"I believe so. Why don't you go over your plan briefly so that I can get the general outline of it?"
"Very well." She frowned intently and studied a map of Europe that hung on the wall. "The thing is, once the notice of our betrothal is in the papers, you cannot honorably withdraw your offer."
"True," he allowed. "I would not think of doing so."
"Yes, you are quite trapped. But I, on the other hand, can exercise a lady's privilege and cry off. And that is what I shall do."
"Miss Ballinger—"
"Oh, I know there will be a lot of gossip and I shall be called a jilt, among other things. I may have to leave town for a time, but that is neither here nor there. In the end you will be free. You will have everyone's sympathy, in fact. When the storm has died down, you may ask for my cousin's hand, as you had originally intended." Augusta looked at him expectantly.
"That is the whole of your scheme, Miss Ballinger?" Harry asked after a moment's thought.
"I fear so," she said in a worried tone. "Does it seem a bit too simple, do you think? Perhaps we could elaborate on it somewhat and make it more clever. But on the whole, I am inclined to believe that the simpler a scheme is, the easier it will be to carry it out."
"Your instincts in such matters are no doubt better than mine," Harry murmured. "Are you so very anxious, then, to get yourself unbetrothed?"
She flushed a telltale shade of red and her eyes slid away from his. "That is not the point, sir. The point is, you did not intend to get yourself engaged to me. You were asking for Claudia's hand in marriage. And who could blame you? I understand completely. Although I must warn you I am not certain it will be a good match. You are both too much alike, if you see what I mean."
Harry held up a palm to halt the flow of words. "Perhaps I should clarify something before we go any further with your scheme."
"What is that?"
He gave her a slight, quizzical smile, decidedly curious to find out what would happen next. "Your uncle did not make a mistake. It was your hand in marriage I requested, Miss Ballinger."
"Mine?"
"Yes."
"My hand? You asked for my hand in marriage, my lord?" She gazed at him with dazed eyes.
Harry could not stand it any longer. He straightened away from the desk and deliberately closed the short distance between them. He came to a halt in front of her and caught hold of one of her fluttering hands. He brought it to his lips and kissed it gently. "Your hand, Augusta."
Augusta 's fingers were quite cold, he realized. He became aware of the fact that she was trembling. Without a word he drew her slowly into his arms. She was surprisingly delicate to the touch, he thought. Her spine was elegantly curved and he could feel the soft shape of her hips through the rose-colored gown she was wearing.
"My lord, I do not understand," she breathed.
"That much is obvious. Perhaps this will make things clear to you."
Harry bent his head and kissed her. It was the first time he had actually embraced her. He certainly did not count the little peck on the cheek she had given him the other night in Enfield's library.
He gave her the kiss he had been contemplating for the past several nights as he lay awake alone in his bed.
Harry took his time with the matter, brushing his mouth lightly, fleetingly across Augusta's parted lips. He was aware of her tension and also of her deep, feminine curiosity and uncertainty. The range of her emotions simultaneously excited him and made him feel fiercely protective. He longed to ravish her even as he ached to keep her safe. The unholy combination of powerful desires made his head whirl.
Very gently he guided Augusta's small hand up to his shoulder. Her fingers clutched at him. Harry deepened the kiss, lingering on her luscious mouth.
The taste of her was indescribable. Sweet, spicy, profoundly female, it tugged at all his senses. Before he quite realized what he was doing, Harry was sliding his tongue into the intimate depths of her mouth. His hands tightened around her small waist, crushing the rose-colored silk. He could feel the satin roses pressing against his shirt. Beneath the fabric, he felt the taut little nipples.
Augusta gave a soft cry and abruptly raised both arms to twine around his neck. Her cloak fell back over her shoulders, exposing the upper curves of her breasts. Harry was intensely, blindingly aware of the scent of her and of the perfume she was wearing. His whole body suddenly clenched in anticipation.
He caught hold of one tiny sleeve of Augusta's gown and eased it down over her shoulder. Her left breast, small but beautifully shaped, spilled out of the almost nonexistent bodice. Harry cupped the firm fruit in his palm. He had been right about her nipples. The one he was touching with his fingertip was as inviting as a red, ripe berry.
"Oh, my goodness. Harry. I mean, my lord."
"Harry will do nicely." He let his thumb glide over the budding nipple again and felt Augusta's instant tremor of response.
The glow from the hearth danced on the red stones in the glittering necklace. Harry looked down at the beautiful sight of Augusta shimmering in firelight and blood-red gems. He saw the awakening sensuality in her gaze and his brain conjured up haunting images of legendary queens of antiquity. "My own Cleopatra," he muttered thickly.
Augusta stiffened and started to draw away. Harry touched her nipple again, lightly, coaxingly. He kissed the curve of her throat.
"Harry." Augusta gasped, then shivered and sagged heavily against him. Her arms tightened violently around his neck. "Oh, Harry. I have been wondering what it would be like…" She kissed his throat and clung to him.
The sudden flare of passion in her confirmed all his masculine instincts. Harry realized that something in him had known all along that she would respond to him like this. What he had not considered or expected was the reaction that response would have on him. The reality of her flowering desire swamped his senses.
Keeping her breast cradled in one palm, Harry eased Augusta down to the carpet. She clutched at his shoulders, gazing up at him through her lashes. Her beautiful topaz eyes were filled with longing and wonder and something that might have been fear.
Harry groaned as he stretched out beside her and reached for the hem of her gown.
"My lord—" The words were a bare whisper on her lips.
"Harry," he corrected again, kissing the rosy nipple he had been caressing with his thumb. Slowly he drew the rose silk up the length of her legs to her knees, revealing her delicately striped stockings.
"Harry, please, I must tell you something. Something important. I would not have you wed me and then feel yourself deceived."
He went very still as an icy fire seized his gut. "What is it you would have me know, Augusta? Have you lain with some other man?"
She blinked, uncomprehending for an instant. And then her cheeks were suffused with a warm blush. "Good heavens, no, my lord. That is not what I wanted to talk about at all."
"Excellent." Harry smiled faintly as relief and exultation shot through him. Of course she had not been with anyone else. All his instincts had told him that weeks ago. Still, it was good to have it confirmed. One less problem to concern him, he thought, not without some satisfaction. There was no lover from the past with which to contend. Augusta would belong to him completely.
"The thing is, Harry," Augusta continued very earnestly, "I fear I will make you a very bad wife. I tried to explain to you the other night when you found me in Enfield's library that I do not consider myself bound by the normal strictures of Society. You must remember I am a Northumberland Ballinger. I am not at all angelic in the manner of my cousin. I care not for the proprieties and you have made it quite clear that you want a very proper sort of wife."