Deb Marlowe - How To Marry a Rake

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.