Chivalrous Rake, Scandalous Lady. Mary Brendan

and instructed her driver to stop the barouche. Having beckoned him, but failed to persuade him to get up with her, she’d alighted to delay his departure and try to charm him in to escorting her to the theatre. But he’d seemed too stern and preoccupied to talk or tell her much about his reason for being in the vicinity. Once or twice Pauline had glanced about to see what had taken his interest for it seemed something was causing him to stare off in to the distance.

      ‘I shall come and see you soon,’ Marcus cut in to Pauline’s musing, making her dimple her thanks at him. Taking his mistress’s arm, he guided her firmly towards the barouche and helped her alight. He raised a hand in salute as the conveyance pulled off steadily into the traffic. Then his eyes swooped to the willowy female figure, some way off now. Crossing the road, he started after her.

      Chapter Three

      A strange sensation prickled at Jemma’s nape, making her absently scuff her fingers over it. She half-turned, sure she was being fanciful in imagining someone was following her. Out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed a tall male figure, darkly dressed. Her heart vaulted to her throat, and she came to a spontaneous halt before twisting fully about. In petrified silence she stared at Marcus Speer as he continued his lazy powerful pursuit of her. Instinctively she wheeled about and hastened on. The next instant she was inwardly berating herself for having so obviously betrayed her fright at the sight of him. Beneath her aching ribs her heart continued thudding erratically, making her softly suck in air. Slowly she brought some order to the chaotic thoughts whirling in her head, and her pace became less frantic.

      A short while ago she had wanted to find him, had flown from Theo’s house like a wild hoyden to look for him in the street. Now he was deliberately…temptingly…within reach. An awful suspicion occurred to her that he might have observed her fruitless efforts to ambush him in Hanover Square. He was close enough for her to have read his expression. It was mortifying to acknowledge that he’d every right to that slanting, sardonic smile. By touting her about to any fellow who’d take her as a wife, Theo had made her seem weak and risible. She’d not helped disperse that perception by cravenly turning tail not once but twice this afternoon in Marcus Speer’s presence.

      He knew she wanted to speak to him so he was presenting himself to her on a plate, taunting her to swallow her pride and approach him. Indignation ignited fire in her veins, strengthening her composure. She put up her chin, took a deep breath and, confident her blush was fading, pivoted about. Purposely she marched towards him and halted just in front of him. She flicked up her face to boldly meet his gaze. Immediately her eyes darted aside. She hadn’t been prepared for the overwhelming effect being this close to him had on her. Silver eyes that looked forbidding yet achingly familiar had been ruthlessly watching her mouth making the first words she had uttered to him in almost five years emerge in a strangled gasp.

      ‘Why are you following me?’

      ‘Why were you looking for me?’

      ‘I was not!’ The spontaneous lie sent a fresh burst of betraying blood to stain her skin, and her eyes to swerve back to glance on his.

      ‘Were you not?’ he drily enquired.

      ‘You were just at my cousin’s house,’ she rushed on, hoping to cover her confusion.

      ‘So were you.’

      ‘Surely you arrived in a carriage? Why are you not in it instead of dogging my footsteps?’ She recalled attack was said to be the best form of defence and certainly it seemed to be boosting her confidence and courage.

      ‘As you were spying on me and saw me arrive, Miss Bailey, I suspect you know I arrived on foot in Hanover Square.’

      ‘I was not spying on you, sir. And I certainly was not awaiting your arrival,’ Jemma fumed in righteous anger.

      ‘What a happy coincidence then that we both were within your guardian’s house when I told him, amongst other things, that I won’t marry you,’ Marcus drawled. ‘I imagine he passed that message on, and that’s why you were outside searching for me to try to change my mind.’ An insolent grey gaze slipped over her lush figure. ‘I’m intrigued to know how you intended to persuade me to do that.’ His voice was sultry with amusement, his eyes darkening dangerously behind long, concealing lashes. ‘If you use the right approach, Miss Bailey, I might hear you out.’

      A fiery blush raged from Jemma’s throat to her hairline. She’d winced on hearing his scornful rejection; now she visibly flinched for a second time. How dare he mock her so! Any thoughts she’d had of offering her apologies for Theo’s despicable behaviour were expelled from her mind. This hateful brute now owed her an apology for speaking to her, looking at her as though she were some dockside wench!

      ‘I think I must put you straight on several things, sir,’ she finally blurted in a suffocated voice. Her fingers formed fists and were held rigidly quivering at her sides. ‘Firstly, indeed it was a coincidence that we were at the Wyndhams together, but a happy one…never! Secondly, I’ve not received any report from my cousin of the outcome of your visit. I do not require one, for it is neither here nor there what you said to him. Theo has had the disgraceful impertinence to attempt to meddle in my life, but I will not allow him to do so. I shall decide if and when I marry.’ Jemma drew a deep breath and threw back her head to slam her eyes on his impaling steely gaze. ‘I was at his home just now to impress on him that fact and for no other reason that concerns you. Secondly,’ she uttered on a shuddering breath.

      ‘Thirdly…’ Marcus corrected softly.

      ‘What…?’

      ‘I’ve heard your second point,’ he reminded her with studied solemnity. ‘You weren’t aware of the outcome of my visit…’

      ‘Umm…oh…yes…thirdly…’ Jemma stuttered. ‘Thirdly…’ she resumed in a muted tone, the wind temporarily sucked out of her sails. A darting glance at his cynical expression soon had her temper again simmering. ‘Thirdly,’ she snapped icily, ‘there is nothing of which I care to persuade you except perhaps this: I find your arrogant assumption that I wanted to extricate a marriage proposal from you most unpleasant. I believed I had already made it clear some years ago that I had rejected you as a husband. Nothing has happened since to change my mind. Good day, sir.’ Jemma had managed just one triumphant pace away from him when a firm grip on her wrist arrested her, spinning her neatly around.

      ‘Are you sure nothing has changed your mind?’ he taunted softly. ‘Wyndham seemed quite taken with the notion of having a Countess in the family. He implied the idea appealed to you, too, now you’re slightly less immature.’

      ‘Let me assure you it does not,’ Jemma hissed, whitening with wrath at his insulting implication that she was ambitious for a title and childlike to boot. ‘And let me assure you of something else. My guardian is also quite taken with the idea of laying his hands on what is mine,’ she informed him acidly. ‘It makes no difference to him if I marry a noble or a nobody, just as long as he has the marriage lines as proof that he can legally claim my property.’ With a wrench she had her wrist from his grip. A phantom touch of firm fingers tingled warmly on her skin, making her rub in irritation at the spot. ‘I believe, sir, that in your arrogance you assume you are the only gentleman who received a letter from my guardian.’ She could tell by the hardening of his features that he had not heard rumours in clubs about the others, nor had Theo put him wise to it. A harsh little laugh bubbled in her throat. ‘You may or may not recall that you were just one of many gentlemen who offered for me five years ago. Every one of those fellows who lacks a wife has been invited by my doting cousin to renew his proposal.’ Jemma elevated her shapely little chin, looked up boldly into eyes that were glittering dangerously. ‘I fear I must go on to dent your ego, Mr Speer…’ she sighed with mock regret ‘…but say it I must: there is nothing special about you.’

      ‘Except perhaps that I am no longer unattached, and well you and Wyndham know it,’ Marcus returned quietly.

      His answer was calm, and undeniably correct, yet oddly it disturbed Jemma more than a scathing outburst from him might have done.

      *