Rendezvous by Amanda Quick

and swallowed what was left in the glass. Then, without a word, he turned and walked toward the door.
    So much for rash statements about not getting into duels over women, Harry thought ruefully. He knew he had just come very close to issuing a challenge a moment ago. If Lovejoy did not take a hint, it might very well come to something irritatingly melodramatic such as pistols at dawn.
    Harry shook his head. He had only been engaged for two days and already Augusta was having an extremely unsettling effect on his quiet, orderly existence. It certainly made one wonder what life was going to be like after he married the woman.
    Augusta sat curled in the blue armchair near the library window and frowned down at the novel in her lap. She had been attempting to read the page in front of her for at least five minutes. But every time she got halfway through the first paragraph she lost her concentration and had to start over again.
    It was impossible to think about any subject other than Harry lately. She could not believe the swift, headlong rush of events that had led her to the situation in which she found herself.
    Above all, she could not understand her own reaction to those events. From the moments she had found herself on the floor of Harry’s library, swept away by her first taste of passion, she had been going about in a dazed state of mind.
    Every time she closed her eyes, she relived the excitement of Harry’s kiss. The heat of his mouth still seared her. The memory of his shockingly intimate touch still had the power to make her weak.
    And Harry was still insisting on marriage
.
    When the door opened she looked up with relief.
    “There you are, Augusta. I have been looking for you.”Claudia smiled as she came into the room. “What are you reading? Another novel, I suppose?”
    “
The Antiquary
.” Augusta closed the book. “Very entertaining, with lots of adventure and a lost heir and plenty of narrow escapes.”
    “Oh, yes. The new Waverley novel. I should have known. Still trying to work out the identity of the author?”
    “It must be Walter Scott. I am absolutely convinced of it.”
    “And so are any number of other people, apparently. I vow the fact that the author is keeping his identity a secret is probably contributing greatly to the sale of his books.”
    “I do not think so. They are vastly enjoyable stories. They sell for the same reason Byron’s epic poems sell. They are fun to read. One cannot resist turning the pages to see what happens next.”
    Claudia gave her a gently reproving look. “Do you not think that, as you are now an engaged woman, you ought to be reading something a bit more elevating in nature? Perhaps one of Mother’s books would be more suited to a lady who is about to become the wife of a serious-minded, well-educated man. You will not want to embarrass the earl with uninformed conversation.”
    “If you ask me, Graystone could do with a bit of uninformed conversation,” Augusta muttered. “The man is too straitlaced by half. Do you know he actually told me I should not dance the waltz with Lovejoy?”
    “Did he really?” Claudia sat down across from her cousin and poured herself a cup of tea from the pot on the end table.
    “Practically ordered me not to do so.”
    Claudia considered that. “Perhaps that is not such bad advice. Lovejoy is very dashing, I’ll grant you that much, but one cannot help but believe he might not be above taking advantage of a lady who allowed him too many liberties.”
    Augusta raised her eyes toward heaven and prayed forpatience. “Lovejoy is perfectly manageable and very much a gentleman.” She bit her lip. “Claudia, would you mind very much if I asked you a delicate question? I would like a little advice concerning the proprieties and, frankly, I cannot think of anyone who could give me more accurate information on that sort of thing than you.”
    Claudia straightened her already rigid spine and looked gravely attentive. “I shall