Eight o’clock in the cursed morning and the Pump Room was already crowded. An endless parade of Bath’s denizens—the fashionable, the invalids, and the merely curious—passed before Joss on foot or in wheeled chairs.
The room was larger than any London ballroom he’d seen, nearly three stories in height and far longer than a cricket pitch. A wall of windows fronted the endless space, through which a weak and watery sun could be seen struggling to rise behind a misty rain. The surly weather could not keep these health seekers from their noxious-smelling mineral waters, though Joss thought they would receive much more benefit by keeping to their beds a few hours longer.
He certainly would have liked to do so. It was far too early to begin today’s business, considering the previous day’s work had not ended for Joss until hours past midnight. His errand in Bath didn’t absolve him of his regular duties as Sutcliffe’s employee. Though he’d told Augusta he managed the baron’s correspondence and engagements, he also did a fair amount of soothing and currying, as though his cousin were a fractious horse. The comparison was especially apt considering how Sutcliffe had kicked over his traces recently.
Their requisite daily training was much more difficult at a distance, though Bath lay a scant eight miles from Sutcliffe Hall. Over the past few days, the baron had flooded Joss with frantic letters, desperate notes sent by mail and by express. Neatly block printed at first, then scrawled in a nearly illegible flood of slanted writing, the urgency leaping from the page.
Where are my favorite cuff links My brandy decanter is empty and I think the servants have been drinking from it Lady Sutcliffe wants more pin money What should I do if another of those threatening letters arrives When will you return to my house I need your advice
Have you sold the land yet
At least Sutcliffe managed to ask after Joss’s real errand at some point. And at least he had franked all those letters so Joss wasn’t responsible for paying the exorbitant postage.
Joss had learned to be grateful for life’s small sanities.
Though this was easier at an hour later than eight o’clock in the cursed morning. He rubbed at gritty eyes, then again scanned the crowd for Augusta. “Mrs. Flowers” had replied in the affirmative to Joss’s note the previous night, sending the same wiry urchin darting back through the streets with letter in hand and a demand for yet another coin. Joss had tossed the lad a shilling; too much by far, but by God, it felt like the first step toward freedom.
There. A flash of burnt-umber hair, vivid in the gray-chased morning gloom, peeped from beneath the edge of a bonnet. It must be she, for several men stopped to engage her in conversation. As each then continued on his way, his expression said that all was right with the world, for a pretty woman had passed the time of day with him.
Joss shouldered through the crowd making its lazy promenade about the room, stopping short before his quarry: Augusta, in a sedate printed gown beneath a warm brown pelisse. There was nothing about her clothing to draw notice, but her smile—that was extraordinary. Bright and sweet and cheeky, as though she found no greater pleasure than to stroll about a crowded room on a rainy morning, conversing with strangers.
She was not alone, he noted a moment later: Augusta pushed an iron-framed wheeled chair in which was seated Lady Tallant. Joss deepened his hasty bow. “Good morning to you both. My lady. Mrs.…ah, Augusta.”
The countess looked a bit thin and weary, though her greeting was as warm as Joss remembered from past meetings. “Mr. Everett. Thank you for your kindness to our young friend last night at the assembly.”
“It was my pleasure.” Joss pasted on a devil-may-care grin. How much had Augusta revealed—of her own secrets, and his?
“The countess,” said Augusta, “is aware of my widowhood.”
“Such a tragic loss,” agreed Lady Tallant, tugging a tasseled shawl about her shoulders. “Poor Mr. Flowers, to be trampled by a hippopotamus.”
Augusta choked. “I never said—”
“But you are young and lovely, my dear. I’m sure you’ll marry again soon. Only take care to stay away from large mammals.”
“I have been informed,” said Joss, feeling a bit wicked, “that Mrs. Flowers has caught the eye of half the men in Bath. And as far as I know, there are no hippopotami—is it the Latin plural?—here to endanger them.”
Augusta folded her arms, putting her delightful bosom on impressive display over a swoop of printed cotton bodice. “Are you two quite finished? Emily, you ought to take your mineral water.”
The countess pulled a face. “The water tastes like rotten eggs and rust. I’d much rather stay here and tease you.”
“I would be pleased to join you in such a noble task, my lady.” Catching Augusta’s eye, Joss mouthed dockyard and cast a significant glance at her person. Just to make those tawny eyes narrow. At once, she dropped clenched fists to her sides. Too bad.
Lady Tallant looked from Joss to Augusta with the sort of knowing smile that made perspiration break out between a man’s shoulder blades. “Perhaps Mr. Everett can handle the task alone, at that. I do have a responsibility to my health.” Waving off Joss’s offered hand, she hoisted herself to her feet and began a slow, careful progress toward the marble fountain from which mineral waters were pumped and served.
“She looks well today,” Augusta murmured, watching her friend walk away.
Joss had been thinking precisely the opposite, so he settled for a noncommittal noise.
Augusta steered the wheeled chair to a far wall of the room, waving off Joss’s attempt to take its cumbersome weight from her. “You mayn’t think Lady Tallant looks well if you have not seen her since last autumn. Since we have arrived, though, she has regained much of her spirit.” Her features clouded, and she added, “Most of the time, that is.”
“You are holding everyone’s secrets,” Joss said. “Your own, your friend’s, and now mine.”
“I suppose I am.” She tugged at her pelisse, wrapping the gold-spangled brown more tightly around her gown and lovely figure. “I’ve never been permitted so much responsibility before.”
Joss regretted the covering of the gown, but it was no more than he deserved for his earlier teasing. “And do you intend to use this responsibility for good or evil? I should have made this inquiry before entrusting you with my confidence.”
Brandy-brown eyes met his. Held. “Are you never serious?”
“Rarely. Seriousness is a frustration and a liability in my position.”
“How am I to know what you really think, then?”
“Must you know what I really think? I did not think that was essential among the fashionable. The opposite of honesty, in fact, is what makes high society run smoothly.”
“That might be the case, but neither you nor I has been accepted into the bosom of society. If you cannot be truthful with me, then I can’t help you. And you can’t help me.” She nodded in the direction of a lanky gentleman in conversation with the red-coated master of ceremonies. “If I’m on my own, perhaps I’ll take that man as a lover. His legs look well enough. Or maybe I’ll make a scandalous offer to the master of ceremonies. Or to one of the footmen at the next assembly.”
“Augusta.” Joss had no idea what to say next. The ton bantered and flirted; they never craved earnestness. Such was the world at whose edges he usually prowled.
“What does it matter with whom I make arrangements?” She asked. “If it makes no difference to me, it needn’t to anyone else.” Though her voice was unsteady, her features were serene. Somehow, she even managed to keep a little smile on her lips.
“Augusta.” Joss reached out, touching her under the chin. He didn’t turn her face toward him; he wondered whether she would turn on her own.
She breathed more quickly, but let the moment pull out long and slow as taffy. Her sweet, flowery scent caught at him, and the voices ringing against the stretching walls and ceiling of the marble room seemed a bit less overwhelming to his tired ears.
He shouldn’t have declined her offer, gracelessly though it had been made. You would do. It was better by far than much of what he had heard in his life. Mongrel, said the village children who lived near Sutcliffe House. From his own relatives: You’re lucky we took you in. Be grateful for what you’re given.
Compared to that, you would do was practically a benediction. Even now, maybe, he could tell her Yes—yes, take me, and I will take you. I’ll be whatever you want in a man.
But if he did that, he would be trapped by everything he sought to escape. He would be nothing he wanted.
“Augusta,” he said once more, quiet as a whisper. “I’m sorry. And it does matter to me.”
Her eyes searched him, a flicker of lashes up and down. As she looked up at him, her jaw was set. Was that dismissal he read in her features?
It was nothing new. Nothing he hadn’t seen or heard from Sutcliffe time and again.
And just as always when faced with dismissal, he smiled to show how little it affected him.
A heavy pause followed; then, to Joss’s surprise, Augusta smiled back. A real smile, one that made her eyes crinkle and caused the most adorable little crease to cross the bridge of her nose.
Ahem. Not an adorable crease. An ordinary crease, of the same sort that fat old men got when they frowned at a newspaper.
Right.
Then she lifted a hand to catch his, pressing it away from her chin. “So you can be serious.”
“When the moment requires it.” He sighed.
“The moment did, most definitely, require it.” As though dusting herself off, she brushed his gloved fingers from hers. “I agreed to meet you at this time and place, because this is when everyone in Bath comes to the Pump Room. Here, we are sure to find the people we seek.”
“You to find your lover, and me—”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” she said, as calmly as though it were quite usual for a man and woman who hardly knew each other to discuss paramours in public. “Your cousin wishes you to raise money by selling land or coal or some such thing. But if he is truly being blackmailed, there’s no guarantee another demand for money won’t come. What would he do if that happened?”
If that happened…Joss wouldn’t give a damn, because he would be free from the quagmire of Sutcliffe’s life. “I cannot prepare for that eventuality, unless you think the blackmailer can be located and somehow be persuaded to stop. Which would be delightful, but blackmailers are rarely noted for their charitable impulses.”
“They are not, that’s true.” Rising to her tiptoes, she whispered in his ear. “But there are many ways to persuade people without appealing to their better natures. All we need do is find the right method.”
“We?” Joss shook his head slightly to dispel the tickling sensation left in his ear by her breath. “No, impossible. You cannot become involved in Sutcliffe’s private affairs. I may have said you held everyone’s secrets, but Augusta, I didn’t mean it.”
“I know you didn’t. You weren’t being serious at that time.” With a smile that looked like bared teeth, she added, “But you’re serious now, and I am too. We both want something far too much for wisdom. And so we need to help each other, or we’ll both end by making a terrible mistake.”
***
Augusta blew out an impatient breath, waiting for Joss to do something besides blink down at her. If he ever would.
This was a man who hadn’t wanted to dance with her. Hadn’t wanted to become her lover. Hadn’t wanted to do anything but satisfy his mild curiosity about her false name, then continue on his merry way. Really, he could not have been much clearer about his lack of interest.
Until he sent her a note last night, inviting her to meet him again. He might not have wanted to start the game, but for a short while at least, he seemed willing to play along.
“What sort of mistake are we in danger of making?” he said carefully.
Carefully, indeed. Because it was not a game at all, was it? She had no idea what was at stake for him, but it was certainly more than a job.
“Everyone in Bath comes from somewhere else,” she replied. “We might do and say and be whatever we need to, free of London. If we’re fortunate, we’ll become what we want to. If we’re not…”
“We’ll be trapped. Again.” He pressed at his temples. “Yes. All right. Clearly you have something in mind, so please oblige me by telling me what that is. As long as it’s not some sort of hen-witted espionage caper.”
Augusta sniffed. “I am never hen-witted. And I do not caper.”
One of his eyebrows shot up.
“And,” she added, “this is not a matter of espionage. It is a matter of business. I have made a list.” Tugging a folded slip of paper from the inner wrist of her glove, she handed it to him. “Last night, I thought of three men whom you might approach about the sale of coal lands. And if you wish instead to find and throttle your cousin’s blackmailer, I have listed the name of a man who can hunt that information.”
“Quite an assortment.” His eyes flicked over the list.
“That last man I mentioned has only just arrived in Bath. I had the news from the boy who ran our messages back and forth,” she explained. “I had to pay him another half crown for the privilege of learning whom he had seen lodged in the Royal Crescent.”
“A half crown? Highway robbery.”
A half crown meant nothing to Augusta, whose reticule was full of coin, whose fortune grew monthly under the guardianship of doting trustees. So she only smiled and watched him read the names—once, twice, again—deciding.
Deep in thought, he appeared much less English. He did not look sideways to see her reaction as he read, did not puff out his chest or square his shoulders to impress her as she waited. He lacked the beau monde’s usual jittery joviality—or perhaps it would be better to say that he possessed a stillness entirely foreign to most men Augusta knew. His arched brows knit, and the crease between them carved his profile into something starker—a high forehead and high-bridged nose, full lips, and a stern chin.
And smoky dark and sweet, the scent of sandalwood that made her want to draw closer, to tuck her head into the line of his shoulder and breathe in deeply. A longing caught her, so sudden and enticing that she had to step away lest her body betray her by swaying too close.
No. He wasn’t the man she needed. She needed someone pliant and agreeable and ultimately disposable.
He looked up from the paper. “I am impressed by this list, Augusta. How do you come to know of these men?”
“I read the guest book and saw that they were in Bath. I’ve been avoiding them all week so they wouldn’t see me and call me by my real name.”
Refolding the paper, he fixed her with a look. “That is not what I meant. How do you happen to be acquainted with them?”
“Oh. I’ve always known them.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her bonnet ribbon, fumbling for an explanation. “They are powerful men of business. And I’m Meredith Beauty, or all that’s left of it.”
Dark eyes flicked over her figure; his mouth curved with humor. “It’s nice to meet a woman who’s confident in her appeal.”
She waved a hand, hating that her cheeks flushed. A blushing redhead was a tower of clashing color. “I’m talking of cosmetics and lotions and perfumes, not myself. My father named the company for himself. As he built it, and our fortune, I came to know many of the men he knows. Knew.” She shuddered away the gray sense of loss. “I was the only child of my parents. All the knowledge they had to impart, they tipped into my head.”
“A beautiful vessel for Meredith Beauty.”
“Stop that. You told me you’d be serious. I’m just trying to explain an answer to a question you asked.”
Composing his features, he nodded. “I beg your pardon. It’s rather a habit of mine.”
“Mocking someone while appearing to give compliments? Yes, I know it’s a habit, and it’s an unsettling one.”
“Is it really? And yet I am attempting to smooth along our conversation. Unfortunately, my dear make-believe widow, the course of conversation never does run smoothly with you.”
“Maybe because we know a bit too much about one another for that sort of playacting.”
“Maybe.” He took a half step toward her, erasing the distance she had placed between them, and a strange expression crossed his face. Something wistful or weary or angry, but which, she couldn’t tell. “Or maybe we don’t know enough. And as we are just coming to know one another, every word carries a great deal of weight.”
Unpredictable man—yet so far, with words alone, she had kept him at a safe distance. Now as he drew closer, she stepped back again, remembering the curious crowds around them. At an arm’s length away, that odd expression of his tugged at her less deeply, and she could no longer distinguish his scent of sandalwood.
Which was good.
Not that sandalwood was anything to become bothered about, or eager or curious. It was nothing but an aromatic oil distilled from a tree. There was nothing to Joss’s credit about choosing it. One might just as well compliment Augusta for possessing silk gowns, when the silkworms and dressmakers had done all the hard work of creating her clothing.
Yet she wondered why he had chosen sandalwood. How he had come by it. The heiress to Meredith Beauty couldn’t help but notice such a scent.
He must have noticed her step backward or some play of emotions over her face in turn. “What is the matter, fidgeting woman? You do not say so, but I think I must owe you a list.”
“A list?” She had no idea what he meant.
“A list, yes. A list of potential lovers in exchange for your list of sources. Four possibilities would be a fair exchange for the four names you provided, though it seems excessive, does it not? Even for a widow, I mean. Surely one name would do.”
Another blush tainted her cheeks. “You told me you’d be serious. We just discussed this.”
“I am being serious. I do seriously believe that you ought not to take four lovers.”
“Speak more quietly, please.” Myriad conversations filled the Pump Room, but one never knew whose ears would catch an enticing overheard snippet like four lovers. “And I was never considering such an action.”
“It would be more than one action. It would be at least four.”
A laugh and a gasp fought their way from her throat together, and the result was—alas—a splutter. Augusta pressed her lips together, as though that could undo the sound.
Joss grinned, lifting his hands in supplication. “All right, I wasn’t being entirely serious. You must give me time to identify the perfect fellow for you, my dear fake widow. I haven’t yet spoken to many people in Bath.”
“Let us remedy that right now. I’ll fetch Lady Tallant, so the three of us can go make our obeisance to the master of ceremonies. Then all of Bath society will see how much we adore your company.”
“Oh? And how much is that, precisely?” she heard him ask, but she was already flouncing away and pretended not to hear.
Because this was only a matter of business.
And because she could not reply when she did not know the answer herself.