His Scandalous Kiss: Secrets at Thorncliff Manor: 6 (3 page)

It was true. In fact, her aunt was growing quite desperate where Mary’s prospects were concerned—a difficult situation since
Mary had other plans for her future. To Sarah she said, “That does not mean that I am destined to end up at the altar.”

“But surely you must have considered the idea of marriage and what the benefits would be for you?”

“Of course I have,” Mary said, recalling the conversation she’d had with Signor Antonio earlier. Reading Miss Austen’s books
had made it very difficult
not
to consider it. But what most people did not think about when they read such books, was that they only described the process
of falling in love. They did not address the life that followed the early days of young romance or the restrictions forced
upon women the moment they entered into the marriage itself. “After much deliberation I have come to the conclusion that the
benefits will be few when compared with what I stand to lose. I value my independence too much to sacrifice it for any man.”

“Independence should certainly not be dismissed, but unlike you, I do believe it is worth sacrificing for the
right
man.” Glancing toward her husband, Sarah said, “Especially since the right man will not seek to restrict you without good
reason.”

“I shall have to take your word for that as the more experienced woman among us,” Mary said, deciding not to argue.

Sarah smiled. “I know that you are not convinced and yet I cannot help but wonder if your mystery companion might tempt you
to change your mind.”

Deliberately, Mary rolled her eyes, diminishing the impact of Sarah’s words. “When I know next to nothing about him? How absurd!”

“And yet you continue to blush whenever he is mentioned. I find that delightfully curious.”

“Very well,” Mary conceded. “I will admit that I thought him both charming and interesting, but to imagine that he and I might
form an attachment based on that alone would be quite a stretch, would it not?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Sarah said with trembling lips. “I cannot see how it can possibly work when you are so set against it.”

“Now you are just mocking me,” Mary muttered.

“I would not dare.” But the sparkle in Sarah’s eyes said otherwise, and Mary couldn’t help but laugh in response.

Returning to the terrace after supper, Mary joined Lord Bertram for the reel. He was an older gentleman—perhaps fifteen years
her senior—with polite manners that unfortunately failed to compensate for his lack of conversational skill or sense of humor.
As the well-bred young lady that she was, Mary made a genuine effort to respond to his comments. But discussing how wonderful
the evening was, the magnificence of Thorncliff, and their good fortune in regard to the weather, proved increasingly tedious.
So much so that Mary was extremely relieved when the dance finally drew to an end so she could escape Lord Bertram’s company.

Looking around, she sought Signor Antonio, wondering where he might be, but was quickly discouraged from doing so when Lord
Rotridge stepped into her path. “Are you ready for our country dance?” he asked with a crooked smile. Dressed in evening black,
he’d chosen a domino that revealed more of his face than it hid, making him easier to recognize than most.

“Certainly, my lord,” Mary said with a final glance directed toward the far corner of the terrace where light disappeared
into darkness. A figure stood there, silhouetted against the shadows. Mary stared, the leap of her pulse ensuring her of who
it was, even as he melted away completely. Inhaling sharply, she turned away and accepted the arm that Rotridge offered, acutely
aware that she was being watched.

“You look delightful this evening,” Rotridge said as he guided her between the colonnade of dancers a few minutes later. “Such
a lovely departure from your usual self. A man would have to be mad not to dance with you.”

Mary couldn’t help but frown. “Is that supposed to be a compliment, my lord?”

He chuckled slightly. “Forgive me, Lady Mary. It was not my intention to insult you but rather to praise your choice of costume.
I cannot recall ever seeing you with your hair down before. It suits you.”

Looking up at him, she studied the confident glow in his eyes, “I must admit that I was surprised when you asked me to dance
with you this evening. You have never made the effort before.”

His expression turned instantly somber as he took her by the hand and led her in a small circle at the end of the colonnade.
“A mistake, on my part, for which I can only hope that you will eventually forgive me.” There was a brief pause, and then,
“I have known you since you were a little girl, Lady Mary. Admittedly, it has taken some time for me to realize that you have
grown into a beautiful young woman.”

They drew apart, joining the colonnade while other couples danced between them. Standing across from her, Rotridge regarded
her with heated interest. She waited, expecting to feel something in return, but soon discovered that she felt nothing at
all. Again, she chanced a look toward the far corner of the terrace, disappointment surging through her when she found only
empty darkness.

“Perhaps you would care to go boating with me some time,” Rotridge inquired when they stepped toward each other again and
spun around the floor. “Or if you prefer a picnic, I shall be happy to make the arrangements.”

“Afternoon tea on the terrace would be equally nice,” Mary said. She might not be any more interested in him than she would
be in a rock, but at least he was finally making an effort.

Rotridge frowned. “Is that not too mundane?”

“I do not know,” Mary hedged. “I quite enjoy my afternoon tea and the terrace here is so lovely, filled as it is with the
scent of roses and jasmine.”

“But you can have tea on the terrace whenever you please,” Rotridge protested. “It does not seem special enough and I . . .”
He offered her a broad smile. “I was hoping to do something special for you—something that might convince you of my high regard.”

Mary attempted a smile in return. “That is very kind of you, my lord. Perhaps you are right. A boat ride does sound like an
enjoyable way in which to pass the afternoon.”

“Splendid!” His eyes flashed brightly. “It will give us a chance to make up for lost time.”

“I suppose so,” Mary said as they stepped apart once more. Watching him, she could not deny his good looks. But ever since
he’d inherited the property neighboring her grandfather’s almost ten years ago, he’d done little more than greet her politely
whenever their paths had happened to cross during her annual visits. True, she had been a child then while he had been a young
man affected by his father’s early passing, but his keen interest in her now still seemed odd.

The music faded and she dropped into a curtsy while Rotridge bowed elegantly in response. Rising, Mary accepted the arm that
he offered and allowed him to lead her toward the refreshment table. “My lord, may I ask you a question?”

Glancing down at her, Rotridge raised an eyebrow. “Of course.”

They reached the refreshment table where Rotridge picked up a glass of champagne and offered it to Mary. “Thank you, but I
would rather have some lemonade, if it is not too much trouble.”

“Lemonade?” Turning his head, he glanced down at a large glass jug, his mouth twisting into something of a grimace. Returning
his attention to Mary, he said, “Only spinsters and wallflowers would ever think to drink lemonade at a ball, and you, my
lady, are neither.” He held the champagne toward her with greater insistence.

Mary’s back went rigid. “My lord, there is nothing wrong with being a spinster or a wallflower, and there is certainly nothing
wrong with drinking lemonade, not even at a ball.”

For the briefest of seconds, his eyes narrowed into two dark slits, but it happened so quickly and was rapidly replaced by
the most understanding expression, that she wondered if she’d imagined the anger she’d seen there. Her doubts only grew when
he said, “Please forgive me. I only mean for you to enjoy the evening as much as possible. If lemonade is what you prefer,
then by all means . . .” Lifting the jug, he proceeded to fill a glass for her.

“As to the question I was going to ask you before,” Mary said as soon as he’d handed her the glass and she’d allowed herself
a sip.

“Yes?”

“Why your sudden interest in me?”

Rotridge went completely still for a moment, his glass of champagne halting en route to his mouth. But then it passed, he
sipped his drink, and smiled benignly. “As I said, it took me a while to realize how grown up you are now, perhaps because
you never seemed interested in encouraging the attentions of any gentleman. So while I have noticed your attendance at various
balls, I also believed you were out of my reach—that asking you to dance would have been a wasted effort.”

“Out of your reach?” The man was either mad or lying through his sparkly white teeth. “But you are an earl, my lord. I would
have been a fool not to consider you if you had shown an interest.”

“You say so now, but I can assure you that I have known plenty of women who wish to cling to their independence. I suppose
I assumed that you shared their sentiment based on your lack of effort.”

Mary’s mouth dropped. “My lack of effort?”

“Until tonight of course. Tonight you have clearly proven that you are ready to consider a courtship.”

“I . . .” She could scarcely speak, she was so shocked by his presumptuousness. Swallowing the anger that simmered inside
her, Mary tried to concentrate on slow and steady breaths. “You are entirely mistaken, my lord, for I consider my independence
to be my greatest asset. Consequently, I am no more eager to lose it through marriage now than I was yesterday.”

“Your choice of gown and your long flowing hair say otherwise.”

Mary shook her head. “Why would you suppose such a thing?”

Tilting his head, he grinned down at her. “Come now, my lady, there is no need for you to play games with me.”

“I can assure you that I am not trying to do so.”

Frowning, he studied her a moment. “Are you not aware that by wearing not only the plainest gown but the
only
gown cut in this particular style . . .” he waved his hand in her general direction, “you have made yourself the center of
attention? Additionally, you are also the only lady here tonight who has chosen not to dress her hair.”

“Only because doing so would not have suited my costume,” Mary said as she looked around. When Lady Duncaster had announced
the upcoming masquerade two weeks earlier, Mary had leapt at the opportunity to order a gown inspired by the beautiful painting
of Eleanor of Aquitaine that hung in her bedroom. Not once had she considered that all the other women would choose to dress
as though they belonged at Louis the Thirteenth’s court. “I did not realize that there would be a theme,” she said, more aware
of herself than ever before.

“Lady Duncaster did mention it when she announced the ball.”

Mary nodded. Her aunt had told her about the ball after Mary had missed the announcement but had neglected to mention the
theme until Mary had already ordered her gown. By then, it had been too late for her to order another. “Even so,” she said,
determined to return to the more important matter at hand, “the fact remains that you must have gotten the wrong idea. I am
not in the market for a husband at present.”

“Then you are a fool,” Rotridge warned as he snatched her glass right out of her hand and set it aside. Before she could manage
a protest, he’d taken her by the arm and was steering her toward the dark corner of the terrace. “Independence is a novel
idea, but you are a woman and since you are not an heiress, you will need a husband for the sake of security, if nothing else.”

With a tug, Mary tried to break free of his hold, but Rotridge wouldn’t have it. “My lord, if it is my dowry you are after,
then I suggest you reconsider. It is not—”

“Dowry? Why on earth would I be interested in your dowry when I have more money than I know what to do with?”

“I cannot imagine,” Mary confessed.

“If you were to marry me, I would allow you full control of your dowry. I certainly have no need of it, and if it is a modest
sum, I will even be happy to add to it. I suppose, in a way, that this would give you the independence that you seek. Financially,
at least.”

It was the sort of bargain that would appeal to most young ladies. “Forgive me, but I understand your motivation even less
if it is not driven by monetary gain.”

Reaching the corner, Rotridge pulled her into the darkness, his arm circling around her waist and forcing her up against him.
“Perhaps I simply want you for you.”

Mary shook her head. “No. I do not believe that.” She tried to pull away—to return to the light—but he only tightened his
hold. “Please. Let me go.”

“In a moment,” he said. Raising his hand, he used his teeth to pull away his glove. Then, on a sharp inhale of breath, he
ran his naked fingers through her hair, his breaths increasingly shallow as he gathered up a handful of locks and pressed
them against his nose. “You smell divine,” he murmured.

A tremor snaked its way through her. “I think we ought to rejoin the festivities,” she whispered, her words faltering as she
glanced toward the other guests. If he kissed her where everyone could see, she would have no choice but to bow to his will
or accept ruination.

Rotridge pinned her with a hard stare. “In a moment,” he repeated as he tightened his hold even more.

A low growl shifted the air around her. “I believe it is time for our dance,” a harsh voice spoke.

Mary turned her head toward the masked figure who’d quietly materialized beside her. He was taller than Rotridge—broader too.
Relief eased the tension that had quickly been building inside her.

“And who might you be?” Rotridge asked, releasing both Mary and her hair so he could face Signor Antonio properly.

“That is none of your concern,” Signor Antonio said.

Rotridge stared at him a moment before returning his attention to Mary. Bowing, he said, “It has been a pleasure, my lady.
I shall look forward to our boat ride with great anticipation. Will tomorrow suit?”