With each passing course, Austin's mood grew grimmer and he found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on the inane conversations going on around him.
"I believe you're in a brown study, your grace," a female voice remarked in a throaty undertone. A gloved hand brushed over his and he forced his attention back to his immediate surroundings. Countess Millham, the woman seated on his left, sent him a coy smile. Since her elderly husband's convenient death two years ago, the countess had engaged in numerous affairs, but she'd yet to lure Austin to her bed. He had the distinct impression she hoped to change that tonight.
She leaned closer, affording him an unimpeded view of her breasts that spilled over her bodice in a show of cleavage that he knew stupefied most men. Her emerald gaze roamed his face, her eyes glowing with sexual promise- the exact sort of look from the exact sort of woman he should be concentrating on.
With her eyes steady on his, she discreetly slipped her hand under the table and boldly caressed his thigh. "There must be something a woman can do to gain your attention, your grace," she murmured in a husky whisper meant only for his ears.
He did nothing to stop her or to encourage her; he simply watched her and waited for his body to react to her touch. Her tongue peeked out and she slowly wet her upper lip, her eyes blatantly telling him what she'd rather be doing with her tongue. Her questing fingers moved higher on his leg.
But instead of lust for her, he felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. This beautiful woman, with her voluptuous body and promises of sexual delights, didn't ignite the slightest spark of desire in him. He moved his hand under the table to forcibly halt her caress. At that same instant his mother stood signaling the end of the meal.
Clearly misunderstanding the reason why he'd placed his hand under the table, Countess Millham smiled wickedly, as she stood along with everyone else. "Until later," she whispered close to his ear as the women departed for the drawing room, leaving the men to their cigars.
Leaning back in his chair, he lit a cheroot and blew out a long stream of fragrant smoke. Countess Millham had provided him with a perfect and much-needed opportunity to ease the relentless ache clutching his loins. So why the hell wasn't he happy?
Because she s not the one you want. Thoroughly annoyed with himself, he signaled a footman for a brandy and tossed back the potent drink in a single gulp.
He suspected this was going to be an excruciatingly long evening.
Elizabeth entered her bedchamber and leaned back against the closed door, grateful to escape the drawing room and the chattering women. Aunt Joanna and Caroline had both expressed concern when she'd pleaded a headache and excused herself to retire early, but she couldn't remain with the guests any longer. There were too many people, too many disjointed images flashing through her mind. Her head felt as if a corps of drummers pounded on her brain.
And then there was him. It was painfully obvious Austin was avoiding her. He'd barely acknowledged her before dinner, and every time she'd glanced down the table at him, his attention seemed riveted on the beautiful woman with the large breasts sitting at his elbow.
She'd turned her attention to Viscount Farrington, with whom she'd discovered a common interest in drawing. To her surprise, he paid her several flowery compliments and professed a desire to sketch her. She'd tried to concentrate on him, but she was constantly distracted by the vague, unsettling images flashing in her mind and the presence of the man at the head of the table.
After changing into her night rail, she mixed a headache remedy and slid into bed. Indistinct images collided in her brain, teasing her, just out of reach. She closed her eyes, willing the thoughts to go away, but they persisted. Austin's face popped into her mind his mouth curving slowly upward into a devastating smile. She tried to push him from her thoughts but failed.
What was he doing right this minute? Was he with the woman who had claimed his attention all through dinner? Was he touching her? Kissing her?
A groan passed her lips. The thought of Austin touching another woman pierced her with a pain that stole her breath, a pain made all the more agonizing because there was nothing she could do about it. Her feelings for him were hopeless.
Utterly hopeless.
In spite of himself, Austin noticed Elizabeth's absence the moment he entered the drawing room. Even though some two dozen people milled about, her height made her extremely easy to pick out. Another scan of the room only confirmed she was not present. She must have excused herself to see to personal needs. He headed toward the decanters and managed to convince himself he was glad she was not in the room.
After she'd still failed to appear twenty minutes later, however, he grew concerned. He approached Caroline and casually asked about Elizabeth's whereabouts.
"She wasn't feeling well and retired immediately after dinner," Caroline said her blue eyes studying him with interest. "Why do you ask?"
"I was merely curious. Is she ill?"
"She had the headache. I'm sure she'll be fine in the morning, although Viscount Farrington is crushed by her departure."
Austin's fingers tightened around his snifter.
"Is he?"
"Yes. He's quite smitten. I understand he asked Lady Penbroke's permission to call on Elizabeth."
A muscle twitched in his jaw and he had to squelch a sudden, overwhelming desire to inflict bodily harm on Viscount Farrington.
Lively curiosity gleamed in Caroline's eyes. "I hope Elizabeth's headache isn't the result of whatever adventure you two shared this morning. You never did say what happened to you."
"I wouldn't dream of boring you with the details."
"Nonsense. I love details."
She made me laugh. I held her in my arms. I touched her. I kissed her. I want to do it again. Right now. "There's nothing to tell, Caroline."
"I wish Robert had been here to see you covered with mud."
Austin was heartily grateful that his younger brother had not been present. Robert no doubt would have split his breeches from laughing and then have asked a hundred teasing questions. "When is he expected to return from his travels?"
"Within the next several days," Caroline answered.
A footman approached and held out a silver salver with a wax-sealed note. "A message for you, your grace."
Grateful for the interruption, Austin took the note. When he saw the distinctive imprint on the wax, he stilled.
"Is something wrong, Austin?" Caroline asked.
He forced himself to offer her a smile. "Everything is fine. Just a small matter that requires my attention. Please excuse me."
Leaving the drawing room, he made his way to his study, closing the door behind him. His hands shook as he slipped his fingers beneath the easily recognizable seal of his Bow Street Runner. Had he found Gaspard?
Tipping back his head, he closed his eyes for a brief moment. What he was about to read might well give him the answers he'd sought for so long. With his jaw clenched to the point of pain, he opened the note and anxiously-scanned the contents.
Your Grace:
I have information for you. Per our prearranged agreement, I will await you at the ruins at the north border of your property.
James Kinney
Austin read the brief missive again, his fingers gripping the vellum so hard he was surprised it didn't crumble apart. Kinney was the finest Bow Street had to offer. He wouldn't have traveled to Bradford Hall at night if he didn't have something important to report.
Locking the note in his desk drawer, Austin left his study and hurried down the back staircase. Slipping from the house, he kept to the shadows and walked swiftly to the stables. When he instructed Mortlin to saddle Myst, the groom looked up at the sky and scratched his head. "Are ye certain ye want to ride, yer grace? It's fixin' to storm soon. Me achin' joints can always tell."