better. “Are you nervous about speaking with Mr. Abbas or spending time with me?”
She snorted. “Neither.”
He placed a hand on her knee, preventing it from bouncing up and down. “You do that when you are agitated.”
Rose threw herself against her seat, scowling at him. “You don’t know me as well as you think, Augustus.”
“Of course not. We’ve only spent time together for the last few weeks,” he said, his voice emanating with amusement.
Should I tell him about Lady Gillings? Why is it even my responsibility to bring it up?she wondered.
“Which is it?” he asked again.
The man thought he understood her so well. He was so bloody wrong. She was sitting here, trying to decide whether todo the right thing and tell him that his first love was back in London.
“Come here, Rose,” he commanded.
She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like that tone.”
“Come.” He held out his hand.
Why did a bossy Augustus make him so much more tempting? Sighing, she stood, planning to sit beside him, but he pulled her onto his lap. Rose gasped, looking down at him.
“That is better,” he murmured.
