Page 7 of The Dangerous Love of a Rogue
‘I love you too, Mama.’
Her mother extinguished the candles in the candelabrum, collected a single candle burning in a holder and walked to the door. ‘Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight.’
She left the room, the light disappearing with her.
Mary saw Lord Framlington in the darkness. He’d stood against a pillar watching her for most of the evening. He had looked… lonely, sad. She ought to feel nothing for him. She ought to never think of him again. He had been courting her dowry, nothing more.
Yet there was something about him, she had continually wanted to look at him.
I like and admire you…he had said.
Her thoughts drifted into dreams and he joined her there…
2
THE FOLLOWING YEAR…
Miss Mary Rose Marlow’s whole body jolted with surprise. ‘Oh!’ she exclaimed, nearly falling down the short flight of garden steps she had just climbed. A broad masculine chest faced her.
Lord Framlington caught hold of her elbow, saving her, only to pull her towards the chest which had caused her exclamation.
He’d appeared from behind the hedge and blocked her path.
Her fingers pressed against the front of his morning coat, discovering solid muscle beneath. Unladylike longings besieged her. She had never forgotten him, and she was ashamed to admit she had often thought about kissing him. Angered by the desire she should not feel, Mary planted her palms on his chest and pushed, denying the attraction that pulled at her.
She looked up and met his gaze. She hoped her anger burned a visible flame in her eyes.
If he saw her ire, the dark amber brown of his eyes absorbed it with cool, quelling disengagement.
Her stomach wobbled like aspic with an unwilling hunger for the reprobate.
‘Miss Marlow.’ He raised his hat a little. ‘It is my good fortune to collide with you.’
Mary stepped back, careful to avoid the steps, her hands falling to her sides as she bobbed a hardly recognisable curtsy. The garden path, lined by tall yew hedges, was barely wide enough for one. She could not pass him without further contact unless he moved aside.
‘Lord Framlington.’ Her voice rang sharp with irritation. ‘If you will excuse me, I really ought to be getting back.’ She moved to pass him.
He stepped to the side and blocked her. ‘No haste, Miss Marlow, the garden party is still in full swing, no one will notice our absence. Everyone is busy playing Lady Jersey’s outdoor games. Have you tried your hand at the archery butts? You could aim an arrow at my heart if you wish, I would not complain, you might snare me if it came from Cupid’s bow.’
‘Do not be absurd!’ The words flew out of her mouth. His comment was too close to her secret wish. ‘You know my brother advises against you.’
‘The Duke of Pembroke…’ Condescension sharpened his words, and a roguish smile tilted his lips. Oh, she remembered that smile, it had plagued her dreams since last summer… ‘What do I care for his opinion, and what do you? I think he did me a favour, warning you off. You have been enamoured ever since.’
He knew!‘I have not.’ Mary’s hands balled to fists. This was infuriating. Why did she find him so interesting? Because on one evening, nearly a year ago, he had danced with her and talked as no other man had.
He grinned. ‘Careful, or I shall think you protest too much. Besides, I know because I see you watching me. Whenever I turn, there is Miss Mary Marlow staring across the room.’
He leaned forward, his face inches from hers. ‘Your looks call to me, Mary. You whisper to me, come, come, Framlington, closer.’ His husky pitch made her skin tingle with awareness, and possibilities coursed through her blood. His lips were so close.
He lifted his hand and his gloved fingers gently braced her chin. ‘Well, here I am. Come to you. What will you do with me?’
Run away.
She lifted her chin away and took another step back. ‘Let me pass. I should not be speaking with you.’
‘But you are.’ He stepped forward.
