Page 34 of The Dangerous Love of a Rogue
Drew and his friends had manipulated her through nearly every dance.
‘There are a dozen other heiresses he could court,’ she said as they walked.
‘But none as beautiful.’
‘So, it is my wealth and beauty he seeks?’
They passed through people forming sets for the next dance.
‘Is it not his looks which draw your eyes to him?’ The accusing depth of his baritone voice made her skin prickle.
He stopped a few feet from her parents, lifted her fingers from his arm, and bowed over them. ‘It has been a pleasure, Miss Marlow.’ Then he also walked away.
Mary’s gaze followed him to Drew. When he joined them, Drew and his friends left the ballroom, without looking back.
‘Who were you with?’ her mother asked.
Mary faced her. ‘Lord Brooke, Mama. Oliver introduced his friend to me and his friend introduced Lord Brooke.’
‘And his friend was?’
‘Mr Harper.’ The slip of paper tucked within Mary’s glove itched. Had the whole endeavour been to slip her his address?
‘Mr Harper… I think his father’s money came from sugar plantations.’ Her father had moved beside her. ‘A dreadful business by all accounts.’
She shrugged. ‘I have no idea, Papa. We danced, we did not share life histories.’
He smiled. ‘No, I suppose not, but if it was that Mr Harper, avoid him, he has an appalling reputation, and Lord Brooke too. Avoid them both in the future.’
‘Yes, Papa.’
She had been right; Drew consorted with men whose reputations matched his – and the rogue had left his address in her glove. She would be silly to communicate with him.
Her father tapped her chin as he used to when she was young. ‘Cheer up, sweetheart, there are plenty of decent men about, and here is one. I believe Lord Farquhar wishes a second dance.’
Daniel was indeed approaching with a broad smile.
Why could Cupid not aim a steady arrow at her heart, one which led to a trustworthy man, rather than a predatory rake?
10
Drew crawled into bed, three sheets to the wind. His friends had retired to his bachelor apartment for a second evening, and the first light of dawn crept about his curtains when they left.
His friends spent half the night commending him on his choice. The second half they spent constructing more verse, only this time Peter said it should praise Mary’s nature, not her beauty. Apparently, she’d told Peter she did not care for compliments. Lack of vanity was another credit to be notched in her favour.
A considerable amount of laughter had followed and an inevitable quantity of wine.
When he woke, he lay hot and sweaty in a tangle of sheets, his body thrumming with the need for Mary. In his dream she had said yes in the glasshouse.
He reached for his pocket watch. It was only midday. He generally lived a nocturnal life, sleeping in the day and staying up all night. But there was no way he would be able to sleep again.
He threw the covers aside, got up, washed and shaved, planning to ride in the park to vent his frustration. Rewriting the latest letter would have to wait until he’d dealt with the pain of unsated lust. He could seek a willing woman to assuage it but he had abstained for a year waiting for Mary, and he would not break that now. To share a bed with another woman, now, would feel like treachery. It was Mary he needed, no one else.
A bitter taste filled his mouth, and it was not from last night’s excess of drink; it was the taste of fear.If I fail and lose her…
On his ride he stretched out Hera’s strides, hurtling the mare across the open meadow of Green Park, leaning low, holding his body close to the horse’s, pushing his bodyweight into his heels, and keeping balance with his shins and thighs, riding like a madman.
He felt close to insanity. Desperate.
