Jane Lark - The Dangerous Love of a Rogue

A smile curved his lips as she looked away and began to clap, watching another couple skip along the middle.

You will be my wife, Mary Marlow. You will . And you will beg me to offer for you, when I do .

He was going to change his tactics, though, perhaps she needed a little less subtlety and a little more urging.

* * *

Lord Framlington’s gaze made Mary’s skin prickle on the back of her neck as she looked along the line of dancers. He’d stared at her for an hour. What he expected her to do she did not know. Perhaps he thought she would seek an assignation with him. She could even hear his words in her head, “Come and meet me, Mary, outside where it’s cooler, where it’s quiet”.

It was nonsense of course, she was not psychic. It was her urge. Yet he’d applaud her weak conscience if he heard it and say, “Listen to it, do what you want to do, not what you should”. It was his voice she heard.

“I know you feel the same for me as I feel for you! Stop running and come back to me!” he’d called when she’d run away from him, along the pathway.

How could he know, and how had Lord Framlington managed to invade her thoughts so utterly after one kiss? But it had not just been since his kiss, ever since she’d danced with him she’d heard his voice and seen him in daydreams, and when she slept.

His gaze left her, like a physical touch slipping away.

Mary looked to see him set his half empty glass on the tray of a passing footman before he strolled away, leaving the ballroom, and she presumed the ball.

A sense of desertion tugged somewhere in her stomach and an odd ache settled like a cloak about her heart.

Was that it then? Was it over? Had she spurned him successfully? That had been her intention, to cut him dead and she’d succeeded until that final moment when she’d dropped her guard and glanced his way.

Perhaps he’d taken the hint regardless and tired of playing with her. There were a dozen other heiresses on the market, she was not his only choice.

But you are his choice . Her traitorous, wicked heart thought it a compliment that a man of Framlington’s looks and reputation wanted her as his wife.

“Idiot,” Mary said aloud, to her heart. Unfortunately as the dance drew to a close, Derek heard it too when he took her arm to walk her to her parents.

“What have I done to deserve that charge? Did I step on your toes?”

Patting his arm she shook her head, forming the false smile she’d relied on tonight. “I was speaking to myself, sorry. I agreed to dance with two partners for the supper set, I will have to apologise to someone.”

He accepted the excuse, without hesitation. Why would he not? Mary had not been in the habit of lying, until the day of the Jerseys’ garden party. Now she had lied twice.

When she reached her parents Lord Derek gave her knuckles a chaste kiss and bowed. The kiss did nothing to her innards. Unlike the kiss on her lips that had twisted in her stomach like someone hurriedly coiling embroidery threads.

Physical memories clawing at her soul, the room spun and Mary longed for home. The burden of pretence was too tiring.

“Mary, is something wrong?” Her gaze lifted to meet her father’s.

“I have the headache.” If sulking made her pathetic she did not care. “May we go home?”

“Already, we have not even eaten supper?”

“I know, Papa, but my head hurts.” Her fingers pressed to her temple. It throbbed with the pain of bottled up tears. She wished to cry over her insanity.

His brow furrowed and his fingers stroked her upper arm gently. “We will get you home.”

“I must use the retiring room first though, Papa.”

“Very well, you go up. I shall have the carriage called for, and tell your mother. We shall await you in the hall.”

Mary turned away, her head pounding. She felt a little sick as she climbed the stairs. The retiring room was quiet. Her mother’s maid was not there; she must have already been told they were leaving.

As Mary left the room, her fingers shook and she walked along the silent hall, with her thoughts screaming.

“Miss Marlow.” Her arm was gripped, firmly and she was pulled aside, into an alcove, and then pressed back against the wall as Lord Framlington’s mouth came down on hers.

She lifted her arms about his neck instinctively kissing him back with a longing that raged through her and took away the pain in her head, but then common-sense prevailed and she let him go, gripped his shoulders and pushed him away, whispering. “What do you think you are doing?”

“You have been playing a good game of ignoring me, but we both know you cannot. As I cannot ignore you.” His breath brushed over her lips his voice low and quiet. She would have turned and walked away but he gripped her wrist and held her still.

“Miss Marlow. Mary. Darling. Do not deny this. I know what you feel, because I feel it too.”

“I feel nothing.”

“And that is why you kissed me a moment ago, and at that garden party. You feel. You want. But I cannot come to you in a place like this, so if you want what I can give you, you will have to come to me…”

“What you give—”

“Kisses, darling. Happiness. A life filled with moments like this. You know I am looking for a wife, I know your brother has told you—”

“Most men do not look for a wife in the shadows of a hallway, or a narrow garden path—”

“I am not seeking any wife, I am seeking you, and if you wish to explore that, you will have to come to me, Mary.”

“No.” She pulled her wrist free, and turned away, her heart pounding as she began to run.

She heard his deep voice echo down the hall. “You may run but I know you do not wish to… You will come back when you have had chance to reflect and understand what you will miss… I will give you time, Mary, and then we’ll see.”

* * *

Drew watched her hurry away. She was scared but interested despite her better judgement. She had kissed him back. Her denial was pretence. He’d felt her attraction in her body, her breasts had pressed to his chest, as her slender arms had clung about his neck.

He sighed.

The power of emotion in him had caught him off-guard. At the garden party she had answered his kiss hesitantly, but tonight, it was as if she had longed to kiss him again. In the first instant when the shock had silenced her fears, she had thrust herself at him, and thrown herself into the kiss.

He smiled.

She had kissed him with innocence on both occasions.

His hand gripped the back of his neck for a moment, then fell. What if he had been the first man to kiss her? God that thought pierced through his chest, like a spear surging through him.

The first to press his tongue into her mouth.

Lord. The idea floored him with a sudden punch. But then he smiled, as the novelty of it bloomed, uncurling in him like a shoot from a seed, it rose up. Hope.

He walked along the hall; she had already reached the stairs and disappeared.

She was becoming more and more essential to his future. No other woman would do. She was his choice, and he was not going to be deterred.

She simply needed time.

Hell she had kissed him back with hunger tonight, albeit a little clumsily, but who cared. Who cared when he had been the first man to claim her lips – like a pioneer, and he intended to claim much more.

There was only one way he knew how to woo women, and that was with his body, he could teach the woman things she could never have imagined.

Innocent. He could not even remember how that had felt. But he knew how to make her feel good. He would give her the gift of sensual discovery and then she would never be able to refuse him. He would have her then.