How To Marry a Rake by Deb Marlowe

Author:Deb Marlowe [Marlowe, Deb]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Mills & Boon Historical Romance
Published: 2011-03-01T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

‘These tears? I do not understand them.’ Josette sounded as baffled as she looked. ‘You didn’t want that English lord. No?’

‘No.’ Mae, perched on the edge of her bed, dabbed at her eyes. ‘They aren’t tears. I’m not crying. I’m just … leaking a little.’

It was no wonder Josette was confused. This morning, Mae had felt lost. Now, after yet another physical encounter with Stephen—there were no words for her bewildered state.

Why did she allow him to affect her this way? Every time she found herself adrift in a mass of confusion and doubt, she could lay the blame squarely at Stephen Manning’s feet.

Or could she?

At least in the past they had both been consistent—she in her pursuit and he in his retreat. But now, cracks were forming in his reflective surface. He was allowing her a peek inside, if just a little. And physically—

No. She couldn’t lie to herself. The pattern was clear. This was just a new approach to pushing her away. He’d let her in, the tiniest bit, and then he’d pick a fight, use his kisses as a punishment for getting too close.

She flushed, and it came back to her then—the sight of Stephen nuzzling her breast, his lips and tongue stirring to life a frenzy of want and need.

‘It is a good thing that you did not let this Lord Banks kiss you,’ Josette said suddenly, her eyes fixed on the hem she was repairing.

Mae fought to concentrate on her maid. ‘Why?’

‘The kissing,’ she said with a dire shake of her head, ‘it makes them stupid. They become domineering, think they can order you about. And then it is much work convincing them otherwise.’

Mae considered this. Stephen had changed, become more critical, less accepting of her ideas. After telling her to listen to her own voice, he’d started issuing orders.

She shook her head. It was just another example of him sending one message, then instantly following up with its opposite. What could she conclude except that he was as confused as she was?

Mae started to roll her neck, but suddenly stopped. As angry and perplexed as Stephen made her, at least he hadn’t bound her shoulders into knots.

She glanced across the room, at the mirror, and she knew that she must take his advice—his first advice. She was going to follow her own instinct, both to find that damned horse and to find herself a husband. And right now, her inner voice was telling her to talk to Ryeton’s mistress.

Mae swivelled about in her chair. ‘Josette?’

‘Yes, mademoiselle?’

‘Fetch my riding habit, please.’

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