“You should be running in the opposite direction,” he rasped even as he skimmed his fingers along her cheekbone and then sank them into her hair. “Any other wallflower would be.”
“That’s true,” she acknowledged. “But in case you haven’t noticed, I am a tad unconventional.”
His mouth, a mere inch from hers, stretched in a mirthless grin. “A tad? You’re the definition of the word.”
“I shall take that as a fine c-compliment,” she gasped, her voice catching when he angled his head and took her earlobe between his teeth. A sharp nip, followed by a soothing lick of his tongue and she went wobbly at the knees.
“Renata,” he murmured against her neck.
“Y-Yes?” she moaned.
He kissed his way to her shoulder. “Before we proceed any further, you need to know that there is something wrong with–bollocks.”
“Oh, dear.” Her knees straightened. “There’s something wrong with your bollocks?”
“What?No.” He pulled back to scowl at her. “That’s not what I…there’s nothing wrong with my bollocks. My bollocks are in perfect working order, thank you very much.”
She nodded seriously. “That’s good to hear.”
“What the devil would give you the impression that–never mind.” He raked a hand through his hair, then pointed at the tents. “That’swhy I cursed.”
Rosemary turned automatically to follow the direction of his finger. What she saw–or ratherwhoshe saw–marching straight at them with all the single-minded determination of a foot guard regiment in the British infantry caused all of the blood to drain from her face. “Bollocks.”
“Exactly,” Sterling said grimly. “You should get behind me.”
“What will that do? They’ve already seen us!”
The “they” she was referring to was none other than Lady Navessa and her trio of handmaidens. Somehow, someway, Navessa had spied Rosemary and Sterling standing under the tree. While a more benevolent person might choose to discreetly look the other way when confronted with evidence of an indiscretion, especially at a ball where secret moments of passion ran rampant, it was apparent that the reigning queen of thetonwas not about to let this opportunity pass her by.
She would be ruined, Rosemary registered dimly. Being caught sans chaperone in the dark with a renowned rogue was going to destroy her reputation. By the time Navessa got done pummeling her good name into the mud, she’d never be able to show her face in Polite Society ever again. Her grandmother would be humiliated. Any slim chance she might have had at making a successful match would be gone. Forget the Earl of Hawkridge revealing he had an American half-sister.Thiswould become the Scandal of the Season.
Navessa would make sure of it.
“There’s only one thing left to do,” Sterling said matter-of-factly as Navessa continued her descent across the sloping lawn, her yellow gown billowing in the breeze.
“Disappear into thin air?” Rosemary suggested.
“Marry you.”
“Marry–” No. She couldn’t even complete the sentence. It was too farfetched. Too preposterous. Too…tooinsaneto even contemplate. Marry the Duke of Hanover? MarrySterling?It would never work. They would never work. He was too…himand she was too…she. Yes, his kisses made her literally weak in the knees and, yes, she enjoyed being in his company and, yes, she really did believe there was good to be found in him. Butmarriage. Marriage was a different chapter entirely. A different book, really. And she wasn’t even sure whether she was ready to pull it down off the shelf, let alone read it.
“Give me your marigold,” he said, shoving his hand under her nose.
“I-I-I can’t,” she stammered.
His eyes flashed with annoyance. “Why not?”
She bit her lip. “Because Sir Reginald already ate it.”
“Do you know,” he said through clenched teeth, “I am beginning to genuinely dislike that squirrel.”
From within her pocket, Sir Reginald gave an indignant squeak.
“He didn’t mean it,” she soothed, stroking his tail.
“I bloody well did.”
Navessa was nearly upon them now. Close enough for Rosemary to see the gleam of malicious triumph in her gaze.
