Deb Marlowe - How To Marry a Rake

What he needed was Mae Halford.

No! He exploded into motion again, moving faster than ever and setting the old mare to prancing nervously as well. It was an absurd notion—too foolish to be contemplated. And yet he could think of no one better suited for the job. Mae had been an ally once. Hell, they’d cut their milk teeth on more outrageous schemes. But that was before he’d turned her into an opponent—and she made a formidable foe, indeed. He’d far rather confront Ryeton than her.

Last night she’d insisted that she no longer carried a torch for him. It was not difficult to believe—he doubted her tender feelings could have survived their last encounter. But Mae was nothing if not tenacious. If she did still harbour yearnings for him, he’d be granting her a prime opportunity to catch him in a leg-shackle. If not—well, he’d already hurt her once. That knowledge was one of his heaviest burdens—could he risk adding to it?

And what of her father? She’d indicated that Barty Halford did not wish her to continue their association. The man was nearly as influential in the racing community as Ryeton. If crossed, he could crush Stephen’s plans just as easily as the earl.

No.

Stephen closed his eyes and experienced again the burning need to make Fincote a success. The goal loomed ever larger in his mind—a holy grail that he could not stop chasing. He would never rest easy until it was done.

He groaned and leaned back against the tack-room door, gazing up at the horseshoe above him. He was going to need all the luck he could get. Could he truly be considering this? And the question remained—even if he convinced himself, how on earth was he to convince Mae?

* * *

‘Mademoiselle!’

Mae blinked. Her maid’s tone was sharp, the hairpin she’d just jabbed at her skull sharper yet. Still, it took a heroic effort to focus on Josette’s exasperated face in the mirror.

‘Almost I can see the very busy turnings of the wheels in your mind, but three times I have asked if you prefer the plain comb or the pearls.’ Josette wagged a finger at her reflection.

‘I’m sorry, Josette.’

‘Do not be sorry. Only pay attention, just for a moment. You can go back to your scheming once we have you ready for the day.’

Mae stared at her image. Good heavens, but her shoulders were drawn tight up around her ears. Deliberately, she relaxed and reminded herself that she liked what she saw in the mirror.

Yet thoughts of Stephen and his friend from last evening continued to trouble her. Mr Grange, who likely did not enjoy his reflection any more—but with whom she felt a kinship, none the less. He was an outsider, just like her. They were each undeniably different from the people about them—only Mr Grange wore his differences on the outside.

She sat straighter in her chair. ‘Josette, are we doing the right thing?’

‘What?’ the startled maid asked. ‘The pearls?’

‘No, no. The pearls are fine.’ Turning around in her seat, Mae let the words rush out. ‘The campaign. I know we’ve laid our plans and devised our strategies, but I’m beginning to wonder if it is a mistake to hide my … foibles.’ She paused. ‘From the gentlemen I am meeting, I mean.’

Josette clucked and turned her around to face the mirror again. ‘Do you know what you are, mademoiselle? You are like a banquet prepared by the greatest chefs of my country, rich with ingredients and fascinating layers. But these Englishmen! Bah!’ She tucked in a curl and waved a dismissive hand. ‘Too long have they lived on bland, tasteless fare. They do not know enough to know what is best. You must give them a small taste at a time. Slowly they will become accustomed to the many delicious flavours that make you who you are. Only then will they discover it is too late to go back to their plain English misses.’

Mae laughed. ‘Bad enough my father puts me in the same category as his fillies, now you make me feel like a cassoulet.’

‘Either way,’ Josette said with a smack of her fingers to her lips, ‘you are magnifique.’

Mae studied her reflection once more and chose to believe her. She knew she was not the same as most girls—had known it since she’d discovered that none of the others improved the efficiency of the kitchens by reorganising the cook’s battery of pots in order of frequency of use. At school she’d been the only one to keep her clothes hung in the wardrobe according to colour and age of the garment. But she’d always chosen to embrace her differences, to believe that they made her interesting and unique. She was different, not less—but it had been a battle to convince the world to believe it along with her.

Josette set down her brush and began to smooth and arrange curls with her fingers. ‘The servants are buzzing like bees—there is so much gossip in the air, it is like pollen from the flowers.’

Mae looked up sharply. Josette’s tone was entirely too casual.

‘Many interesting things I have heard—including the name of one of the gentlemen.’ She met Mae’s gaze in the mirror now. ‘He is here, isn’t he?’ she asked quietly. ‘The one who so troubled you in the past?’

A heated flush started low in her chest. Mae ignored it and nodded.

The maid pulled away. ‘Aha! I knew it. This is why you begin to doubt yourself—and your purpose.’ Whirling away in disgust, Josette began to murmur in low, rapid French. Mae flinched when she swung back and poked a finger at her.

‘Mademoiselle,’ her maid began heatedly. She paused and took a breath and the exasperation in her face faded to concern. ‘You said you were strong, that you would not let his indifference inflame you.’

‘There is no need to worry. I acted exactly as I must. We’ve promised to keep our distance. Our meeting was bound to be traumatic, but except for the slight damage to my ankle, I am fine.’

‘So it is true, then—it was he who caused your fall.’ Josette began to grumble again. ‘I must catch a glimpse of this man who causes so many difficulties. Surely he must be handsome.’ She eyed Mae slyly. ‘I know his brains must not be the attraction, since he did not have the sense to fall in love with you when he had the chance.’

Mae laughed. ‘Well, you must be careful when you seek him out, dear. His mind might not be up to your standards …’ she let out a teasing sigh ‘… but the rest of him …’ She paused and closed her own eyes. ‘His eyes—dark blue on the outside, but I’d forgotten how they change toward the centre, fade to the lightest shade, so clear you think you could see right down to his soul, if only he would let you.’ After a moment she marshalled herself and tossed a wicked grin over her shoulder. ‘And his shoulders! I know how you feel about a nice set of shoulders.’

‘Eh! Blue eyes, broad shoulders. Et voilà! So easily she falls.’ Josette shook her head in dismay.

Mae straightened. ‘No one is in danger of falling,’ she said flatly. She’d made that mistake once already—at her first encounter with Stephen Manning, years ago. The fateful afternoon had been branded on her heart. Her friend Charlotte had only laughed when the two of them had been caught spying on Charlotte’s brother and his friends—the older boys had been sparring with fencing foils in the wooded groves of Welbourne Manor. Mae, at first, had cringed. She’d waited, head down, for the teasing to begin. But then she’d raised her chin in defiance. She’d been mocked before, for odd starts and hoydenish behaviour. She’d resolved to endure it again, with her head held high.

Incredibly, there had been no mocking. No snide names or even the common disdain older boys felt for younger girls. Stephen had laughed and diffused the situation entirely. And then he had reached down a hand, and offered to teach her to fence.