Read Rendezvous for Free Online Page B

days. It gives her much pleasure. You can thank your little hoyden friend for that, you know."
    Harry's mouth curved ruefully. "Sally explained that the harebrained notion of a ladies' club modeled after a gentlemen's club was all Augusta Ballinger's idea. Somehow it does not surprise me."
    "Hah. It would not surprise anyone who knows Augusta Ballinger. Things have a way of happening around her, if you know what I mean."
    "Unfortunately, I believe I do."
    "I am convinced Miss Ballinger came up with the idea of the club solely as a way to amuse Sally." Peter hesitated, looking thoughtful. "Miss Ballinger is rather kind. Even to staff. She gave me some medicine for my rheumatism today. Few ladies of the
ton
would have bothered to think of a servant long enough to worry about his rheumatism."
    "I did not know you suffered from rheumatism," Harry said dryly.
    "I don't. Scruggs does."
    "Just see that you guard Pompeia's well, Sheldrake. I do not want Miss Ballinger to come to social grief because of that ridiculous club."
    Peter quirked a brow. "You're concerned about her reputation because of your friendship with her uncle?"
    "Not entirely." Harry toyed absently with the quill pen on his desk and then added softly, "I have another reason to want her kept safe from scandal."
    "
Ah-hah
. I knew it." Peter leaped toward the desk and slammed his empty glass down on the polished surface with explosive triumph. "You're going to take Sally's and my advice and add her to your list, aren't you? Admit it. Augusta Ballinger is going on your infamous list of eligible candidates for the role of Countess of Graystone."
    "It defeats me why all of London is suddenly concerned with my marital prospects."
    "Because of the way you are going about the business of selecting a wife, of course. Everyone's heard about your list. I told you, there are bets all over town on it."
    "Yes, you told me." Harry studied his wine. "What, precisely, was the wager in Pompeia's betting book?"
    "Ten pounds that you would ask for the Angel's hand by the end of the month."
    "As a matter of fact, I intend to ask for Miss Ballinger's hand this very afternoon."
    "Damnation, man," Peter was clearly appalled. "Not Claudia. I know you have the impression she would make you a very proper sort of countess, but a lady who wears wings and a halo is not really what you want. You need a different sort of female altogether. And the Angel needs a different sort of man. Do not be a fool, Harry."
    Harry raised his brows. "Have you ever known me to play the fool?"
    Peter's eyes narrowed. Then he grinned slowly. "No, my lord, I have not. So that's the way of it, eh? Excellent.
Excellent
. You will not be sorry."
    "I am not so certain of that," Harry said ruefully.
    "Let me put it this way. At least you will not be bored. You will propose to Augusta this afternoon, then, eh?"
    "Good God, no. I do not intend to propose to Augusta at all. This afternoon I am going to ask her uncle for his permission to wed his niece."
    Peter looked momentarily blank. "But what about Augusta? Surely you will have to ask her personally first? She is four-and-twenty, Graystone, not a schoolroom miss."
    "We both agreed I am not a fool, Sheldrake. I am not about to put an important decision such as this in the hands of the Northumberland side of the Ballinger family."
    Peter continued to appear blank for a moment longer and then comprehension set in. He roared with laughter. "I understand completely. Good luck to you, man. Now then, if you will excuse me, I believe I shall make a quick trip to a couple of my own clubs. I wish to place a few wagers in the betting books. Nothing like having a bit of secret intelligence, is there?"
    "No," Harry agreed, thinking of how many times his life and the lives of others had depended on such intelligence. Unlike his restless friend, he was very glad those days were behind him.
    At three o'clock that afternoon, Harry was shown into the library of Sir Thomas Ballinger.
    Sir