How To Marry a Rake

Mae’s estimation of Addy’s husband only rose from there. She could only hope to be half so fortunate in her search for a mate. The baron danced with enthusiasm and when the country dance brought them together he had her chuckling at his self-deprecating humour. They were near the end of a line, the set nearly over, when he made a ludicrous comment about needing to lace his corset tighter in order to buckle his shoe. Mae choked as they circled. Lord Corbet handed her off to the next gentleman, and, still laughing, she looked up and into her new partner’s face.

She stumbled to a stop.

Breathless laughter. Good-natured teasing. Longing. Admiration. Determination. Every one of them a sensation that collected into a cold knot at the base of her spine. She shivered as one by one they raced the message upwards to her brain.

Stephen.

Any connection between her head and her limbs had melted away. She’d lost her place in the dance. The couple behind them, oblivious to the earth-shattering nature of this moment, danced on. The lady backed into Mae, sending her stumbling. Her ankle wrenched. She bit back a cry of mingled shock and pain and started to fall.

Strong arms plucked her from the air before she could hit the floor. Stephen was frowning down at her. ‘Good heavens, are you all right?’

She saw the moment that recognition forced its way into his consciousness. He faltered, too, his eyes bright and his colour high. Mae stared. His expression was the most fascinating mix of pleasure and horrified surprise she’d ever seen.

‘Mae?’ His voice had gone hoarse.

Dizziness swamped her. He stood so close—held her in his arms, even—and yet the distance between them was immense, in every way that counted.

She winced. ‘Good evening, Stephen.’

Chapter Two

Irreconcilable events hit Stephen from opposite directions and from out of the blue. The incongruity of it set his brain box to rattling. He glanced about in an attempt to anchor himself once more. Newmarket, Lord Toswick’s house party, fire in his belly and determination in his heart—to do whatever might be necessary to thrust Fincote into the collective awareness of the racing world. Yet one minute he’d been partnering his hostess in a dance, and the next he was holding Mae Halford pressed up tightly against him.

Impossible. Or at least highly unlikely. He would have pinched himself if his hands hadn’t already been full.

Pleasurably full, too—filled with generous curves and sweetly yielding flesh. She realised it in the same instant and tried to back away, out of his embrace. But her ankle gave way and she started to go down again.

With a shake of his head he swooped her off her feet and into his arms. The entire dance had broken down and people had begun to gather around them. The music limped to a stop, leaving the air full of murmurs of concern, curious whispers and tittering laughter.

Stephen caught Lady Toswick’s eye. ‘Could you lead us to a private spot, my lady?’ he asked his erstwhile dance partner. ‘I believe the lady has injured herself.’

‘Of course!’ Lady Toswick, staring bemused at the wreck in the midst of her ball, gave a start. ‘If you’ll follow me, Lord Stephen?’

Mae twisted in his arms. Warm breath stirred over his ear and interesting bits of anatomy brushed against his chest as she spoke over his shoulder. ‘Lord Corbet, would you be so good as to fetch Addy? And my mother!’ she called as Stephen strode away.

A frazzled butterfly, Lady Toswick flitted her way through the crowd gathered on the dance floor. Casting false smiles and breathless reassurances, she led the way out and down the hall to a small antechamber.

Stephen followed, his jaw clenched in irritation as fans fluttered and tongues wagged in their wake. Two years ago he would have revelled in the attention, but circumstances had changed. He had changed. He was here to win the respect of these people, to prove himself as a knowledgeable racing man and a sound man of business, not to stir up old scandalbroth.

He’d entered the ballroom in a state of focused resolution. But now he’d been knocked off course. By Mae Halford. Again.

‘Oh, dear,’ the countess moaned. She’d opened the door onto an empty room. ‘The chairs are gone. Likely the servants are using them as extra seating in the parlour. We need a bit more dining space for the late supper, you see.’ She wrung her hands. ‘Good heavens, I’ll call a footman. Will you be all right, Lord Stephen? Can you hold her until I can have a chair fetched?’

‘I’m perfectly fine, my lady,’ replied Stephen. ‘Perhaps you could send for two chairs? Or a chaise, perhaps. I believe Miss Halford should keep her foot elevated, if possible.’

‘Oh. Yes, of course.’ She eyed Mae with concern. ‘I shall be gone but a moment and I’ll be sure your mother is on her way, my dear.’ Her gown fluttering behind her, the countess disappeared.

Which left Stephen and Mae nothing to do but stare at each other, their faces mere inches apart. Mae’s eyes were huge, her expression wary. A soft, citrusy scent drifted up from her hair.

Hell and damnation, but Stephen did not want to be noticing the scent of her hair. Abruptly, the clatter in his head quieted enough for his brain to make a connection. ‘Oh, Good Lord,’ he said. ‘You’re the heiress.’

Her face went blank. ‘I beg your pardon?’

He glared at her. ‘This had damned well better not be one of your tricks, Mae.’

He’d known from the moment that he took her hand in the dance that he’d encountered something different. He’d gone warm all over and his heart had begun to pound, even before he realised who she was. An example of his body being quicker than his brain, because once he had done so, his instinctive reaction had been a sharp, happy stab of recognition. An intimate friend of his half-sister Charlotte, Mae had been a constant fixture in his life for years. Practically a member of his already large and chaotic family, she was a part of many of his happiest memories.

But now nostalgia was quickly kicked aside by trepidation. For Mae featured at the centre of several of his most uncomfortable memories, too. Several years past, she’d made him the focus of her ardent schoolgirl fantasies. Stephen, a few years older, flush with the first freedoms of manhood, and having a grand time playing the young buck about town with his brothers, had been less than interested. Still, he had tried to tread carefully around her too-evident feelings, and at first he’d found the situation amusing, and more than a little flattering.

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.