The Dangerous Love of a Rogue

by Jane Lark

  Then why did she feel pulled towards him? Her thoughts drifted into dreams. Dreams that included Lord Framlington.

  Chapter 1

  The following year…

  Miss Mary Rose Marlow’s whole body jolted with surprise, “Oh!” and she nearly fell down the short flight of garden steps she’d just climbed. A masculine chest faced her.

  Lord Framlington caught hold of her elbow, saving her, only to pull her towards the chest which had caused her exclamation.

  He’d appeared from behind the hedge to block her path.

  Her fingers pressed against the solid muscle beneath his day coat. Unladylike longings besieged her. She had never forgotten him.

  Irked by the desire she should not feel, Mary pushed him away, anger flaring and overriding the unwanted attraction that constantly pulled at her, urging her to look for him, to listen for his voice.

  She looked up and met his gaze, ire burning a flame she hoped he saw in her eyes.

  If he did, the deep, dark amber brown of his absorbed it with cool, quelling disengagement.

  Her stomach wobbled like aspic with an unwilling hunger for the reprobate.

  “Miss Marlow.” He let go of her arm, then raised his hat a little.

  Mary stepped back, careful to avoid the shallow steps.

  “It is my good fortune to collide with you.”

  Bobbing a hardly recognisable curtsy Mary’s gaze reached beyond him seeking a way past. But the garden path, lined by tall yew hedges, was barely wide enough for one. She could not pass him without further contact unless he moved aside.

  “Lord Framlington.” Her voice rang sharp with irritation. “If you will excuse me, I really ought to be getting back.” She moved to sweep past, but he blocked her with his broad chest.

  “No haste, Miss Marlow, the party was still in full swing when I left, no one will notice our absence, they are busy playing Lady Jersey’s outdoor games. Have you tried the archery butts? You could aim an arrow at my heart if you wish, I would not complain, and perhaps you might snare me if it came from Cupid’s bow.”

  Her gaze lifted to his. “Do not be absurd?” The snapping words leapt from her mouth. His comment was far too close to her secret wish. “You know my brother advises against you.”

  “The Duke of Pembroke?” Condescension sharpened his words, while a roguish smile played with his lips. Oh she remembered that smile, it had hovered in her dreams for a year… “What do I care for his opinion, and what do you care. I have often thought the man did me a favour, warning you off. You have been enamoured ever since.”

  “I have not.” Mary’s hands balled to fists. The man was infuriating. Why on earth did she find him so interesting? Because on one evening, nearly a year ago, he had danced with her, and talked and flirted, and smiled and laughed as no other man had.

  He grinned. “Careful, or I shall think you protest too much. Besides I know because I have seen you watching me. Whenever I turn, there is Miss Mary Marlow staring across the room.”

  He leant forward, his face inches from hers. “Your looks call to me, Mary. You whisper to me, come, come, Framlington, closer.” His husky pitch made her skin tingle with awareness and possibilities course through her blood.

  He straightened, his gloved fingers gently bracing her chin. “Well here I am, Mary. Come to you. What will you do with me?”

  Run away.

  She backed away a step, lifting her chin from his grip. “Nothing.” She forced the denial from her lips, when internally she longed to know how his kiss would feel. “Let me pass. I should not be speaking with you.”

  “But you are.” He stepped forward.

  When she’d danced with him last season his glittering light brown eyes had melted her bones. He’d held her gently, while making her laugh, like he was a jester, and as they’d parted he’d asked her to remember him.

  She’d fallen in love during that dance. Irrevocably in love. She had not forgotten.

  But afterward her eldest brother, John, the Duke of Pembroke, had advised that Lord Framlington – her beauty – was a beast. A fortune hunter, chasing dowries.

  Worse, he was a rake, a philanderer, a seducer, not to be trusted in the least.

  It is folly talking to him.

  “Then let me rectify that.” She tried to pass him. But he caught her upper arm, stopping her and turning with her. She stood facing him in the narrow gap between the tall yew hedges.

  “Stop running and stop pretending you do not like me. I am not blind. Besides, run, and my predatory instincts say, chase.” On the last word he leaned forward, pulling her closer and then his lips pressed down on hers and his other hand came to her nape urging her to stay, to allow, to give, as his lips brushed across hers.

  Mary’s instinct screamed, run. But his lips urged so beautifully her body cried, take, longing to devour, to the point that she was no longer sure who was the predator, him or her. This was her first kiss.

  Gripping his shoulders, she clung to him, opening her mouth at his urging, and when his tongue invaded her lips a rush of desire slid through her stomach reaching to the central point of femininity between her legs.

  This was what she’d imagined and longed for – this enchantment and desire.

  He moved her back a step, against the yew hedge, as his kiss increased in intensity, the movement of his lips and the caress of his tongue growing in determination, intriguing and intoxicating.

  His grip left her arm and closed over her breast, squeezing it through the thin muslin of her gown.

  A sharp, sweet pain travelled from her nipple, catching her breath. It was delicious, but still it was pain and it was enough to rip her focus from his kiss to rational thought.

  What am I doing? What am I letting him do?

  Breaking the kiss suddenly, she caught him off guard and it gave her the chance to escape.

  Slipping from his grip, she fled, not daring to look back for fear he’d follow.

  “Miss Marlow!” he called after her, a note of humour in his voice. “I know you feel the same for me as I feel for you! Stop running and come back to me!”

  She did not even look back.

  “Well then, if not now, whenever you wish, simply give me a sign and I shall find a way we can meet! Or look for my signal!”

  Her fingers gripped her dress, holding it from the ground, as she ran along the path, her breathing heavy and her lips burning, while her breast ached from the pressure of his hand.

  When she reached the end of the path, she slowed to a walk letting her dress fall and stepped out on to the open lawn where a crowd of elite society had gathered for the garden party.

  Her fingers pressed against her breastbone.

  “Mary, there you are.” She turned as her brother’s voice cut the air. “We were coming to find you. Katherine was concerned.”

  Mary looked to the lady who held her brother’s arm. Her sister-in-law was kindness incarnate, but Kate was Mary’s chaperone today. A blush burned beneath Mary’s skin. She had let him kiss her. A man her father and brother had explicitly warned against.

  “I walked down to the Jerseys’ grotto. I wished to see it and I did not like to bother you, you were talking.”

  John’s and Kate’s eyebrows rose. They did not need to say, Mary you should not have gone alone, she knew it was an error now.

  But his kiss had been beautiful. She had not known that a combination of lips and tongues could cause her body to ache… and ache in unspeakable places.

  Lord Framlington appeared from behind the hedge. Mary looked back, the heat in her skin increasing.

  The rogue smiled at her, then walked on across the lawn, implying, without a word, that something had happened between them. Heat swept over her.

  “What were you doing?” John whispered, in a harsh condemning tone. Mary met his pale blue gaze; it was chilling, like ice.

  What indeed? “I did not plan it,” she whispered back, tipping up her chin to stand against her domineering brother.
“I bumped into him.” Literally. “I did not intend to.”

  One of John’s eyebrows quirked. “Well I assure you, he did. Do not to speak to him, Mary, and certainly, never in private. If you are compromised, you will be tied to him. That is what he wishes. If you do not want to be forced into marriage with a grasping rake, then have more care; no wandering pathways alone. You’re lucky he did not ravish you and wait on someone to happen along and see the two of you together. His situation is even more desperate than last year. The man cannot curb his spending, his debt is spiralling. There is not a prudent bone in his body. He’s fortune-hunting, hard.”

  Mary’s gaze fell to John’s diamond cravat pin. She did not argue. Lord Framlington had proved John right – and her wrong. Very wrong.

  Every word John spoke was true, she knew that, but something within her burned for Lord Framlington. He’d lit a flame in her a year ago, and it refused to be snuffed and if her heart had longed for Lord Framlington for a year, now it screamed… He had kissed her and fulfilled every expectation fostered in her dreams.

  She shut her eyes to escape a giddy sensation. Simply thinking about his kiss caused her to ache for him.

  She opened her eyes, denying her inner clamour. “I know, John, it was a mistake. I will not do it again.”

  “Do not fret, Mary, no one saw.” Kate linked her arm with Mary’s. “Did Lord Framlington do or say something to frighten you? Has he upset you?”

  “No.” Mary looked at Kate. There was no need for her family to know he’d kissed her. She did not wish John, her father, or her uncles, calling Lord Framlington out. It was only a kiss after all, no harm, not really. Except, if she’d stayed, she did not think it would have ended there. John was right: Lord Framlington was trouble. He had intended ravishment.

  Why did her silly heart have to make her stomach flutter at the thought?

  “He did not touch you?” John’s fingers rested on her shoulder, his voice filled with concern, but there was an edge of anger to.

  Her eyes turned to his. “No.” Guilt thrust its knife into her breast. “Honestly, John, Lord Framlington merely frightened me. I know I made a mistake.”

  Lord Framlington had made her lie.

  John’s fingers fell away from her shoulder. “Well, if he’s scared you, you will hopefully never make such an error again.”

  “Yes.” She would not, she had learned her lesson. This could have ended with awful consequences. She felt torn in two, he heart pulled one way, towards danger, while her head and her family pulled another. She must listen to her head and heed common-sense.

  If I’d been seen with him?

  The blood drained from Mary’s head. “May we go home?”

  “If you wish.” John looked at her, his gaze deep with concern, as though he only half believed her assurance. “I’ll send for the carriage.” He turned away.

  “We shall say our goodbyes, John.” Kate drew Mary closer and began walking across the lawn to where Lady Jersey stood among a knot of friends.

  “He did disturb you,” Kate whispered, “and I’m sure it was over more than nothing. You do not have to tell me, but just mind what John says and do not allow yourself to be drawn in by Lord Framlington’s charm.”

  Mary looked at the woman she thought of as a full sister. “It was nothing, really, just nonsense.” She was lucky, her family may caution, but they would always support her. Mary smiled. Kate smiled too, but her eyebrows lifted again.

  “Nonsense to a woman, Mary, is manoeuvring to a man. Beware, males are predatory and determined when they choose to be, and Lord Framlington is of that ilk. Avoid him.”

  “I was… I am… I just… I never thought he would follow.”

  “Well, doing the things we never expect, is what they do,” Kate advised conspiratorially. “But I will convince John not to tell your father and mother of this. No need for you to listen to this lecture twice.”

  Mary’s smile lifted a little. “Thank you.”

  “Now let us get our goodbyes over with, and then, shall we stop at Gunter’s for an ice; the day is so hot, I am positively melting.” With that Kate flicked open her fan and began to waft the warm early summer air over them both, looking towards Lady Jersey.

  Mary’s gaze spun away scanning the lawn full of people for a gentleman with dark brown hair, a head above the rest. She spotted him in seconds she was so used to searching him out.

  Lord Framlington stood among a group of men, laughing.

  His head turned and his gaze reached across the open space finding her. He knew she’d been watching. He smiled, a self-indulgent smile and nodded before looking away.

  Her heart raced, against her better judgement, her imagination whirling with images she should not see.

  Chapter 2

  “The game is on with Pembroke’s little sister. I have settled on her. She is my choice.” Lord Andrew Framlington, fourth son of the Marquis of Framlington, in name only, leaned back in his spindle chair, self-confidence flooding him. He hooked one arm across the chair’s back and raised an ankle to settle on the opposite knee, modelling the pose of a dissipated rake. That was what he had been for most of his life.

  “Marlow’s ice maiden? Are you serious, Drew? The girl who freezes out all of dubious character? She has not allowed you near her since last year.” His friend, Harry Webster’s speech slurred a little.

  “The same,” Drew’s gaze passed around his small group of loyal friends.

  Harry sat forward in his chair. “Have you spoken to her?”

  “Yes, and as you know I have been improving my character.” He smiled at Harry. They knew he had kept himself away from whores for nearly a year – the kind to be paid. Yet he’d also kept away from the kind who paid. His friends did not know the latter fact. “You’ll see. She’ll be mine in a month, three at the most. She’s taken my bait, a kiss, and I shall charm her into submission. She will be begging me to wed her at the end.”

  “She’ll be yours within a week, knowing how women fall for you.” Mark Harper commented, his concentration still on their game of cards. He tossed a four of spades onto the table.

  Drew looked at his hand of cards. No spades. He would trump them all with a heart.

  “But didn’t Pembroke warn his little sister off you?” Harry persisted.

  “He has warned her off every man with a speck of dust in his closet. A man must have a spotless reputation to be considered.” Peter Brooke, Drew’s closest friend smiled.

  “As if Pembroke can judge,” Harry pressed. “That man is no saint, he is not spotless himself.”

  “But reformed,” Drew answered. He un-looped his arm from the chair, leaned forward and set his card on the table, then looked at his friends, a wry smile twisting his lips. “Maybe the woman has a little contrary in her soul, though. Ever since he warned her off she’s been watching me. Or perhaps she just has a taste for risk or badness hidden beneath her cold denials, or likes being naughty – any of which appeal, they are all to my advantage.”

  The group laughed.

  Peter leaned forward to lay his card. “Well, I would not cross Pembroke or any of her family for that matter, they are far too influential. She calls a quarter of the House of Lords Uncle, even if her father is only a second son.”

  Drew did not need reminding.

  Yet he intended winning her. He had waited a year, given her, and himself, the time to be sure. He was sure. She had come back to town this season and her eyes had still searched for him across the ballrooms, and the first time he’d seen her again he’d felt slain. The girl was beautiful, rich, innocent and his best hope of constancy – and ever since the night he had danced with her, he’d felt pulled into choosing her. It was a physical feeling, not simply a mental choice.

  She had lived with him for a year, in his dreams, both in the day and at night.

  Yet as certain as he was of his choice he was equally certain her family would not allow it. They would say no if he asked for her.

 
His contrary streak itched. He did not like being told no. No, was temptation. Like the girl running, it only made him want to chase. But he did not think she would run, not now – unless it was towards him. He smiled at his silent humour.

  “You are going to wed her then?” Mark clarified.

  “I’ve no choice. The duns are on my tail. I need to marry money. She’s interested, available, and she has it. Plus she is remarkably kind to the eye.”

  “Kind to the eye.” A sarcastic smile twisted Harry’s lips. “That is lacklustre. The girl’s the darling of society. They all fawn over her. She’s stunning. I would have a go at her if I thought I stood a chance, but she’ll not look twice at me. You however…”

  “You have the looks and the knack, Drew,” Peter expounded, “while we are all left to petty jealousy.”

  Drew laughed. “I have not won her yet, and you are just as capable.”

  “No. But we all know you will win her. I would not even waste a wager on it,” Mark enthused.

  “The question is, what will you do with her when you have her?” Harry laughed. “Now that is what I would like to see, however, after that, what on earth will you do with a wife?”

  Drew looked past his friends at his small living quarters.

  His rooms in the Albany were a decent enough bachelor’s residence, but he would need something more once he’d wed. He longed for a property of his own. Somewhere outside of London and he would need space to lose a woman in. He did not wish to be crowded. In the last year, when he’d thought of marrying Miss Marlow, he had never considered the detail beyond the wedding night and receiving the cheque.

  Still once he’d wed, he’d have her dowry and he could buy a bigger property, perhaps something with land, to make a profit from. She would understand that life and fill her time without his assistance.

  His hands itched to be out of town and free of his reliance on Peter. His debts had swelled in the last year, barely anyone allowed him credit now and so more and more he’d become reliant on Peter’s kindness. It unmanned him, but he refused to return to earning his living through sex.