Page 21 of Married to the Lord

Chapter Eight

He knew very well what he was doing when he came here but Miles still felt a fool when he spotted Augusta riding back toward her house. When he’d spoken to her father with regards to the Henry matter and promised to try harder to bring Henry home, he’d half-hoped she would be at home.

He’d also hoped she would not be.

Either way, it left him in a tangled mess.

Blowing out a breath, he redirected his horse and headed toward the stables so he could speak with her. She deserved to know that he had discussed this Henry situation with her father. He also wanted to find out what had happened at Jenkins’ party. He’d already heard from Brook Waverly that her afternoon at Jenkins’ had been disastrous. Waverly also mentioned that Augusta was quite popular with several gentlemen there. He tightened his grip on the reins and his horse gave an uncertain couple of steps to the side. He forced himself to relax. At least Waverly had been there to ensure nothing untoward had happened. But, damn it, Henry needed to return home—fast—before something else happened.

He dismounted when he reached the stables. Augusta must have already taken her horse into the stables. The long brick building was modest compared to his own stables but still housed several horses, such was the family’s passion for them. He paused at the open doorway, hearing voices coming from the stall at the right. It only took him a moment to realize Augusta was not conversing with a groom but that bloody Jenkins. The man had some gall to be sure.

Miles eased around the doorway and waited for his eyes to adjust to the shadows. Three stalls down, he spotted Augusta, who faced him and Jenkins. Augusta tried to move past the man but he stepped in front of her.

“I thought you would be happy to see me,” Miles heard him say. “I was saddened you could not stay at my party.” He laughed. “It turned into quite the event.”

From what Miles had heard, half of the guests ended up retreating to rooms for less than proper reasons. He was only grateful Brook had the sense to see what was about to happen and ensured they left safely.

“Mr. Jenkins, if you do not mind—”

Augusta didn’t see Miles but made another attempt to move past Jenkins. He grabbed her arms and crushed her against him. Miles waited no longer. In a few short paces, he had Jenkins by the back of his neck, hauling him away from Augusta. The man spluttered and protested but Miles didn’t hear a word. He’d seen the grip he’d had on Augusta, the desire in his eyes, the determination to have her no matter what. Every inch of him was hot with anger. He balled a fist and struck him hard across the jaw. The sound of the contact echoed off the bricks. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard Augusta let out a cry.

Sprawled on the ground, Jenkins lay there for a few moments, dazed. Slowly, he eased himself up onto his elbows. “Damn you, Ashwick, that hurt. Can’t a man have a little fun with a beautiful woman?”

“Not that sort of fun.” Miles ground his teeth together. Were it not for Augusta in the periphery of his vision, he’d likely lay the man out with another punch. He flexed a fist then thrust a finger in Jenkins’ direction. “Come here again and I will call you out. And I warn you, I am known for being an excellent shot.”

Jenkins looked Miles up and down then glanced at Augusta. Cradling his jaw, he climbed to his feet. He opened his mouth to say something then closed it, shaking his head and walking out of the stables. Miles waited until he was certain Jenkins was gone before turning to Augusta. She rubbed her arms where Jenkins had held her.

“Did he hurt you?” Miles glanced down at his own knuckles that were red and throbbing. Not painfully enough for him to feel satisfied though. The bastard deserved more than a punch for his behavior. Augusta might not have understood how close she was to being ravished but Miles recognized Jenkins’ determination too well—he’d spent time with men like that in his past and he regretted ever breaking bread with them.

“Just a little pinch.”

He pushed up her sleeve to see the red marks that would likely turn into fingerprints. “Bastard,” he muttered, regretting the word when Augusta jolted. “Forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive. Thank you,” she whispered.

“He has no standards, that man.”

“I realized that. Unfortunately not quickly enough. You were right to say I should stay away from him,” she admitted.

“If it helps, I take no pleasure in being right.”

She looked up at him with a little smile and tugged down her sleeve. “I am not certain I believe you.”

“Very well.” He motioned with his fingers, indicating a small amount. “I take a tiny bit of pleasure in it but it is most minuscule I promise.”

“What are you doing here, anyway?”

“A pleasure to see you too,” he said, his lips tilted.

She gave a reluctant smile. “Forgive me. I just did not expect to see you.”

“I was here to speak with your father about Henry.”

“Oh.”

There it was again. That lovely ‘o’ shape that made him want to press her against the bricks and capture her mouth with his.

“I have promised him that I will do my best to ensure Henry returns.” His throat tightened. “To you,” he added, his voice gruff.

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