“I don’t know. He seemed happy.”
“Of course he is happy,” Augusta snapped. “He is a dog frolicking about whilst abandoning his most essential duties.”
“I believe he may be … looking to marry elsewhere.”
Augusta could not bear the listless tone of Phoebe’s voice, the hopeless look in her eyes. “He is not married yet,” she gritted. “And he will not marry anyone but you. I have said so, have I not?”
Phoebe bit her lip and dropped her gaze.
“Well?”
Phoebe nodded but continued her forlorn lip-nibbling.
“Steady yourself. Unlike Lord Glassington, I keep my promises. We will see it done, Phee. Have I ever misled you?”
Her sister sniffed and half-smiled. “Only about the owls.”
“You slept soundly enough. I don’t recall you being snatched away in the night. Clearly, the owls did their job.”
For the next hour, they talked of pleasant things—the luxury of good tea, the silly wager between Anne and Edith, the attentiveness of Mr. Shaw. The last topic turned Phoebe’s cheeks rosy, but Augusta could not decide whether it was the warmth of the fire or something more secretive. She elected to explore the subject another day.
She’d restrained herself long enough. It was time to find Sebastian.
Making her way back to his office, she learned from Mr. Frelling that he’d been spending a good deal of time at the neighboring house, Number Five. She next inquired of Mr. Duff the best way to enter said house, and the large sentry agreed to escort her, showing her past the piles of debris and stacks of wooden planks with cheerful gallantry.
“Thank you, Mr. Duff,” she breathed moments after entering the large, open space. “I shall find my way from here.”
“Are ye sure—”
“You have been most kind.”
She started toward the largest man she saw, so tall and broad, one had to blink to be certain he was real. His arms bulged and strained as he lifted a stack of wood, bracing it upon his shoulder. Short, black hair was peppered with dust, and a white linen shirt was damp with sweat.
He made her heart trip on its own feet.
Drifting closer, she watched him balance the long planks with lithe economy of movement. Given the weight of the stack he held, his steadiness was even more impressive. Now he was turning. And she had drifted closer than she’d realized.
And the stack of planks was swinging around. At her head.
She yelped and ducked, her garbled cry echoing through the cavernous space. The wood missed her head, but her bonnet was knocked sideways and now sat at an ungainly angle, the ribbon beneath her chin choking her windpipe.
“Bloody, bleeding hell!” The rumble was a roar. “I nearly took your head off, ye daft woman!” A sharp, cascading thud signaled he had dropped the wood.
She straightened, loosening the ribbon from around her neck. Gigantic hands gripped her shoulders then cupped her jaw. She blinked up into black eyes flashing with fury.
“What the devil are ye doin’ here?” His thumbs stroked her cheeks. His fingers removed her bonnet and explored her scalp.
The contrast between the devilish rage in his eyes and the gentleness of his touch was dizzying.
“I—I came to find you.” Her breathing quickened. “Of course. Why else? S-Sebastian. I am fine.”
“Ye’re not bloody fine!”
“You surprised me, that’s all. The planks only caught the crown of my bonnet—”
His hand cupped her nape and drew her face near his. “Forever goin’ into places you shouldn’t be. I’ve a mind to—”
She didn’t think. His mouth was there. Hers was there. Bringing their lips together was … right. So she kissed him. Laid her hands upon his chest. Felt the rapid, pounding rhythm of his heart. Felt his hands drop to grip her waist and pull her in tight.
He groaned, the sound humming against her.
She smiled and kissed him more.
“Bloody hell, woman,” he panted, gripping her hard. “What are ye thinkin’?”
“That I wished to thank you.”
“For what? Nearly killing you?”
She sniffed. “Perhaps I drifted a bit too close.”
“Aye. A bit.”
“My reaction was timely and sensible. No harm done.” She glanced at her bonnet, lying on the rough plank floor. “Well, my hat is damaged. But it can be repaired.”
“God Almighty.” He released her to stalk ten paces away, one hand on his hip, the other running across the top of his head.
His hair was longer, she noticed. Dark and thick. In another month or so, he’d need a trim.
He returned at a rapid clip. “Never, never put yourself in harm’s way again. Do ye hear me, Augusta?” He’d lowered his head near hers so that she felt his breath on her cheek.
“Mmm. Yes. Well, I do enjoy having my head in its proper position, so I shall endeavor to remain outside the range of swinging objects in future.”
“Not good enough.”
“It is the best I can do.”
Onyx flashed. A powerful jaw flexed.
Once again, she laid a hand upon his chest. “I came here to thank you, Sebastian.”
His glower did not abate, but his rumble quieted. “For?”
“My chaise longue.”
“Shezz what?”
She stifled a grin. “The long chair with a rolled back and no arms. It’s blue. You added it to your order with Mr. Beauchamp.”
“Oh. That.” He shifted his weight and reddened around those sharp cheekbones.
“The writing desk and chest of drawers, as well. Oh, and the mirror. The mirror is simply splendid. Thank you.”
One large hand came up to rub the back of his neck. He squinted at her, his ruddy color deepening. “You neglected to furnish your chamber. I’d already spent a fortune. Reckoned I might as well spend a bit more.”
“My thanks is not for what you spent,” she said. “It is for noticing which pieces I had admired and giving me such a pleasurable surprise.”
His nostrils flared. “I’ve become a mite preoccupied with giving you pleasurable surprises, Augusta Widmore.”
Oh, dear heaven. Now, her cheeks were heating.
Behind him, two workmen descended the exposed staircase along the far wall. Struggling to regain her composure, she knelt to retrieve her dented bonnet, but Sebastian got there first. Restoring the crown to its proper shape with a few deft strokes of his long fingers, he positioned the hat on her head and tied the ribbon beneath her chin.
“Ye shouldn’t be here.” His voice might be hard, but his fingertips touched her skin with tingling seduction. “Now, get in the coach and go home.”
“Why do you not come with me?”
“I’ve work to do.”
She eyed the pile of planks he’d dropped haphazardly then searched the open, skeletal space with its bared framing and piles of brick, wood, and other materials. They were Sebastian-style piles—neat and categorized and perfectly positioned, ready to be used in the most efficient manner possible.