She only knew St. Ives by reputation, but there was nothing serious or dastardly about the man. Maryann was so very tempted to ask, her mouth parted, but she bit down on her bottom lip.
“I thought a lady of your daring would like a taste of ruin,” he murmured provokingly.
Her heart jolted at his words, and Maryann scarcely dared to breathe. Suddenly the very air in the gardens felt perilous. Had he been aware of her when she slipped from the ballroom? Impossible. They hadn’t met before, and a man like Nicolas St. Ives had no reason to notice Maryann.
And if he knew beyond a doubt she was there, and her identity, why did he not reveal his hand? They were playing cat and mouse…no…he was playing. Who was the cat? I am most certainly not the mouse, she thought and tossed her head.
Somehow his air of expectancy tempted her to be spontaneous, insolent…scandalous. Every prudent instinct hungered to be tossed to the winds, but she disciplined her reckless heart. Rakes were still dangerous to ladies like her who were declared wallflowers and soon-to-be spinsters. Even if she had once wished to dance and risk being burned by his fire, that would have been done from a safe distance, not this close—where she could be fully consumed.
A few weeks ago, she had declared to her dearest friend, Kitty Danvers, that Nicolas St. Ives was the wicked path that she, Maryann, needed to encroach on to achieve her measure of happiness. The plan had been to deliberately walk into his path and try to proposition him to a mutual bargain. The idea was outrageous, but she had been desperate to make the attempt. Maryann had spent days wondering what she could offer him to partake in her ruination and had discarded dozens of ideas.
When she’d heard of Lady Peregrine’s house party, Maryann had thought to sneak into the marquess’s room, just the very edge of it, and allow for the man her parents were forcing her to marry to see or hear she was there. St. Ives would not have been in that chamber, of course; the plan had been to insinuate she was waiting for him in her nightgown at his scandalous invitation. It was the death of the previous marquess and her niggling conscience that had seen Maryann altering her designs on St. Ives.
And that worry had been for naught.
The latest action that had the ton in an uproar was that St. Ives did not seem to be mourning the death of his late father, who had been known to be ailing for some time before his demise.
It had only been a little over six weeks since he attained his inheritance and the marquessate, and the man seemed determined to ignore all the proper etiquette and continue with his raking. He certainly was not avoiding the entertainments, as he had been sighted at balls and the theatre, which was considered shocking so soon after his father’s interment. Of course, noblemen were allowed to get away with so much more than ladies, especially if the nobleman concerned was as devastatingly attractive as St. Ives.
She silently snorted. Given his scandalous behavior, her using him to start a minor scandal probably would have only amused the marquess. The sound of laughter and revelry filtered on the night air, yet she did not move. Nor did the marquess. They stayed like that in the dark of the gardens, him smoking his cheroot and Maryann reposing on her bench, prepared to wait out the marquess.
“You are a worthy and unflappable opponent,” he said.
Perhaps we are both cats, she thought a bit smugly, leaning back against the bench to wait him out.
Chapter Three
A few days later…
“A most delightful tidbit has flown its way to Town. I have it on good authority that the recently minted Marquess of Rothbury has been seen climbing from the bedchamber of a lady at a certain house party. N. St. Ives is notorious for his wicked, salacious pursuits, and has never been known to act in a circumspect manner before. This very odd and suspicious behavior has led this author and her coterie to believe that the lady whose chamber he climbed from is believed to be an ‘innocent’! Is London’s most notorious and sought-after marquess up to his usual naughty debauchery with a lady of quality? I promise, dear readers, to conduct a thorough investigation to who could have captured St. Ives’s wicked attentions.” -Lady Gamble
Maryann read the scandal sheet a third time, her mind churning, skipping ahead, opening possibilities and assessing their plausibility. This was it; she was certain. The way forward, the path toward freedom. A most timely providence.
“Oh, Maryann, what are you really thinking?” she muttered, pacing by the windows of the small sitting room she had commanded for her personal use in her family’s town house in Berkeley Square.
With a sigh, Maryann lowered the paper. She had not been brave enough to see through her previous plans, and now she might have lost the opportunity to use St. Ives. Maryann winced at the notion of using anyone but consoled herself that she was only borrowing the reputation of someone truly disreputable and who would probably not mind in the least. “Oh, Kitty, I wish you were here!”
A few weeks ago, Kitty had bravely acted in a far wickeder manner than Maryann by pretending to be the fiancée of a reclusive duke and had ended up finding something wonderful. Even Kitty’s sister, Miss Annabell, was engaged to Baron Lynton, and their union was being celebrated as a love match. Maryann and their other friends who belonged to their intrepid Sinful Wallflowers club felt greatly inspired by Kitty’s success, for it proved enjoying life on their terms could lead to a most desirable happiness.
The door to the drawing room was shoved open, and her brother sauntered inside. His rich auburn hair, very much like her own, was tousled by the wind, and when he smiled wide, his green eyes twinkled. He had clearly been riding earlier and made no effort to tidy his appearance after a vigorous trot around Hyde or Green Park.
Her heart lightened as it always did whenever she saw Crispin. He was one of the only people who understood her, and they’d had the best relationship for as long as she could remember.
“Mother tells me you need an escort to tonight’s ball. She has a headache and will not be able to make it,” he said by way of greeting.
With a scowl, Maryann flung herself into the single sofa by the hearth. “Why does Mama bother to worry about a chaperone for me? No one ever asks me to dance or take a turn in the gardens.”
No bouquets of roses and lilies filled the hallways and parlors for her the morning after a ball. Yet she stubbornly attended those she was invited to because she enjoyed the music and the gaiety. While she hardly danced, Maryann had great fun at balls catching up with her friends, the other merry members of their club.
Ha! Sinful. Pitiful lot they were, promising to be wicked and grab life by the horns, but here she was, unable to think of a way out of the life her parents had planned for her.
“As I understand it, your soon-to-be betrothed will be in attendance.”
“I will not marry that man!”
Her brother frowned. “Maryann, will—”