Page 24 of Gone with the Rake

Lydia frowned. “Why would she do that?”

“Then how are you going to steal the ring if—?” There was a brief pause, before she added with a chuckle, “Do not tell me you’re planning to hide behind the bushes with garden shears in your hands.”

Lydia pursed her lips.

“Lydia!” There was a note of horror in Honoria’s voice. “Do not tell me that is your plan. This is a ridiculous plan!”

“Do not fret, Honoria,” Lydia said in a calm whisper. “This isn’t the first time I have been tasked with stealing something off a man. And trust me, when men are involved in a tryst, they do not see anything else around them. Besides, Lady Stanhope will make sure to not let him get distracted.”

“What are you saying? You are going to just walk up behind him while he is tupping Lady Stanhope? How will he not see you?” Honoria was so doubtful it was almost insulting.

“Honor!” Lydia whispered furiously. “I am a professional. This isn’t my first day on the job, or do you forget?”

“Sometimes I think you forget,” Honoria grumbled. “You did not become the best-known thief by—”

“Shhh…” Lydia looked around to see if anyone was paying them any heed, but they were not.

“You did not earn your reputation by walking around arrogantly assuming you can easily do these kinds of things!” Honoria finished in a loud whisper.

“You were not there, Honor. Not when I earned the reputation, and certainly not in the last few months. I can do this,” she said confidently, and then added to herself, “Or at least, I hope so.”

Chapter 8

Miss Penelope Prescott, the oldest Prescott daughter, couldn’t take her eyes off the floor as she danced opposite Thorn. Her spine was ramrod straight, her rapid breathing betraying her nerves despite her attempted composure.

“You don’t have to be nervous,” Thorn murmured.

“Do I not?” Her voice quivered, her eyes darting to the crowd surrounding them. “I am not a perfect dancer, I am afraid. I don’t want to disappoint my father, nor do I want to tread on your toes.”

“You don’t have to worry about my toes, Miss Prescott,” he said, lips quirking into a half-smile. “I once taught my young cousin to lead in a waltz. At eighteen, he was a few stones heavier than me and wearing hunting boots. Suffice it to say, your delicate slippers cannot inflict more damage than I have already endured. Tread away.”

She let out a choked laugh before her eyes widened, scanning the crowd around them. The onlookers weren’t subtle in their attention. No doubt they made a curious pair—a viscount who had shunned society for years, now dancing with a chocolatier’s uncouth daughter. The gossips would feast tonight.

She wasn’t exactly uncouth, Thorn thought as she moved timidly across from him. While she could use a bit more refinement to win favor with the society matrons, for Thorn’s purposes, she was perfect.

“You needn’t worry about what others think, Miss Prescott,” Thorn said as they stepped toward each other, her movements precise but tense.

“Why not?” Her eyes met his briefly before skittering away.

“Because the more you crave societal approval, the more they withhold it.” He guided her through the first turn, feeling her gradually relax under his lead. “If you act as if you don’t care, people will flock to you instead.”

She swallowed hard, her gaze locked on her feet as if they might betray her at any moment. “Maybe that’s how it works for a young viscount. For a daughter of a merchant, I am afraid, the rules are a bit different.” As they twirled parallel to each other, Miss Prescott’s ankle wobbled, but she caught herself, righting herself before falling on her face. Her cheeks flushed, and her eyes darted sideways, checking for witnesses to her slip. Thorn followed her gaze—the vultures of society were indeed watching, their fans fluttering as they whispered, heads shaking in disapproval.

Thorn drew closer, closer than propriety allowed, and whispered in her ear. “Do you mind looking at me instead of the floor? And perhaps give me a smile or two. People need to think that we are flirting.”

Miss Prescott’s eyes reluctantly lifted to his, tension visible in her jaw. “I shall trip again.”

“And then you’ll fall into my arms, and it might work for our benefit,” Thorn countered, his lips twitching. “That is, of course, if you decided that you would marry me.”

“I would.” The words tumbled out without hesitation. He had given Mr. Prescott some time to speak to his daughter before asking her for a dance, and he expected a bit more uncertainty from her. Perhaps even rebellion. He saw none of that.

Thorn’s eyebrow arched. “So, you’ve decided?”

She swallowed, her eyes dropping to her feet once again before snapping back to his face, clearly remembering his request. Her distraction showed—she nearly missed her cue to spin.

Thorn smoothly caught her hand, guiding her through the forgotten movement.

“Your offer is the best I’ve gotten in over two years.” Her cheeks flushed at the admission.