Page 3 of The Lady Needs a Rogue
Over the years, she’d inspired most of the nobles her father saw as means to a title to politely tiptoe into the sunset. Come to think of it, one or two might actually have been running. A few others—weighted down by debt, and therefore less easily deterred—had worked up the courage to ask for her hand in marriage. Sadly for their cause, Macie knew how to utter the word “No” in a half-dozen languages.
When each heiress hunter scurried away before Macie’s shenanigans could taint his most valuable asset—hisgood name—she’d breathe a sigh of relief and climb up upon a perch thatseemed to grow higher and higher, ever more comfortable in a fate many viewed with a sense of quiet horror.
Sadly, her reprieve never lasted quite long enough.
For every debt-ridden duke or money-hungry marquess she chased off, another materialized. If her father had his way, she would settle for one of the bemused barons or vacuous viscounts who eyed her as greedily as a starving man might look upon a sumptuous feast.
No, that would not be her fate.
If Papa was disappointed in her, then so be it.
Macie had seen the quiet dread in the eyes of American dollar princesses and London heiresses alike whose futures had been bartered in exchange for a meaningless title. Why, her childhood friend had openly wept as she’d made her way down the aisle to speak her vows.Tears of joy.Or so the best man had whispered to the groom, a petrified young lord who looked as though he himself awaited the executioner’s blade. He knew better. And so did Macie. For a brief moment before the ceremony, Cecily had appeared to give thought to Macie’s urging to bolt before she spoke her vows. But in the end, she’d done her duty. Cecily had resigned herself to a fate that, while not worse than death, might have seemed like a premature burial.
Macie would not go quietly to such an existence. And so, she’d honed the art of chasing off heirs.
A chirpy, high-pitched voice, rather like a bird warbling in a cage, startled her from her thoughts.Drat. Drat. And double drat. She’d thought she might enjoy another moment’s peace here in the shadows. But ambitious mothers of down-on-their luck nobles were even more skilled at sniffing out an heiress than their sons.
“Goodness, Miss Mason, there you are. I had begun to fear you were not going to join us tonight.” Lady Drayton, the snowy-haired countess—or was it viscountess?—of something-or-otherstrolled toward her, her eyes narrowed with an assessing focus. The matron was best known for two things: her impeccable skill as a hostess and her unshakable hope of finding her only son a match that would replenish the family’s dwindling coffers.
Ah, yes, if Macie squinted a wee bit and allowed her imagination to run unfettered, she could see the money bags dancing in Lady Drayton’s cool blue eyes. Still, it wouldn’t do to offend the woman. She’d have to at least pretend to enjoy the woman’s hospitality. If only through clenched teeth.
Macie managed a smile. “So nice to see you, Lady Drayton.”
“I am delighted you could attend. Arthur has looked forward to making your acquaintance.”
Arthur.Lord Drayton.Yet another man with a title Macie’s father would see as a trophy, even if Macie would be the one to gain it.
Pity she’d no inclination to share a bed with a title, noble or otherwise.
“It will be my pleasure.” Macie forced out the words, one syllable at a time.
Following at Lady Drayton’s side, Macie strolled by the couples on the dance floor. Spotting her brother engaged in a rather mechanical waltz, she repressed an urge to pull a face. Lucky dolt. Jon felt no pressure to make an advantageous match.
In truth, neither should she. She planned to make the most of her time in the city. The prospect of setting up her camera in a gloomy old house was ever so exciting. The more cobwebs and mysterious creaks, the better. London boasted countless places said to be roamed by restless spirits and the occasional ghoul or two. The lure of one particular mansion had drawn her back to the city—her grandfather’s home. Bennington Manor was now hers.
Hers to bring back to its former glory. Hers to cherish. Hers to portray in all its eccentric charm through the lens of her camera.
Preparing for the restoration and her next photographic exhibit would fill most of her days and nights. In what little remained, she would humor her father.
But in the end, he would be disappointed. Of that, she was quite certain.
“I must warn you, Arthur is a bit... studious,” Lady Drayton went on, speaking the words as if she’d uttered a confession. “It’s a rare night when he sets aside his telescope and his computations to socialize. Recently, he has devoted his evenings to observing some comet or other.” Lady Drayton’s thin mouth stretched into something resembling a smile. “He fancies himself to be a man of science. But soon, he will find a good woman who will interest him in more... conventional pursuits.”
“I am sure he will.” Macie said, resisting the urge to mention thatgood womanwouldnotbe her. After all, she was far more passionate about capturing an intriguing image with her camera than overseeing a stuffy dinner party with precisely the right delicacies and elegant china to impress her husband’s guests. If she had her way—and she certainly intended to—she’d tote her camera everywhere from the Tower of London to the Pyramids of Giza. She would capture the images of her journey and develop her craft. Definitelynotthe stuff of a conventional marriage.
A sudden, angry shriek that might have shattered glass rang out. The mumbled words of an apology followed, though Macie had no desire to listen for the details. A willowy blonde stood in their path, fury flashing in her eyes. She fixed a dagger-filled look on the fair-haired, ruddy-faced man who stood within arm’s length of her, his expression one of dire mortification.
“Oh dear, Lady Sylvie is in quite a stir,” Lady Drayton said in Macie’s ear. “Again.”
The blonde continued to skewer the red-cheeked man with her gaze. “Now you’ve done it.”
“Sylvie, you must know—”
“What I know is this, you clod—you’ve ruined my gown.” Flicking her long, unbound hair over her shoulder, she turned on her heel and stomped to the door. The hapless man rushed after her, a not-quite-empty wine glass bobbing between his fingers.
“Nothing like a little lovers’ tiff to liven up the evening.” A sparkle brightened Lady Drayton’s eyes as her attention lit on a lanky man who appeared to be avoiding the crowd. “Ah, there’s Arthur,” she said. “I simply must introduce—”
As Macie followed her hostess’s brisk pace, she took a step, and then another. Suddenly, her right foot no longer touched the floor. Blast these flimsy, oh-so-pretty shoes. Slippers, indeed! A soft “Oh dear” escaped Lady Drayton’s lips as Macie struggled to fend off gravity.
