Page 12 of The Dangerous Love of a Rogue
She was dancing again. Her hand held that of the young heir to the Earl of Warminster as she skipped along an avenue made by their set. It was a boisterous country dance. The boy was smiling as was Miss Marlow, brightly, giving her suitor her full attention and Drew none of it.
He was beginning to wonder if instead of increasing her interest he had jumped his fences with that kiss and made his horse bolt. He had not once caught her looking at him tonight. She was instead doing everything she could to avoid looking at him.
She spent the night amid a group of young people – a mix of her female friends and their beaux.
The boy she danced with laughed at every word she said. Drew suspected he would laugh no matter what she said, and undoubtedly Miss Marlow was bored. But even so, her eyes focused intently on her idiotic companion.
Irritation burned in Drew’s veins.
He expected Miss Marlow to at least come closer. He had even given her a clue earlier, by walking past her, suggesting a silent game they could play, passing close without touching, in secret acknowledgement. She had not picked up his gauntlet. She left it where it lay, kiss and all, and instead blatantly ignored him.
He leaned his shoulder against the wall, silently seething. He had thought this the victory leg, but despite her youth and innocence Miss Mary Marlow was not going to be easily caught.
A challenge. He sighed, suddenly, letting the tension in his muscles ease with his outward breath. A challenge was like a chase, it whispered to his instincts. He liked to be challenged. What fun would there be in life if everything came easily?
Raising his glass of wine to his lips, as the dance ended, he watched young Warminster let go of her hand.
Immediately, her next partner came forward. She took her place in the line of the new set. Then her head turned and her gaze reached across the room. It was a scarce glance, only an instant, but in that instant their gazes collided. She had looked for him. She knew he was watching and she had known exactly where he stood.
The music began. She clapped to the rhythm, watching another couple skip along the middle between the line of women and men.
You will be my wife, Mary Marlow. You will. And you will beg me to make a marriage offer for you.
He was going to have to change his tactics, though. Perhaps she needed less subtlety and a little more urging.
4
The skin on the back of Mary’s neck prickled. Trying her best to ignore it, she looked very deliberately at the line of dancers. The sensations were caused by Lord Framlington’s stare. He had been staring at her for an hour, as though he expected her to respond. Perhaps he thought she would seek an assignation. She could hear him in her head,meet with me, Mary.
It was nonsense of course, she was not psychic. It was her urge. Yet he would applaud her weak conscience if he heard the words, and say,do what you want to do, not what you should.
I know you feel the same for me as I feel for you!His shout had echoed ever since.
How could he know? And how had he managed to invade her thoughts so completely after one kiss? But it had not just been since his kiss; ever since she’d danced with him, he had taken up lodgings in her head.
She felt the moment he looked away, she had no idea how, but it was like a physical touch sliding off her skin. She glanced across the room as she skipped in a round with other dancers. He set a half-empty glass on the tray of a passing footman and left the ballroom, and she presumed the ball.
A sense of desertion tugged low in her stomach and an ache settled like a cloak about her heart.
Was it over? Had she spurned him successfully? That had been her intention, to cut him dead. Perhaps he’d tired of playing with her. There were a dozen other heiresses on the market. She was not his only choice.
But you were his choice.Her traitorous heart thought it a compliment that a man of Framlington’s looks and reputation wanted her as his wife.
‘Idiot,’ Mary said aloud as the dance ended.
‘What have I done to deserve that charge?’ Derek, her good-natured partner had heard the exclamation that was aimed at herself. ‘Did I step on your toes?’ He offered his arm to walk her to her parents.
She shook her head, forming the false smile she’d relied on tonight. ‘I was speaking to myself. I have agreed to dance with two partners for the supper set, I must apologise to someone.’
He accepted the excuse. Why would he not? Mary was not in the habit of lying. She had told her first lie the day of the Jerseys’ garden party. Now she had lied twice. On both occasions, Lord Framlington was the cause.
When she reached her parents, Derek gave her knuckles a chaste kiss and bowed. The kiss did nothing to her innards. Unlike the kiss on her lips that had twisted her stomach in knots. Physical memories clawed. Mary longed for home. The burden of pretence was too tiring.
‘Is something wrong?’
Her gaze turned to her father.
‘I have a headache.’ If sulking made her pathetic, she did not care. ‘May we go home?’
