Harry inched the hem of her gown up a little higher on her legs. His fingers found the incredible softness of her inner thighs. "I think that with a little instruction you will make me a very proper sort of wife."
"I am not at all certain of that, sir," she said, sounding desperate. "It is very hard to change one's temperament, you know."
"I am not asking you to do that."
"You are not?" she searched his face anxiously. "You actually like me the way I am?"
"Very much." He kissed her shoulder. "There are, perhaps, one or two areas of concern to be addressed. But I am convinced that everything will work out and that you will make me an excellent countess."
"I see." She bit her lip and clamped her legs together. "Harry, do you love me?"
He sighed and stilled the movement of his hand on the inside of her thigh. "Augusta, I am aware that many modern young ladies such as yourself believe love is some mystical, unique sensation that descends like magic without any rational process or explanation. But I hold a different opinion entirely."
"Of course." The disappointment in her eyes was clear. "I expect you do not believe in love at all, do you, my lord? You are a scholar, after all. A student of Aristotle and Plato and all those other terribly logical types. I must warn you, sir, that too much rational, logical thinking can seriously rot the brain."
"I shall bear that in mind." He kissed her breast, delighting in the texture of her skin. God, she felt good. He could not remember the last time he had wanted a woman the way he wanted this one tonight.
He was impatient now. His body was throbbing with desire and the faint, pungent scent of Augusta's arousal was enthralling him. She wanted him. Deliberately he urged her legs apart again and eased his fingers into her damp heat.
Augusta cried out in shock and clutched at him. Her eyes widened with amazement. "Harry."
"Do you like that, Augusta?" He trailed small kisses over her breast as he stroked his fingers across the soft plump petals that guarded her most intimate secrets.
"I am not sure," she managed on a strangled gasp. "It feels quite strange. I do not know if—"
The tall clock in the corner chimed the hour. It was as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over Harry. He came to his senses with a sudden start.
"Good God. What the devil am I doing?" Harry sat up abruptly and yanked Augusta's gown down to her ankles. "Look at the time. Lady Arbuthnott and your friend Scruggs will be waiting for you. There is no telling what they will be thinking by now."
Augusta smiled uncertainly as he tugged her to her feet and straightened her clothing. "There is no call for alarm, my lord. Lady Arbuthnott is a very modern sort of female, just as I am. And Scruggs is her butler. He will not say anything."
"The hell he won't," Harry muttered as he struggled to adjust the satin roses around her bodice and pull her cloak over her shoulders. "Damn this gown. You are practically falling out of it. Allow me to tell you that one of the first things you will do after we are married is arrange for a new wardrobe."
"Harry—"
"Hurry, Augusta." He took her hand and hauled her over to the window. "We must get you back to Lady Arbuthnott's without further delay. The last thing I want is gossip about you."
"Indeed, my lord." There was a hint of frost in her tone now.
Harry ignored her irritation. He climbed through the window and reached up to help Augusta down onto the grass. She felt supple and warm in his hands and he groaned. He was still painfully aroused. He thought briefly of carrying her straight upstairs to his bedchamber rather than taking her back to Sally's. But that was quite impossible tonight.
Soon, he promised himself as he took her hand and led her through the gardens toward the gate. This marriage would have to take place quite soon. He would not survive this kind of torture for long.
Good lord, what had the woman done to him?
"Harry, if you are so concerned about gossip and if you do not believe you love me, why on earth do you wish to marry me?" Augusta wrapped her cloak securely around herself and skipped to keep up with him.
The question surprised him. It also annoyed him, although he knew he should have been expecting it. Augusta was not the type to let a subject drop easily.
"There are any number of sound, logical reasons," he told her brusquely as he paused at the gate to check that the lane was empty. "None of which I have time to go into tonight." Cold moonlight revealed the cobbled pavement' quite plainly. The windows of Sally's house glowed warmly at the far end of the narrow lane. There was no one in sight. "Pull your hood up over your head, Augusta."
"Yes, my lord. We certainly would not want to risk anyone seeing me out here with you, would we?"
He heard the prim, offended note in her voice and winced. "Forgive me for not being as romantic as you might wish, Augusta, but I am in somewhat of a hurry."
"That is obvious."
"You may not care about your reputation, Miss Ballinger, but I do." He concentrated on getting her safely down the lane to the back entrance of Lady Arbuthnott's garden. The gate was unlocked. Harry urged Augusta inside. He saw a shadow detach itself from the house and start forward with a crablike motion. Scruggs was still in full costume, he noted wryly.
Harry looked down at his new fiancée. He tried to see her expression but found it impossible because her face was hidden by the hood. He was very aware of the fact that he was probably not behaving like every maiden's dream of a romantic husband.
"Augusta?"
"Yes, my lord?"
"We do have an understanding, do we not? You are not going to try to cry off tomorrow, are you? Because if so, I must warn you—"
"Heavens, no, my lord." She lifted her chin. "If you are content with the notion of marrying a frivolous female who wears her gowns cut much too low, then I expect I can tolerate a stuffy, sober-minded, unromantic scholar. At my age, I rather suspect I should be grateful for what I can get. But there is one condition, my lord."
"What the devil is that?"
"I must insist on a long engagement."
"How long?" he demanded, suddenly wary.
"A year?" She eyed him with an assessing gleam in her eye.
"Good God. I do not intend to waste a year on this engagement, Miss Ballinger. It should take no more than three months to prepare for the wedding."
"Six."
"Bloody hell. Four months and that's my final offer."
Augusta lifted her chin. "So very generous of you, my lord," she said acidly.
"Yes, it is. Too generous by half. Go on into the house, Miss Ballinger, before I regret my generosity and do something quite drastic for which we will both no doubt be extremely sorry."
Harry turned and stalked out of the garden and back down the lane. He seethed every step of the way over the fact that he had just bargained like a fishmonger over the length of his own engagement. He wondered if this was how Antony had felt when dealing with Cleopatra.
Harry was inclined to be more sympathetic with Antony tonight than he had been in the past. Previously he had always considered the Roman a victim of his own unbridled lust. But Harry was beginning to understand how a woman could undermine a man's self-control.
It was a disturbing realization and Harry knew he would have to be on his guard. Augusta was displaying a talent for being able to push him to the edge.
Hours later, safe in her bed, Augusta lay wide awake and stared at the ceiling. She could still feel the commanding warmth of Harry's mouth on hers. Her body remembered every place he had touched her. She ached with a strange new longing to which she could not put a name. A heat seemed to be flowing in her veins, pooling in her lower body.