Jane Lark - The Dangerous Love of a Rogue

“Nonsense to a woman, Mary, is manoeuvring to a man. Beware, males are predatory and determined when they choose to be, and Lord Framlington is of that ilk. Avoid him.”

“I was… I am… I just… I never thought he would follow.”

“Well, doing the things we never expect, is what they do,” Kate advised conspiratorially. “But I will convince John not to tell your father and mother of this. No need for you to listen to this lecture twice.”

Mary’s smile lifted a little. “Thank you.”

“Now let us get our goodbyes over with, and then, shall we stop at Gunter’s for an ice; the day is so hot, I am positively melting.” With that Kate flicked open her fan and began to waft the warm early summer air over them both, looking towards Lady Jersey.

Mary’s gaze spun away scanning the lawn full of people for a gentleman with dark brown hair, a head above the rest. She spotted him in seconds she was so used to searching him out.

Lord Framlington stood among a group of men, laughing.

His head turned and his gaze reached across the open space finding her. He knew she’d been watching. He smiled, a self-indulgent smile and nodded before looking away.

Her heart raced, against her better judgement, her imagination whirling with images she should not see.

“The game is on with Pembroke’s little sister. I have settled on her. She is my choice.” Lord Andrew Framlington, fourth son of the Marquis of Framlington, in name only, leaned back in his spindle chair, self-confidence flooding him. He hooked one arm across the chair’s back and raised an ankle to settle on the opposite knee, modelling the pose of a dissipated rake. That was what he had been for most of his life.

“Marlow’s ice maiden? Are you serious, Drew? The girl who freezes out all of dubious character? She has not allowed you near her since last year.” His friend, Harry Webster’s speech slurred a little.

“The same,” Drew’s gaze passed around his small group of loyal friends.

Harry sat forward in his chair. “Have you spoken to her?”

“Yes, and as you know I have been improving my character.” He smiled at Harry. They knew he had kept himself away from whores for nearly a year – the kind to be paid. Yet he’d also kept away from the kind who paid. His friends did not know the latter fact. “You’ll see. She’ll be mine in a month, three at the most. She’s taken my bait, a kiss, and I shall charm her into submission. She will be begging me to wed her at the end.”

“She’ll be yours within a week, knowing how women fall for you.” Mark Harper commented, his concentration still on their game of cards. He tossed a four of spades onto the table.

Drew looked at his hand of cards. No spades. He would trump them all with a heart.

“But didn’t Pembroke warn his little sister off you?” Harry persisted.

“He has warned her off every man with a speck of dust in his closet. A man must have a spotless reputation to be considered.” Peter Brooke, Drew’s closest friend smiled.

“As if Pembroke can judge,” Harry pressed. “That man is no saint, he is not spotless himself.”

“But reformed,” Drew answered. He un-looped his arm from the chair, leaned forward and set his card on the table, then looked at his friends, a wry smile twisting his lips. “Maybe the woman has a little contrary in her soul, though. Ever since he warned her off she’s been watching me. Or perhaps she just has a taste for risk or badness hidden beneath her cold denials, or likes being naughty – any of which appeal, they are all to my advantage.”

The group laughed.

Peter leaned forward to lay his card. “Well, I would not cross Pembroke or any of her family for that matter, they are far too influential. She calls a quarter of the House of Lords Uncle, even if her father is only a second son.”

Drew did not need reminding.

Yet he intended winning her. He had waited a year, given her, and himself, the time to be sure. He was sure. She had come back to town this season and her eyes had still searched for him across the ballrooms, and the first time he’d seen her again he’d felt slain. The girl was beautiful, rich, innocent and his best hope of constancy – and ever since the night he had danced with her, he’d felt pulled into choosing her. It was a physical feeling, not simply a mental choice.

She had lived with him for a year, in his dreams, both in the day and at night.

Yet as certain as he was of his choice he was equally certain her family would not allow it. They would say no if he asked for her.

His contrary streak itched. He did not like being told no. No, was temptation. Like the girl running, it only made him want to chase. But he did not think she would run, not now – unless it was towards him. He smiled at his silent humour.

“You are going to wed her then?” Mark clarified.

“I’ve no choice. The duns are on my tail. I need to marry money. She’s interested, available, and she has it. Plus she is remarkably kind to the eye.”

“Kind to the eye.” A sarcastic smile twisted Harry’s lips. “That is lacklustre. The girl’s the darling of society. They all fawn over her. She’s stunning. I would have a go at her if I thought I stood a chance, but she’ll not look twice at me. You however…”

“You have the looks and the knack, Drew,” Peter expounded, “while we are all left to petty jealousy.”

Drew laughed. “I have not won her yet, and you are just as capable.”

“No. But we all know you will win her. I would not even waste a wager on it,” Mark enthused.

“The question is, what will you do with her when you have her?” Harry laughed. “Now that is what I would like to see, however, after that, what on earth will you do with a wife?”

Drew looked past his friends at his small living quarters.

His rooms in the Albany were a decent enough bachelor’s residence, but he would need something more once he’d wed. He longed for a property of his own. Somewhere outside of London and he would need space to lose a woman in. He did not wish to be crowded. In the last year, when he’d thought of marrying Miss Marlow, he had never considered the detail beyond the wedding night and receiving the cheque.

Still once he’d wed, he’d have her dowry and he could buy a bigger property, perhaps something with land, to make a profit from. She would understand that life and fill her time without his assistance.

His hands itched to be out of town and free of his reliance on Peter. His debts had swelled in the last year, barely anyone allowed him credit now and so more and more he’d become reliant on Peter’s kindness. It unmanned him, but he refused to return to earning his living through sex.

But how the hell would he fit in a life with a wife…He had not one daisy petal of an idea how to manage land, let alone how to manage with a wife.

All the wives he knew spent their time cuckolding their inattentive husbands.

But that was why he’d settled on Mary, chosen Mary – he thought her different to those women. He’d watched her family for a year. They were all in what society deemed love matches.

Love – that word was false, in his experience. A non-entity. People did not love. They used the word to wound and hurt.

His mother declared she loved the Marquis, but cuckolded him constantly. While on the occasions the Marquis came to town he spent his hours with chorus girls. His mother’s favoured companions were the sons of society and she was regularly in town.

Their behaviour was typical; he knew that because his mother’s friends had begun his initiation into their world of fornication when he’d been fifteen. Ten years on and society had not changed.