Page 23 of The Taming of a Wicked Rogue

Inwardly, he winced. It seemed the thought of indulging in such pastimes did not appeal as it once would have, and it was all Rebecca’s fault.

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IF HER CHEEKS blazed any hotter, Rebecca swore she would burst into flames.

She clenched her fists and snapped her attention away from Leo and the young ladies around him. It didn’t matter what he did or even who he did it with. They had made no promises to each other.

Even if it was the most wonderful night of her life. Given that she had never been with anyone other than Leo, she supposed one could suggest she had little with which to compare but no one could suggest lovemaking like that was anything other than amazing. Her toes still curled thinking about it.

Of course, he had likely had plenty of practice. She pressed her lips together and moved away from the wall of the boarding house. Mrs. Knight was not home, and Rebecca had yet to spot her in the crowds. She had wasted a day in Grasmere yesterday searching for her only to find out the woman had moved back to Langmere.

But if she lingered any longer, someone might recognize her or at least think her up to no good. She did not want to draw that kind of attention.

Unlike Leo, who seemed to be reveling in the female attention.

She spared him a quick look and regretted it. He flashed his smile at the pretty young lady—that winning smile that made her stomach tumble and her heart pound. She remembered when that smile had been only for her.

Her face heated further so she spun away and marched through the stalls, her head bowed low. She had no claim over him, and one night would not change a thing. Langmere was no longer her home and Leo was the same rake he had purported to be.

The sooner she found this Mrs. Knight, the better, though Rebecca doubted her father had confided in her. He kept secrets from everyone it seemed, most especially his lovers. Still, she needed to do something. Waiting around would only lead to heartache.

To think for one silly moment, she had thought—Well, it did not matter what she had thought. There was no future for them, and Leo knew she watched him so he must have been trying to send her a message.

I’ll never be yoursperhaps orit did not mean a thing.

How aboutYou were a fool to think I even care for you?

He might not have said the words, and knowing Leo he would not, but she understood his message well enough. Forget the lovemaking and forget any thoughts of a future together. Their past could not be rewritten.

“Oh.” A young lady bumped into her, forcing her to a stop. The woman, a few years younger than Rebecca, clutched a book to her chest. She glanced her up and down and her brow wrinkled.

“Forgive me,” Rebecca muttered.

“Wait, I know who you are.”

Nausea rolled in her stomach. “I do not think so.” Rebecca attempted to step past the young brunette in a pretty straw bonnet, but she moved in front of her.

“I do know you!” Her smile widened. “You are Rebecca Fortescue.” She leafed through the book and flicked it open to a page where the corner had been folded. “Look, this is you.”

Rebecca peered at the illustration that depicted a sixteen-year-old her with her father, perhaps copied from one of the portraits that had been painted prior to leaving England. The likeness to the both of them hinted at the skills of the illustrator.

She shook her head vigorously. “No, that’s not me. You are mistaken.”

“It is you, it is!” The woman waved a hand to someone. “Fi, Joanna, come and see. It’s Rebecca Fortescue!”

Several heads whipped around in her direction. She heard her name ripple through the crowd. Her chest grew tight when more people surrounded her. Someone asked her a question of her father, but she didn’t catch what it was. Then another question was flung at her, something to do with his execution.

“Oh how exciting!” the young woman declared. “I want to know all about your father. Was he handsome? Did you know anything about his misdeeds? Did he write to you before his execution?”

Rebecca spun blindly away, her breaths thick in her throat. More people surrounded her, and she pushed through only to come upon another wave of people. Someone snatched her sleeve and she tore away.

“Please, leave me alone,” she begged.

The voices around her seemed to turn into a roar as the blood rushed in her ears. She paused to draw in a breath, but her ribs did not cooperate, as though her stays were banded too tightly. Dots clouded her vision and she tumbled forward, smacking straight into a hard chest. She lifted her gaze up, able to spy the outline of a tall, dark-haired man with a wide chest. His clothes were rough under her fingertips.

“Please, step aside,” she managed to murmur breathlessly.

“Fortescue?” he said. “Your father took everything from me.”

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