A Wicked Pursuit (11 page)

“
I
didn’t do anything of the sort,” she said, rolling the magazine into a tight tube in her hands. “My words are my own, thank you, and I intend to keep them far, far from your mouth.”

Realizing that this would not be a profitable path for discussion—and fearing she might strike him with the rolled-up magazine if he pursued it—he returned to the safer topic of her father.

“Where is your father, anyway?” he demanded. “I have not seen him since I awoke. I told you I wasn’t ready to see your sister yet, but not your father. Why don’t we send for him now, and ask his opinion on your responsibilities? Tewkes, tell the footman in the hall to summon the viscount.”

She caught her breath with obvious dismay, replacing anything that might have been stubbornness.

“Please, my lord, you cannot,” she said quickly. “That is, he is not here, but has—has gone to Norwich on business, but if he were here, I know he would agree with you in this, and so I—I will defer to you, my lord. Yes. That is what we shall do.”

The speed of her capitulation surprised him, and he frowned, studying her closely. He knew an untruth when he heard one, though this particular untruth was so badly told that any child would have perceived it for what it was. Worse yet, she appeared almost on the verge of tears, her wide gray eyes so unhappy that he felt small and mean and very, very sorry.

But why should she not wish her father involved? Had they already had words about him?

“Very well, Miss Augusta,” he said gruffly. He didn’t want to disturb her any further, whatever the reason, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to apologize when he wasn’t sure what he’d done. “I am glad we are in agreement.”

She sniffed, and patted blindly at her nose with her handkerchief.

“Yes, we are,” he said hastily, supplying the answer when she didn’t. “Now, why don’t we begin with you sharing that magazine in your hand?”

She took a deep breath to recover herself, and looked down at the magazine as if seeing it for the first time.

“You said you were bored, my lord, and wished diversion,” she said, her voice wavering a fraction as she held the cover up so he could see the title for himself. “I fear my father is not much of a reader, but I did find this in his library, and thought it might be sufficiently amusing to you.”

He was oddly touched that she would take his earlier grumblings about boredom and ennui so seriously, even if it meant her finding a dog-eared copy of
The Gentleman’s Magazine and Historical Chronicle
, six months out of date and dry reading even when it was new. He hadn’t the heart to tell her that he’d already addressed his lack of reading material by sending to his London bookseller for a selection of the newest books, journals, and newspapers.

He also wouldn’t tell her just yet that this morning he’d sent for a few other things, as well as people, to help him pass the time. It didn’t seem right, given her present humor, and besides, she’d learn of it soon enough when the arrivals and deliveries from London began.

But right now she was staring at him.

“You’re shaven, my lord,” she said. “Your beard is quite gone. How did I not notice that?”

“It had overstayed its welcome,” he said, rubbing his hand along his clean-shaven jaw for emphasis. “Do you regret that it is gone?”

“I do not,” she said primly. “Your visage is much improved, my lord. You no longer resemble a pirate.”

Thank God she’d stopped looking like she was going to blubber and weep. From relief, he laughed, something he had done far too little of lately. “What do you know of pirates, Miss Augusta?”

“Enough to know that you looked like one, my lord,” she said succinctly. “Would you like to read now?”

“I want you to read to me,” he said, settling back against the pillows. “I find I am still too weak to hold a page before me.”

Skeptically she glanced at his forearms, which, though diminished by illness, were still impressive. “Are you certain of that, my lord?”

“I am,” he said, folding his supposedly weak arms comfortably over the coverlet. “Reading aloud will be an important part of your new duties. The Patton woman couldn’t read worth a tinker’s damn. You’re bound to surpass her. Now sit there, in the armchair, so I’ll have no trouble hearing you.”

“Very well, my lord,” she said, unrolling the magazine. “Might I turn the chair toward the window, my lord, to improve the light for reading?”

Did he detect a slight whiff of mockery in her obedience, a hint of obsequious sarcasm in the way she tipped her head?

“You may move the chair however you please, of course,” he said warily. “Forgive me for not assisting you myself.”

She smiled sweetly. “I had no such expectations from you, my lord.”

He smiled uneasily, wondering if she was now the one teasing him. With Julia, he always knew where he stood; she was charmingly uncomplicated, her thoughts and moods writ clear across her lovely face. But Gus was much more of a challenge to decipher, and he was quickly coming to realize that he needed to pay close attention to what she said when he was with her.

He watched her as she first pulled the window’s curtain more fully open, and then arranged the chair so the sunlight would fall over her shoulder. Although he hated being restricted to a single room, he’d grudgingly come to realize that the bedchamber had its merits here on the corner of the house, with tall windows that let in the sun throughout most of the day. Hungry for the outside world, he’d had Tewkes leave the curtains drawn day and night so he could see the trees and fields, the sky and changing skies.

Now the dark wood of the nearest window’s sash framed Gus as well as the landscape behind her. While Julia had a classically styled profile, her sister’s cheeks were full and her freckled nose snubbed. But her brows were delicate and elegantly arched, and the sweep of her long lashes over those rounded cheeks as she looked down at the magazine in her lap was pleasing indeed.

He’d dismissed her hair as ordinary, a pale brown of no distinction, but here the sunlight discovered a fascinating variety of light copper and gold strands mingled together. Little wisping curls had slipped free from beneath the ruffled cap, swaying around her face in the breeze through the open window. As she spread the magazine on her lap, she licked her lips in preparation for reading, a delicious little flick of her tongue that intrigued him no end.

“There certainly are a great many articles in this issue,” she said, frowning a bit as she surveyed the contents. “What would you like me to read to you?”

“Read me the titles that interest you,” he suggested, “and I’ll choose one.”

“Very well, my lord,” she said, and cleared her throat. “‘A description of the emblematical design on the gold box in which the freedom of the city of London was presented to His Royal Highness the Prince of Brunswick.’ Goodness, I wouldn’t think he’d need to be given the freedom. Being a royal prince, I’d rather assume he could go wherever he pleased in London.”

“He’s not an English prince,” Harry said. “He’s a German-Prussian one, and a soldier, too, responsible for heroic feats in the last war. Duke Ferdinand of Brunswick-Wolfen-something. I expect he’s been given the freedom of the city because he’s some distant Hanoverian cousin of our own king. His Majesty does like to keep his family about.”

She looked up, curious. “Have you been presented to His Majesty?”

“Of course.” Being a duke and one with royal blood as well, his father was often at court, serving as one of the king’s Gentlemen of the Bedchamber. “That is, I don’t recall being formally presented to His Majesty. My father spends much time at court, and frequently took me with him when I was a boy. The palace is much like any other London town house, only larger and grander, and filled with odd folk.”

“Truly?” she asked, her eyes wide. “Julia said it was a very grand place, the grandest she’d ever seen. She said being presented was the most magnificent moment of her life.”

“It can also be the most tedious moment, given the size of the crowd,” he said from the experience of one who generally avoided the royal drawing rooms. “But I expect one day they’ll stick white feathers on your head and make you curtsey low, just like all the other noble daughters.”

“I suppose so,” she said faintly. “Do you wish to hear about the prince’s gold box or not?”

“Not particularly,” he said. “What else is there?”

She cleared her throat, and returned to reading. “‘A Description of the Duke of Bridgewater’s navigable canal.’”

“I’ve seen the canal for myself,” he said, “and a modern marvel it is. But why should I now wish to hear of some scribe’s impressions? The next article, if you please.”

“‘Doctor Watson’s improvements to prevent the ill effects of lightning to buildings.’”

“That is supposed to keep me from boredom?” he asked. “Next.”

“‘The Oracle,’” she read. “‘A most extraordinary tale drawn from the Greek.’”

He mimicked a long, loud, ill-bred snore. “Next.”

“Does politics interest you, my lord?” she said. “Here’s an article: ‘On the use which the fallen ministry makes of the name of Mr. Pitt.’”

“No politics,” he said with a sigh of resignation, “especially not old and dusty politics. Perhaps this is all quite futile, Miss Augusta. Instead of reading aloud, we would do better with conversation.”

“Conversation?” she repeated, smoothing the cover of the rejected magazine with her palm. “Whatever subject should we discuss?”

“We could be blandly predictable, and try the weather,” he suggested. “Or we could embark on a topic that I’m sure I’d find fascinating, such as why you have no desire to follow your sister to court.”

“You are inventing again, my lord,” she protested. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to,” he said easily. “I determined it for myself. And here I thought every young lady dreamed of the day she’d be unleashed upon the world of unsuspecting bachelors.”

“I don’t,” she said, with such emphasis that there’d be no question. “From Julia’s telling, it all sounded quite dreadful, and nothing I would enjoy. I do not shine at balls and routs, my lord, nor would I—yes, what is it, Price?”

The footman bowed and leaned close to deliver his message in a discreet murmur.

“William has returned, Miss Augusta,” he said. “He is waiting to speak with you.”

She looked up with surprise. “He is alone, Price?”

“He is, ma’am,” the footman said.

“Then I must go to him directly,” she said, rising. “My lord, I am sorry, but I must attend to this—this matter at once.”

“You’re leaving?” Harry asked, though it was obvious that she was. He was more disappointed than he’d expected, sorry—very sorry—to have their conversation interrupted exactly when it had begun to be interesting. “Is this one of your other, more pressing responsibilities?”

“I fear so, my lord,” she said absently, her thoughts already far from him as she left the magazine on the table beside his bed. “I am sorry, but this cannot be helped.”

“You will return?” he said, sitting upright and trying not to beg, though beg he would if it might keep her here. “When you’re done doing whatever you must do, you’ll come back?”

She was nearly to the door when she remembered to turn toward him and dip a belated curtsey. “Forgive me my haste, my lord,” she said, “but I shall return when it is possible.”

He didn’t want to be left behind. He wanted to follow her, join her, see exactly what was drawing her in such haste. He felt hopelessly trapped on the bed, as mired by the leather splints bound to his leg as if they’d been iron bands chaining him in place.

“Miss Augusta, wait!” he called out in desperation.

With obvious reluctance she paused and turned.

“Miss Augusta,” he said again. He’d have to say something of more importance than just repeating her name, and he did. “Miss Augusta. I’ve heard that I owe my life to you. Is that true?”

That stopped her. “Who told you that?”

“Tewkes said the surgeons told him it was so,” he said. “That your care and quick thinking saved my leg, and my life as well. Is it true?”

“I could not have done such a thing alone, my lord, not if—”

“But you were the one who followed my horse’s trail to find me,” he persisted. “You saw that the servants carried me safely, and all the rest that was done before the surgeons arrived. I know you did, because I remember it.”

“You cannot remember everything, my lord.”

“I remember that it was you, and not Julia,” he said. “I remember how you gave me your hand to hold. Is that not so?”

“Julia couldn’t,” she said, stunningly loyal to her sister. “She was too distraught by what had happened. Otherwise she would have been there with you in place of me.”

“But she wasn’t,” he said, a finality that she couldn’t deny. He hadn’t really planned to say all this, but now that he’d begun, he was glad he had.

“No,” she said slowly. “She wasn’t.”

“Then I thank you, Miss Augusta,” he said softly. “With all my heart. Thank you.”

Gratitude, that was all he’d intended it to be, simple thanks for what she’d selflessly done on his behalf. But her eyes widened and her cheeks grew pink, and she pressed her palm over her mouth as if fearing whatever words might slip out. Then she turned and fled.

Gus sat
in the parlor to read the letter that William had brought, with him waiting before her to answer questions. She read the letter twice through to make sure she understood its contents, then again in the empty hope that she hadn’t.

The letter rambled on as Papa’s letters always did, but there was no way to mistake or misconstrue its message.

Portman Square
LONDON

To my devoted Daughter Gus
,

As you can tell, your sister & I have not returned to the Abbey. Upon overcoming Julia & that rogue Tom, we stayed a Night together at the Royal George & dined upon turtle soup & a fine goose, with every intention of Returning Home. Upon rising the next Morn, Julia threw herself at me in a state of Perfect Hysteria, crying out that to see Lord Hargreave again in Pain & Imperfection would Destroy Her, & to continue to Aunt’s house in Portman Square would be her only relief.