Her Wicked Marquess (Sinful Wallflowers #2) - Stacy Reid Page 0,19

David muttered, gripping his elbow and harshly whispering, “are you out of your damn mind?”

“I must have been,” Nicolas said dryly, a throb of undeniable fascination going through him.

A pretty, clever little schemer, getting me to ruin you without even a touch between us.

The lady placed a hand over her heart and sighed. “He kissed me most thoroughly, I might add, and Fanny, it was scandalous, and decadent! He…he touched his tongue to mine,” she said, sounding breathlessly horrified. “Then he hurriedly went back through the windows.”

One of the eavesdropping ladies audibly gasped.

“Is someone there?” Lady Maryann called out, looking perfectly alarmed. “Oh no, I do hope no one overheard!”

The eavesdropping ladies turned around and hurried away, giggling. Nicolas already knew what would happen. They would happily impart to all listening ears that St. Ives had indeed climbed into the chamber of a lady of quality and lasciviously kissed her. The fact he had been in her room with her alone was enough to rain ruination on the girl’s head. That “kiss” was icing on the cake.

It would start with a sly whisper that would soon become a roar, and his name would be on the lips of ladies as they met in their drawing room, and perhaps even the men as they dined and gambled at their clubs. They would wonder at his daring, and if he had stopped at a kiss. No one would believe a man as wicked and unprincipled as himself would leave her after just a kiss.

With merely a few words, this creature had linked their fates together.

She dashed around the fountain and peered in the direction where the ladies had hovered in time to see their skirts disappearing around the corner. A light, joyous laugh came from her—she clearly did not seem to mind the only path stretching before her was vilification by the ton. He would only get a few tongue clucks and an admonishing glance that might last for a couple days. After all, a rake will do what a rake will do—seduce and despoil virgins. But her…what recovery would there be for her?

His curiosity grew, and when David made to talk, Nicolas held up a hand, halting him. He did not want to miss anything. The more he saw, the more he would be able to break it apart, analyze, calculate the value to him, understand her motivations and exactly what he should do about it.

She whirled around to Fanny. “They have gone!”

Her friend fisted a hand on her rounded hips. “So you knew they were there?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, Maryann, they fell right into your palm! Was this what you meant when you said your wicked plans included Nicolas St. Ives? I believe I had cautioned you against going down such a path!”

“This was not the initial plan, but I daresay it might work out very well indeed.”

“I think you are playing a dangerous game. You do not know the manner of man he is—”

“What is there to know? He is a feckless rake who gambles and races recklessly. He associates with other useless gentlemen of society.”

A dark wash of anticipation suffused Nicolas. So, you think me useless? I’ll take pleasure in rectifying that assumption, Lady Maryann.

“There is a rumor that he beds a different woman every night with no consistent lover or mistress,” she continued, rolling her eyes. “There is something about him in the scandal sheets every week. So what is one more?”

“And if you are expected to marry him?”

“Marry the marquess?”

She said that with such astonishment, he could see entrapping him had never been a part of her plan.

“Papa would not allow that. His reputation is too diabolical.”

“Maryann, the gossips will say he was in your room. Alone. Your parents—”

“I know,” she said with an aching touch of regret. “I loathed the thought of hurting them with my actions, but I cannot marry Lord Stamford. I cannot, Fanny.”

“Is he that awful?”

“If he had even an ounce of decency, I might have married him.”

“I hope the rumors will be enough for him to end all talk of marriage with your father,” Fanny said, reaching for Lady Maryann’s hand to offer a supportive squeeze. “And I dearly hope the marquess will not be angry when he hears of it.”

“St. Ives will lose nothing,” she said a bit sadly, as if recognizing everything that she stood to lose—her reputation and her parents’ trust. “When has society ever condemned a man for actions that can lead to a young lady’s ruination? I daresay he

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