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 theone what’s been doing the kissing.” His breath came out in a doleful sigh. “Wimmen!”
Marcus 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 exchange platitudes, the drive home was accompanied by naught but the sound of the jingling harnesses and the cadence of the hoofbeats.
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 between us.”
That was the last thing in the world Augusta wished to do. “Perhaps we had best try to avoid letting it happen again,” she said. “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 used 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 wordsthat 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 softly.
“If … if it had been any female, the result would have been the same,” she stammered.
“Damnation.” Though the words were barely audible, she could see that he was truly angry. “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 muscle twitched. “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.”
Looking away, Marcus 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 had always thought that she was so clever. With such hubris, she supposed she deserved what she got.
As Marcus 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 that I willnotsuccumb 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.
“Good day, Lady Augusta.” He turned and his boots beat a staccato retreat on the polished stone.
Augusta went inside, barely aware of the butler’s greeting, or of how she managed to put one foot in front of the other. As she passed by the drawing room, her mother appeared in the doorway, a broad smile on her lips.
“Augusta, my dear!”
She shuffled to a reluctant halt, her ears hardly registering the rare endearment. “Yes, Mama?”
“You sly puss. Here I thought Marianne was the one going to make the splendid match.”
Augusta stared in some confusion. “Marianne is engaged? She said nothing to me about?—”
“Oh, do stop teasing, my dear. You know my constitution has not allowed me to go out very often these past few weeks, but I have just heard the most interesting news from Lady Framingham about the attentions a certain gentleman has been paying toyou. And now I see for myself that the gossips have not been exaggerating. I vow, I hadn’t dreamed it possible you could be so clever!”
A cat-in-the-creampot smile spread across her mother’s face. “When do we expect an announcement?”
