In the Baron’s Debt by Roselyn Francis
Chapter Eight
Loftus practically leapt onto his horse in his eagerness to be away. He pulled on the reins of the other horse, pulling it alongside him in his desperation to be far from the abandoned house. He rode quickly back toward his house, urging the horse with great haste through the last of the rain, with the air whipping past him. The specks of rainwater kept leaking into his eyes and wiped them away with the heel of his hand, angered at them as much as at what had just taken place between him and Augusta.
He was practically jittery with emotion, the adrenaline still pumping through his body from the kiss and the shock, that utter jarring sensation of her running away from him once again.
Why did she run away?
As he pulled on the reins, urging the horse up the hill toward his house, he could not tear his mind away from the thought of that kiss.
For a moment, it was as though he was alive again, all the despair of the last eight years had vanished - once he realized that Augusta still desired him as much as he did her. Their anger had been released in a torrent of passion, until he was pulling her to him, desperate not to let her body go. He had been so happy, even if it was just for a brief moment, as she kissed him back. He had not wanted to let her go. The thunder surprised them, forcing them to part from each other. He cursed the weather, looking up to the dark sky and the swirling clouds with frustration, wondering if the thunder had not sounded, would she have carried on kissing him.
My siren was back in my arms.
Yet, just like the sirens in the old Greek tales, she had parted from him, and ran, leaving him to crash on the rocks once more. He pictured himself briefly as one of the men from those stories, drowning in a shipwreck, trying to claw his way up the rocks in the shallows of the sea toward where she sat with her bold features and long red hair taunting him.
As he reached the top of the hill and the horse neared his house, he let the gallop slow to a gentle canter, trying to calm his own whirring thoughts with it, but it seemed impossible. He could not stop thinking of her words to him as she had parted from his kiss.
“That should not have happened. As far as poor ideas go, that was the worst.”
That was what she said. He was certain those words would haunt him forever more now. She was putting him through all the gut-wrenching pain he had suffered before, eight years ago.
As he reached the stable outside his house, the rain was growing strong again. He jumped down from the horse and released hold of the second horse, listening as it whinnied loudly in complaint before passing it to one of the stable boys, and hurried toward the house. Once inside, he leaned against the door, trying to slow his fast and heavy breathing.
It is the second time she has rejected me.
That thought cut through his haze of sadness, making the anger return just as he pushed through the door.
“My Lord?” Holmes appeared in the doorway from the servant’s stairwell, his face a picture of concern. “Are you ill, my Lord?”
“I am perfectly well,” Loftus looked away from him and made a beeline for the stairs, keeping his face down and trying to hide what he was feeling.
“But –”
“I am well, Holmes,” he said with sharpness, a tone he rarely used with his staff, especially Holmes, whom he had known for so many years. He turned on the bottom step of the stairs, angling his body more toward the butler though he still did not raise his head. The regret of his harsh tone filled his body. She was even causing him to act out of character now. “I apologize for my behavior.”
“Think nothing of it, my Lord,” Holmes walked toward him, urging Loftus to raise his head slightly. Holmes was wearing the smallest of smiles, an attempt at comfort. “Allow me to order you a bath? You are soaked and it would do you good. Ward off any chill.”
Loftus felt a softening in his harsh countenance. He agreed with a slight nod.
“Yes, very well. Thank you, Holmes.” Loftus turned and began to walk up the stairs. “I do not know what has come over me recently.”
“Do you not?” To the surprising question from Holmes, Loftus looked back to him with raised eyebrows. Holmes never spoke out of turn, in all the years he had worked for Loftus, but there was audacity in the statement. “Forgive me for being presumptuous, my Lord,” Holmes smiled, a genuine one, “but Miss Creassey has always been able to cause something of a stir.”
The soft tone Holmes used dispensed any chance Loftus had of feeling anger to his butler. Instead, all he felt was comfort – Holmes knew him better than anyone else it seemed. He had seen everything Loftus had gone through. The heartbreak of eight years ago and his disastrous marriage to Maria.
“Indeed, she has,” Loftus nodded and turned away, walking up the stairs once again. “Goodnight, Holmes.”
“Goodnight, my Lord.”
As Loftus walked through the corridor, he could feel the water dripping from his hair across his face and neck. His mind went back to the moment he had kissed Augusta, feeling the touch of her against him, their wet clothes pressed together. His body stirred with desire for her just as he reached his chamber and marched inside.
He slammed the door loudly behind him, feeling the anger return tenfold. He ran his hands though the wet tendrils of his hair, trying to calm the madness in his head, but he soon found it did no good at all.
The first time she had rejected him, when they were betrothed, he had been so in love with her. She had cast aside that love as though it meant nothing to her, no more than the soot beneath her shoes. He had received a letter from her breaking off the engagement, it was short and to the point, without an explanation, and no matter how many times he visited her house, she refused to see him to explain with words.
Now she was rejecting him again.
I do not understand!
She clearly desired him. She could not hide that. No one could kiss him as she had done and not be compelled by passion, yet it appeared she was willing to kiss him in such a way and then run from him. It baffled him.
He began to strip himself of his clothes, flinging each wet garment across the room in his eagerness to be away from them, as though he could throw the thought of Augusta away with them. His shirt and high-waisted coat slapped against the wall noisily, the rainwater making them heavy.
She was ensnaring him in her spell once more, preparing to crush him as she had done eight years ago.
Once free of his clothes, he stood in the center of the room, holding the tendrils of his hair with his hands again, trying to free himself of her.
I will never be free of her. I am doomed by her.
“My Lord?” There was a gentle knock from the footman on the adjoining door to the toilette room. “Your bath has been prepared.”
“Thank you. I will be there in a minute.” Loftus kept his voice level as he glanced to the closed door, pretending to be perfectly calm.
As he prepared for his bath, he tried to summarize the evening, thinking if he could conclude what had happened in a single sentence, then his mind would stop whirring. He would no longer be tormented by his mind’s ramblings to understand her. In the end, there was one sentence that found him more than any other.
Being with Augusta makes me feel both overflowing and empty at the same time.
Yet that thought did not stop his mind’s buzzing, as much as he wished it would.
* * *
As Augusta reached her home, she half fell through the doorway with her haste. Her body was weak from the running and from what had passed with Loftus. She was also drenched from the storm, her clothes sodden and heavy, sticking to her body and dragging along the floor, making each step she took more difficult. She fought against the weight of the dress as she walked through the corridor, determined to retire and sleep. As though it would give her some relief from the day’s events.
James appeared in the doorway to the sitting room, looking at her with surprise and a drink in his hand.
“Augusta? What has happened?”
“Oh, I fell from the horse on my way home, that is all,” she grappled for an explanation as she walked past him. She was aware her voice was not convincing, the obvious lie hung in the air between them.
She caught her reflection in the mirror on the wall of the corridor as she moved. She was drenched with water, her red hair stuck to her neck, and her makeup running down her face. Her cheeks were also blushed red, either from having made so quick an escape from Loftus or from their kiss.
That kiss…
She snapped her eyes away from the reflection.
“You are not hurt, I hope?” James placed his glass on a nearby table and came to her side. He was swaying slightly from the drink, though his eyes were suddenly wide with concern, as he reached out toward her. It seemed he was happy to continue with her lie, though his eyes were astute as he stared at her. He was clearly trying to ascertain something else entirely – a question of her wellbeing.
She took his hand in hers, struggling for a moment to speak. She squeezed his hand in hers.
“Augusta? Are you hurt?”
“No, I am perfectly well, just…” She paused, thinking of the right word. “Just in shock from the fall I guess.” She was in shock from something else, but she would hardly admit that to James. She gestured to the glass behind him. “James, you promised me you would stop.”
“I know,” James also glanced to the glass, before he returned his gaze to hers, his face flushed with alcohol. “I have not had as much as I would normally do, and I assure you that I have not played cards since we last spoke either.”
“I am pleased to hear it,” she squeezed his hand once again. She had felt such irritation for James over the last few days, blaming him for being the one to draw Loftus back into her life, but in that moment, she realized how futile that blame was.
Loftus was the only man she had ever kissed, ever touched, ever loved in the past. Perhaps it was inevitable for her to feel as she did when she was around him. As though he was the spark from a tinder box whenever he drew near to her, setting her body alight.
“I am tired, James,” she attempted to smile, but it did not take hold and it dropped a moment later. “I will retire early I think.”
“Very well.” Even in his inebriated state, James was astute enough to tell something else was on her mind and he did not look convinced. “You would tell me, Augusta, wouldn’t you? If something else were wrong?”
She paused before replying. James was the only family she had left in the world, they told each other everything, but this was something she could not share. It belonged to another part of her, the secret part that James never saw.
“If there was something wrong, I would,” she attempted to smile again and then turned away, hurrying for the stairs.
“Goodnight, Augusta,” his voice followed her up as she ran. She was aware he stood at the bottom of the stairs for some time, watching her trajectory, but she did not turn to look back at him again.
As she reached her bedchamber, she rushed inside and closed the door behind her. She was leaving great streaks of water in her wake, the rainwater dripping from the petticoats of her dress in puddles. She hurried to remove the wet pelisse and dress, snatching them from her body in a jittery haste.
She wondered briefly how she had the capacity for feeling such two opposing emotions at once – kissing Loftus, she had both wanted him and been angry at him.
How can I feel such anger and feel what we shared all those years ago?
As she had kissed him, she had thought for a brief moment that those eight years had not passed. That they were kissing in the depths of their romance once more.
As she removed the dress and dropped it to the floor, she lowered herself to her knees, abandoning the endeavor to stop making a wet spot on the carpet. In her underdress, she played with the loose material between her hands. It was as wet as her dress and pelisse had been. Even now, her body stirred with desire for Loftus. She could not help but wonder what may have happened if she had not pulled away from him. If she had just stayed kissing him, would her dreams of him come true? The dreams that left her clammy with sweat and need for him.
As the water around her grew into a puddle, she tried to take hold of her common sense, be the strong woman she had told herself she would be.
She was now determined to stay away from Loftus. It was clear she could not trust herself in his presence, she lost her senses and was drawn in by him. The only way to protect herself from him was to stay away.
Yet, at the same time, she could not abandon Markus. He was a sweet boy and she genuinely cared for him. She wanted to continue to help him, to encourage him to be at ease and talk to women again.
She made up her mind. She would complete her obligation and help Markus, but she would not go to Loftus’ house anymore; instead, Markus would have to come to her house. That way, she and Loftus did not need to see each other, and there never needed to be a repeat of that kiss she was sure she would replay in her dreams forever more.
Yes, I will stay away.
* * *
Loftus was reluctant to abide by the wishes of the note that had arrived from Augusta the next morning. The note consisted of but a few polite words requesting that Markus would be sent to her house every day for the next week instead of her customary visit to his house.
He was not oblivious to what she was trying to do. She was trying to avoid him, to put distance between them and avoid a repeat of what had happened the evening before. He had been awake most of the night, thinking of it, imagining other ways the evening could have ended in that abandoned house, and none of his ideas on the matter were chaste. He had spent the night heated, his dreams worse and containing more passion than they had ever had before. He had imagined Augusta intimately, in almost every position he knew, and in none of them were either of them wearing clothes. Just in the throes of passion together.
He supposed her intent to change their arrangements for Markus made good sense. He could not have another night like that. He needed to be able to sleep again, to be a rational man, not one tormented by desire and thoughts of one woman. He needed the distance too, as much as she did, but saying goodbye to Markus was not ideal.
Loftus did not like it, yet he helped Markus to prepare for the day anyway. Markus was a delicate boy, and since the development of his problem, Loftus was rarely ever away from him. He certainly never let Markus leave the house without him. He always wanted to be near him, to protect him and help him, but he had no choice.
Augusta was helping Markus, so it was best to let him go alone.
He ordered the footman to accompany Markus in the carriage and waved him off in the afternoon, seeing the excitement in his son’s face as he waved back.
Why Augusta, Markus? I wish you would tell me why her of all people.
* * *
Loftus found himself in need of distraction on the fifth day of Markus visiting Augusta, both from Markus’ problems and his own thoughts of kissing Augusta, Loftus retreated to the garden and walked through the borders, carrying the plans in his hands of further changes. The garden had undergone a complete overhaul in the last few years, but he was keen to make more changes, and the gardener had presented him with some more ideas.
As he reached the bottom of the lawn, he turned on the spot and found his gaze drawn to an area that was full of flower borders. It was now impossible to discern what had been there before, the summer house. Augusta’s question if he had removed the summer house came back to him.
Of course, he had removed it. Her question had tempted him to scoff, though he had managed to resist. It was the place where they had been so close, pushed each other’s boundaries in their courtship. Every time he had looked at the house, he had been reminded of her, and that was why he sought to demolish it. He realized what a fruitless endeavor that had been. Even now, with no summer house remaining, he was thinking of that day, just by staring at the flower borders.
She had told him she loved him in the summer house.
A thought occurred to him – one that broke through his maddening haze.
Did I push Augusta too far with my effort to be intimate?
He flicked back through his memories. Their kisses, their stolen moments away from the chaperone, and the day in the summer house, it had all been instigated by him. Not that she hadn’t participated, as she had kissed him back with just as much fervor, but it was as though he saw each memory in a new light for a moment.
Was that why she ended the engagement? Was I too… eager?
He nearly dropped the plans for the garden in his hands as the thought struck him. He had let his desire for her run away with him all those years ago, just as he had done last week the night of the storm. He had lured her into the kiss, at a moment where she was arguably vulnerable. Alone in a house with him, hiding out from the storm. He should have been a gentleman with her, but once again, his desire had won out.
“What have I done?” He murmured to himself, spinning on the spot and hurrying back to the house.
He had to apologize to her. He should have been in control of himself, not a slave to his passions.
He would collect Markus from her house that afternoon in person and there he would apologize to her. He just hoped she would accept the meeting.