It was a renowned truth that any world-worn rogue, without a feather to fly with, must be on the hunt for a wife, or rather her dowry. As the parody of Miss Austen’s verse, from her charming little novel about country life, ran through Drew’s head, a sound of mocking humour rumbled through his chest and he leaned a shoulder against the false pillar in the Earl of Derwent’s ballroom, watching town life.
The pillar was wooden, painted to look like marble. Like everyone in this damned room, it was a farce. A shallow image. A performance… Nothing here was what it seemed. Society lived a damned lie and he had lived it for a lifetime.
He was a bastard. Sold by his mother to her husband as worth the risk of giving her naturally born son his family’s name. They had to save the reputation of the Framlington title after all.
Damn the title… Damn the bloody name… Drew had no interest in either.
He was bored of this. Bored of pretence. Bored of the games these people and he played. Bored of the face he displayed to the world.
He had a plan to escape it all. Of course plans required money. But his plan covered that. He was seeking a well-dowered young woman to take as his wife and earn himself an instant fortune. A fortune which he would use to pack up his bags and retire to a quiet life, away from town, away from all this deception… Perhaps then he would experience the kind of life Miss Austen wrote about.
‘Have you seen Marlow’s daughter?’ Mark leaned to Drew’s ear. ‘She would be a prize.’
Drew looked at his friend and lifted his shoulder away from the pillar, straightening up. ‘I have.’
‘She looks remarkable.’
‘She does indeed.’ He had been watching her. She was on his list of potential wives.
‘Are you intending to try for her?’
‘I would be a fool if I did not. Look at her…’ The she in question, Miss Mary Marlow, was as far out of reach as the sun. The half-sister of a Duke… with a bastard? It was not a match that would be desired by her mama and papa. Yet, Miss Marlow was very appealing to the eye.
Drew had been waiting for the moment to explore his opportunity with her. The time had come. He had not been standing here for his pleasure. He’d been standing here waiting for Miss Marlow to complete her dance.
‘Then what are you waiting on?’ Mark laughed, spotting the same opportunity.
‘Not a thing.’ Drew glanced over his shoulder and gave his friend a wicked smile before walking away, taking a route about the edge of the ballroom.
He positioned himself close to the set Miss Marlow was in as the dance drew to its conclusion. When it ended, she stood three feet away, with her back to him. Even though he could not see her face or her smile, he could feel her exuberance; he knew she was smiling. She’d smiled throughout every dance tonight.
Mary Marlow was in her first season, newly launched upon the marriage market, and he was here to trade. But what his friends did not know was that as much as he desired her money, he desired her innocence. His heart and mind were jaded and bitter. The idea of marrying a pure, good woman, was refreshing, invigorating. God knew, he had never been given the blessing of innocence in his life. He was born into the world of sin. Born of sin and raised in sin.
Miss Marlow’s partner lifted her hand to his lips, kissed the back of her satin glove and bowed.
Drew stepped forward. ‘Miss Marlow.’ He said her name as though they’d been introduced and he had a right to use it, speaking before the man had a chance to offer to lead her back to her mother. They had never been introduced.
She looked at him, her expression confused, but then she smiled, and it was as though the sun rose in the room which was already illuminated by several hundred candles in the chandeliers.
Her smile said, I am not sure I know you. Yet a young woman like her would never be rude enough to say such a thing aloud in company.
When her companion let her go, Drew captured her hand, as if he had a right to that too. He felt as though he did. She had become his favourite choice of bride the minute she’d smiled. ‘May I have the next dance?’ He bowed, but not wanting to push things too far, he refrained from kissing her hand. Though, his gloved fingers did reach towards the underside of her wrist and touched her skin above the hem of her glove, making the gesture appear accidental.
She lowered into a sweet, perfectly correct curtsy, looking down until the moment before she rose.
Beautiful.
Her eyes were an unusual blue, an extremely pale rim of colour surrounding the dark pupils that looked at him questioningly. Who are you? She knew she had never met him before. But too polite for her own good, she continued to pretend they had been introduced.
If he could have picked a dance for them it would have been the waltz, but the first waltz was not until later and he had no wish to lose the chance of the distance from her family. The Pembrokes were at the far end of the ballroom, in their usual pack. Although Pembroke was not the name the family went by as a whole, the old Duke had had four girls. They had married exceptionally well, apart from Mary’s mother, whose first husband, a soldier, had died. She then settled on the second son of an Earl. But the son from her first marriage had inherited the title and given Miss Marlow a very attractive dowry, and so Mary was simply a Miss and yet a powerful match as a Duke’s sister, and a closely guarded and very well-bred innocent.
‘I believe you should stand here, and I there,’ Drew said to her look of confusion.
There was another quick smile, which was far more fleeting than the first. Perhaps she was beginning to realise she had made an error. He smiled broadly to ease her concern. ‘I shall admit we have not been introduced. You must forgive me for taking the liberty of breaking the rules, Miss Marlow.’ The music commenced.
He stepped forward and took her hand in the format of the dance, then completed a shoulder to shoulder turn.
‘I should walk away immediately,’ she said in a strong voice that he’d not expected from this young woman.
‘Indeed you should. But is it a sin for a man to find you so beautiful he cannot wait even another moment, or at worse another dance, to find someone who might introduce him?’
‘That is the course of a gentleman.’
‘It is.’ He leaned in closer. ‘But there you have me; perhaps I am not a gentleman,’ he said, teasing her.
Her gaze dropped to the lopsided rogue’s smile he threw at her. She laughed. ‘You are a gentleman. You would not be here otherwise.’
So innocent… Such a novelty. What he would give to have that blind belief in the facade of London’s society and be oblivious to the truth that lay beyond it.
‘Are you enjoying your season?’
Her smile softened. ‘Yes. I had to wait because we’ve been in mourning for my grandsire. My cousins, who are older, have been full of stories and made me long for this. Now finally I have my moment to join the world.’
Yes, she did. ‘Tell me how it compares to your expectations…’
As they talked, their steps followed the intricate country dance, but the blessing of it was he had by chance chosen a country dance that did not separate them.
‘I could not have imagined how crushed these events are and how sore my feet would be from dancing until the early morning.’
‘Yet you must have imagined that the young men would make fools of themselves at these things, and the old men would be bores, while the young women would giggle at the slightest compliment’ – and older women… like his mother… he would not talk to her about their behaviour.
‘Do you think I giggle excessively?’ Annoyance had lowered her voice.
‘No.’
They made a turn, and he took the opportunity to press his palm against her side, below her breasts. Her whole body jolted. He had only touched her for an instant, as if to stop her from stumbling.
‘Forgive me.’ His apology implied it was an accident.
The dance drew them close again. He faced her, his hand holding hers between their chests. He leaned so close, her hair brushed his cheek. ‘I wish this was a waltz and I had the opportunity to hold you.’
When he stepped back, her dark pupils sparkled and her heartbeat flickered beneath the skin at the base of her neck.
‘Yet it is not a waltz, so please refrain, Mr…?’
Finally, she asked for his name.
‘Lord Framlington.’
They separated and walked around the back of another couple. Her expression told him she was searching her memory for why she knew his name. No light of recognition dawned in her eyes. It was not her half-brother, the Duke of Pembroke, who had mentioned his name to her then.
They came into the middle of a ring of six, and danced in a circle, their joined hands above their heads.
‘I like you, Miss Marlow,’ he said.
‘You do not know me.’
He smiled at her little jab. ‘Know you or not, I admire you.’ It was true, the girl intrigued him the more the dance progressed.
‘Really…’ She laughed, a light, jolly sound, not a forced jubilant creation developed to draw attention and attract a husband. Pure. Just herself. No facade.
The girl was doing something to his soul. He felt as though he were bathing in her innocence, baptised in it, his sins washed away. ‘It is no jest, and no falsity, you are charming. A man would be a fool if he did not see it, and I have been many things, but never a fool.’ He whispered the last words into her ear.
Her head pulled back.
His lips tilted into a smile.
‘My Lord, you may speak as though you know me, but you do not.’ Her voice had become firmer, her movements stiffer.
Beyond those dancing Drew saw her father deep in conversation with her brother. The Duke must have recently arrived. Damn it , there was probably only a dozen steps left of this dance.
They glanced across the room.
Drew looked at Miss Marlow, his time with the beauty was coming to an end. ‘I am the son of a Marquis…’ In theory, and yet if he was to sell himself he must sell his best side. ‘You may hear bad things of me but disregard them. Please, judge me by the man you see. Admittedly I am not like the young men I see you dancing with?—’
‘You have been watching me.’ Her annoyance turned to horror, and before the dance had even ended she took a step back.
‘As I said, I admire you. Why would I not watch you? You are a beauty.’
He would guess when she looked about this room, she saw only the shimmer of the candlelight in the glass drops of the chandeliers, the flower garlands, the beautiful clothes and people’s smiles. Like looking at that damned wooden pillar – unless you touched it to know it wasn’t cold like stone, or tapped it, you would never know the lie hidden beneath the paint.
If he married her, he might lock her up to protect her innocence, so she would never have to see the ugly truth.
The music ceased. She lowered in a curtsy, pretending she had not backed away from him.
Half the room would be secretly laughing as they watched his game play, thinking, poor woman, God help her if Lord Framlington is chasing her . He did not wish her thought a fool. She was no fool.
As she rose, her eyes seemed to observe things about him. He was not sure what she saw, yet, he had asked her to do this, to judge him as the man she saw.
‘Thank you for your honesty.’
The words thumped him firmly in the chest. She’d taken him at his word. Not by the history that had been woven into a web that trapped him. Rogue. Rake. Bastard. Unwanted son. Unwanted entirely.
‘Good evening.’ She turned and walked away. Her absence made him feel like something had been snatched away from him.
Drew watched her cross the floor and join her family. Her father leaned to her ear and spoke hurriedly. She glanced back. Drew smiled. She smiled too, but it quivered with uncertainty. She knew the rumours now. Her father had instructed her: do not dance with that rogue.
Damn the man and damn all these people that looked down on him.
Drew turned away, to return to his friends, to return to his life, but he had a plan, and his plan now had a definite goal. Miss Mary Marlow. Winning the girl would be a challenge, there was no denying that, but he loved a challenge.