The Dangerous Love of a Rogue. Jane Lark
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was not careful.
She turned her stallion in the direction of the park gates. I cannot continue this. Tomorrow must be the last time she spoke with him and allowed his kisses. Unless she chose ruin.
Her heartbeat flickered and her stomach somersaulted. Was she fool enough to do that?
But John had increased her dowry as a gift to broaden her choice of husbands. Why did it matter if she chose a man who needed it?
Because John thought him heartless.
She rode out of the park gates beside Evans. Lord Framlington seemed sincere. He had not hidden his need for her fortune, just said he’d chosen her over other wealthy women.
Mary knew he’d chosen her, he’d chosen her a year ago; she had not needed to hear him say it, because her heart had chosen him too, and since then they’d watched each other through the crowds.
Whether she believed him or not, though, it did not matter. John did not like him and therefore nor did her father, and therefore Lord Framlington could never be hers.
You are a fool Mary. End it tomorrow. It can go no further.
When she drew her horse up before her brother’s front door, Evans swung down from his saddle and offered his hand.
She took it, lifting her knee from the pommel of her side saddle. Then he made a step with his hands so she could descend.
Before leaving him, she said, “You need not trouble yourself to tell tales, Evans, I shall inform my father.”
Bowing he tilted his cap again. “Miss Marlow.”
Lifting the hem of her riding habit from the ground, Mary ran up the steps to the front door which a footman held open.
Her family would be in the breakfast room. She headed there, stripping off her hat and gloves and passing them to a footman on the way.
Her youngest brothers and sisters ate in the nursery, but those who could sit sensibly shared the adults table and so the breakfast room was full and noisy. She smiled at her father and mother when she entered, and then at John and Kate.
Mary loved her family. She’d never lacked a thing. She’d always felt secure. So why did the danger Lord Framlington dangled draw her away?
“Mr Finch said you were riding, Mary,” her mother said with a gentle smile, “that is unusual for you.” It was a subtle question.
“I slept poorly and the morning was so sunny I could not resist.” Mary bent and kissed her mother’s cheek, then moved to take a seat among her younger brothers and sisters.
“Had you asked I would have ridden with you,” her father stated.
“It was a momentary decision, Papa.” Her eyes focused on the spout of the coffee pot, as a footman filled her cup, a blush warming her cheeks.
“Was Hyde Park busy?” John asked from the head of the table.
Her gaze lifted and met his.
John was older than her by a decade. He behaved more like a second father than a brother. Looking away she helped herself to bread from a plate a footman held. “Not very, I saw Lord Framlington, though. He stopped and spoke.” She let the words fall as though the incident meant nothing.
“Then you must not go again without a chaperon.”
“John,” Kate spoke from the other end of the table. “Mary took a groom and I’m sure she is able to cope with Lord Framlington. She was in the open, and she is sensible.”
Mary smiled at her sister-in-law.
The footman dished up some scrambled eggs and smoked fish.
“I have no concern over Mary’s behaviour,” John answered. “It is his I worry over.”
Mary looked back at John. “Why do you dislike him?”
The question made her father look at her too. “He’s a fortune hunter.”
John’s eyebrows lifted. “And a man of his ilk, is not for you.”
“His ilk?” Mary could not help pressing. She wanted to understand. She wanted to convince her heart it was wrong.
“This is why, she needs a chaperon.” John looked at Kate. “He speaks to her, and now she is asking foolish questions.” He looked back at Mary. “What did he say to you?”
Heat burned under her skin. “Nothing beyond courtesy.”
“So he put on the charm. Do not believe any of it. It is feigned.”
Mary set down her knife and fork. “I cannot see—”
“Mary!” Her gaze passed to her father. “This is an inappropriate conversation.” He glanced at her younger sisters. “I trust you to be sensible. But I agree with your brother, no more unaccompanied rides.”
She held her father’s gaze for a moment, before looking back at John.
He nodded.
What had Lord Framlington done to be deemed such a villain? Many men needed to marry for money, Lord Framlington was right, that in itself was not a crime. He was a rogue too, but many men were that also, they lived recklessly then grew up – as John had done.
But surely if he intended marrying her his rakishness did not matter, he was not planning to seduce and desert her. Her father’s and brother’s arguments were groundless.
Mary focused on her breakfast. Perhaps John had some vendetta against Lord Framlington; he had not spoken against any other man so adamantly.
Perhaps she would ask Lord Framlington why her brother disliked him tomorrow.
The thought of meeting him made her appetite slip away and a dozen butterflies take flight in her stomach.
Drew strolled into White’s, his gentleman’s club, seeking masculine company, a game of cards and conversation.
He found his friends in their usual place. Harry Webster, Mark Harper and Peter Brooke sat in the first salon.
“Fram!” Harry called. “I thought you were hunting Miss Marlow…”
Drew smiled. “She is attending a musical soiree, a place where it is impossible to pursue the chase.”
His friends laughed. Drew signalled to a footman to bring him a glass of brandy.
“How goes the seduction?” Mark asked when Drew sat beside him.
“If it were simply seduction it would be done, but as I am seeking a wife the game is more complex. Despite allowing me certain favours, Miss Marlow has given not a single indication she will agree to become my wife.”
“Favours?” Peter laughed.
“Tell,” Harry added.
Leaning back into the winged leather chair and letting his hands fall onto the arms Drew grinned at them all. “I am hardly likely to share. If all goes according to plan she will be my wife.”
“I cannot see why that prevents you,” Harry pressed, his gaze darting across the room then back. “Your brother never keeps his triumphs in the dark.”
Drew looked over his shoulder, sure enough his eldest brother sat a distance behind him, accompanied by their brother-in-law, Lord Ponsonby. Ponsonby had married Drew’s eldest sister. Neither man was an example Drew wished to emulate. A sneer touched his lips. Drew’s sister, Ponsonby’s wife, was no better.
The only member of his family who had not broken their marriage vows was his younger sister, Caro, Lady Kilbride. However, her husband, the Earl,