How To Marry a Rake. Deb Marlowe

stared at him, aghast, and then she began to struggle. ‘You great, conceited lout,’ she gasped. ‘Do you think that I’ve been abroad pining for you all this time?’

      ‘God, I hope not,’ he muttered.

      She pushed on his shoulder, straining to get away. Her squirming curves were becoming increasingly difficult to hold on to. ‘Put me down!’

      He had to obey, lest he drop her. She limped away from him, crossing to lean on the wall for support. His heart twisted a little, seeing her hurt. Despite his misgivings, he couldn’t help raking a gaze over her, cataloguing each alteration, evaluating for changes and improvements.

      They were all improvements. Sleek and stylish, she was dressed and coiffed in the sort of simple elegance that only pots of money could buy. She had grown taller. She’d also grown quite a luscious figure, and learned how to show it to her best advantage.

      He wrenched his gaze back up to her obstinate expression. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said on a sigh. ‘I should not have spoken so harshly.’

      ‘Don’t be sorry—for you give me the excuse to descend to the same level of bluntness.’ Her pert nose was in the air and she looked at him as though he was something the cat had coughed up. ‘You may stop flattering yourself right this minute, Stephen Manning. I had no idea you were here tonight and, frankly, I wish you were not. It’s a long time since I’ve been that calflove-stricken girl.’

      He started to speak, but she stopped him with a wave of her hand. ‘If I thought of you at all as we returned, it was only to hope that it might be months, perhaps years, before we met up again.’ She looked away and cast beseeching eyes heavenwards. ‘I certainly did not wish to bump into you—literally!—at my first entry back into English society.’

      Stephen crossed his arms. ‘I am sorry. It’s just that I’m here on important business and I cannot have any … shenanigans … fouling it up.’

      Voices sounded out in the passageway. She cocked her head, listening for a moment. ‘Good,’ she said in a hurry. ‘We are agreed then. I have important matters at hand as well and your presence will not be helpful.’ She pushed away from the wall and made shooing motions at him with her hands. ‘It would be best if you go. Now,’ she urged. ‘I don’t want to contemplate what my father would say, should he find us here like this.’

      Tiny golden threads winked at him from amidst the amber embroidery on her bodice. He blinked back. For one wild moment he wondered if this was some sort of deep play she was engaging in. ‘I was not aware that your father looked on me with ill will.’ He shifted. ‘Surely he does not blame me for …’ Damn. ‘For your travels,’ he finished lamely.

      ‘Of course he doesn’t!’ She gave a huff of exasperation and closed her eyes. She drew a calming breath and her shoulders went back. The movement drew his eye right back to her shimmering bodice and the curves it contained.

      ‘Papa doesn’t blame anyone. It was merely a case of him knowing how … determined … I can be—and wishing to give me something else on which to focus my energies.’

      A clatter sounded outside and a footman rushed in with a chair. ‘Your pardon, miss, but the countess is having a more comfortable chaise brought along.’ He placed the chair at Mae’s side and she sank down onto it.

      ‘Thank you,’ she called as the servant hurried out again.

      She heaved a deep sigh of relief. It did wondrous things for the décolletage of her gown. And though he was only observing, somehow Stephen felt the rush of all that oxygen hit his bloodstream.

      Mae met his gaze again. ‘If my father gets even a hint of a suspicion that I, that we …’ She allowed her voice to trail away. ‘Let me just say that it would be better if he did not find us together. He’s liable to sweep us up and out of this house party so fast that my head would spin. The consequences for me would likely be unpleasant—and long lasting.’

      Stephen stilled. His heart thumped at the frightening truth that lay hidden in her words. ‘You are a guest here? At the house party?’

      She nodded, then abruptly froze. ‘You are staying on here as well?’ She stared. ‘You are not invited just for the evening? For the opening ball?’

      He shook his head.

      With a cry of dismay, Mae’s mother entered, hurrying to kneel at her daughter’s side. Lady Corbet followed, and close on her heels came Lady Toswick with a brace of footmen and a large, cushioned chaise.

      Stephen stood back as the women fussed over Mae. He noted the small frown creasing her brow as she answered her mother’s enquiries, but she never looked his way. With interest, he watched as she kept calm in the face of her mother’s alarm and Lady Toswick’s disjointed attentions. It appeared that somehow she’d managed to tame all the raw, nervous energy that had marked her as an always unpredictable—and sometimes nerve-racking—companion.

      He tore his gaze abruptly away. It didn’t matter how many intriguing ways Mae had changed, or in how many irritating ways she had stayed the same. Her presence here could only be a distraction at best. It could prove to be an obstacle at worst, if she decided to make his life difficult—or if her father decided to take him into dislike. Barty Halford was a dedicated and influential racing man. Certainly he had the ability to crush Stephen’s plans with only a few words into the right ears.

      With a curse, he made his way to Mae’s side. ‘I can see that you are in capable hands now, Miss Halford,’ he said formally. ‘I’ll just leave you to them. I beg your pardon if I somehow contributed to your accident.’

      Mae glanced at her mother. She, in turn, exchanged speaking looks with the other women and stepped back a little, drawing the others with her and shooting nervous glances in Stephen’s direction.

      Mae leaned towards him. ‘Let’s just agree to stay out of each other’s path? At least as much as possible?’ She offered her hand.

      He bent over it. His nose ended up mere inches from that sparkling bodice. Her new, supple form spread out before him like a Michaelmas feast, all slick curves and sharp indentations. All of his masculine bits took notice, stretching and stirring to life, to let him know that they were awake—and hungry.

      Well, they could dance a metaphorical jig if they liked, but they were not going to dine here.

      He pulled away. ‘Agreed,’ he barked.

      Spinning on his heel, Stephen stalked from the room. Wrong place, wrong time, he told his protesting body parts.

      And definitely the wrong woman.

      Mae chewed her bottom lip as she watched Stephen stalk away. Two long years, she marvelled. Thousands of miles travelled. Countless new people met, more than a few flirtations engaged in and two sincere marriage proposals received. None of which she was to be given credit for. Stephen had treated her as if she were still the same over-eager, love-struck girl.

      Well, she was not that girl any longer—she smiled at her mother and at Lady Toswick, assured them that, yes, she was fine and, no, she ought not dance any more this evening—and she set out to prove it.

      It turned out not to be as difficult as she feared, thanks in large part to Addy and her husband. Mae returned to the ballroom and was enthroned upon a comfortable chair in the corner, with a padded ottoman upon which to prop her foot—decently covered with an embroidered shawl, of course. She suffered a moment’s panic after settling in, envisioning herself an island of misery and loneliness in the midst of all the gaiety, but within moments Lord Corbet’s friends were obligingly clustering about her.

      At first they were all a bit stiff and formal in their enquiries, but Mae was so grateful she did not hesitate to turn the sharp edge of her wit onto her own clumsiness. She thought she showed remarkable restraint in only sacrificing Stephen upon a pointed barb or two, and soon enough the gentlemen were relaxed and chuckling and vying for the right to sit out a set at her