Free One Night with a Rake (Regency Rakes) by Connie Mason, Mia Marlowe Page B

meant nothing to him or he to them, too many endless nights of drunken revelry that he couldn’t recall properly the next morning.
    Some days Anne was a shadowy figure in his memory and he blamed himself for losing her afresh.
    “I know what you mean,” he admitted, tapping his temple. “She’s a bit hazy around the edges.”
    “Perhaps that’s the way things are meant to be,” Georgette whispered. “I think it’s time’s way of softening memories that are too hard to bear if they stay so crisply edged. That doesn’t mean we don’t still love her. It only means our hearts are protecting themselves.”
    He studied her profile and wondered why he’d never noticed the sweet indentation beneath her lower lip that gave her chin its determined set. Winsome and willful, hers was a face full of contradictions.
    What else had he missed about Georgette?
    “When did you become so wise?” he asked.
    She laughed again, but it was different this time. Not the wry laugh of the cynic, or the annoying twitter of most debutants, but a low musical sound that bespoke true amusement. “When one has been a wallflower as often as I, one has plenty of opportunity to think.”
    “I can’t imagine why you’ve been on the sidelines.”
    “Really? Do you think strong opinions endear a young lady to prospective suitors?”
    “At least you have opinions. Most debutants don’t. Unless it’s about something to do with the latest French lace.” Of course, he’d avoided debutants as if they might give him hives. Underappreciated wives or jaded widows had been his bed partners of choice in recent years.
    She sighed. “In truth, I’m hopeless in social settings.”
    “Never say so.”
    “It’s true. I dance like an angel for my dance master, but put me in a quadrille square with a real partner and I’m terrified of turning the wrong direction and ruining the set for everyone.”
    “Perhaps we should practice together, then.” It would give him a chance to touch her and hold her close without arousing her suspicion. Though to his pleasant surprise, she was still allowing him to hold her hand. “I’m not your dancing master so it’ll be more like an actual ball.”
    “That might help.” She tilted her chin, considering his offer. Then a smile broke over her face, luminous as a thousand candles. “Thank you, Nathaniel.”
    “It’ll be my pleasure.” He squeezed her hand and she suddenly withdrew it from his grasp as if she’d just realized he was still holding it.
    “Oh!” She leaned toward the window and peered out. “How long has the cab been stopped?”
    “A while.”
    “We ought to be going in then. Madam Reynard will close soon.”
    “In a moment. You asked some penetrating questions earlier,” Nathaniel said. “Even though I’m not the Duke of Cambridge, I’d like to answer them.”
    He took her hand again and sandwiched it between his. She stiffened briefly, but then relaxed her fingers.
    “Now let me see if I can remember them all,” he said. “The best book I ever read was Robinson Crusoe . I don’t like either cricket or lawn bowling. Fencing is my game. My first pony’s name was Thistle. The fat little beast was a demon on four hooves and wasn’t happy unless he ran me under a low-hanging branch at least once a day.”
    “Oh, I remember him! What a good judge of character Thistle was.” She laughed again and this time her cheeks bloomed with that glorious pink as well.
    “And my favorite color,” Nathaniel said, leaning toward her slightly, “is whatever color your eyes happen to be at the moment.”
    “Oh.” Her mouth parted softly. “That may well be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
    “Then the world is full of fools.” He reached up and cupped her cheek. “You really are extraordinary, you know.”
    “Am I?”
    “You are. And you should be told so often enough for you never to doubt it again.” He bent to kiss her again and brushed her lips lightly. “We’ve