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“Is not this nice? Is not this an agreeable surprise?”

—Pride and Prejudice

AUGUSTUS HAVERFORD WATCHED the young woman scurry toward the matrons and their crowd of attendants. She didn’t belong with them, but he’d made certain she wouldn’t be comfortable with him either.

He’d only been joking, of course. He was always joking.

He could have guessed she’d be horrified by his scandalous behavior, and he wished for a moment he could take it back.

At least to a small extent. He rather enjoyed his rakish reputation, and since he never did anything more shameful than make silly statements like the one he’d just made, Augustus knew he didn’t really deserve it.

But a phrase spoken with just enough scandal would always be enough to shock the masses of misses and mamas, keeping him comfortably out of the running for anyone searching for a catch of the Season.

Augustus had no intention of being caught.

At twenty-three, he was hardly running out of time, and having just come into his inheritance, he was happy enough to enjoy the benefits of being his father’s only son for a time.

No hurry to connect himself with any of the ladies of the ton his mother aspired to lure in and capture on his behalf.

He didn’t want to disappoint her, but someone ought to tell his mama she aimed a bit too high in the social order. He had no wish for a woman of perfect pedigree whom he could wear on his arm like a decoration.

He didn’t hate the idea of marriage, but he was far too young to make any commitments.

His scheme of making a rake of himself did a fine job of alienating the families his mother hoped to ally with.

The traditions of the highest social order exhausted him.

Such strict adherence to calling hours and visits, balls and dinners, seeing and being seen . . . it was all so much foolishness.

His overly bold statements and flirtatious glances ensured he would be left well alone by anyone serious about marriage.

He watched as the young woman connected herself to Mrs. Gordon’s arm.

This young woman had a very pleasant face and form, and as she continued to turn and glance toward the shrubbery beside the walk, he noticed an attractive smattering of freckles across her nose.

Fashion would suggest freckles were gauche, only found on people who spent too much time in the sun for want of more refined pursuits.

Fashion in this case was, as it so often seemed to be, ridiculous.

Augustus waited until the young woman’s posture relaxed just enough that he could assume she was no longer bristling over his flirtatious statement. Then, he went in for a round of reconnaissance.

His mother and her friends walked fast, but Augustus was used to keeping up with her.

He’d done it all his life. Taking to the edge of the path, he walked through the grass at a quick clip, reentering the small crowd just behind Mrs. Gordon and her young companion.

He did nothing to bring notice to himself. He simply listened.

His mother was regaling Mrs. Gordon with stories (if you could call them stories) about the Fredericksons’ visit last night.

A decent family with a married daughter, two younger girls, and a son, who cared for nothing but playing cards.

Augustus entertained the young man after frightening away the single daughters with leering grins and hints at intentions he did not hold.

Even at a card table, the bloke had nothing interesting to say, so Augustus cheerfully won every hand and excused himself at the earliest possible moment. A success, all in all.

His mother had a different opinion of the evening.

She, too, counted it as a success, but mainly because she and Mrs. Frederickson spent the after-supper hour scheming to connect their families, heedless of the Frederickson young ladies’ clear horror of the idea of being in any way attached to Augustus.

Mrs. Gordon nodded along with the story, as if she was keeping time to a song.

“Indeed. Alliances made over the dinner table. The most auspicious of all. Did you hear, Catherine? A family with eligible daughters. Perhaps we ought to invite the Fredericksons to walk out with us. You might find them good company. Perhaps the young ladies will be good friends for you. Yes, I’m sure you’ll like them all. The daughters as well as the son.”

The woman’s emphasis on the mention of the boring son was unmissable.

Augustus shook his head at the thought of the dreary David Frederickson as a companion to Mrs. Gordon’s pretty friend. Catherine , she’d said. Catherine was a nice name.

Not that he was interested in her for himself, of course. But the young Frederickson was as dull as a fence post. He wouldn’t wish that bloke’s company on anyone of his acquaintance.

At that moment, Mrs. Gordon swung her head around to take in the gathered walkers. “And what about your son, Eloise? Where is young Augustus?”

Without catching Mrs. Gordon’s eye, he stepped out of the group and allowed a few people to come between himself and his mother, then moved back into the flock. Not hiding, exactly. Only giving himself a bit more space.

His mother was less adept at changing her focus midstride. She stopped in her tracks, causing a few ladies in attendance to skid to a stop to avoid crashing into her.

Catching his eye, his mother reached for him. “Augustus, dearest, come and say hello to Mrs. Gordon.”

That was enough stillness for his mother and Mrs. Gordon. They turned and resumed their speedy pace.

Augustus easily caught up with the front of the group and took a place beside Mrs. Gordon’s young friend.

“Such a pleasure to see you again,” he said, with a quick glance between the older woman and the younger one. “I do hope you’ll forgive me for not saying hello sooner. I’d hate to interrupt such deep and delightful conversation as you all appeared to be having.”

He glanced at the young woman in time to see the quick smirk and roll of her eyes.

Ah. So at least she was capable of discerning vapid conversation when she heard it.

This was a good sign if he was to be placed in her company again.

Not to mention, she was rather pretty to look at.

Always a comfort when he was required to spend time with people of his mother’s choosing.

Mrs. Gordon nodded and gave her companion a gentle shove toward Augustus. “This is Kitty.”

Kitty.

He only had time to register the less-formal name before Mrs. Gordon went on. “She’s joining me in the city for the Season. Preventing me from dying of loneliness, you know.”

Mrs. Gordon’s good-natured laugh followed this statement, but Kitty didn’t so much as quirk her lips. She shot a glance up at Augustus and then looked away, apparently finding the stones in the path at her feet more interesting than him.

“I suppose there are worse ways to go.” He said it quietly enough that only Kitty could hear him, and he added enough of a leer to make the innocuous words somehow dangerous.

She shifted her face even farther away from him.

At this rate, she’d have to turn around completely and walk backward to keep avoiding him.

That would be amusing to watch, but perhaps such a display could wait until their next meeting.

He moved close to her side, noticing how the pinkish purple of her dress brought out green flecks in her eyes. Her loveliness was enough to remind him he ought to be performing his role of town rake. He spoke quietly enough that only the young woman would hear him.

“May I address you as Kitty? Mrs. Gordon introduced you that way.”

Her eyes, a brilliant, sparkling greenish-brown, shot up to his face. Her lips parted in preparation to speak, but her mouth made him think of something quite different than talking. She was very nice to look at.

She stammered through several things that meant yes and no and finally landed on something in between. “I suppose you may.”

“Very well, Kitty. I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Kitty. I’ve never known anyone called Kitty before.”

She said nothing in reply, but if the thinning of her lips was any indication, his repetition of her name was irritating her already.

He felt his smile grow wider.

“Can Kitty be what all your friends call you? Most ladies prefer more formal names than Kitty, in my experience. Are you called Kitty because you enjoy the company of cats?”

Was that a wince? There was definitely a shake of her head, but he was unsure if she was saying no or simply trying to shake him off as if he were a pesky insect.

“Kitty is rather a young-sounding name. How old does a woman need to be in order to release the childish translations of her true name?”

Now she turned toward him. Or rather turned on him. Fire in her eyes, she whispered, “And I suppose you were called only Augustus all your life, with never a pleasant or playful variation? No childlike names? Nothing friendly at all?”

The heat in her cheeks made her freckles stand out.

He wanted to touch her face. If his mother hadn’t been standing three feet away, he would have reached out and placed a finger on this young woman’s cheek, just there in that cluster of freckles.

Instead, he stood closer to her and smiled.

“Kitty, I have been called a great many things in my life. Perhaps you might be able to guess one or two of my favorites?”

She did not respond, but before she turned completely away from him, her mouth opened and then closed. He saw a look of confusion cross her face. A pinching of the eyebrows. A small frown.

He flustered her, just as he intended to. He made her uncomfortable. He planted the suggestion he was not the kind of man she ought to think of. Perfect.

Augustus could count this afternoon as a success.

He’d attained his goal—she was never going to consider him as a serious prospect after these few minutes of scandalous behavior.

His comments had caused her discomfort, and maybe even distress.

One stone at a time, he’d built his wall between them. Exactly as he’d planned.

In that case, why did he not feel the thrill of a win?