Free Rendezvous by Amanda Quick Page B

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.
    She realized with a shiver of awareness that she wished Harry were here with her now to finish whatever it was he had started there on the floor of his library.
    This was what was meant by passion, she thought. This was the stuff of epic poems and romantic novels.
    For all her