Page 5 of Not his Marchioness
She fixed him with a wary look. “I do not see how my goals are any of your business, Sir.”
“Perhaps not,” he relented. “Although if you didn’t intend it for public consumption, you might not have delivered your speech from center stage. And here you are again, continuing your tirade against the heavens. I must say, I’m imp?—”
“I did not set out to impress you, Sir,” she huffed. “I set out to free myself from the shackles my father would place on me.”
“Well,” he said with a nod, “that is understandable. If my father tried to marry me off to Lord Emery, I might react the same way.”
Her eyebrows rose. “I rather think that situation would never arise, given that you are… decidedly not a lady.”
“That’s correct.” He smirked. “Though I do believe my father—or rather, my uncle, my steward, and even my valet—would like to see me wed. To salvage my reputation,” he added in a mock conspiratorial tone.
Her lips formed a small O of surprise. “Your reputation?”
She studied him more closely now, as if attempting to place his face. But she wouldn’t succeed, for they had never met before tonight.
Rhys bowed with exaggerated flair. “My Lady,” he said, “permit me to introduce myself. Rhys Ellingsworth.”
She froze, her hand flying to her mouth. She staggered back two steps and looked toward the door.
“How dare you accost me out here, alone, in the garden! Do you not know what being seen with a man like you could do to a young lady’s reputation?”
He let out a low, amused laugh. “I hadn’t realized you were so concerned with your reputation. I thought your intention was to ruin it. Wasn’t that the whole point of the performance? To declare to all of London that you will not wed?”
He stepped closer, his voice lowering. “London’s number one rake will be plastered across every scandal sheet tomorrow. But not because you were seen speaking to London’s second-most scandalous rake in a garden.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “From what I’ve heard about you, if anyone is the number one rake—not just in London, but in all of England—it’s you.”
He gasped theatrically. “How dare you insult me so cruelly! I assure you, I’ve no desire to knock Lord Emery off his pedestal.After all, I have no illegitimate children and no dead maids attached to my name. But I will forgive you. Clearly, you are in great distress.”
She sucked in a sharp breath, then her lips parted as if to respond, but no words came out. After a moment, she let out a breath, dropped her arms, and muttered, “You are impossible. Absolutely impossible.”
“I am wounded by your judgment, My Lady, when we have only just met,” he replied. “You really ought to give me a proper chance to prove how impossible I can be.”
“I think this conversation has come to an end, My Lord,” she said tightly.
Then, she grabbed a handful of her skirts, turned with theatrical flair, and marched back toward the house.
Rhys watched her go, oddly intrigued by the fire in her words, uncontained and unrepentant.
It was fortunate that she had made it very clear she intended to bring her life crashing down in a blaze of scandal. And that he had made it abundantly clear he never intended to wed.
Because otherwise…
Otherwise, this could get very dangerous.
Very quickly.
CHAPTER 3
The knock on her door came quickly, and then the door flew open before she could even call for whoever it was to enter.
Marianne stood before her, several newspapers pressed against her chest.
“They are here—the papers. I had Bessy rush out to get more of the ones we don’t usually read. Father departed for Lord Emery’s—off to nurse his wounded pride, no doubt. Aunt Eugenia has collapsed twice and demanded her vinaigrette thrice, so you know she’s truly aggrieved.”
Charlotte blinked, not even fully awake yet, as her sister climbed into her bed, struggling with the papers.
“Give me those,” she croaked, and took them from her, allowing Marianne another free hand to get up on the bed.
