The Dangerous Love of a Rogue. Jane Lark
affection… perhaps…
He had made his choice, for a wife. He wished for Miss Marlow, but he would wait and not rush – to be certain. He had a little more credit he could call on, his need for her dowry was not desperate.
“Are you ready to retire?” Peter’s hand settled on Drew’s shoulder.
Drew also had a friend with generous pockets.
“Aye.” Drew straightened, looking back at his friends, Peter, Harry and Mark, his brothers… His family. “Did you fair better than I?”
“Richest of us did.” Mark quipped. “The man who does not need it.”
“I won back your losses and more.” Peter clarified. “So I say that earns us a drink and a pretty bird of paradise each.”
“I’ll take the drink, but I shall pass on the whore…”
Spending the money he’d earned from the women he now hated, on younger, prettier women of his choice, had been the way he’d balanced his soul for years, a little silent kick in the teeth of his mother’s friends. But now he was done with women until he took a wife. The thought of sleeping with a woman other than the one he’d chosen for marriage was now abhorrent.
“Then I shall have yours as well as mine.” Harry laughed.
Drew smiled at his friends, but as they walked from the ball, he glanced at Peter. The only one of them who usually attended these sorts of events with Drew. “What do you know of the Pembrokes? The sisters, and their daughters…”
* * *
Mary was sitting on her bed, with her knees bent up and gripped in her arms. Her bare toes peeped from beneath her nightgown. She watched her mother put her garments away; she’d dismissed the maid.
“Mama, why did you favour, Papa?”
She was placing Mary’s earbobs into their box. She hesitated and did not speak for a moment as though the question shocked her. Perhaps she’d guessed why Mary asked. Mary had asked because one particular gentleman’s light brown eyes had hovered in her mind all evening, along with the particular lilt of his smile.
“There you have me. Perhaps I am not a gentleman…”
No. So her brother John had told her father, and her father had told her. “Framlington is a fortune hunter. A rake. A man to avoid…”
“Remember me as I am…”
“When I met your father…” her mother sat on the bed, “our eyes met across a table and I just knew he was right for me.” She was blushing a little.
“Do you think I will know?”
“I hope you will. I hope you find a man who shall sweep you off your feet and love you with all his soul.”
“That is what I hope for too.” Lord Framlington’s eyes, his face, returned to her mind. There had been something fascinating about him. He was different to any other man who’d spoken to her.
“Did you truly enjoy the evening? You have been quiet tonight.”
Mary smiled. “I did.”
“Come along then, let me tuck you in—”
“I am too old to be tucked into bed, Mama.”
“You will never be too old. Come along.” Her mother rose.
Mary slipped off the bed, then lifted the sheet and slid beneath it. She plumped the pillow with a thump before she lay down her head.
Her mother leaned down and kissed her cheek, then tucked the sheet in beneath the mattress so the sheet was tight about Mary. “Sleep well…”
“Would you give Papa a kiss from me?”
Her mother smiled. “I love you, Mary.” She bent and pressed another kiss on Mary’s cheek, then her cold fingertips touched Mary’s cheek too.
“I love you too, Mama.”
Mary’s mother walked across the room and extinguished the candles in the candelabrum before turning to collect a single candlestick. Then she walked to the door. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
Her mother turned once more as she opened it. “Sleep well.”
Mary smiled, and then her mother left and closed the door. The light disappeared with her.
Mary saw Lord Framlington in the darkness, as he stood against a marble pillar, watching her across the room. She ought to feel nothing for him. She ought to never think of him again. He had been courting her dowry, nothing more.
Yet there had been something about him.
I like and admire you, Miss Marlow… She had felt the same. There had been something calling her towards him.
She’d looked for him thrice after they’d danced, on one occasion he’d not been in the room but the other times, he’d looked at her too, and smiled.
But John was adamant he was unsuitable and if Lord Framlington were seeking her dowry he would smile.
Then why did she feel pulled towards him? Her thoughts drifted into dreams. Dreams that included Lord Framlington.
The following year…
Miss Mary Rose Marlow’s whole body jolted with surprise, “Oh!” and she nearly fell down the short flight of garden steps she’d just climbed. A masculine chest faced her.
Lord Framlington caught hold of her elbow, saving her, only to pull her towards the chest which had caused her exclamation.
He’d appeared from behind the hedge to block her path.
Her fingers pressed against the solid muscle beneath his day coat. Unladylike longings besieged her. She had never forgotten him.
Irked by the desire she should not feel, Mary pushed him away, anger flaring and overriding the unwanted attraction that constantly pulled at her, urging her to look for him, to listen for his voice.
She looked up and met his gaze, ire burning a flame she hoped he saw in her eyes.
If he did, the deep, dark amber brown of his absorbed it with cool, quelling disengagement.
Her stomach wobbled like aspic with an unwilling hunger for the reprobate.
“Miss Marlow.” He let go of her arm, then raised his hat a little.
Mary stepped back, careful to avoid the shallow steps.
“It is my good fortune to collide with you.”
Bobbing a hardly recognisable curtsy Mary’s gaze reached beyond him seeking a way past. But the garden path, lined by tall yew hedges, was barely wide enough for one. She could not pass him without further contact unless he moved aside.
“Lord Framlington.” Her voice rang sharp with irritation. “If you will excuse me, I really ought to be getting back.” She moved to sweep past, but he blocked her with his broad chest.
“No haste, Miss Marlow, the party was still in full swing when I left, no one will notice our absence, they are busy playing Lady Jersey’s outdoor games. Have you tried the archery butts? You could aim an arrow at my heart if you wish, I would not complain, and perhaps you might snare me if it came from Cupid’s bow.”
Her gaze lifted to his. “Do not be absurd?” The snapping words leapt from her mouth. His comment was far too close to her secret wish. “You know my brother advises against you.”
“The Duke of Pembroke?” Condescension