Page 32 of Any Rogue Will Do
Some reports said while he was out with his friends, he’d furiously ranted about the situation. Entirely plausible. He did love to monologue. Others claimed he wept inconsolably while declaring his heartbreak to anyone who would listen. Ah, there was the fiction. “I’d love to see that,” she muttered.
Three broadsheets later, she surmised that the papers all agreed—no matter his mood, Montague always spoke of his lost love. More like her lost dowry, but that would makehimsound like a money-grubbing arse.
The treatment he’d received from MacBrute and his Paper Doll Princess was nothing short of abominable, the papers declared. To be thrown over after beginning marriage contracts in good faith was too tragic for words, said another paper. “Never mind that he shared plenty of words on the subject. This is the same rubbish, just using different phrases each day,” she told Darling. “Listen to this nonsense:How could the lady in question choose the hulking Scottish MacBrute over the Adonis-like perfection of the Earl of Danby’s son?I’ll tell you how. Lord Amesbury doesn’t have to pad his coats, and he probably doesn’t kiss like a gasping trout.”
“I bet you a week’s pay you find out for sure sooner rather than later. Lord Amesbury might be a friend now, but he’s still a man,” Darling teased.
Lottie made a noncommittal noise but held still while her maid tightened the short stays. It was her and Agatha’s at-home day, which meant an entire afternoon loomed ahead, filled with endless rounds of tea and onlookers. If she must endure a parade of curious faces, probing questions, and subtle inquiries, she’d prefer to do so while comfortable. The day dress was fashionable but looser than anything she’d wear outside the house. While smiling her way through visitors, she’d miss the buffer of Darling’s cheerfully snide commentary regarding the gossip columns.
“Can I ask you a question, milady?”
“Of course, Darling. What’s on your mind?”
“Wherever we live after London, would you be willing to bring on Patrick instead of leaving him at Stanwick Manor?”
Lottie focused on her maid in the mirror. “Are things with Patrick progressing in that direction? Has he declared himself?”
Darling shook her head. “He’s not said it in so many words. I think he’s waiting to have that conversation face-to-face. I need to be sure he’s thought it through. Marrying someone with my history—that takes a special kind of man.”
Lottie turned to squeeze her hand. “You both have histories to consider. Patrick would be the luckiest man alive if he won your heart. If you want this, then I am happy for you.” She turned around and lifted her heavy hair away from her back so Darling could fasten the line of silver buttons. “To answer your question—I would create a position for him no matter where we lived. Do not fear that I would separate the two of you.”
“That sets my mind at ease. Now, what gown do you want to wear this evening? It’s your first outing with Lord Amesbury since the engagement, so you should look spectacular.”
“How about the scarlet silk? If they’re going to talk, we might as well give them something to talk about.” Lottie winked. The red gown in particular would tell everyone she didn’t care about what the papers said. Even if she wasn’t entirely immune to the talk.
***
That night, light and chatter spilled from the townhome into the street, acting as a beacon for the line of carriages. With an entire evening stretching before her, Lottie closed her eyes a moment and wished desperately for a cup of strong tea to help her get through the rest of the night.
Having dealt with the expected afternoon parade of callers, wearing the red gown felt like donning a facade—an alternate personality who courted notoriety, not caring that her love life was under dissection in the papers.
Again.
On top of dreading the speculation of her peers, there was the ever-present worry that she’d have to deal with Montague face-to-face. There was no doubt in her mind he was behind the news stories, so thinking he’d avoid the opportunity to make a fuss in public was naive. When she thought of her last encounter with him, she tried to dwell on his expression as he’d flown off the seat and not the way he’d kissed, threatened, and made her feel helpless. Events by that pond couldn’t be changed, but she could celebrate the way she’d fought back and won.
Now she’d have to deal with whatever the evening brought. Hopefully, she worried for nothing, and it would be a lovely night with Amesbury, her godmother, and Lord Carlyle.
Taking a deep breath, she placed her hand on Lord Amesbury’s arm. He covered her gloved fingers with his as if having her beside him was the most natural thing in the world. “You are lovely this evening.”
She looked up from under her lashes as they ascended the steps. “Thank you, my lord. Flattery is an admirable characteristic in a fiancé. Feel free to continue in that vein.”
When he grinned, that dimple flashed, crinkling the corners of his eyes.
The butler opened the door, releasing a chorus of voices that swelled through the air, buzzing in a way that resembled a hive—complete with their hostess, the queen. Sharp laughter occasionally broke above the din. Lottie wished she were comfortable enough in this environment to laugh so freely.
The Blanchards had no ballroom in which to entertain. Instead, guests flowed from one room into the next, with the largest room cleared for dancing. As the great number of bodies crowded into a relatively small space, the air grew stale with each degree the temperature rose.
Lady Blanchard greeted them with a broad smile, her eyes darting to Lottie’s hand tucked through Amesbury’s arm. “The happy couple! I do hope you’ll enjoy the evening.”
Amesbury smiled down at Lottie, playing his role to perfection. He winked, and the deep blue of his eyes distracted her from her earlier worries. Since he’d entered the carriage this evening, there’d been a quiver low in her belly. With that wink, it grew from tiny flutters into a rapid pulse, like the wings of a hummingbird.
Leading her away from their hostess, he leaned down to her ear. “If Montague is here, remember you aren’t alone. We are partners, lass.” The look he gave her made the hummingbird flutters calm until everything within her quieted. A blooming liquid warmth spread over her as he held her gaze for a moment. A few heartbeats.
Too long.
She blinked away the intimate spell and searched the room for something to distract her from this inconvenient attraction to her faux fiancé. A blond halo of curls held ruthlessly in check with pomade caught her eye an instant before she felt Montague’s glare.
“Speak of the devil.”
