Page 3 of Wallflower Gone Wild

Letty turned her head, taking in the handsome face of Mac Meriweather, his cloudy gray eyes dancing with joy at the sight of her.

Her skin heated, her stays tightening as her breathing increased. Letty cursed under her breath, damn it. He’d caught her unaware.

That was a dangerous game for her, because there was one thing for certain: she needed to always be on her guard around Mac Meriweather.

CHAPTER 2

Mac Meriweather couldn’t contain his easy smile at seeing the shocked look on Lady Leticia Crane’s—Letty’s—face as he took the seat beside her. He had met her months earlier through his acquaintance with her older brother, Viscount Cedemoor. The heir to an earldom, Cedemoor was spoiled and entitled, like Mac’s own brother, which was probably why the two men were friends.

Since spending a fortnight at the earl’s hunting party, Mac quickly realized he did not like Cedemoor at all. Any gentleman that would go to such lengths to gain his fortune was no gentleman at all.

Meeting Letty, however, was like being born anew. Sneaking into the library at Crestview Manor and discussing printing with her had been the most invigorating of discussions. He had spent every free moment of his stay with her, and their stolen kisses had been cemented in his mind ever since. Mac knew he had nothing to offer her— he was but a third son with a failing print shop. Yet, he found he couldn’t stop thinking about the beauty who was a rose among thorns.

“Mr. Meriweather, I didn’t expect to see you participating in the season.” She smiled at him, taking his breath away.

She had a quiet beauty about her, it was delicate from the slight bump on her nose to her full, curvy lips. Smooth, light-brown skin captured his gaze, trailing up a long, delicate neck to a head full of long thick curly hair arranged in a barely contained hairstyle. His fingers twitched with the need to run his fingers through her dark tresses—no. He couldn’t afford such thoughts. She wasn’t meant for him, she was meant for someone who could provide for her, like his older brother. She didn’t need a struggling print shop owner with no future.

“I like to attend a ball or two. Besides, it also stops my mother from bickering if she sees me on occasion.” He nodded his head to his mother, where she stood in the center of her four closest friends, her dark hair and gray eyes identical to Mac’s and his older brother’s.

“One can always depend on mothers to bicker.” Letty sat back in her chair, looking entirely too comfortable on the wall with the other wallflowers.

“I know you have one of those yourself.” He rested a shoulder against the chair, a very un-gentlemanly position to be certain, but he didn’t care. He wanted to see her fully, to take in every breathtaking inch of her.

Born the third son of a viscount, he knew his path in life would be different from his older brother’s—and he relished that simple fact. Like his grandfather, Mac enjoyed hard work and wanted to make his own way. He never gave a damn about fitting in with society. The only thing he ever cared about was his print shop—that was until now.

Until her.

“Oh yes, indeed. I believe she mentioned finding husbands for me and my sister at least five times during the carriage ride, if I was counting.” She tilted her head and a stray curl fell over her right eye.

He laughed, always finding her sense of humor on the topic of the marriage mart comical. They had discussed her mother’s obsession with finding both her and her sister husbands in great detail. The thought of her marrying anyone made Mac ill.

“It’s the beginning of the season. Aren’t all mothers concerned about finding husbands for their daughters?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m sure they are, but why must I forget my hopes and dreams to be a wife?” she challenged, the fire in her eyes so bright he thought he would burn from their intensity.

“You shouldn’t. If you marry the right man, he will share your hopes and dreams.” Their gazes locked before hers traveled to his lips.

His tongue teased his lower one, and her audible gasp was joy to his ears. He remembered every breath he’d stolen from her. Mac wanted to kiss her again, and as often as possible if he could help it. Their forbidden kisses at her home had haunted his dreams and, when he’d awoken, he longed to fall back to sleep to be with her again.

“I didn’t take you for a romantic.” She smiled teasingly, tugging at the shield around his heart.

Mac shrugged his shoulder, his gaze dragging down her pleasing form. The pale peach gown was flattering to her curves. Her medium-sized bosom strained against the bodice of her gown, and his gaze lingered on the plump flesh longer than what was acceptable.

“It depends on the situation.” Mac could be romantic if he wanted to, but he never had cause to be.

His newspaper had been his only love interest the past eight years. The abolitionist movement needed him to print the truth about slavery. He wouldn’t stop printing papers until every man, woman, and child was free.

“What situation would call for a romantic, Mr. Meriweather?” Her long dark lashes batted at him.

The current dance ended, and its occupants cleared the floor, making room for the next set of dancers.

“One where I would be completely captivated and overtaken by her beauty and charm.” He held his hand out. “May I sign your dance card?”

She eyed his hand, her light-brown eyes wide. “You know I don’t dance, Mac,” she whispered using his given name.

“I know you try to avoid it.” He tilted his head observing her.

Surely, she wasn’t turning him down.