The Rogue and I (18 page)

She put her hand into Carlyle’s strong, gloved palm. “Best beware my gaze, my lord, lest I turn you to stone.”

Slowly, Carlyle brought his gaze to hers and said quite seriously, “I do see how you could make a man quite hard.”

Another strangled noise slipped past her lips.

Her Aunt Gertrude nodded emphatically. “Why you need only ask Lord Hart here if my niece doesn’t know how to harden men’s. . . hearts. After she breaks them, of course.”

Harriet tried to tug her hand free, aware that half the ballroom was watching them. Including Garret, his eyes positively bulging.

“Oh, Miss Manning,” Carlyle protested. “You don’t think you’re getting away that easily do you?”

A feeling of positive terror rippled through her as she realized that Carlyle was a man with some sort of plan.

Garret started to grab Carlyle’s arm but the earl dodged his grip as he whisked her onto the dance floor, just as a waltz began to fill the air.

“Smile, my dear,” Carlyle said softly. “You’re about to slay every man in the room.”

“It seems you’ve been led to believe I’m quite bloodthirsty.”

Carlyle threw back his golden head and boomed with laughter. “My dear girl, there’s not a member of your sex who cannot wait to devour her mate.”

Well, that was an interesting view of women. It was tempting to leave him on the dance floor but she was actually unsure if she could extricate herself from his rather powerful grip.

“What are you doing?” she inquired. She genuinely wanted to know. It all seemed so odd, his sudden interest in her.

“Having a damned good time. You?”

She thought about that. Her heart was pounding. Garret was standing on the side of the floor glowering. Aunt Gertrude was beaming and beating her fan lightly in time to the music.

She laughed suddenly. “I’m not suffering, I suppose.”

“I’m glad to hear I’m not so very terrible,” Carlyle teased.

“Lord Carlyle, I have a feeling that you are very terrible indeed.”

“Never believe it, madam,” he mocked lightly.

“You’re as pure as the driven snow, then?”

He waggled his golden brows. “Why of course. My halo is constantly polished. Would you like to give it a rub? For luck, don’t you know.”

She arched a brow. “I think your halo has probably been polished too often for your own good.”

“Never say so.”

“Look, why don’t you just take me off the floor. I’m hardly the kind of lady you’d be interested in so. . .”

“My dear girl, do you own a mirror?”

He whirled her around so fast her feet nearly left the ground.

Who was this odious yet simultaneously fascinating man? She wasn’t beautiful. She knew it. “Please don’t.”

“Don’t what?” He stared down at her, his gaze shockingly honest. “So, you’re not the beauty that every mother hopes to bear? You’re far better. You’re the sort of woman who can stop a man dead or make him act like an absolute moron. . . Case in point, Lord Garret Hart.”

“I’ll give you that,” she agreed. “Not the stop a man dead part. . .But the bit about Lord Garret.”

“You’ll find that I am always right. . . And the sooner you agree, the happier you’ll be.”

“My lord, why in God’s name should I ever need to agree with you again?”

He whirled her about and said simply, “Because you’re going to marry me of course.”

And there, Harriet tripped on the hem of her gown and, for better or worse, fell right into the Earl of Carlyle’s arms.

Chapter 19

“They make a lovely couple, do they not?”

Garret ground his teeth together and somehow managed not to stride across the floor and throttle Carlyle. What the devil was he on about?

Turning to the woman who was almost certainly Harriet’s chaperone, he scowled. “He’s a rake, madam. An absolute rake.”

She nodded with delight. “Well, you know what they say about rakes.”

“No, madam. Pray tell.”

She batted her long, dark lashes. “They make the best husbands.”

An exasperated groan burst out of him and he stormed away. He wasn’t really certain where he was going until he realized he was about to collide with Carlyle and Harriet as they strode off the floor.

It also struck him that everyone was watching the absolutely stunning couple as they walked arm in arm.

It irritated the blazes out of him that that thought had even taken form in his brain. . . But it was true, what with Carlyle’s golden hair, Adonis-like handsomeness, and Harry’s own wheat blonde locks, the two looked like they could be gods on Olympus gracing the mere mortals at this ball with their presence.

He’d always known Harry was attractive. But it had been the sort of attractiveness that endeared a woman to a man, not the kind that made him ride into battle with his sword drawn, ready to do or die.

Now? Now, as he felt his jaw dropping, he realized that somehow Harry had become just that sort of woman.

Whether it was confidence or maturity, there was nothing girlish about her and nothing uncertain.

She lifted her chin as she spotted him. “Why Lord Garret, are you still here?”

Garret scowled. “Like the plague, madam.”

Carlyle clapped him on the back. “I wouldn’t exactly compare you to a disease, old man.”

Garret had a distinct feeling his
friend
was about to turn into a suspicious entity. “You could catch me and
die
. . . Old man.”

“My, you’re in a foul mood,” Carlyle drawled.

He went for the first insult and most familiar. “Miss Manning does have that effect on me.”

He hid his internal wince. Why did she bring out the worst in him? They’d been verbally dueling for so long it had felt absolutely natural.

Her lips pressed into a line then she smiled.
Smiled
.

“It is a good thing then that you need be about me so little. Why don’t you hie off?”

Garret narrowed his eyes. “No.”

Carlyle grinned. “Since you have no wish to depart, why don’t you ask Miss Manning to dance?”

Harriet swung an infuriated glance at Carlyle as if he’d suddenly turned traitor.

Garret almost didn’t notice. It was difficult not to ignore the way his whole body tensed at the very idea of holding her in his arms. His brain knew that he should turn on his heel and get the blazes out of that ballroom. His body, on the other hand, had other ideas. As if on its own, he stuck out his hand.

She eyed the appendage as though it were a rotting fish.

Carlyle gave her a small nudge.

To Garret’s shock, the tactic worked. He tried to imagine anyone else nudging Harriet. He would have assumed she’d have bashed such an arrogant fool. The loss of a limb should have been the minimum punishment for such audacity. Not Carlyle, it seemed.

Instead, she pursed her lips then took Garret’s hand, barely allowing her fingertips to touch his glove.

He led her toward the floor. “I don’t actually have the plague, you know.”

“I beg your pardon, is someone speaking?”

This was damned awkward. And he was going to murder Carlyle for bringing him here and shoving them together. Didn’t Carlyle know Harriet Manning was the last person he should be dancing with?

One glance back at his smirking friend told him that yes, yes the bastard knew.

In fact, said knowledge was almost certainly why he’d done it. . . For little better than his own amusement.

“Harriet, don’t be a child,” he said softly.

She threw him a dagger glance. “I don’t wish to dance with you but nor will I cause a scene.”

“I suppose I should be glad.”

“Glad?
Glad?”

“
Is there an echo?”

“Look here you conceited oaf, your family has ruined my cousin’s life.”

“And your life?” he queried gently.

She clamped her mouth shut as if she were unwilling to comment.

No doubt, she did feel that way but he couldn’t bring himself to apologize unless she did. She’d kept a very large secret from him. She’d known how difficult things were with his father and she’d met him in private, for God’s sake. What else was she capable of?

He was tired of all the martyrdom. “My dear Harriet, while it is common for women to condemn men, I must say that your cousin seems to be the one who ruined her own life.”

She snapped her gaze to his. “Indeed?”

“My brothers
saw
her.”

“No—“

“Yes. They saw her with their own eyes. And James and Edward are not cruel enough to make such a thing up. I had my doubts, but I don’t think them both liars.”

“So, you assume Emmaline to be the liar?”

He hesitated because he hated to say something that felt wrong and would cause Harriet true pain. “Under the circumstances I must.”

“I see.” She nodded her head. “Thank God we did not marry.”

His own heart sank. “Yes.”

She nodded. “I would hate to be saddled with such a fool.”

“I beg your pardon?”

The music came to halt. “I think you should speak with Lord Conrade. I think you should speak to your brother, John. And then we shall see who the liar truly is. Now, good evening and good bye.”

As the music ended, she yanked her hand free from his and to his astonishment she walked straight to Carlyle and took his arm.

Carlyle gave him a cocky grin. And then they left the ballroom.

Together.

And Garret realized that as absurd as it might be, he was going to murder his
friend
before the night was through.

***

H
arry glanced up at the man who she was fairly certain was absolutely mad. For some inexplicable reason, she was allowing him to lead her down the candlelit corridor.

“Where are we going?” she whispered as if instinctively she knew whatever was afoot was a secret.

“To your coach.”

Oh. Well that wasn’t what she had thought. Surely, he had intended to whisk her into some shadowed corner and tell her of his nefarious schemes along with his supposed desire to marry? Or perhaps he thought her foolish enough to be seen exiting the house alone with him.

“I’m not leaving with you,” she said flatly.

Carlyle stopped, rolled his eyes, then glanced back the way they’d come.

That was odd. Was he watching for someone?

“What are you doing,” she hissed.

Carlyle arched a golden brow. “You know he will follow us, don’t you?”

She sniffed. She and Garret Hart were done. Finished. There was nothing more to it. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said rather peevishly.

“Am I?” he asked.

She gave a sharp nod.

“My dear Miss Manning,” he began patiently, “If you believe him to be indifferent to our grand exit then you are as great a fool as he.”

She sniffed. She wasn’t going to deign to answer that.

“Your aunt has arranged for your coach. I am simply escorting you. And then, I shall call upon you in the morning to discuss our arrangements.”

“I’m not going to marry you,” she said softly.

He smiled. “Yes, you are.”

She let out a frustrated huff of breath. “Are all men as arrogant as you and your friend?”

“No, but be honest.” He gave her a slow smile. An infuriately charming turn of the lips. “It’s why you like us.”

Harriet narrowed her eyes. “I do not like either of you at all.”

“Tsk, tsk Miss Manning. There shall be no lies between us. Wasn’t watching Garret seethe with jealousy great fun?”

“He’s not jealous,” she said tightly.

“Yes he is,” the earl countered. “You saw him storm across the floor to meet us.”

She fidgeted with her glove, hating the way her heart fluttered. “Well. . . Yes.”

“Don’t you wish to keep having fun?”

Fun?

She thought of the way Garret had hurt her. Badly. Many times now. What kind of a person would it make her if she now married Carlyle simply to drive her old love mad?

Not a very nice one.

As if he could sense her thoughts, he leaned in, kissed her cheek and whispered against her ear, “Nice, my dear Harriet, is highly over rated.”

The crash from down the hall and subsequent curse brought a smile to her lips.

Why, Carlyle was right. Garret had snuck behind them. For surely, that was he lurking in the shadows, somewhere down the hall.

“Yes,” she finally agreed linking her arm more tightly with Carlyle’s. “I supposed it is.”

Chapter 20

It took Garret a good two hours to track down Edward. The man had somehow managed to get himself into a hackney with a few disreputable lords and head to one of the worst gin palaces near the East End.

Edward was clutching a bottle in the dark corner, crying out, “Emmaline!” over and over again.

It was remarkably off-putting.

Granted, he had felt the same some five years ago after that last meeting with his father and the news of Harriet’s act of desperation.

Still, he chose to believe he’d never looked quite so pathetic. But then he recalled waking up in a gutter in. . .

Perhaps judging Edward was a dangerous and hypocritical thing to chance.

So, instead of allowing superiority or disgust to influence him, he sat down next to Edward and tried to wrench the bottle away.

Edward let out a wail of protest and clutched it like a mother holds her newborn.

Garret let out a groan. “You know, you’ve made my life utter hell.”

“Life is hell.” Edward hiccupped. “Ho-Horrible hell. It is a p-pit of despair.”

“Gin doesn’t become you,” Garret said.

“Nothing becomes me without my angel!” Edward wailed and then he plucked the cork out of the bottle.

Before he could take another drink, Garret swiped the bottle out of his hands.

Edward flailed and fell forward onto the straw covered wood. He blinked. “Why am I on the floor?”

Garret wiped a hand over his face. “Because you’re a ponce.”

“Now, just a moment. . .” But then a strange look crossed Edward’s face and he suddenly keeled over backward. Now, splayed out like a starfish on dry land, Edward had given over to the sleep of drunkards.

Garret contemplated slapping his brother awake but realized such a thing would result in waking and well, really, the whole night had gone completely pear shaped.