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.
But how the hell would he fit in a life with a wife…He had not one daisy petal of an idea how to manage land, let alone how to manage with a wife.
All the wives he knew spent their time cuckolding their inattentive husbands.
But that was why he’d settled on Mary, chosen Mary – he thought her different to those women. He’d watched her family for a year. They were all in what society deemed love matches.
Love – that word was false, in his experience. A non-entity. People did not love. They used the word to wound and hurt.
His mother declared she loved the Marquis, but cuckolded him constantly. While on the occasions the Marquis came to town he spent his hours with chorus girls. His mother’s favoured companions were the sons of society and she was regularly in town.
Their behaviour was typical; he knew that because his mother’s friends had begun his initiation into their world of fornication when he’d been fifteen. Ten years on and society had not changed.
But he had changed.
“Drew, I’m sure you’re thinking of what the woman will be like in your bed, but you will not be saying goodbye to her come morning. I said, what will you do with her once you’re wed?”
He had no idea. What the hell will I do with a wife?
Lock her away somewhere so she will not lay with other men. Or could he truly trust her.
She was not like them. Miss Marlow was his best hope of fidelity and yet she would not be in love with him… and he would not be in love with her. Theirs would not be a love match… He did not know how to love, he did not even really believe in it.
Perhaps if all failed he would follow his false-father’s path and leave her to get on with it, find a country sanctuary for himself and rooms in town for her.
But quiet words whispered in his head, she would not be false.
Deep down, he hoped so hard.
That desire was another secret he was keeping from his friends. They thought him a pleasure loving rogue. He was still, in a way, but…
God, how they’d laugh if they knew a man with his reputation hated the women he was meant to seduce. He could not stand female promiscuity anymore. Not since he’d discovered a group of women who abhorred such things.
The Pembroke women had become like idols to him.
He met Harry’s gaze, his friend waited on his answer with an inquisitive grin, as the others carried on playing cards.
A self-deprecating smile twisted Drew’s lips. “The devil knows.”
“Pass her on to me!” Mark laughed. I’ll entertain her when you’re bored.
Drew’s jaw stiffened, his hand itching to form a fist.
He threw down another heart, the knave, and claimed the trick.
Then he forced his shoulders to relax and leant forward, to pull all the cards towards him. But while he did so, he shook his head. It was an adamant, no.
“Why not share, you’re hardly the monogamous type.” Harry laughed.
Drew tidied the cards into a pile at his elbow. Then looked at Harry, and Mark. “Perhaps not. However, I require that quality in a wife. She shall be monogamous, and if any of you touch her…” His gaze passed to Peter too, “I shall call you out.”
They all laughed.
Drew did not. It was not a jest.
“My God, Drew, have you fallen for her?” Peter charged. He knew Drew too well. They’d known each other since they were six.
Drew made a face at Peter, calling him ridiculous. “No, why would I? That is hardly my style. I just do not fancy being done to—”
“As you have done to others… Chickens coming home to roost, Fram?” Harry threw Drew a broad smile.
“Exactly, I’ll not be made a fool of.” He’d willingly admit that much.
Let them know he would insist on a faithful wife, he just did not wish them to know how important it was, or that he planned to be faithful to. They would think him a fool.
* * *
A week had passed since the Jerseys’ garden party, a week to contemplate her foolishness. Yet no matter how stupid Mary knew it was she had not ceased looking for Lord Framlington at every event. Her traitorous body refused to heed the frequent warnings of her conscience and her common-sense.
She had not seen him, but tonight, as she walked into the crush of another ballroom, on her father’s arm, her eyes immediately identified her heart’s quarry.
He stood in the far corner, with his elbow on a marble bust, leaning forward and speaking with a woman, the Marquis of Kilbride’s wife. A beautiful blonde woman. Mary’s heart sank and she looked away before Lord Framlington felt her observation as he always did.
John is right. She’d told herself so a thousand times in the last few days, and yet even as she said it her mischievous mind recalled the press of his lips and the feel of his hand cradling her breast.
Heat rose across her skin and awareness leaked into her senses, prickling along her nerves.
Why am I so attracted to him? This emotion never clawed at her when she looked at other men, and she had danced with dozens. It was just Lord Framlington her heart and body craved.
Ninny! her common-sense screamed. But her senses still whispered Lord Framlington’s nearness.
He walked past, barely feet away as if he knew his proximity made her senses sing.
Yet he did not look at her.
Mary gripped her father’s arm more firmly. I will overcome this attraction.
There must be some man she could feel as much for. A man who did not have a wicked reputation. Who she could trust not to treat her ill.
“Miss Marlow, I would be extremely honoured if you will allow me this dance.”
Mary turned and faced Mr Gerard Heathcote, one of her staunch admirers. He bowed deeply. He was a wealthy merchant’s son who’d courted her last season. Her family liked him. He was charming, in a genteel way.
He’d made her an offer last season. She’d refused, saying it was too soon to settle on a husband. But that had been kindness. He was good natured, blonde-haired and blue-eyed. But her heart craved dark brown locks and laughing brown eyes with a wicked glint.
However Gerard was a good dancer and he’d become a friend, as were many of her beaux. But none of them were anything more. She felt nothing beyond like.
Mary swallowed back her growing impatience, letting go of her father’s arm. She offered her hand and Gerard drew her away. Usually she enjoyed dancing, but tonight it was one endless boring whirl.
Since when did I become so jaded?
Since the rogue kissed me.
From this moment on, unless Lord Framlington repeated his kiss, her life would be dull.
* * *
Arms folded across his chest, with one hand loose, the stem of his wine glass dangling between his fingers, Drew watched the dance floor.