Rendezvous by Amanda Quick
“Damnation, Augusta, you had no business getting lured into a game of cards with Lovejoy in the first place.”
“Well, looking back on it, I can certainly see it was a mistake. But I must say, I was holding my own, sir. I was winning, in fact, until I got distracted by another matter. We started talking about my brother, you see, and all of a sudden I looked down and saw that I had lost rather heavily.”
“Augusta, a lady with any notion of proper behavior would never have gotten herself into such a situation.”
“You are no doubt correct, my lord. But I did warn you I was not the sort of lady you should even contemplate marrying, did I not?”
“That is beside the point,” Harry said through gritted teeth. “The fact is, we are going to be married, and allow me to tell you here and now, Augusta, that I will not tolerate another incident such as this. Do I make myself plain?”
“Very plain, sir. But for my own part, I would point out that it was my pride and my honor that were involved here. I had to do something.”
“You should have come directly to me.”
Augusta narrowed her eyes. “No offense, my lord, but I do not think that would have been such a brilliant notion. What would have been the point? You would have lectured me and made a most unpleasant scene, just as you are doing now.”
“I would have taken care of the matter for you,” Harry said grimly. “And you would not have put your neck and your reputation at risk as you did tonight.”
“It seems to me, my lord, that both of our necks and our reputations were at risk tonight.” Augusta tried a tentative smile of appeasement. “And I must say, you were most impressive. I am very glad you turned up when you did, sir. I would never have found my marker if you had not suspected the globe was a secret safe. It seems to me it all turned out for the best and we should both be thankful the thing is over.”
“Do you really believe I am going to let the matter rest there?”
Augusta drew herself up proudly. “I will, of course, understand completely if you feel my actions tonight have put me beyond the pale. If you feel you cannot possibly tolerate the notion of marrying me, my original offer still stands. I shall be quite willing to cry off and free you from this engagement.”
“Free me, Augusta?” Harry reached out to catch hold of her wrist. “I fear that is impossible now. I have come to the conclusion that I shall never be free of you. You are going to bedevil me for the rest of my life and if that is to be my fate, I may as well take what consolation I can for what I shall be obliged to endure.”
Before Augusta had time to realize what he intended, Harry had yanked her across the short distance between them. An instant later she found herself lying across his strong thighs. She clung to his shoulders as his mouth came down on hers.
“Harry.”
Augusta’s startled cry was stifled under the fierce, exciting pressure of Harry’s mouth. He took command of her senses in a single instant. Her stunned amazement dissolved into a shimmering excitement, just as it had that first time on the floor of his library.
Augusta wound her arms slowly around Harry’s neck as she recovered from the initial shock. He was demanding entrance into her mouth and she obediently parted her lips. The instant she did so, he was inside, claiming her warmth. Augusta shivered.
Her body was reacting so quickly she could not think clearly. Part of her was aware of the sway and jostle of the vehicle, the rattle of the wheels, and the ring of the horses’ hooves on stone. But here in the carriage, locked in Harry’s arms, she was in another world.
It was a world to which she had secretly longed to return ever since that first time Harry had held her like this. The hours she had spent reliving those intimacies in her imagination paled now as reality took its place. A euphoric sensation unfolded within her as she realized she was going to have another opportunity to experience the wonder of Harry’s kisses.
Obviously he had forgiven her for the unpleasant business involving Lovejoy and her debt, Augusta thought happily. Surely Harry would not be kissing her like this if he were still angry with her. She clutched at him, her fingers sinking deeply into the heavy fabric of his black greatcoat.
“Good God, Augusta.” Harry raised his head slightly, his eyes gleaming in the shadows. “You are going to drive me mad. One minute I could cheerfully shake you and the next you make me want to drag you into the nearest bed.”
She touched the side of his face and smiled wistfully. “Will you please kiss me again, Harry? I do so like it when you kiss me.”
With a muffled oath, Harry’s mouth came back down on hers. She was aware of his hand gliding over her shoulder, stroking gently, and she froze for an instant when his fingers touched her breast through the fabric of her shirt. But she did not pull away.
“Do you like that, my reckless little hoyden?” Harry’s voice was husky as he began to unfasten her shirt.
“Yes,” she breathed. “I want you to kiss me and go on kissing me forever. I vow it is the most fascinating experience, my lord.”
“I am very glad you find it so.”
Then his hand was sliding inside the open shirt and cupping her bare breast. Augusta closed her eyes and sucked in her breath as Harry’s thumb circled her nipple.
“My God,” Harry whispered thickly. “Like the sweetest of ripe fruit.”
Then he lowered his head to take the rosy bud into his mouth and Augusta moaned in response.
“Hush, love,” he muttered, his hand moving down to the fastening of her trousers.
Dimly Augusta realized they were in a carriage somewhere on a busy street and that Scruggs was only a few feet away, blissfully unaware of what was happening inside the cab. She knew she should keep silent, but she could not swallow each tiny gasp of surprise. Harry’s touch made her body sing with pleasure. An unbearable eagerness was rippling through her, creating a tension that was too new and too strange to deal with in complete silence.
When she felt Harry’s fingers inside her open trousers, searching out the warm secrets between her thighs, Augusta caught her breath and cried out softly. “Oh, Harry.”
Harry responded with a groan that was half laughter and half oath. “Silence, sweetheart. You must have a care, love.”
“I am sorry, but I cannot seem to keep quiet when you touch me like that. It feels so very odd, Harry. I vow I have never felt anything like it.”
“Damnation, woman. You do not have an inkling of what you are doing to me, do you?” Harry shifted, changing position quickly. He swung the greatcoat off his shoulders and spread it on the green cushions. Then he moved again, stretching Augusta out on the coat. Her knees were raised because of the close quarters.
When Augusta opened her eyes, Harry was crouched beside her. He bent over her, opening her shirt with feverish impatience to bare her breasts.
Augusta was just growing accustomed to the touch of his hand on her upper body when she became aware of the fact that Harry was jerking off her shoes and tugging her trousers down over her thighs.
“My lord? What are you doing?” She stirred restlessly on the cushion, half lost in the daze of sensual awareness that was enveloping her. Harry’s warm hand cupped her softness with shocking intimacy and she trembled.
“Tell me again that you want me,” he muttered against her breast.
“I want you. I have never wanted anything so much in my life.” She arched against his hand and heard him groan. All thought of protest faded away once more, to be replaced by a spiraling need. She cried out again and Harry’s mouth was suddenly back on hers, silencing her gently.
Augusta shuddered as she felt him shift position once again. He was on his knees between her legs now. She realized he was fumbling quickly with his breeches.
“Harry?”
“Hush, love. Hush.”
She gasped as his weight came down on top of her, crushing her into the cushions. He had settled himself between her thighs before she fully realized what he intended.
The husky, coaxing words spilled over her. Augusta felt something hard and unyielding pushing slowly but steadily against her softness.
Panic flared for an instant. She should stop him, she thought vaguely. He would surely regret this in the morning, perhaps blame her again, just as he had last time. “Harry, I do not think we should do this. You will think me wanton.”
“No, love. I will think you very sweet. Very soft.”
“You will say I encouraged you.” She gasped as he pressed harder. “You will say I made certain promises again.”
“The promises have already been made and they will be kept. You belong to me, Augusta. We are engaged. You have nothing to fear by giving yourself to the man who will be your husband.”
“Are you certain?”
“Absolutely certain. Put your arms around me, love,” Harry muttered against her mouth. “Hold me. Take me fully inside you. Show me that you truly want me.”
“Oh, Harry, I do want you. And if you are certain you want me, if you will not think me sadly lacking in virtue—”
“I want you, Augusta. God knows I want you so badly I do not believe I will survive until morning if I do not have you tonight. Nothing has ever felt so right.”
“Oh, Harry.” He wanted her, Augusta thought, dazzled by the realization. He needed her desperately. And she longed to surrender herself to him; she ached to discover what it would feel like to be possessed by him.
Augusta’s arms tightened around his neck and she lifted herself tentatively into his strength.
It was all the encouragement Harry needed.
“God, yes, Augusta. Yes.” His mouth fastened on hers as he thrust heavily into her.
Augusta, poised on the brink of a blazing sensual awareness, felt as if someone had suddenly tossed her into an icy cold pond. The shock of the intimate invasion roared through her. This was not what she had been expecting.
She gasped and cried out in surprise and dismay. The protest was no more than a muffled squeak, however, because Harry kept his mouth clamped savagely over hers. He swallowed her small exclamations, soothing her with his kiss. Neither of them moved.
Harry lifted his head cautiously after a moment. The soft light of the carriage lamp revealed the perspiration on his forehead and his tightly clenched jaw.
“Harry?”
“Easy, love, easy. ’Twill be all right in a moment or two. Forgive me, sweet, for rushing matters so.” He dropped hot, urgent kisses along her cheeks and down her throat. His hands gripped her tightly. “You have made me drunk with desire and like any drunkard I have blundered about in a clumsy fashion when I should have used more grace and skill.”
Augusta did not respond. She was too busy adjusting to the strange sensation of having Harry deep inside her.
For a timeless moment Harry continued to lay absolutely still on top of her. Augusta could feel the rigid tension in him as he held himself in check.
“Augusta?”
“Yes, Harry?”
“Are you all right, love?” he demanded through set teeth. He sounded as though he were exercising every ounce of self-control he possessed.
“Yes. I think so.” Augusta frowned as her body slowly grew accustomed to the impossibly tight, impossibly stretched sensation. Nothing had ever felt like this.
At that moment the coach bounced mightily as a wheel struck a hole in the street. Harry was driven even more deeply inside Augusta by the unexpected motion. He groaned. Augusta gasped.
Harry muttered something under his breath and rested his forehead on Augusta’s. “It will get better. I give you my word on that, Augusta. You are so sweet, so responsive. Look at me, sweetheart.” He cradled her face between his palms. “Damn it, Augusta, open your eyes and look at me. Tell me you still want me. The last thing I Wanted to do was hurt you.”
She obeyed, lifting her lashes to survey his stark face. She realized that even as he fought to hold himself in check, he was chastising himself for having caused her discomfort. She smiled gently, deeply touched by his tender consideration. No wonder she loved him, she thought suddenly.
“Do not fret yourself, Harry. It is not that bad, truly. I doubt any real damage has been done. Not all adventures go smoothly, as we both discovered this evening in Lovejoy’s library.”
“Good God, Augusta. Whatever am I going to do with you?” Harry buried his face in the curve of her throat and began to move inside her.
Augusta did not particularly care for the new sensation at first, but she was slowly starting to change her mind— was, in fact, even beginning to find it all quite tolerable—when it was suddenly over.
“Augusta.” Harry surged into her one last time, arched his back, and went violently rigid. Augusta was fascinated by the taut strength of him and the feral expression of raw masculine power on his hard face. She realized he was gritting his teeth against a hoarse shout and then he groaned and collapsed heavily against her.
For a moment there was only the steady jostling of the carriage and the distant sounds out in the street. Augusta stroked Harry’s back soothingly as she listened to him drawing in great, ragged gulps of air. She decided she liked the warm, heavy feel of him lying on top of her, even though he was crushing her into the cushions. She even liked the scent of him. There was something unmistakably and utterly masculine about it.
Most of all, she liked the strange intimacy of the situation. She felt almost a part of Harry now, she realized. It was as if they had both given something of themselves to each other and were now bound in some indefinable way that had nothing to do with the formalities of an engagement.
It took Augusta a few seconds to identify just what she was feeling and then she had it. It was a joyous sense of belonging. She and Harry were together now, as if tonight they had created the foundation of a new family. A family to which she could fully belong.
“Christ,” Harry muttered. “I don’t believe this.”
“Harry,” Augusta murmured thoughtfully, “will we do this a great deal during the next four months of our engagement, do you think? If so, we might have to arrange for a different coachman.” She giggled softly. “I cannot see Scruggs agreeing to drive us around the city every night, can you? His rheumatism, you know.”
Harry went still. His head came up abruptly and there was a distinctly stunned look in his eyes. When he spoke, all trace of a lover’s warmth and urgency was gone from his voice. “Four months. Damnation. ’Tis impossible.”
What is wrong, my lord?”
He lifted himself away from her, running his fingers through his tousled hair. “Nothing that cannot be remedied. I need a few minutes to think. Sit up, Augusta. Hurry. I am sorry to rush you, but you must get dressed.”
Harry’s impatient, commanding tone succeeded in squelching much of the lingering sense of intimacy Augusta had been feeling. She winced as she awkwardly levered herself into an upright position and began fumbling with her clothing.
“Really, Harry. I do not understand you. Why are you so angry?” Augusta’s fingers stilled on her clothing as a sudden horrible thought struck her. “Are you going to blame me, after all, for what happened a few minutes ago?”
“Damn it to hell, I am not angry with you, Augusta. At least, not about this.” He gestured brusquely to indicate the interior of the carriage and all that had taken place within it. “The business of breaking into Lovejoy’s house is another matter entirely and I do not intend to let it drop.”
He fastened his breeches, straightened his shirt, and then reached out to assist her in getting back into her clothes. His hand stilled briefly on her thigh.
Augusta smiled as she sensed that he was torn between conflicting emotions. “Yes, my lord? Did you want something more?”
“A great deal more.” He shook his he
“Then we shall be doing this frequently, my lord?”
He glanced up and there was no mistaking the sensual promise in his eyes. “No doubt. But not in some bloody damn carriage in the middle of London. Here, fix your shirt, Augusta.” He started to fasten it for her. “I shall procure a special license as quickly as possible and we shall be married in a day or two.”
“Married. By special license?” Augusta stared at him. She could not seem to get her thoughts straight. Everything was happening too fast. “Oh, no, Harry. What about our engagement?”
“I am afraid ours is destined to be one of the shorter betrothals on record. Just as short as I can make it, in fact.”
“The thing is, I am not at all certain I want it shortened.”
“Your feelings on the matter are no longer of any great significance,” he told her gently. “I have just made love to you and will no doubt be tempted to do so again in the very near future. We shall therefore get married immediately. I am not going to wait four months to have you again, that much is a certainty. I would not survive the torture.”
“But, Harry—”
He held up a hand to silence her. “Enough. Not another word. The matter is settled. This situation is entirely of my own doing and I will do what must be done.”
“Well, as to that,” Augusta said thoughtfully, “I do not think you can say it was entirely your fault. You have mentioned on several occasions that my own sense of propriety is sadly lacking in many respects and everyone knows I am inclined to be somewhat reckless. This is partly my fault, Harry. In fact,” she added in chagrin as she thought of what Claudia’s reaction would be to this news, “some people would be of the opinion that it is all my fault.”
“I said I did not want to hear another word about it.” Harry started to sweep up his greatcoat from the seat of the carnage and paused to stare down at the small, damp stains on it. He drew a deep breath.