Читать книгу The Dangerous Love of a Rogue - Jane Lark - Страница 6

It was a renowned truth, that any world-worn rogue, without a feather to fly with, must be on the hunt for a wife, or rather her dowry. As the parody of Miss Austen’s verse, from her charming little novel about country life, ran through Drew’s head, a sound of mocking humour rumbled through his chest and he leaned a shoulder against the false pillar in the Earl of Derwent’s ballroom watching town life.

The pillar was wooden, painted to look like marble. Like everyone in this damned room, it was a farce. A shallow image. A performance… Nothing here was what it seemed. Society lived a damned lie and he had lived it for a lifetime.

He was a bastard, sold by his mother to her husband as worth the risk of giving her naturally born son his family’s name to keep up the façade and to save the reputation of the Framlington title.

Damn the title…Damn the bloody name… Drew had no interest in either.

He was bored of this. Bored of pretence. Bored of the games these people and he played. Bored of the face he displayed to the world and bored of the man who suffered all this behind a closed door.

He wished to escape it. He had a plan. Of course plans required money. But his plan covered that. He was seeking a well-dowered young woman to take as his wife, and therefore earn himself an instant fortune. A fortune which he would use to pack up his bags and retire to a quiet life, away from town, away from this… Perhaps he would experience life then just as Miss Austen wrote it. Or was ‘Country Life’ an equal façade? Never mind wherever he went, he would not live behind a façade. He’d had his fill of charades.

“Have you seen Marlow’s daughter?” Mark leaned to Drew’s ear. “She would be a prize.”

Drew looked at his friend and lifted his shoulder away from the pillar, straightening up. “I have.”

“She looks remarkable.”

“She does indeed.” He’d been watching her. She was on his list of potential wives.

“Are you intending to try her?”

“I would be a fool if I did not. Look at her…” Yet the she in question, Miss Mary Marlow, was as far above his reach as the sun. The step-sister of a duke – with a bastard… It was not a match that would be desired by the sweet young miss’s mama and papa.

Yet Miss Marlow was the most appealing to the eye and Drew had been awaiting his moment to explore his opportunity with her. The time had come. He’d not been standing here for his pleasure. He’d been standing here waiting for Miss Marlow to complete her dance.

“Then what are you waiting on.” Mark laughed, spotting the same opportunity.

Not a thing. Drew glanced over his shoulder and gave his friend a wicked smile before turning to walk about the edge of the room.

Miss Marlow was in a set close to him and the dance was drawing to its conclusion. Drew positioned himself so that when it ended her back was turned him. She stood three feet away; he could feel her exuberance even though he could not see her face or her smile. Yet he knew she was smiling, she’d smiled throughout every dance tonight.

Mary Marlow was in her first season, newly launched upon the marriage market, and he was here to trade. But what his friends did not know was that as much as he desired her money, he desired innocence. His heart and mind were jaded and bitter. He longed for the refreshing invigoration of innocence. God knew, he’d never been given the blessing of innocence in his life; he’d been born into the world of sin. Born of sin and raised in sin.

Miss Marlow’s partner lifted her hand to his lips and bowed.

Drew stepped forward. “Miss Marlow.” He said her name as though they’d been introduced and he had a right to use it, speaking before the man had chance to offer to lead her back to her mother.

She looked at him, her expression confused, but then she smiled, and it was as though the sun rose in the room which was already illuminated by several hundred candles in the chandeliers.

Her smile said, “I am not sure I know you, sir.” Yet a young woman like her would never be rude enough to ask.

When her companion let her go, Drew captured her hand, as if he had a right to that too. He felt as though he did. She had become his favourite choice as a bride the minute she’d smiled at him and not turned away. “May I have the next dance?”

He did not push things too far, he did not kiss her hand, yet he let his gloved fingers slide up her wrist a little to touch her skin, as if the gesture was accidental. She lowered into a sweet perfectly correct curtsy and looked up an instant before she rose.

Beautiful.

Her eyes were an unusual blue, an extremely pale rim of colour surrounding the dark pupils that looked at him in question. “Who are you? Do I actually know you, sir?” Too polite to ask those questions she simply continued to pretend they had been introduced. They had not.

If he could have picked a tune it would have been the waltz, but the first waltz was not until later and he had no wish to lose the chance of the distance from her family. They were at the far end of the ballroom, in their usual pack. The Pembrokes. Although Pembroke was not the name the family went by as a whole, the old Duke had had four girls, and they’d all married exceptionally well, apart from Mary’s mother, who had at first married a soldier, who’d died, and then settled on the second son of an earl. But the son from her first marriage had inherited the title and given Miss Marlow a very attractive dowry, and so Mary was simply a Miss and yet a powerful match as a duke’s sister, and innocent.

“I believe you should stand here, and I there…” Drew said to her look of confusion.

There was another quick smile, which was far more fleeting than the first. She was perhaps realising she had made an error. He smiled to ease her concern. “I shall admit we have not been introduced. You must forgive me for taking the liberty of breaking the rules, Miss Marlow.” The music commenced.

He stepped forward and took her hand in the format of the dance, then completed a shoulder to shoulder turn.

“I should walk away immediately.”

“Indeed you should. But is it such a sin for a man to find you so utterly beautiful he cannot wait even another moment, or at worse another dance, to find some party who might introduce him?”

“That is the course of a gentleman.”

“It is indeed.” He leaned to her. “There you have me; perhaps I am not a gentleman…” He said it in a voice to tease her, the voice he knew earned him a little more money from the women who asked for his favour. Her head turned instantly, but then her gaze dropped to the lopsided rogue’s smile he threw at her and she laughed.

“You are a gentleman. You would not be here if you were not.”

So innocent… so blind. Such a novelty.

What he would give for that blindness.

“So are you enjoying your season, Miss Marlow?”

Her answering smile was softened then. “Yes. I have had to wait patiently, because we’ve been in mourning for my grandsire, but I cannot tell you how wonderful it is to finally be out. My cousins, who are older, have been full of stories and made me long for this. Now finally I have my moment.”

Yes, she did. “Tell me how it compares to the things you must have dreamed…” 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.

“It does not compare, I could not have imagined this…”

“You lie, surely you knew you would be in a room full of young men making fools of themselves for young women, and old men being bores, and young women who giggle at the slightest word.” and older women… like his mother… he did not even wish to think of them.

“So you think I giggle like an idiot.” There was a little annoyance in her voice.

As they made another turn he took the opportunity to press his palm against her side, below her breasts. Her body slid across his fingers as she followed the pattern of the dance. He only touched her for an instant, as if it was to stop her stumbling, yet her whole body jolted.

“Forgive me. I thought you’d missed a step.”

“You thought—”

“No I did not.” He leaned to her ear as he stepped forward. Her hair brushed his cheek. “I simply wish this were a waltz and I had the opportunity to hold you.”

He stepped back. There was a sparkle in her dark pupils, and he saw her heartbeat flickering beneath her skin at the base of her neck.

The woman was charming.

“Yet it is not a waltz, and so you should refrain…”

Finally he was challenged, her pause awaited his name. It had taken her long enough. “Lord Framlington.”

As they walked around the back of the couple beside them she looked as though she searched her memory for his name, yet when they came into the middle of a ring of six there was no light of recognition in her eyes. The Duke of Pembroke had not mentioned his name to her then.

“I like you, Miss Marlow. You are pretty and sensible,” he said, as they came back together – and innocent and wealthy.

“I cannot say I like you in return, I do not know you.”

He smiled at her little jab. “Know you or not, I like and admire you.” It was true, the girl was claiming his entire interest the more the dance progressed. She was perfect.

“Indeed.” She laughed, a light, jolly sound, not a forced jubilant creation developed to draw attention.

The girl was doing something to his soul, he felt as though he was 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.”

“So you are telling me you are no fool.”

“I have never been a fool, Miss Marlow.” Another step forward brought them together. “I am interested in you.” He whispered it into her ear.

Her head pulled back. “Interested…”

He let his lips tilt into a smile. “Yes. Very. Immensely. As I said I like you.”

“My Lord, you may speak as though you know me, but you do not.”

“Such a sensible head, you only interest me more…”

Damn it, there was probably only a dozen steps left and beyond those dancing Drew saw her father in a discussion with her brother, Pembroke. The Duke must have recently arrived. They both glanced across the room.

Drew looked at Miss Marlow, his time with the beauty was at an end. “I am the son of a Marquis…” In theory, and yet if he was to sell himself he must sell his best side. “You may hear bad things of me, but disregard them. Judge me by the man you see. Admittedly I am not like the young men I see you dancing with—”

“You have been watching me.”

“Did I not already say that I admire you? Why would I not watch you to learn more about you and be sure what I think is true?”

“What do you think?”

“That I shall be a very lucky” and wealthy, “man, if I were to win you… You are a beauty.” He would guess if she looked about this room she would only see the light, the flowers, the beautiful dresses and people’s smiles. Like looking at that damned wooden pillar, unless you touched it, or tapped it, unless you knew, you would not know the lie beneath the paint.

Damn it, if he chose to marry her he would lock her up to protect her innocence.

The music ceased; her fingers were in his as the dance was completed. She would have pulled them free but he refused to let go.

She lowered in a curtsy.

Half the room would be laughing behind their smiles as they watched his game play, thinking the poor woman the fool he’d just told her he never was. He did not wish her thought a fool either, though.

As she rose, she smiled.

Her eyes said she liked him, even if she had not said it with her lips.

She’d taken him at his word, and she was judging him by what she saw, not by the history that had woven around him like a web for years… Rogue… Rake… Bastard… Unwanted son… Unwanted entirely…

“My father,” she breathed as her hand slipped from his. He felt the loss like something had been taken from him.

“Remember me as I am.”

She gave him another tentative smile and then her fingers gripped her dress to lift it away from her feet and she turned towards her father.

Drew watched her cross the floor then join her family. Her father leant to her ear and spoke hurriedly. She glanced back. Drew smiled. She smiled in return but it quivered with uncertainty. She knew now. Her father had just told her.

Do not dance with that rogue…

Damn the man, and damn these people. Drew turned away, to return to his friends, to return to his life, but he had ambitions, and now his ambitions leaned heavily towards Miss Mary Marlow, though winning the girl would be a challenge, there was no denying that.

“Drew, come to my room tonight…” for God’s sake, he had just bathed in innocence and now he was dirty again. He’d lied when he’d said he was unwanted entirely, one element of society welcomed him willingly. Women of his mother’s ilk.

Her removed Lady Worton’s hand from the front of his trousers, pressing his thumb into her palm so she would yield her grip on his crotch. “I am afraid I am not inclined, Bets. Find another toy tonight.”

He did not wait to hear the woman’s reply. He was so damned bored of his life. He’d fallen into it, never chosen it. Been damned well born into, like a whore into a brothel, and for years he’d enjoyed the sex, and the money and gifts the women gave him, but there had come a point he wished to be able to do as he chose – be free to live as he chose – and the only way to achieve it was to marry money.

“Drew!” Another of his friends, Peter, lifted a hand. Drew did have some people he appreciated.

“Peter. You are late. Where have you been?”

“I have been…” As Drew listened to his friend, he turned to face the room.

Miss Marlow was not dancing the next, she stood with her father receiving a scalding by all appearances, while her brother was with a woman in a knot of the family who crowded around them.

Drew looked at Peter. “Who is that with Pembroke?” The Pembroke women, including Miss Marlow, were all dark haired, it was one of the strongest characteristics of their beauty; jet black hair and pale skin and then pale blue eyes about onyx pupils, but this woman was blonde.

“Pembroke’s bride. I came in just before them. He’s taken a wife.”

Good Lord. That was a lark. No one would have expected the man to marry for years. He was not like his sister, his heart was made from stone, and he was no more innocent than Drew. They had travelled in the same circles on the grand tour. Pembroke had been one of the women’s toys too. But he’d walked away from it years ago. Yet he’d been tarnished by it even then.

“Why?” Peter gripped Drew’s shoulder.

“Oh for no reason, I simply wondered.”

“I thought you were interested in the sister, you will hardly have a chance there if you pitch for the man’s wife.”

Drew laughed and looked back over, Mary’s father had ceased talking to her but now her mother was speaking to her. Miss Marlow glanced across the room, her eyes seeking Drew out.

An odd sensation leapt in his chest. He would have said it was his heart, but like Pembroke, he did not really have one. That had been kicked far too many times in his life. Her mother said something else and Miss Marlow looked away.

Drew looked at Pembroke again. Drew liked Miss Marlow. She fulfilled all that he was seeking. Yet Pembroke would never let Drew near his little sister. That thought was a punch in the gut. Another rejection, and a rejection from a man who could have no moral standing over Drew.

It was bloody tempting to pitch for Pembroke’s wife, solely to kick the man back.

If Pembroke had earned himself a wife and a second chance, than why could he not offer Drew the same?

“Stop drooling over the fair Miss Marlow, come and play cards.”

“I ought not, I ought to dance with every woman with a dowry if I am to find one fool enough to take me.”

“There is no hurry for you to choose a woman. If you need funds I’ll pay. Come and play. I am need of your company; Mark and Harry are already playing so I need another man I trust for my pair.”

“Very well.”

Drew played a few hands of cards at the tables with his friends for an hour; they did not normally attend such affairs, but Derwent’s wife was in Drew’s mother’s set, and so any young man with ill-morals had been encouraged to attend. It would end in an orgy later, but by then he and his friends would be gone. He had never been into those sorts of games.

“I am out.” He’d played for long enough.

If he wished to escape his current life, he must return to the task of looking for a new one.

“Then you must settle what you owe.”

Fortune had played against him. Drew looked at Peter who nodded as a hand moved to his pocket. Drew rose. “Good evening, gentleman.” he said to the others about the table, but then he shared a look with Peter that said I shall see you in a while. His friend smiled.

It was all well and good to have a generous wealthy friend, but how could a man respect himself when he lived off his friend like a leach, or from services rendered to the older women of society. They saw society’s untitled sons as a pack of male whores. The devil take this life. He no longer wished for it.

Of course there were lucky untitled sons, those who had fathers who paid for a commission in the army, or the clergy. Framlington would never have deemed to give Drew that. He had given Drew nothing bar his name, his food, and limited clothing, from Drew’s birth until his fifteenth birthday. Then Drew had learned a way to earn freedom from his false father’s house. Only to tie himself up in a new hell.

He should have saved the money the women gave him and paid for his commission into the army, but he’d been young, and greedy, and he’d celebrated his new wealth playing hard at the tables and buying whatever he wished. Of course then the debt had begun, and the debt had sucked him deeper into the power of his mother’s set of friends; though friends was an ambiguous word. Yet they had paid his duns for years, but never enough to fully clear his debt.

He returned to the ballroom to look for his prize – a young woman with a dowry of reasonable size, one that would clear his debt fully, and finally, and enable him to set up his life as he wished.

His eyes were immediately drawn to Miss Marlow’s dark curls, which bounced against her shoulders as she skipped through the steps of another country dance. He truly liked the girl. She’d become his preference tonight.

But he should not put all his eggs in one basket, as people said. He looked across the room at another debutante, a lady with auburn hair whom he’d danced with thrice. She was not as pleasing on the eye as Miss Marlow and yet her dowry was equally substantial.

As he passed a set, a woman was spun out of the last turn of a dance breathing hard. Her gaze met his.

Pembroke’s newly acquired wife.

She had blue eyes, but they were not as pale a blue as her sister-in-law’s.

Damn it, but he was tempted to play a game. He knew if he settled on Miss Marlow, then Pembroke would fight him all the way. Pembroke had turned his back on the life Drew led, and now treated all those who’d no choice but to live it, as if they were scum. Drew could teach Pembroke a lesson with this.

As Pembroke’s wife’s partner bowed over her hand elegantly Drew saw Pembroke speaking with Lady Elizabeth Ponsonby, Drew’s sister. She was older than Drew, older than Pembroke, and of Framlington’s blood, and she’d adopted and thoroughly enjoyed their mother’s way of life.

She was the one who had pulled Pembroke into their set on the grand tour. Pembroke had been as innocent and stupid as his little sister then. Like a baby, newly born, presented to the women in a linen cloth. Here is another young male for you to mislead.

Drew never spoke to Elizabeth. They did not acknowledge their connection.

Yet on this occasion Drew was grateful to her.

Pembroke would be occupied for a while; if Elizabeth was interested in him again she would not let him escape easily.

“Your Grace.” Drew grasped the fingers of the Duke of Pembroke’s hapless young bride as soon as her former companion walked away. The woman looked a little lost… a lost sheep… “Would you dance with me?”

She had large blue eyes, which looked her confusion.

“Oh, of course…” Just like her sister-in-law she was too polite, too innocent and naïve, to deny him.

Of all the dances, it was a waltz.

Perfect.

He took her hand and brought her close, so her breasts pressed to his chest. She stepped back.

This was going to be amusing at least, and perhaps if she was so newly innocent, if she could be persuaded, sharing a bed with her might actually be enjoyable.

He span her several times, gripping her firmly as her hold was so light it felt as though she tried not to touch him at all. “So where did you meet Pembroke?”

“I… Near Pembroke Place, Lord Framlington.”

She did know who he was then.

“Is your marriage as blissful as you hoped…” he was being sarcastic.

Her mouth opened, but she did not answer, as though she didn’t know what to say. Well there it was then. Another cold loveless society marriage that would end in shame, and sin. He did not wish it for himself. He wished for more in the marriage he sought, underneath all else, he sought loyalty too. He may have cuckolded dozens, but he did not wish for that from his wife.

Drew saw Pembroke over her shoulder, whispering with Elizabeth, already perhaps agreeing to play his poor wife false. Drew had an urge to play the same game, why should Pembroke have what Drew wished for and then treat it ill.

Besides Drew had been brought up to be wicked. He leaned to the Duchess’s ear speaking as he spun her again, toning his voice to the pitch of seduction. “Pembroke is dull. Perhaps when you tire of him you might think of me. I would be willing to warm your bed if it is cold.”

The woman snapped her head back, as though he’d slapped her, and the look on her face implied horror. “I will never tire of my husband, my Lord…”

Her rejection was an insult, another kick. He wished to be good enough for a woman like this. “But there is much to be said for variety, my dear, and your husband knows it, look, see, he’s speaking with my sister, an old flame he probably wishes to rekindle.”

She looked as he turned her, her head turning as he turned, so she could keep looking at Pembroke. When she looked back at Drew pain shone in her eyes, pain and something else… She cared for Pembroke. Truly cared. Her eyes were shimmering with tears, and she had bitten her lip to stop them falling. Her fingers clawed on his shoulder and gripped his hand a little harder as though she was saving herself from falling as much as trying to prevent her tears.

His hand, which had been seductively spread across her back to feel the movement of her body beneath her gown, now slid a little downwards, to hold her up if needs be, as they took the last few turns.

He did not know what to say.

When he looked beyond her, unable to look at her eyes filled with sparkling tears, he saw Pembroke coming. The man had disposed of Elizabeth and was crossing the room with a look of thunderclouds in his eyes, walking through the dancers for God sake.

Pembroke did not in general show his emotion. Drew had truly believed him no more movable than stone. He had thought this woman had been selected to be a future Duchess and was on the verge of a life of hell. But the look in Pembroke’s eyes, the anger, implied the man felt as much for his wife as his wife clearly felt for him. Drew had made an error in this.

Fortunately before Pembroke collided with a couple the dance came to its natural end, and when he reached them, as the last notes played, he gripped his wife’s arm, with a force that said, she is mine and no one else will touch her. Then he hissed at Drew. “I’d already made a note this evening to warn you off – I do not want you dancing with my sister – and now I see I must also warn you off my wife. Just so that you know, Framlington, hunting my sister is pointless, I would not agree the match and never pay you her dowry, and if you touch my wife again, I’ll kill you.”

Drew smiled as he stepped away from the Duchess. He wished to laugh. Well who would have known that Pembroke had a heart? And who would have known that Pembroke could make a woman fall for him so deeply.

As Drew walked away he saw Miss Marlow, Pembroke’s sister, being returned to her parents, by her latest partner. Her gaze turned to Drew, as it had earlier. He smiled and nodded slightly in recognition.

She had not heeded her brother’s and her father’s warnings.

He returned to the fake marble pillar and watched Miss Marlow. She spoke with her family as her dance partner walked away.

Several of the men in the Pembroke group had hands resting at their wives’ waists, and the couples stood close, barely inches between them. Some of them had been married for years…

The Earl of Barrington turned and said something to his wife, then kissed her lips. Barrington was Mary’s uncle on her father’s side, and Drew had heard he’d been a rake, as wicked as they came, until he’d married. Now he was never in town unless he was with his wife.

Wiltshire, another Duke, The Duke or Arundel, who was as hard-nosed as Pembroke, laughed about something, then mid-conversation he turned and looked at his wife, lifted her fingers to his lips and kissed them, then merely turned and continued the conversation.

Drew saw Marlow lean and say something in his wife’s ear and she looked up at him and smiled then shook her head laughing, her answer from him was a kiss on the cheek and another whisper as he gripped her fingers and then kept a hold of her hand.

They were all affectionate. Every pair. Mothers with their husbands, and the elder daughters with theirs. He was looking at a utopia. Of course it could be as false as the damned pillar he leaned against. But if it were true…

If it were true then there was no doubt about his choice. If Miss Marlow was as capable of constancy as the other woman in her family, why would he choose another?

Yet it would not be easy to win her. They would wrap her up and keep her away from him now. But he wished to be sure of this. He wanted to be confident in the fidelity of his wife, and he now wished for something new, after tonight… How could he expect a loyal wife if he did not ask the same of himself? He wished to know that he could be faithful to the wife he chose too. He knew exactly what he wanted now. He wanted what the Pembrokes had. Commitment… Exclusivity… Constancy… Even affection… perhaps…

He had made his choice, for a wife. He wished for Miss Marlow, but he would wait and not rush – to be certain. He had a little more credit he could call on, his need for her dowry was not desperate.

“Are you ready to retire?” Peter’s hand settled on Drew’s shoulder.

Drew also had a friend with generous pockets.

“Aye.” Drew straightened, looking back at his friends, Peter, Harry and Mark, his brothers… His family. “Did you fair better than I?”

“Richest of us did.” Mark quipped. “The man who does not need it.”

“I won back your losses and more.” Peter clarified. “So I say that earns us a drink and a pretty bird of paradise each.”

“I’ll take the drink, but I shall pass on the whore…”

Spending the money he’d earned from the women he now hated, on younger, prettier women of his choice, had been the way he’d balanced his soul for years, a little silent kick in the teeth of his mother’s friends. But now he was done with women until he took a wife. The thought of sleeping with a woman other than the one he’d chosen for marriage was now abhorrent.

“Then I shall have yours as well as mine.” Harry laughed.

Drew smiled at his friends, but as they walked from the ball, he glanced at Peter. The only one of them who usually attended these sorts of events with Drew. “What do you know of the Pembrokes? The sisters, and their daughters…”

* * *

Mary was sitting on her bed, with her knees bent up and gripped in her arms. Her bare toes peeped from beneath her nightgown. She watched her mother put her garments away; she’d dismissed the maid.

“Mama, why did you favour, Papa?”

She was placing Mary’s earbobs into their box. She hesitated and did not speak for a moment as though the question shocked her. Perhaps she’d guessed why Mary asked. Mary had asked because one particular gentleman’s light brown eyes had hovered in her mind all evening, along with the particular lilt of his smile.

“There you have me. Perhaps I am not a gentleman…”

No. So her brother John had told her father, and her father had told her. “Framlington is a fortune hunter. A rake. A man to avoid…”

“Remember me as I am…”

“When I met your father…” her mother sat on the bed, “our eyes met across a table and I just knew he was right for me.” She was blushing a little.

“Do you think I will know?”

“I hope you will. I hope you find a man who shall sweep you off your feet and love you with all his soul.”

“That is what I hope for too.” Lord Framlington’s eyes, his face, returned to her mind. There had been something fascinating about him. He was different to any other man who’d spoken to her.

“Did you truly enjoy the evening? You have been quiet tonight.”

Mary smiled. “I did.”

“Come along then, let me tuck you in—”

“I am too old to be tucked into bed, Mama.”

“You will never be too old. Come along.” Her mother rose.

Mary slipped off the bed, then lifted the sheet and slid beneath it. She plumped the pillow with a thump before she lay down her head.

Her mother leaned down and kissed her cheek, then tucked the sheet in beneath the mattress so the sheet was tight about Mary. “Sleep well…”

“Would you give Papa a kiss from me?”

Her mother smiled. “I love you, Mary.” She bent and pressed another kiss on Mary’s cheek, then her cold fingertips touched Mary’s cheek too.

“I love you too, Mama.”

Mary’s mother walked across the room and extinguished the candles in the candelabrum before turning to collect a single candlestick. Then she walked to the door. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Her mother turned once more as she opened it. “Sleep well.”

Mary smiled, and then her mother left and closed the door. The light disappeared with her.

Mary saw Lord Framlington in the darkness, as he stood against a marble pillar, watching her across the room. 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 had been something about him.

I like and admire you, Miss Marlow… She had felt the same. There had been something calling her towards him.

She’d looked for him thrice after they’d danced, on one occasion he’d not been in the room but the other times, he’d looked at her too, and smiled.

But John was adamant he was unsuitable and if Lord Framlington were seeking her dowry he would smile.

Then why did she feel pulled towards him? Her thoughts drifted into dreams. Dreams that included Lord Framlington.