Читать книгу How To Marry a Rake - Deb Marlowe - Страница 9

Irreconcilable events hit Stephen from opposite directions and from out of the blue. The incongruity of it set his brain box to rattling. He glanced about in an attempt to anchor himself once more. Newmarket, Lord Toswick’s house party, fire in his belly and determination in his heart—to do whatever might be necessary to thrust Fincote into the collective awareness of the racing world. Yet one minute he’d been partnering his hostess in a dance, and the next he was holding Mae Halford pressed up tightly against him.

Impossible. Or at least highly unlikely. He would have pinched himself if his hands hadn’t already been full.

Pleasurably full, too—filled with generous curves and sweetly yielding flesh. She realised it in the same instant and tried to back away, out of his embrace. But her ankle gave way and she started to go down again.

With a shake of his head he swooped her off her feet and into his arms. The entire dance had broken down and people had begun to gather around them. The music limped to a stop, leaving the air full of murmurs of concern, curious whispers and tittering laughter.

Stephen caught Lady Toswick’s eye. ‘Could you lead us to a private spot, my lady?’ he asked his erstwhile dance partner. ‘I believe the lady has injured herself.’

‘Of course!’ Lady Toswick, staring bemused at the wreck in the midst of her ball, gave a start. ‘If you’ll follow me, Lord Stephen?’

Mae twisted in his arms. Warm breath stirred over his ear and interesting bits of anatomy brushed against his chest as she spoke over his shoulder. ‘Lord Corbet, would you be so good as to fetch Addy? And my mother!’ she called as Stephen strode away.

A frazzled butterfly, Lady Toswick flitted her way through the crowd gathered on the dance floor. Casting false smiles and breathless reassurances, she led the way out and down the hall to a small antechamber.

Stephen followed, his jaw clenched in irritation as fans fluttered and tongues wagged in their wake. Two years ago he would have revelled in the attention, but circumstances had changed. He had changed. He was here to win the respect of these people, to prove himself as a knowledgeable racing man and a sound man of business, not to stir up old scandalbroth.

He’d entered the ballroom in a state of focused resolution. But now he’d been knocked off course. By Mae Halford. Again.

‘Oh, dear,’ the countess moaned. She’d opened the door onto an empty room. ‘The chairs are gone. Likely the servants are using them as extra seating in the parlour. We need a bit more dining space for the late supper, you see.’ She wrung her hands. ‘Good heavens, I’ll call a footman. Will you be all right, Lord Stephen? Can you hold her until I can have a chair fetched?’

‘I’m perfectly fine, my lady,’ replied Stephen. ‘Perhaps you could send for two chairs? Or a chaise, perhaps. I believe Miss Halford should keep her foot elevated, if possible.’

‘Oh. Yes, of course.’ She eyed Mae with concern. ‘I shall be gone but a moment and I’ll be sure your mother is on her way, my dear.’ Her gown fluttering behind her, the countess disappeared.

Which left Stephen and Mae nothing to do but stare at each other, their faces mere inches apart. Mae’s eyes were huge, her expression wary. A soft, citrusy scent drifted up from her hair.

Hell and damnation, but Stephen did not want to be noticing the scent of her hair. Abruptly, the clatter in his head quieted enough for his brain to make a connection. ‘Oh, Good Lord,’ he said. ‘You’re the heiress.’

Her face went blank. ‘I beg your pardon?’

He glared at her. ‘This had damned well better not be one of your tricks, Mae.’

He’d known from the moment that he took her hand in the dance that he’d encountered something different. He’d gone warm all over and his heart had begun to pound, even before he realised who she was. An example of his body being quicker than his brain, because once he had done so, his instinctive reaction had been a sharp, happy stab of recognition. An intimate friend of his half-sister Charlotte, Mae had been a constant fixture in his life for years. Practically a member of his already large and chaotic family, she was a part of many of his happiest memories.

But now nostalgia was quickly kicked aside by trepidation. For Mae featured at the centre of several of his most uncomfortable memories, too. Several years past, she’d made him the focus of her ardent schoolgirl fantasies. Stephen, a few years older, flush with the first freedoms of manhood, and having a grand time playing the young buck about town with his brothers, had been less than interested. Still, he had tried to tread carefully around her too-evident feelings, and at first he’d found the situation amusing, and more than a little flattering.

But Mae was … Mae. A veritable force of nature. She had pursued him with all the zeal and determination and inventiveness at her disposal—which was to say, more than many a grown man of Stephen’s acquaintance. Hell, she had more grit than a platoon of men. For over a year he had stayed one step ahead of her in their awkward dance. Eventually, though, the state of affairs had deteriorated, leading to that last, explosive incident, and ultimately, to Mae’s trip abroad.

She was back now, though, and his accusation had set her back up, if the flash of fire in her narrowed blue eyes was any indication.

‘Yes, Stephen. Indeed, I had this all planned. I got off the boat, tracked you down and promptly crippled myself to gain your attention.’

He refused to back down. One didn’t, when dealing with Mae Halford. His gut began to roil. Images of chaos and destruction danced in his head; all pictures of the special sort of havoc that only Mae could wreak with his plans.

‘It sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it?’ he asked, his tone laced with sarcasm. ‘Except that it does not—not to anyone with a close acquaintance with you. And especially not to me. I’ve been on the dangerous end of more than one of your schemes in the past, if you will recall.’

She stared at him, aghast, and then she began to struggle. ‘You great, conceited lout,’ she gasped. ‘Do you think that I’ve been abroad pining for you all this time?’

‘God, I hope not,’ he muttered.

She pushed on his shoulder, straining to get away. Her squirming curves were becoming increasingly difficult to hold on to. ‘Put me down!’

He had to obey, lest he drop her. She limped away from him, crossing to lean on the wall for support. His heart twisted a little, seeing her hurt. Despite his misgivings, he couldn’t help raking a gaze over her, cataloguing each alteration, evaluating for changes and improvements.

They were all improvements. Sleek and stylish, she was dressed and coiffed in the sort of simple elegance that only pots of money could buy. She had grown taller. She’d also grown quite a luscious figure, and learned how to show it to her best advantage.

He wrenched his gaze back up to her obstinate expression. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said on a sigh. ‘I should not have spoken so harshly.’

‘Don’t be sorry—for you give me the excuse to descend to the same level of bluntness.’ Her pert nose was in the air and she looked at him as though he was something the cat had coughed up. ‘You may stop flattering yourself right this minute, Stephen Manning. I had no idea you were here tonight and, frankly, I wish you were not. It’s a long time since I’ve been that calflove-stricken girl.’

He started to speak, but she stopped him with a wave of her hand. ‘If I thought of you at all as we returned, it was only to hope that it might be months, perhaps years, before we met up again.’ She looked away and cast beseeching eyes heavenwards. ‘I certainly did not wish to bump into you—literally!—at my first entry back into English society.’

Stephen crossed his arms. ‘I am sorry. It’s just that I’m here on important business and I cannot have any … shenanigans … fouling it up.’

Voices sounded out in the passageway. She cocked her head, listening for a moment. ‘Good,’ she said in a hurry. ‘We are agreed then. I have important matters at hand as well and your presence will not be helpful.’ She pushed away from the wall and made shooing motions at him with her hands. ‘It would be best if you go. Now,’ she urged. ‘I don’t want to contemplate what my father would say, should he find us here like this.’

Tiny golden threads winked at him from amidst the amber embroidery on her bodice. He blinked back. For one wild moment he wondered if this was some sort of deep play she was engaging in. ‘I was not aware that your father looked on me with ill will.’ He shifted. ‘Surely he does not blame me for …’ Damn. ‘For your travels,’ he finished lamely.

‘Of course he doesn’t!’ She gave a huff of exasperation and closed her eyes. She drew a calming breath and her shoulders went back. The movement drew his eye right back to her shimmering bodice and the curves it contained.

‘Papa doesn’t blame anyone. It was merely a case of him knowing how … determined … I can be—and wishing to give me something else on which to focus my energies.’

A clatter sounded outside and a footman rushed in with a chair. ‘Your pardon, miss, but the countess is having a more comfortable chaise brought along.’ He placed the chair at Mae’s side and she sank down onto it.

‘Thank you,’ she called as the servant hurried out again.

She heaved a deep sigh of relief. It did wondrous things for the décolletage of her gown. And though he was only observing, somehow Stephen felt the rush of all that oxygen hit his bloodstream.

Mae met his gaze again. ‘If my father gets even a hint of a suspicion that I, that we …’ She allowed her voice to trail away. ‘Let me just say that it would be better if he did not find us together. He’s liable to sweep us up and out of this house party so fast that my head would spin. The consequences for me would likely be unpleasant—and long lasting.’

Stephen stilled. His heart thumped at the frightening truth that lay hidden in her words. ‘You are a guest here? At the house party?’

She nodded, then abruptly froze. ‘You are staying on here as well?’ She stared. ‘You are not invited just for the evening? For the opening ball?’

He shook his head.

With a cry of dismay, Mae’s mother entered, hurrying to kneel at her daughter’s side. Lady Corbet followed, and close on her heels came Lady Toswick with a brace of footmen and a large, cushioned chaise.

Stephen stood back as the women fussed over Mae. He noted the small frown creasing her brow as she answered her mother’s enquiries, but she never looked his way. With interest, he watched as she kept calm in the face of her mother’s alarm and Lady Toswick’s disjointed attentions. It appeared that somehow she’d managed to tame all the raw, nervous energy that had marked her as an always unpredictable—and sometimes nerve-racking—companion.

He tore his gaze abruptly away. It didn’t matter how many intriguing ways Mae had changed, or in how many irritating ways she had stayed the same. Her presence here could only be a distraction at best. It could prove to be an obstacle at worst, if she decided to make his life difficult—or if her father decided to take him into dislike. Barty Halford was a dedicated and influential racing man. Certainly he had the ability to crush Stephen’s plans with only a few words into the right ears.

With a curse, he made his way to Mae’s side. ‘I can see that you are in capable hands now, Miss Halford,’ he said formally. ‘I’ll just leave you to them. I beg your pardon if I somehow contributed to your accident.’

Mae glanced at her mother. She, in turn, exchanged speaking looks with the other women and stepped back a little, drawing the others with her and shooting nervous glances in Stephen’s direction.

Mae leaned towards him. ‘Let’s just agree to stay out of each other’s path? At least as much as possible?’ She offered her hand.

He bent over it. His nose ended up mere inches from that sparkling bodice. Her new, supple form spread out before him like a Michaelmas feast, all slick curves and sharp indentations. All of his masculine bits took notice, stretching and stirring to life, to let him know that they were awake—and hungry.

Well, they could dance a metaphorical jig if they liked, but they were not going to dine here.

He pulled away. ‘Agreed,’ he barked.

Spinning on his heel, Stephen stalked from the room. Wrong place, wrong time, he told his protesting body parts.

And definitely the wrong woman.

Mae chewed her bottom lip as she watched Stephen stalk away. Two long years, she marvelled. Thousands of miles travelled. Countless new people met, more than a few flirtations engaged in and two sincere marriage proposals received. None of which she was to be given credit for. Stephen had treated her as if she were still the same over-eager, love-struck girl.

Well, she was not that girl any longer—she smiled at her mother and at Lady Toswick, assured them that, yes, she was fine and, no, she ought not dance any more this evening—and she set out to prove it.

It turned out not to be as difficult as she feared, thanks in large part to Addy and her husband. Mae returned to the ballroom and was enthroned upon a comfortable chair in the corner, with a padded ottoman upon which to prop her foot—decently covered with an embroidered shawl, of course. She suffered a moment’s panic after settling in, envisioning herself an island of misery and loneliness in the midst of all the gaiety, but within moments Lord Corbet’s friends were obligingly clustering about her.

At first they were all a bit stiff and formal in their enquiries, but Mae was so grateful she did not hesitate to turn the sharp edge of her wit onto her own clumsiness. She thought she showed remarkable restraint in only sacrificing Stephen upon a pointed barb or two, and soon enough the gentlemen were relaxed and chuckling and vying for the right to sit out a set at her side.

Mae relaxed, too, as the evening went on and she concluded that, despite the inauspicious beginning, this evening was proving to be a grand start to her campaign. She was meeting eligible gentlemen, gathering vital information and making excellent connections.

She slipped only once. A Mr Fatch had taken the seat beside her. An earnest young gentleman, he was thrilled with the opportunity to tell her—extensively—about his ancestral acres and the minerals that had recently been discovered there.

The whole thing was Stephen’s fault, really. Mr Fatch rambled comfortably on about the canal he wished to build to transport his ores to market and Mae found she could not quite keep her gaze from straying in Stephen’s direction.

She could hardly be blamed. It had ever been thus—Stephen was invariably and always the most alive person in the room. It was impossible not to sneak glances at him, and impossible not to feel lighter for doing so.

He had a thousand mercurial moods—and the gift of always donning the correct one for the occasion. Tonight he was polished, convivial and full of dry wit, judging from the outbursts of laughter from the group of gentlemen he’d joined.

And Mae was distracted, despite her intent not to be. And intensely annoyed with herself, too. Mr Fatch might be a perfectly lovely gentleman, might he not? She turned her attention firmly back to him and took up his chosen subject with interest and fervour.

Except that wasn’t the right course either. Mae knew quite a bit about canals. Over the next few minutes she recalled her lessons on how the ancients had made use of them, talked of what she had learned in Paris, where Napoleon had attempted to use the idea to bring water to the city, and speculated that the use of steam-powered engines in boats was going to bring about an expansion of canal systems all over Europe.

She realised her mistake too late. Mr Fatch’s expression transformed from content to bemused and on to faintly horrified.

She stopped talking and stifled a groan.

‘Or so my papa believes,’ she finished with a weak smile. And threw in a flutter of her eyelashes for good measure.

But there was no salvaging the situation.

‘Indeed? Well, then, I thank you for sharing his views. And so thoroughly, too.’ Mr Fatch stood and sketched a hasty bow. ‘Do enjoy the rest of your evening.’

And he was gone. Mae bit back an eloquent curse she’d learned from her French maid.

She had not a moment to dwell on the setback, however, for her papa dropped into the empty seat with a grateful sigh. He glanced longingly at her stool, as if he’d like nothing better than to lean back and prop up his feet, as well.

‘You promised me a dance,’ he complained. ‘And now I cannot collect.’ He chucked her on the chin as if she was an infant. ‘You know how I hate an unpaid debt. I shall have to charge you interest.’

‘Then I shall be sure to dance with you twice at the next opportunity.’ Despite herself, she grinned.

His mouth curled up at the edges, but he didn’t say anything more. He just watched her with a brow raised and a patient look on his face, as though he had all the time in the world to wait for the answer to his unspoken question.

‘What is it?’ she asked.

He only continued to look at her.

‘Papa?’ Mae doubted this was about the hapless Mr Fatch. She raised a brow right back at him. ‘I’ll have you know that despite my inability to stun everyone with my graceful dancing, I am still counting this evening as a success.’

‘Are you?’ His tone was mild.

‘Indeed. For I’ve kept my smile fixed and my conversation light.’ No need to confess to sins he hadn’t discovered. ‘I did not speak to Lady Toswick about her grossly inefficient dinner seating. I also showed great restraint in not reorganising her servants, even though the savoury tarts were served cold and the champagne warm.’

That made him laugh. ‘A success, indeed.’

‘I’ve also made the acquaintance of several eligible gentlemen,’ she said loftily.

‘And become reacquainted with a certain one, or so I hear.’

She grimaced. ‘To the detriment of my ankle,’ she said wryly.

‘As long as the damage is contained to your ankle …’ He allowed the thought to trail away, but there was no need to continue. A wealth of warning conveyed in so few words.

Mae’s mouth compressed. ‘You are not being fair,’ she accused.

Her father merely snorted.

Her chin lifted. ‘You are as annoying as he is. All of that was a long time ago. It’s time for you both to realise that I am not the same person.’ She folded her arms and glared. ‘That young and inexperienced girl is in my past. And so is Lord Stephen Manning.’

Silent again, he searched her face. Whatever he saw there must have satisfied him. He nodded and kissed her forehead. ‘Look at your mother,’ he said. ‘Lady Toswick must be inordinately skilled. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen her enjoy herself at an event like this.’ He glanced back down at her. ‘But she’s drifted too far away. I’ll send her back to you.’

Mae watched him go and step up behind her mother. She saw the hand he slipped across the small of her back and the pleasure, spiced with just a hint of heat, in the smile she cast up at him.

And her gaze slid right back to Stephen.

Curse him, he shone in this milieu. Dark evening clothes only emphasised the width of his shoulders and outlined the splendid leanness of his physique. Candlelight glowed in his short, golden hair and flashed from strong, white teeth. But it was his eyes—always his eyes—that captivated Mae.

Stephen Manning lived in the centre of attention, as the focus of every group he’d ever entered. He spent his life enticing the world to look at him, daring them not to—and denying them even a glimpse of his true self.

And Mae was the only one who had ever realised it.

The ton, even his family and friends, had always been content to watch him in fascination and accept the reflection that he cast back at them. Everyone believed in the shallow image he projected to the world.

It was all smoke and mirrors. Another person lived behind those eyes and only Mae knew the truth of it.

And if she wasn’t careful then she might fall victim—again—to the burning need, the consuming desire, to uncover him.

Except that she’d meant what she’d said to her father. It was those two stubborn men who were stuck in the past. She’d had plenty of time to think as she travelled with her family, plenty of time to recognise the mistakes in her past and to identify what she wanted for her future.

Mae wanted what everyone else appeared to take for granted. She wanted to be seen for what she was—and appreciated for it. More than anything, she longed for a man who could listen to her spout on about canals—and find it charming. Even better if he had the intelligence and the confidence to debate or discuss it with her.

Stephen looked at her and saw only what he expected to see. Mr Fatch and his kind only noticed the things they wished to change.

Mae set her shoulders. She would put her ankle to the test and take a stroll around the room. Surely, somewhere out there was a man who would find her idiosyncrasies to be delightful, who would view her capabilities as an asset, not as an obstacle. She fixed a smile on her face and set out to find him.