The Dangerous Love of a Rogue Read Online Free Page A

of her elbow, saving her, only to pull her towards the chest which had caused her exclamation.
    He’d appeared from behind the hedge to block her path.
    Her fingers pressed against the solid muscle beneath his day coat. Unladylike longings besieged her. She had never forgotten him.
    Irked by the desire she should not feel, Mary pushed him away, anger flaring and overriding the unwanted attraction that constantly pulled at her, urging her to look for him, to listen for his voice.
    She looked up and met his gaze, ire burning a flame she hoped he saw in her eyes.
    If he did, the deep, dark amber brown of his absorbed it with cool, quelling disengagement.
    Her stomach wobbled like aspic with an unwilling hunger for the reprobate.
    “Miss Marlow.” He let go of her arm, then raised his hat a little.

    Mary stepped back, careful to avoid the shallow steps.
    “It is my good fortune to collide with you.”
    Bobbing a hardly recognisable curtsy Mary’s gaze reached beyond him seeking a way past. But the garden path, lined by tall yew hedges, was barely wide enough for one. She could not pass him without further contact unless he moved aside.
    “Lord Framlington.” Her voice rang sharp with irritation. “If you will excuse me, I really ought to be getting back.” She moved to sweep past, but he blocked her with his broad chest.
    “No haste, Miss Marlow, the party was still in full swing when I left, no one will notice our absence, they are busy playing Lady Jersey’s outdoor games. Have you tried the archery butts? You could aim an arrow at my heart if you wish, I would not complain, and perhaps you might snare me if it came from Cupid’s bow.”
    Her gaze lifted to his. “Do not be absurd?” The snapping words leapt from her mouth. His comment was far too close to her secret wish. “You know my brother advises against you.”
    “The Duke of Pembroke?” Condescension sharpened his words, while a roguish smile played with his lips. Oh she remembered that smile, it had hovered in her dreams for a year… “What do I care for his opinion, and what do you care. I have often thought the man did me a favour, warning you off. You have been enamoured ever since.”
    “I have not.” Mary’s hands balled to fists. The man was infuriating. Why on earth did she find him so interesting? Because on one evening, nearly a year ago, he had danced with her, and talked and flirted, and smiled and laughed as no other man had.
    He grinned. “Careful, or I shall think you protest too much. Besides I know because I have seen you watching me. Whenever I turn, there is Miss Mary Marlow staring across the room.”
    He leant forward, his face inches from hers. “Your looks call to me, Mary. You whisper to me, come, come, Framlington, closer.” His husky pitch made her skin tingle with awareness and possibilities course through her blood.

    He straightened, his gloved fingers gently bracing her chin. “Well here I am, Mary. Come to you. What will you do with me?”
    Run away .
    She backed away a step, lifting her chin from his grip. “Nothing.” She forced the denial from her lips, when internally she longed to know how his kiss would feel. “Let me pass. I should not be speaking with you.”
    “But you are.” He stepped forward.
    When she’d danced with him last season his glittering light brown eyes had melted her bones. He’d held her gently, while making her laugh, like he was a jester, and as they’d parted he’d asked her to remember him.
    She’d fallen in love during that dance. Irrevocably in love. She had not forgotten.
    But afterward her eldest brother, John, the Duke of Pembroke, had advised that Lord Framlington – her beauty – was a beast. A fortune hunter, chasing dowries.
    Worse, he was a rake, a philanderer, a seducer, not to be trusted in the least.
    It is folly talking to him.
    “Then let me rectify that.” She tried to pass him. But he caught her upper arm, stopping her and turning with her. She stood