Page 2 of The Dangerous Love of a Rogue
‘I should walk away immediately,’ she said in a strong voice that he’d not expected from this young woman.
‘Indeed you should. But is it a sin for a man to find you so beautiful he cannot wait even another moment, or at worse another dance, to find someone who might introduce him?’
‘That is the course of a gentleman.’
‘It is.’ He leaned in closer. ‘But there you have me; perhaps I am not a gentleman,’ he said, teasing her.
Her gaze dropped to the lopsided rogue’s smile he threw at her. She laughed. ‘You are a gentleman. You would not be here otherwise.’
So innocent… Such a novelty.What he would give to have that blind belief in the façade of London’s society and be oblivious to the truth that lay beyond it.
‘Are you enjoying your season?’
Her smile softened. ‘Yes. I had to wait because we’ve been in mourning for my grandsire. My cousins, who are older, have been full of stories and made me long for this. Now finally I have my moment to join the world.’
Yes, she did.‘Tell me how it compares to your expectations…’
As they talked, their steps followed the intricate country dance, but the blessing of it was he had by chance chosen a country dance that did not separate them.
‘I could not have imagined how crushed these events are and how sore my feet would be from dancing until the early morning.’
‘Yet you must have imagined that the young men would make fools of themselves at these things, and the old men would be bores, while the young women would giggle at the slightest compliment’ –and older women…like his mother… he would not talk to her about their behaviour.
‘Do you think I giggle excessively?’ Annoyance had lowered her voice.
‘No.’
They made a turn, and he took the opportunity to press his palm against her side, below her breasts. Her whole body jolted. He had only touched her for an instant, as if to stop her from stumbling.
‘Forgive me.’ His apology implied it was an accident.
The dance drew them close again. He faced her, his hand holding hers between their chests. He leaned so close, her hair brushed his cheek. ‘I wish this was a waltz and I had the opportunity to hold you.’
When he stepped back, her dark pupils sparkled and her heartbeat flickered beneath the skin at the base of her neck.
‘Yet it is not a waltz, so please refrain, Mr…?’
Finally, she asked for his name.
‘Lord Framlington.’
They separated and walked around the back of another couple. Her expression told him she was searching her memory for why she knew his name. No light of recognition dawned in her eyes. It was not her half-brother, the Duke of Pembroke, who had mentioned his name to her then.
They came into the middle of a ring of six, and danced in a circle, their joined hands above their heads.
‘I like you, Miss Marlow,’ he said.
‘You do not know me.’
He smiled at her little jab. ‘Know you or not, I admire you.’ It was true, the girl intrigued him the more the dance progressed.
‘Really…’ She laughed, a light, jolly sound, not a forced jubilant creation developed to draw attention and attract a husband.Pure. Just herself. No façade.
The girl was doing something to his soul. He felt as though he were bathing in her innocence, baptised in it, his sins washed away. ‘It is no jest, and no falsity, you are charming. A man would be a fool if he did not see it, and I have been many things, but never a fool.’ He whispered the last words into her ear.
Her head pulled back.
His lips tilted into a smile.
