Last Dance in London (Rakes on the Run #1) - Sydney Jane Baily Page 0,9

past it, and he focused on her face again.

“I have been in London for nearly two years,” she said. “While I haven’t had anything like a formal Season, I accompanied my sister to a number of social events once she was out of mourning this year.”

“Ah, yes, Lady Worthington.”

Miss Sudbury tilted her head, never missing a step.

“You say that as if you are acquainted with my sister, yet I do not believe you are.” She paused, looking at him from under her lovely brown lashes, darker than her fair hair and perfectly framing her periwinkle blue eyes.

“Although she seems well aware of you, my lord.”

The smiled died upon his face. Despite her pleasant expression, he knew by her tone Miss Sudbury was referring to the very worst of his behavior, the lascivious deeds, often exaggerated, tattled in the gossip rags. This was the shady conduct that made the mothers terrified and their daughters curious.

He sighed, pressing his hand more tightly against her waist as if she might flee from him and his monstrous nature.

“Your sister may have read about me, but you are correct. We are not personally acquainted, nor does a pot of muddy gossip-water make for clarity or truth.”

“Really?” She blinked at him. “In polite society, we cannot discuss what you may or may not have done lest my chaperone’s ears turn a brilliant shade of red. But honestly, Lord Marshfield, are you saying there is no truth behind the rumors of your devilish deeds that left more than one female regretting the day she met you?”

He had opened his mouth to form a rebuttal but snapped it closed. Staring into her eyes, so pure and clear like a late-August sky, he couldn’t simply brush away her words, nor lie to her.

“Well?” she asked. She almost seemed to want him to deny being a rake.

Hm. Maybe she hoped the gossips were lying. Perhaps she wanted to form an attachment if he were not as bad as the papers said. On the other hand, she might be titillated by his reputation and thus hoped it were true.

“You are correct, Miss Sudbury. We cannot really discuss this matter.” And he went silent for a few twirls around the floor before recalling she was the one who’d committed the grave infraction and entered his bedroom. And if his hunch was correct, she’d stolen from him.

“I must bring up the other night at my home, specifically where I encountered you.”

She stiffened in his arms.

“Must you?” she asked. “For having since learned of your character, I now feel foolish in having hoped to take a handkerchief. In fact, a token from you is the last thing any young woman of genteel breeding who cares about her reputation would wish to have in her possession.”

She had insulted him. He was an earl, by God! Yet she considered him no longer worth trapping into marriage, not that he would let himself be trapped, but still!

“Imagine if I had shown someone such a thing as a pocket square with your monogram,” she continued. “I would be ruined. Why, I’m glad this dance is nearly at an end. My good name is undoubtedly at risk for allowing myself to waltz even once with you.”

She was an evil shrew, Jasper decided. She would be lucky if he deigned to ruin her blasted reputation! Good name, indeed! Who had ever heard of her?

They lapsed into silence for the duration of the dance, which he couldn’t help noticing she accomplished impeccably. Moreover, her sweet orange blossom and jasmine scent, floating around them as they danced, had become most intoxicating.

When he led her from the floor, back toward her watchful chaperone, he had to ask, “If you were not born and bred for a London Season, how is it you dance so well?”

She gave a charming dip of her shoulder in response. “We are not all farmers in the country, sir.”

True enough! Apparently, there were women out there in the wilds beyond the city who could catch the eye of an earl, or like this one, who had his complete attention. Although from some of her remarks, her nature might be waspish, in which case he would want nothing more to do with her.

“What does your family do?” he asked, thinking it a safe enough topic.

“What does my family do?” she repeated, as if not understanding his import. “That’s a strange question considering most of the people in this room do absolutely nothing, nor do their families. Mere boils on the