Page 42 of Her Rake Fiancé

“No reproach about the touch?” he teased with a smile.

She had just opened her mouth to reply when there was a burst of excited voices from the middle of the room.

“Lady Isabella, please play a quadrille!” demanded Lady Brewster’s youngest daughter, whose gown was covered with stunning artificial roses. She stared with bright eyes at a handsome young man. “I have a great wish to dance!”

“Beatrice, darling,” said Lady Brewster, “I am not sure our guests are predisposed—”

“Nonsense, Mama.” Her gaze landed on Richard and Jane. “I know Lord Richard would never refuse a dance with his new betrothed, would you, Lord Richard?”

Richard nodded and looked at Jane. “Quite. What about it, Jane?”

She swallowed, nervous and blinking.

“Everything will be all right,” he promised. “They all stare at you, admiring how beautiful you look.”

“If you say so. I feel like they just keep asking themselves why I am dressed in a frock I shouldn’t be wearing and pretending I fit in.”

He chuckled softly. “Jane, you should see yourself the way I see you.”

Encouraged by Beatrice, five more couples stood in two lines, and the first chords of the quadrille were struck. Five years ago, he had danced with a lady he’d thought he’d been in love with, a lady who was perfect and beautiful in every way, moving with grace and poise.

And yet, strangely, as he came to Jane and took her hand in his, as they danced their steps, with a devastating clarity in his heart, he knew that he loved her. It had taken only six days for this extraordinary woman to capture his heart.

She, Jane Grant, with her missing steps and her blushing cheeks and her nervous, shaking hands.

She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever met. The kindest, bravest heart. A princess among thieves, commanding children, dogs, and men armed with knives.

Had she been a goddess, she’d be Artemis, the goddess of the hunt.

Lady Charity had been everything a lord would want in a wife. Beautiful. Well-bred. Polite and gentle. Very popular.

He had loved her, not knowing it wouldn’t end well. With Jane, he knew. There was no future for them.

She had told him she didn’t want to get married. She was using him only to get out of an obligation with her brother.

And once they learned the truth about Spencer, Jane would not be tied to him at all.

The ruse would end. And he’d be left, once again, with his heart shattered.

19

With the final strokes of the music, Jane gave a curtsy and Richard a bow. During the quadrille, he’d never taken his burning eyes off her. And midway through, just as she’d stepped on his foot for the third time, mumbling an apology, his gaze had intensified so much she’d felt it scalding her skin.

No doubt, it was him regretting ever asking her to dance—how she must have embarrassed him in front of all these poised, beautiful, genteel people.

As the couples receded from the center of the room, he touched her elbow so that no one saw. “Follow me, Jane. I must talk to you.”

He was about to end their pretend relationship. Her poor social and dancing skills were not enough for him to bear being seen with her in society. “Why?” she asked.

He didn’t reply, just led her away, through the crowded room, and then into the darkness of the garden beyond the French doors.

It was a little chilly now, though Jane was so warm from jumping and moving around that she welcomed the fresh air. She went momentarily blind, moving from the light to the darkness. The only illumination in the garden came from the candlelit windows of the drawing room.

It was quieter here, the laughter, music, and chatter muffled by the walls of the house. She could hear leaves rustling slightly in the wind, and the scent of roses was more intense yet less overwhelming in the open space. She was alone with him, again, when she’d been trying to keep him at a distance. Why couldn’t she resist him?

And yet, she wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

She was breathing hard, her dress suddenly feeling so constricting, the corset digging into her sides and under her breasts.