The Dangerous Love of a Rogue. Jane Lark

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       Chapter 5

      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, had. That man had a violent nature too which poor Caro constantly lived in fear of.

      Caro was the only member of his family Drew felt close to.

      Drew looked back at Harry, glowering.

      “I take it you will not then,” Peter quipped.

      Drew’s gaze spun to his best friend. “Definitely not!”

      The others laughed.

      A footman appeared with a tray bearing Drew’s brandy. Drew took his drink, then looked over his shoulder at his eldest brother, who was now looking at Drew.

      Drew lifted his glass, in mock salute, then turned back to his friends.

      * * *

      Raising the dress of her ivory satin gown, Mary hurried along the garden path.

      She’d left at the commencement of a set, hoping her family would not notice her absence. They were all busy dancing or talking.

      There were no lanterns to light the way, deterring couples from strolling into the garden but the night sky was clear and moonlight shone through the leaves of shrubs in places so she could see the route.

      Etched in the moonlight Lord Framlington’s figure formed a vivid silhouette in the darkness when she reached the glass house.

      “Miss Marlow,” he called, stepping forward when she drew near.

      Her heart skipped and her stomach spun like a top. She’d barely been able to eat since she’d last seen him, and she’d not slept last night; as her thoughts danced a reel.

      She had to end this. It was beyond foolish.

      But she wanted to be alone with him one last time.

      He looked dangerous in the darkness, she ought to be afraid of him. She only knew him by reputation and that was bad. Yet she’d never been so pulled towards anyone – surely her heart could not be wrong?

      His lips lifted in a half smile when she reached him and his fingers touched her face. He’d removed his gloves. “I was not sure you’d come. You’ve barely given me a glance this evening.”

      Her fingers captured his and drew them away from her face, as she smiled too. “I did not wish to make my family suspicious. I’m already in the mire for speaking to you in the park.”

      His other hand lifted suddenly, then gripped her nape and pulled her mouth to his.

      He kissed her long and hard while he braced her nape with one hand and his fingers also weaved between hers and twisted her arm behind her back.

      When he released her she was short of breath and her heart thumped.

      But he was short of breath too.

      His dark eyes held her gaze for a moment. “We should go inside in case someone walks this way.”

      She’d forgotten the risk. “Yes.” They should not be kissing on the garden path where anyone might find them. But then she should not be alone with him.

      Her hand clasped in his, he pulled her into the conservatory and closed the door.

      Orange, lemon, olive and fig trees, in terracotta pots, lined the pathways in the huge glasshouse and the scent of warm earth merged with the floral aroma of the delicate flowers dangling from vines above them.

      The grip on her hand claimed her. It said he treasured her. She was not anyone to him.

      She felt special.

      Was it an illusion? If she believed John, Lord Framlington thought nothing of her; he only cared for money.

      He turned to face her, illuminated by moonlight through the glass above them, his starkly handsome face painted silver. He smiled, a smile that shone in his eyes too. He stepped backward one pace, then another, pulling her with him, leading her deeper into the glasshouse. “The exemplarily Miss Marlow has fallen from her pedestal.” His tone teased.

      “Or perhaps a certain Lord has pulled her from it.”

      His smile lifted again, this time it had a wicked lilt. “I accept the charge. I am sure it was deadly dull upon it anyway.”

      Yes, yes it was, and lonely at times.

      Perhaps that was why he tempted her. She should not feel lonely in such a large loving family but she had no space to be an individual. She wished to be loved singularly, to be the most special person to someone, to him. Like her father was to her mother, and her mother to her father.

      She looked beyond him, closing her lips on her disloyal thoughts.

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