Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

Yet again, Agatha Birkenstock’s tart tongue left Oscar speechless. He dragged in a heavy breath, intent on calming his frantic heart. How dare she label him a heartless bastard? Hadn’t he just fought tooth and nail to keep her safe? Usually her direct way of speaking was one of the things he enjoyed about her. But not today.

Not when his blood was still coursing with a wild desire to thrash the life out of the men who had dared touch his precious Agatha. Not when Oscar was still shaken by his own recent behavior. Behavior that he wished no one would discover. But secrets were hard to keep from society at the best of times, and he was biding time until the news reached the ton’s eager ears. How society would regard him then was anyone’s guess. How Agatha Birkenstock took the news was another matter entirely.

Ahead of him, Agatha was calling for her maid and creeping through the square with outstretched arms. He caught up to her. “You go too far, Agatha.”

She blinked. “Well you, my lord, have not the right to tell me what I should or should not do. Kindly stay out of my business.”

“You are my business.” Oscar dragged her into his arms. She could have been hurt. He could have lost her. He forced a large breath into his lungs and let it out slowly. She appeared unharmed, but it had been a very near thing. What if he hadn’t become so frustrated with his mother’s party and escaped early? Who knew what he would have found.

Oscar ran his hands over her cloak, molding her tighter against him, discreetly attempting to gauge her state of health. It had been too long since he’d seen her without a crowd or closed window between them. Too long since he’d touched her. Yet when she forcefully resisted his embrace, he let her go. He’d never force Agatha to stay, but her need for independence worried him.

As she stepped around him, Oscar caught her arm again and dragged her to his side. “We are not finished speaking about your lack of a suitable escort. Why is a footman or such not with you?”

Agatha stiffened. “Do you listen to me at all, Lord Carrington? Stay. Out. Of. My. Business.”

Her blue eyes blazed with defiance and Oscar’s heart pounded harder in his chest. She was, in a word, a formidable woman. Much like his own mother, with her determination to steer her own path in life. But the path Agatha had chosen would separate them, and Oscar, despite knowing it was in her best interests, was no longer sure he could bear that.

A groan to Oscar’s right startled them both.

Agatha pulled from his grip and rushed toward the sound. “Nell, where are you?”

“Damn it, Agatha,” Oscar hissed, frustrated all over again by his inability to continue a conversation with her. Just when he thought he had a chance to plead his case, she darted away.

“Here, miss. I’m here.”

The weak call turned him around until he stumbled over Agatha crouching low to the ground.

“Oscar. Nell is hurt. You have to help me.”

The young woman at Agatha’s feet groaned. Poor girl. He’d been too late to prevent her from coming to harm.

Agatha tugged on his trouser leg. “What are you waiting for? Help her up so that I may have her seen to.”

“No!” the maid squeaked.

Oscar took a step back. While he was more than happy to carry out Agatha’s request, as any gentleman should be, he understood better than Agatha why the maid might not wish him to place his hands on her. The scoundrel who had accosted the girl had been very free with exploring her body, despite her vigorous protests. She might see any assistance he tried to give as another threat against her.

Oscar gripped Agatha’s arm and dragged her a few steps away so he could speak freely. “She’s been handled in the worst way possible, Agatha. Be gentle with her. It would be my honor to help you, however I think she fears me.”

Agatha blinked up at him for a full minute as she assessed his words. Then her blue eyes widened with understanding. She flew to her servant’s side. “This is all my fault, Nell. I’m so sorry. So very sorry, indeed. I should have allowed George to accompany us.”

The maid’s tears started as soon as Agatha helped her stand and made a fuss of straightening her gown. “We do not look too bad. If asked about our mussed attire, we will say we were almost struck by a carriage and fell to the hard ground. However, instead of returning below stairs or to your chamber, Nell, you will come straight to mine. I will say I have need of you, so there shall be no prying eyes until you feel more yourself.”

Oscar grimaced. Agatha involved herself in matters best left to the servants far too much. She should hold herself aloof from their contretemps. But no matter how often Oscar had warned her that her efforts would be resented one day, she persisted in thinking them her friends.

Agatha lifted the maid’s chin to look in her eyes. “Nell?”

The maid sniffled. “Thank you, miss.”

Agatha slung her arm about the girl’s waist and moved off slowly without waiting for him.

Frustrated to be summarily ignored again, Oscar rushed to stand before them, his arms outstretched. “Agatha? My cane?”

Her huff of annoyance was loud. “Beside the tree.”

After a few turns about the tree base, Oscar spotted it and then hurried to catch up. But by then the women were at the edge of the park and, without a backward glance, they limped across the street.

He lurked in the shadows of the park as they ascended the front stairs of the building beside his and disappeared inside, leaning against the wrought-iron fencing as his heart squeezed. For all the annoyance Agatha brought to his life, he missed her dreadfully. Her sudden smiles, her infectious laugh, and the way her gaze had once fallen upon him with a steady acceptance, despite his flaws.

And he had many. Society might claim him to be the most charming man in the ton , but his inner thoughts were oftentimes less than graceful. Especially now, when society expected so much from him and gave nothing back to help him accept this loveless match in which he’d been bound.

He needed someone to confide in, yet he couldn’t bear to open his heart to anyone he considered a friend out of fear they’d look at him differently afterward. Not even Agatha could understand his pain. Not when the one who still held it looked upon him with such disdain.

Oscar tucked his hands under his arms and rocked on his heels. He desperately needed to speak with Agatha privately about a personal matter, but he dreaded hearing her responses.

Oscar pushed off the fence and headed for home, hopefully appearing as if he hadn’t a care in the world, should he pass anyone foolish enough to be abroad on this wretched night. He hurried up his front steps, pulled the key from his pocket, and let himself inside the quiet house. But he couldn’t hope to evade his butler.

“You have an urgent message, my lord.”

His butler held out his little tray. Mother? Already? What new scheme had she hatched in the last half hour? Oscar headed for his tiny bookroom, breaking the seal as he went.

He swiftly read the elegantly worded note. Another inescapable invitation to another tediously dull luncheon. And tomorrow no less. Why hadn’t she mentioned it tonight? A quick glance at his appointment book showed he had promised to take his future wife driving in Hyde Park at five, but he should have enough time to fit both outings into his schedule.

Oscar ran his finger over his engagements for the rest of the week. Penelope, Penelope, Penelope. How dull. He groaned and dropped his head to the open page. Life was not going the way he’d planned.

But there was nothing to be done now. Only make the best husband he could and forget about Agatha Birkenstock. Except that was proving more than difficult.

Of course, living in the house beside Agatha’s was certainly responsible for keeping her uppermost in his mind. That place should be occupied by Lady Penelope, a socially acceptable earl’s daughter.

Yet no matter how hard Oscar tried, he couldn’t dredge up the necessary enthusiasm for the chit. The dark-haired beauty didn’t affect him at all. Her conversation didn’t draw him into a greater understanding of her character. Her smile, when she chose to bestow one in his direction, lacked warmth. And unless matters changed and she stepped from her family’s shadow long enough to speak with him alone, he’d be just as oblivious on his wedding day.

At least her father, the Earl of Thorpe, hadn’t pressed for an actual wedding date as yet. Indeed, her brother-in-law, Lord Prewitt, was very quick to suggest a long engagement so they could become better acquainted. But how Oscar was supposed to do that, when Lady Penelope never left her family’s company, stumped him.

Oscar rubbed a hand across his face. He’d thought to make a proper marriage to the advantage of his family. He’d thought to marry a woman with impeccable breeding and decorum. What he got was being discovered in a state of dishabille beside Lady Penelope. But he’d not been the one to muss her prim gown.

No, that was the worst of it.

Lord Thorpe had concluded, quite wrongly, that Oscar had been responsible for his daughter’s state. Yet all Oscar had done was stumble upon her straight from having Agatha Birkenstock in his arms. But Lady Penelope had claimed firmly that he’d been the one to do the deed, as it were.

Of course, with no repeatable explanation for his less-than-pristine appearance, matters had quickly spiraled out of his control. He couldn’t very well say that he’d tumbled Agatha over Lady Archer’s pianoforte. So, his planned slow courtship of Lady Penelope had become a quick engagement, and then, to his shock, he’d lost something more precious than gold.

Agatha wasn’t fearless. Despite his extravagant offer of carte blanche, she’d refused to continue as his mistress. Instantly. The memory of that painful interview haunted him, because he had discovered that Agatha had presumed to be his wife in the making. Offering her the position of mistress, when she’d assumed otherwise, had turned her cold toward him. When she’d walked away without a backward glance, he knew he’d made a grave mistake.

Oscar leaned back in his chair and considered what he’d so foolishly thrown away. He and Agatha had become friendly not long after her arrival in her grandfather’s house. Her sad, pinched face and darkly hued mourning attire had tugged at his heart, sitting as she was, tucked into her windowsill. But when she had realized he was so close, she had hidden herself from view.

For a month of Tuesdays, he had placed a bag of sweets on her windowsill, determined to wipe the unhappy frown from the grieving girl’s face. When at last she didn’t throw the bags back over the railing, he caught a glimpse of her smile. After that day, he’d gained her trust, gained her friendship, and the desire to never see her so unhappy again.

He’d thought they had the perfect arrangement.

But then, he’d never spoken a word about their future, so he didn’t know they each had a far different plan in mind.

Now he was engaged to marry a woman he didn’t know, didn’t care for, and certainly didn’t trust, while the one he wanted shunned him. So far, he’d been unable to detect one glimmer of embarrassment in his future wife’s eyes over how their engagement had come about. If she suffered from a broken heart at her separation from her own lover, he certainly couldn’t sense it.

He stood suddenly, morose resignation weighing heavily on his shoulders. Perhaps he should attempt a fresh start after the wedding, away from Town. He couldn’t continue to live beside Agatha Birkenstock every day of his marriage. Despite her demand that he stay away, Oscar didn’t know if he could maintain a distance between them. That irked him.

And to hell with the betrothal clause stating he had to reside in the Earl of Thorpe’s residence upon his marriage to Lady Penelope. Such a restriction to his life was not to be borne without resistance.

Perhaps a home in the country would be best. The Berkeley Square townhouse was entailed, but his fortune was enough to purchase a little place in the country. Of course, given the townhouse’s position, he’d have no trouble renting it out during the season, freeing him of the temptation to return to London and see Agatha just one last time.

The thought gave him no joy.

These last months since the engagement were the worst of his life, and he could see no happy ending in sight.

Cast down, he made his way up the narrow staircase to an upper-floor rear door and stepped onto the dark balcony. He walked to the rail, slung one leg over carefully, mindful of the spikes atop the metal work, and stepped onto Agatha’s adjoining balcony.

Someone moved about inside her bedchamber. Objects clanked against wood, or was that a scraping of a chair? Was Agatha still attending to the poor maid?

He tapped on the glass once, dropped a sack of sweets on the windowsill, and then settled in to wait until she doused the light.

After a little while the window rattled, and then Agatha’s head popped out into the night. “You have to stop doing this.”

“Come out, precious.”

The sack of sweets landed at his feet. “I can’t.” She ducked her head back inside.

“Please, Agatha. We need to talk, and then I’ll leave you be for good.”

She huffed another breath. “Oh, all right. But you must mind your manners.”

The window inched higher and, after a slither of sound, she stood beside him. Oscar reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. Her smooth skin and the sweet scent of her perfume made his blood run hot. He quickly led her to the rail, stepped over, then turned to help her, intent on swinging her nightgown clear of the spiked rail.

As his hands settled about her waist, desire made his palms sweaty. When she was on her feet on his balcony, he was very quick to lead her inside before they were seen together.

Despite his earlier decision to leave her in peace, Oscar gathered Agatha into his arms to hold her tight against him. After a moment’s hesitation, Agatha returned his embrace, wrapping her arms low around his hips.

God, he was so unbelievably stupid.

Giving up Agatha was going to kill him. He let her go with reluctance, clutched her hand in his, and led her to his bedchamber, where a fire burned hot enough to ward off the chill of the foggy night.

As they crossed the threshold, Agatha’s hand slipped free of his. “What do you want, Oscar?”

Instead of answering immediately, he crossed the room to sit and regarded her. So far he could see no change to her body that hinted she might be carrying his child. But he had to be sure. Despite the surge of desire sweeping him at the sight of her in his bedchamber again, dressed for bed in familiar white linen, he steeled himself to remain at a distance. But with her hair unbound and lying thick about her shoulders, she was everything he’d ever wanted and more.

“How are you, precious?”

His question appeared to take her off guard. She stared at him a long time. Her gaze flowed over his face. A frown line appeared between her eyes. “Better than you, it would seem. You look dreadful.”

Oscar nodded. He couldn’t explain his weary appearance without telling her what he’d done—what circumstance had forced him to do in the name of friendship.

“Are you unwell?”

“I am very well, but I’ve not been sleeping the best. No doubt there are peas hidden under my mattress.”

Agatha scoffed and rose to her feet. Fearing she was about to bolt, Oscar started to stand, but she closed the distance between them to press her hand to his head, keeping him in place.

“You are no warmer than usual. Does something trouble you?”

Oscar closed his eyes, drinking in the concern in her voice. Her fingers slid into his hair in an intimate caress he’d missed. Oscar shuddered. “Aside from missing you like the devil, what could be wrong?”

Her fingers cupped his jaw and then slipped away. “It’s more than that, isn’t it? ”

Agatha resumed her seat, but she sat forward, apparently eager to hear his confession. Was she as starved for the sound of his voice as he was for hers?

No matter the reason, he couldn’t tell her the truth. “I asked you here to speak about you.” Now that the moment had come to ask his question, he was afraid of the answer. “I am most particularly concerned that there might have been consequences from our nights together. A somewhat awkward expectation. You never wrote to me as I asked you to do.”

“Awkward?” Agatha’s face filled with hot color as she understood the significance of his question. “Oh, there are no consequences. I knew that almost immediately.”

Oscar hung his head, filled with deep sadness. In the back of his mind, he’d begun to formulate a plan to set Agatha and the child up somewhere. Somewhere he might visit often. Somewhere with green fields to take picnics upon. As he looked up, Agatha swiped her fingers across her cheeks, brushing away tears.

He dropped to his knees and crawled across the room to pull her into his embrace. Sweeping her hair aside, he pressed his face against the smooth skin of her neck and waited for her to compose herself again.

When she eventually raised her head, Oscar sat beside her, clasping her fingers in his grip. “It’s for the best, then.”

Agatha nodded, but he could tell she didn’t agree. He didn’t believe himself, either.

With her neck exposed to the candlelight, an angry red mark upon her skin was revealed. “You were hurt. Why didn’t you tell me?”

His fingers grazed her skin, then he dropped kisses beside the mark to make her better. For a moment or two, Agatha allowed it, but too soon twisted away from him.

Her eyes, when he met them, were twin pools of pain. “I must return home before Nell frets.”

Oscar let the sight of her fill his vision, let the precious memories of her friendship fill his mind, until his heart settled into a deep, steady rhythm. “I know. How is she?”

Agatha twisted her fingers together nervously. “Quite shocked, I fear. ”

“Give her time to come around.” He stood and held out his hand. After a moment, Agatha came to him, let him wrap her in an embrace, and finally let him kiss her as he’d dreamed.

Distance and longing heated the exchange, until they were both grasping for breath and each other. The thin nature of her nightgown proved little barrier to his questing fingers, and he felt every contour, ever delicious dip and sway of her body.

But she had refused him. He wouldn’t seduce her into breaking her word. “Agatha.”

She whimpered, threading her fingers into the waistband of his trousers in a manner that drove him insane. “Yes, Oscar.”

Ignoring the husky quality of her voice, he pressed his lips to her hair. He would not make a mistake tonight and take her to his bed. He couldn’t lie with her again. The risk was simply too great. He would not want to stop. “I’ve not slept with another woman since our first kiss. I want you to know that.”

“If you had, it is no longer my concern.” Agatha sniffed. “Let me go.”

He deserved that, he supposed. But Agatha needed to know the truth from his lips. He should have been honest with her from the start. With an ocean of regret on his shoulders, Oscar led her to the back of his house, lifted her over the railing, and watched her take his heart away.