Free To All the Rakes I've Loved Before (A Honeycote Novella) by Anne Barton

But after last night I realized something. You are an amazing woman, and you deserve to see more of the world. Conversely, the world needs to see more of you.”
    Did he think to placate her with flattery? That bit about the world needing to see more of her may have helped his cause slightly , but she was still sputtering with rage. “It is not for you to tell me what I deserve or what I need,” she spat. “How dare you commit forgery with my name?”
    “It was a calculated risk. I knew you’d be angry—”
    “Oh. Brilliant deduction.”
    “—but I took a gamble. I’m betting on us. It’s the last bet I intend to make, by the way.”
    “What the devil are you talking about? What does gambling have to do with this?”
    “You think you’re happy, living here in isolation, with no one but your mother and the staff for company. But this isn’t the life you’re meant to live.”
    “Says who?” She was incredulous.
    “You were hurt, and now you’re hiding.”
    “You don’t know me as well as you think you do, Stephen. But even if you were right, I hardly think attending one ball would make a difference.”
    “Maybe not. But it is the perfect opportunity to rejoin society. Your mother is out of town, so you needn’t worry about her spoiling things for you. You’ve been invited to go with Lady Olivia, Lady Rose, and their brother—the Duke of Huntford. This is a chance to replace your bad memories with new, good ones.”
    “I shall not go. I’ll write to Olivia and Rose right now and tell them that I’ve changed my mind—that I’m feeling ill.”
    He shrugged. “It might seem odd to them, this sudden affliction. And they may wonder why your handwriting changed in the course of a few hours…”
    Damn him. She raised her chin. “I could tell them the truth.”
    “That you and I have been living in the same town house for four days—unchaperoned?” He slid to the end of the settee closest to her chair, reached out, and took her hand. “Will you also tell them that we’ve grown rather fond of each other?” He pressed a kiss to the back of her knuckles, curling her toes.
    She snatched her hand away. “Of course not.” That is, she had grown fond of Stephen. In spite of her determination not to and her resolve never to give a man the power to humiliate her—or break her heart again. He challenged her and made her laugh and made her feel things she never thought she’d feel.
    But she could keep those feelings private. She could pretend that he was simply a nice diversion to enjoy while her mother was away. The truth was, she’d be devastated when he tired of their relationship—if it could even be called that. And if she read accounts of him keeping company with a beautiful widow years from now, she’d probably still cry into her pillow.
    At least no one else would know how miserable she was or what a fool she’d been.
    “I don’t like being manipulated,” she said. “What, exactly, did you write in the note?”
    “That you’d reconsidered and would be delighted to attend the ball with them. Also, that you’d decided to avail yourself of their kind offer to help you select a gown.”
    She glared at him. “I see.”
    For a minute, she sat there, steaming. But she could think of no graceful way to get out of going to the ball.
    “I suppose you’ve left me no choice.” She shuddered at the very idea of mingling with the same people who’d laughed at her and whispered ugly things behind her back.
    Then again, there was every possibility that they wouldn’t even recognize her or remember her—a thought that only depressed her further.
    She stood and walked to the window. Her back to him, she said, “I still don’t understand why you did it. If I choose to keep to myself, to lock myself in my room for the rest of my days, what concern is it of yours?” Unless—
    She turned to face him, a glimmer of hope flaring in her chest. “Are you going to the ball tonight?”
    “No.”
    Silly