Page 14 of The Dangerous Love of a Rogue
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The coach swayed as it raced across the uneven cobbles of London’s streets, bowling towards her brother’s town mansion. Its motion churned Mary’s stomach that was in turmoil.
‘It is unlike you to suffer with headaches, Mary, has something happened?’ her mother asked. Her parents were sitting on the opposite seat, observing her.
Mary shook her head, which only made the pain hammer against her skull.
‘You look pale,’ her father stated. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘Just my head. I will be well after I have slept.’
Leaning forward, her mother gently placed a hand on Mary’s knee. ‘We will be home soon. Would you like me to sit with you while you sleep?’
‘No, thank you, Mama.’ Sometimes their kindness was cloying, and tonight she did not deserve it. She was a rotten daughter, or rather, she wanted to be. She wanted to be bad. Everything Lord Framlington had said was true. She wanted to meet him and kiss him. He tempted her. Her body throbbed from the memory of their sudden encounter in the dark.
When they reached home, Mr Finch, her brother’s butler, opened the door. John and Kate were at a private dinner. Her younger brothers and sisters were all in bed. Her mother climbed the stairs beside Mary, helped her undress, then walked to the bed and lifted the sheet while Mary slipped her nightgown over her head.
‘I will tuck you in.’
‘I am not a child, Mama.’
Her mother sighed. ‘I know you are nineteen but you will always be my daughter. May I fetch you something for the headache?’
‘No, thank you, I just need to sleep,’ she answered as she laid down.
‘Goodnight, sweetheart.’ Her mother pressed a kiss on Mary’s forehead, smothered the candle and left her.
Mary rolled to her side, her head throbbing with guilt, and wept.
She had done nothing wrong, not really, not yet, it had only been kisses that she had allowed. But she had a dreadful feeling she would do more. She could not quell her longing for this man she should not want to go anywhere near.
* * *
For the third night, Mary looked for him with no success. Her heart ached to see the rogue send her one of his knowing nods, or a charming smile.
He had asked her to seek him out then disappeared and made that impossible.
His kisses haunted her… She wished for wickedness. She wished for more kisses.
‘Miss Marlow. Damn it, you stood on my foot.’ Mr Makepeace was a wealthy landowner, double her age and as dull as a rainy day. He was also rude. She may have missed a step because she had been daydreaming but it was ungentlemanly to curse her for it.
‘Forgive me.’ A blush heated her cheeks as others looked at them.
She had been thinking about a dance she had shared with a man a year ago. She had barely heard the music then, her thoughts focused on the colour of his eyes. They were hazel; a light shade of cluttered brown. When candlelight caught his eyes, the colour turned to honey, a soft amber, or molten gold.
Most men she danced with were young and silly compared to Lord Framlington, or too old, or dull, or so busy portraying a fashionable ennui they had no personality at all.
The dance came to its conclusion.
Sweat glistening on his brow, his chest heaving with the depths of his noisy breaths, Mr Makepeace walked her back to her parents. She thanked him politely. He bowed and turned away.
Good riddance.
She looked for Lord Framlington. He was not here.Why? Where was he?She huffed out an unladylike breath. ‘Mama, I wish to go to the retiring room.’
‘I will come with you.’
‘That is not necessary. The hall is busy; I will not be alone.’
