Page 8 of Her Rake Fiancé

Richard said, “Yes.”

Blackmore thumped his glass of whisky against the sideboard with a triumphant smile and rushed back behind his desk. Shuffling some papers, he said quickly, “The wedding should not be later than two weeks from now. On the day of the wedding, I will give you the information you seek.”

Richard’s hands shook. Two weeks felt incredibly soon. And yet, the sooner the better. With every day that passed, something terrible could be happening to Spencer.

As he locked his eyes with Miss Grant, he was not at all sure that she looked happy. Perhaps she wanted this as little as he did.

Blackmore kept talking. “You must take Jane into society every other day. You must court her publicly. You must ensure she gets invitations to soirées and other events. People must see you with her.”

“But what about my school?” demanded Miss Grant.

“This is your future, Jane,” said Blackmore. “You can do both until the wedding, but after that, it will be up to your husband.”

4

As the door shut behind Lord Richard, Jane threw an angry glare at her brother, her heart drumming so hard, it may break her ribs. Thorne walked to his chair, sat down, and leaned back, an infuriating smirk playing at the corner of his lips as he regarded her with cool satisfaction.

“Congratulations, sister,” Thorne said. “You’re engaged.”

She shook her head, struggling to contain her quick breath that felt like it was running away from her. She’d never been this furious with anyone in her whole life.

“You have strange notions about me, brother. As though I’m supposed to be happy about a marriage at all.”

Thorne’s eyebrows knitted together, the smugness slipping from his face to reveal a flicker of concern, an expression she hadn’t seen on him in days.

“Jane—”

Ignoring Thorne’s protest, she rushed through the door, her eyes scanning the dim corridor for Lord Richard’s figure.

The heat of her anger propelled her forward. Not only had that rake disturbed the first day of class at the school she had worked for months to start…he’d disrupted her whole life!

Two weeks…

Thorne helped her with the school, but that man never would. No noble lady of the ton—no duke’s sister-in-law!—was supposed to work, not to mention do so among criminals and their children.

A woman was her husband’s property. She couldn’t bear the thought of belonging to someone, her dreams and aspirations lost in the shadow of a man who would control her every move. What member of the ton would want his wife to teach and run a school in Whitechapel?

No. If she married Lord Richard, that would be the end of her dream. The only thing that made her feel like she truly mattered.

She’d just gotten a grasp on her future, only to have it so violently torn out from under her palms. She couldn’t stop the tremor in her hands.

Rushing through the shadowy, labyrinthine corridor, she vowed not to let Lord Richard Seaton ruin her future by marrying her.

In a few moments, she saw his broad-shouldered figure ahead and hurried after him. With a quick glance behind her, she grabbed him by the sleeve of his waistcoat—Lord, what firm, powerful muscles she felt under the fabric—and pulled him into a dark alcove just beyond the gas lamps and out of sight of anyone passing by.

He towered over her. With no space in the tight alcove, they were squished together, and Jane realized her mistake right away. He was so large she couldn’t move without touching his hard body, which smelled oh so good. The sharp tang of whisky, his cologne, something fresh like a moonlit forest, and peppery and sweet like sandalwood.

Footsteps sounded behind them, louder and louder.

Richard opened his broad, handsome mouth to say something, but she pressed her fingers against his lips. She could feel the slight, sharp stubble covering his silky skin, the surprisingly soft, full lips, the heat of his breath rushing out of his nose.

An exhilarating rush of tingles avalanched through her. She was touching a strange man’s mouth!

A dark shadow passed by them—black waistcoat, dark, windswept hair, the unmistakable broad shoulders and narrow waist of her brother’s tall figure. His steps receded into the distance until he went through a door.

And then…

Dangerously, scandalously, Jane was alone with the rake.