The Dangerous Love of a Rogue. Jane Lark
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With Pembroke’s attention focused on their mutual friend, Drew let his gaze deliberately meet Miss Marlow’s. He caught it just for an instant, a moment in which his heart forgot to beat as her pale blue gaze struck his – summer skies and azure Italian seas. She was still deliberating. “Should I seek you out?”
Yes!
Her beauty literally kicked him at times. He forgot to breathe.
“No, I’m afraid Miriam is in her last month and not fairing too well…” Harris babbled on about his family.
Drew nodded marginally to Miss Marlow. A blush stained her pale skin red. Drew let a hint of a smile form at one corner of his lips then looked away, nodded to Harris, lifted his hand in parting and walked on. He wanted her to watch him; it was his signal.
Satisfied the bait had been set. Drew helped himself to items from the buffet, but did not bother with a plate, he did not wish to spend the supper hour eating. He stopped to acknowledge a few acquaintances, and then extricated himself from several ex-lovers, before turning to walk from the room.
He glanced at Miss Marlow as he passed.
She was watching. Would she follow?
He gave her an encouraging echo of a smile.
“Should I?” The thought shone in her eyes.
His absence had done its job, all her pretence had gone.
Striding on across the empty dance floor he looked back. Her gaze followed him still. He smiled again and nodded. This is your chance, Mary, darling…
Deliberately picking his path to keep within her view he walked to a set of open French doors and stepped into the tepid night air, looking back one last time, throwing her a calling card.
He was too far away now to be sure she still watched, but something in the turn of her head told him she did.
Come on little beauty, follow.
Outside he walked to the end of the Wiltshires’ stone terrace, he could not go too far, she would not find him.
The terrace, like the ballroom, was deserted.
He leant his buttocks against the stone rim of the balustrade.
The dark house walls framed the empty ballroom and the view into the dining room, like a picture, with huge chandeliers illuminating the scene within.
It made the terrace darker.
He withdraw a slim cigar and a match from the pocket of his evening coat, lifted the cigar to his lips and struck the match on the stone beside his hip, then held the flame to the tip of the cigar and sucked until it caught.
At least he had an excuse to be out here if he smoked.
Taking the cigar from his lips he let the smoke slid out of his mouth.
Miss Marlow smiled at her sister-in-law, the Duchess of Pembroke, nodding at something the other woman said. Then her face turned to someone else across the table, a gentleman, one of her uncles, and she laughed. Pembroke spoke to her. Drew could see the Duke smiling at her, at something she must have said, before he laughed with her too.
Her father approached behind her, stopped and pressed a hand on Miss Marlow’s shoulder. He leaned and kissed her temple.
Drew took another long draw on the cigar he held between his fingers.
It was as unreal as watching a play at the theatre. Drew did not understand a family like that. They moved in a pack, a pride, like lions, closing to defend and protect one another whenever the need arose, all the men prowling about their lionesses.
I really ought to be daunted. He was not, very little dented either his ennui or his ego.
But Miss Marlow dented his ennui.
That was good. He hardly wished for a wife who’d bore him.
He sucked on the cigar again, relishing the flavour of tobacco in his mouth. He knew how to enjoy things. He’d learned to make the most of every little gift life gave him when he was young. He would enjoy making Miss Marlow his.
Rising, smiling at her brother and her father, and then passing the sunshine of her beauty about the others at her table, Miss Marlow then bobbed a slight curtsy.
Drew smiled, sensations dancing a bloody jig in his chest; his little fish had taken the bait.
Strolling away from the table she weaved a path through the other guests, stopping occasionally.
Drew’s heart beat a steady elated rhythm. He felt as though he’d been dealt the most superb hand of cards, but there was still a risk that if he laid them wrong he’d waste their benefit. There was still a requirement for skill and caution. He had to be careful now.
When she reached the ballroom instead of turning towards the open French doors, though, she disappeared through a door at the side of the room near the entrance stairs.
Shutting his eyes Drew urged her with all the will power he had, to… Come to me!
But damn it, if she did not, he was not giving up; he would simply have to find a new tack.
Drew opened his eyes lifted the cigar back to his lips and sucked in the smoke, then looking up to the stars he blew out a circle.
The night was clear, a blanket of very dark blue with thousands of sparkling pin pricks of light. He loved night, like he loved storms. His soul had always turned to the dark and wild.
As a lad he’d lain outside for hours, looking up at the endless pitch black and he’d loved swimming in the dark, clothed only in moonlight. That had always been his purest escape. It had been a whole other world.
A small dark shadow flew like a dart in the air over his head. Bats. He smiled, watching them swoop and turn. Now he’d spotted one, he saw more, they were after the moths which had been drawn to the light spilling from the windows.
“What are you doing? Where have you been?”
His own little moth came to the flame. Her wings would be burned. But, God, he could not believe how much his heart thumped, and exhilaration coursed through his blood.
Her voice had come from the foot of the steps which descended from the terrace to his right.
Lifting his weight from the balustrade, his eyes searched her out in the darkness.
He caught the movement of her pale lemon dress about two feet away from the bottom step.
“I am waiting for you,” Drew answered her first question as he descended the steps, feeling the tug of her presence pull at him.
She was young, six years his junior, but he’d never seen her behave as a girl. She did not fluster or giggle. No, Mary Marlow had a serene womanly grace, she was kind, sensible, confident and extremely beautiful.
His eyes adjusted to the darkness.
“Tell me where you have been. I have not seen you for days.”
A few teasing curls of her ebony hair had fallen to lick her jaw and throat where he’d like to place his lips; and her eyes sparkled diamond bright as they caught a shaft of moonlight and challenged him.
His game of patience had been a brilliant hand.
“I have been giving you time to make your choice. Does this mean you have made it?”
“This…”
He’d confused her. Hell he was confused himself.
The movement of her fingers clasping together before her waist pulled his gaze lower.
She was anxious. She should be. But he was too. The emotions inside him were eclectic. Hope. Desire. Need. Desperation. But there was respect and pride too… When had he ever felt respect for a woman? Never before.
“You