"Not at all, Mr. Sheldrake. You shall just have to work a bit harder at the task of wooing my cousin. She deserves that apology, by the way. I am not particularly pleased with you, either, I might add. When I think of how sympathetic I was toward you whenever you complained of your rheumatism, I get vastly annoyed."
Peter bit back another oath. "Well, you have certainly had your revenge."
Harry folded his arms across his chest, amused by the wrangling.
"May I ask when you first realized I was playing the role of Scruggs?" Peter growled.
Augusta smiled wickedly. "Why, 'twas that night when you drove Graystone and me about London for an hour or so before taking us back to Lady Arbuthnott's. I recognized your real voice when you tried to tell Harry that the drive might not be such an excellent notion."
"As you are happily married now, madam, it seems to me you should be thanking me for playing the role of coachman that night," Sheldrake retorted. "You should be feeling gratitude, not a desire for a paltry vengeance."
"That," Augusta said, "is a matter of opinion."
"Is that so? Well, allow me to point out—"
"Enough." Harry hastily interrupted as he realized he did not care for the direction in which the sparring was headed. The last thing he wanted tonight was for Augusta to recall how she had been coerced into a hasty marriage because of what had occurred in Sally's darkened carriage that night. He had enough problems on his hands without dredging up that bit of ammunition for her to use against him. "The two of you are beginning to remind me of a pair of small children and we do have guests to see to."
Peter muttered grimly under his breath. "I suppose I had better see about making that apology. Do you really think Claudia meant that part about me getting down on my knees?"
"Yes, I do," Augusta assured him.
Peter grinned suddenly. "I always knew she had spirit beneath that prim, angelic facade."
"Naturally," Augusta said. "Claudia may be not a Northumberland Ballinger, but she is still a Ballinger."
A long while later, when the great house was dark and silent at last, Harry sprawled in a chair in his bedchamber and considered the real reason he did not want to take Augusta to London.
He was afraid.
Afraid that in London she would once again find friends of a kindred spirit who would encourage her in her inclination toward recklessness.
Afraid that even though The Season was over she would still find ways to plunge herself into the whirl of activities and pleasures that she had enjoyed so much before her marriage.
Afraid that in Town she might just possibly encounter the kind of man who would appear to be a far more appropriate mate for a passionate female of the dashing Northumberland Ballinger clan than the man she had married.
Afraid that in London she might encounter the man to whom she could truly give her heart.
And yet he knew that even if that should occur, Augusta would honor her wedding vows, come what may. She was a woman of honor.
It struck Harry that he had everything that he thought he had wanted from the start. He had a woman who would be faithful as a matter of honor, even though her heart might be given to another.
Yes, he possessed her loyalty and her sweetly responsive body and they were no longer enough.
No longer enough.
Harry looked out into the night while he carefully opened the locked door deep inside himself. For an instant he peered very briefly into that hungry, desperate, smoldering darkness. He slammed the door shut at once but not before he had understood something he had not wanted to face until now.
For the first time he admitted that he longed to have Augusta's wild, passionate Northumberland Ballinger heart as well as her vow of faithfulness.
"Harry?"
He turned his head as the connecting door between Augusta's bedchamber and his own opened. Augusta stood there, soft and sweet and alluring in her white muslin nightdress.
"What is it, Augusta?"
"I am sorry I made such a fuss earlier tonight when you told me you must go to London." She trailed slowly into the room, the white muslin floating around her. "I understand that you fear Meredith and I will tie you down in Town. Perhaps you are right. If we would be a constant source of concern for you, then we would hamper your efficiency. I would not want that. I know finding the Spider is very important to you."
He smiled slowly and held out his hand. "Not as important as one or two other things in my life. Come here, Augusta."
She put her hand in his and he pulled her down onto his lap, cradling her against him. She smelled warm and womanly and very, very inviting. He felt his manhood stir and begin to throb against her thigh.
Augusta wriggled against him. "You had best forget about that sort of thing if you are to leave first thing in the morning," she said with a soft little laugh.
"I have changed my mind."
"You are not going to London tomorrow?"
"No." He nuzzled the curve of her shoulder, delighting in the sweet vulnerability of that particular spot. "I shall let Sheldrake go on ahead and get started on the investigation. You and I and Meredith will follow the day after tomorrow. I believe it will take at least a day to get you two ladies packed and ready."
Augusta leaned away to study his face. "Harry, you are going to take us with you, after all?"
"You were right, my sweet. You have a claim on Richard's poem and you deserve to be near while Sheldrake and I pursue our investigations. And, quite frankly, I do not want to spend a great many nights alone. I have grown accustomed to having you in my bed."
"So you are bringing me along to serve as a bed-warmer?" Her eyes were brilliant in the shadows.
"Among other things."
She hugged him jubilantly. "Oh, Harry, you will not be sorry, I swear it. I will be a model of perfection, a paragon of wifely behavior. I will be terribly conscious at all times of the proprieties. I will take good care of Meredith and make certain she does not get into any trouble. We shall attend only educational entertainments. I will—"
"Hush, love. Do not go making rash promises." Harry wrapped his hand around the nape of Augusta's neck and brought her lips down to his, effectively silencing her.
Augusta sighed softly and nestled warmly against him, her hand stealing inside the opening of his dressing gown.
He slid his palm up along her leg under the hem of her gown and when he felt her shiver in response, he let his fingers roam higher, coaxing, teasing, probing gently. After a very short time he could feel the hot honey.
"So sweet," he said against her breast. He felt her shudder again as he tested her gently with his finger. She closed around him, tight and eager. Slowly he eased his finger out of her silken sheath. He pushed the muslin gown to Augusta's waist.
Then he opened his own gown and his aroused manhood sprang free. He eased Augusta's legs apart and arranged her so that she straddled his thighs.
"Harry? What are you doing?" Augusta caught her breath. "Oh, my goodness. Harry. Here?"
"That's it, darling. Take me inside. Oh, God, yes." He reveled in the soft, clinging heat of her as he brought her down onto his fiercely erect shaft. His hands cupped her buttocks, squeezing softly.
Augusta's fingers bit into his shoulders as she found the rhythm of the mating dance. Her head fell back and her hair streamed down behind her.
And then Harry felt the first tiny shudders deep within her and he was once more caught up in the sweet fire he had ignited. He let himself be whirled away into the flames and gloried in the knowledge that in this, at least, he was as wild and free as any Northumberland Ballinger.
16