His instincts had failed him, it seemed.
This maiden had mettle.
His hand slipped lower, settling with deliberate pressure at the base of her spine, a bold touch masked by the rhythm of the dance and the sweep of her skirts. He waited for a gasp, a flinch, for the telltale flush that never came.
“Careful, Miss Harland. Hold your nerve like that, and I might forget which one of us came here to play the villain.”
She looked him in the eye, a task few men achieved. “I expect, once you’re home with your brandy, you’ll still be debating it.”
He laughed, much to the delight of those engrossed in the show. But suspicion flared. She spoke with the confidence of a lover. Perhaps Miss Harland was a perfectionist. Even her ruination must be flawless.
“Perhaps you’ve done me a great service, Mr Hawke.”She cast a glance at the men who hadn’t taken their eyes off her since he’d marked her as his target.
The sight soured his stomach. That they pictured her in their bed brought bile to his throat. He wasn’t jealous. He wouldn’t bed Harland’s daughter if she were the last woman on earth. He just prayed she never arrived at Shadowmere on a degenerate’s arm.
“Not that I’m one to offer guidance,” he said, slipping on sheep’s clothing despite the poor fit. “But find a quiet village, where word of your downfall won’t reach the young pastor. Though I doubt you’d make him a biddable wife.”
She considered it. “Yes, the country air might suit me better than the choking fog in town. Thank you, Mr Hawke, for sparing a moment to consider my welfare.”
“Think of it as a parting gift.”
“Like a rose left on a lover’s pillow?”
“More a diamond parure before I give you your congé.”
She sighed, though her hand slid a little higher on his shoulder. “I suppose I must grow accustomed to rejection. After such a display of gentlemanly prowess, it’s only right you should be my first.”
First. The word lodged like a splinter.
It summoned an unwelcome vision, her body beneath his, innocence yielding to vengeance. He tamped it down like a flame that had no business being lit.
“I pray you take rejection as well as you do ruin.”
It was time to end this farce.
His gaze swept the crowd, hunting for his nemesis, but the bastard was nowhere in sight. The news would have reached the card room by now.
“My father may be struggling to get through the crush,” she said, her perception as sharp as her wit. “Or perhaps he’son a winning streak and cannot bear to leave the table. Money is everything, after all.”
Not everything. Some days he longed to be a simple farmhand, concerned with nothing but the weather.
“I confess, I wanted to see the horror on his face.”
“The damage is done,” she said with calm resolve. “Will you escort me back to my aunt, or would you prefer I collapse into a heap on the dance floor? I could swagger back alone, play the true scarlet woman. You could tear the neckline of my gown, though it’s one of the few I possess.”
An unwelcome flicker of regret passed through him, one easily buried beneath his determination. Harland hadn’t spared his mother a second thought. This was for her. He needed to remember that.
“It’s your choice, angel.”
“How magnanimous of you.”
“I aim to please.”
“Yet you’ve fallen dreadfully short tonight, Mr Hawke.”
He shook his head, amused. Few had the confidence to imply he was lacking. “You were no one. Now you’re notorious. I think that qualifies as memorable.”
“Not quite memorable enough.”
