Except that this was no laughing matter. This was Mae’s life’s happiness at stake. She had to at least try to find someone who could accept her as she was. She’d been battling her whole life, fighting to keep from being squeezed into a stultifying society mould. She didn’t want to spend a lifetime fighting her husband as well.
There must be at least one gentleman in England who would not be offended or threatened by her … abilities. Mae was determined to find him.
‘What do you mean to do?’
‘What I do best. Careful planning and brilliant manoeuvring.’
‘You sound like a general.’ Addy sounded awed.
‘I am a general. Make no mistake, Addy. This is war. And this …’ she gestured to the brilliant, seething scene in front of them ‘… this is merely the first skirmish. Tonight I begin to gather intelligence. There can be no strategy without sufficient information.’
‘I never thought I would feel sorry for society’s single gentlemen. They can have no idea what is about to hit them.’ Abruptly Addy reached out and grasped her hand. ‘You’ll do brilliantly.’ The warmth and reassurance in her voice touched Mae. ‘You’ve never failed to accomplish what you set out to do.’ She stood. ‘You shall command the campaign and I will be your loyal assistant.’ Her eyes sparkled. ‘Now, let’s go and find my husband. He can be our first source of information.’
Willingly, Mae followed, glad that Addy had turned away to search out a path through the crowd. For she was wrong. Mae had indeed known failure—and in the one chase that had meant more than all the others together.
Unbidden, her mind’s eye turned inwards, to where she’d locked away her remembrances like a horde of treasure. Laughing blue eyes slipped out. A heated embrace, incredibly soft lips. She made a small sound and gathered her determination, closing her eyes against a flood of similarly wistful recollections. Stephen Manning hadn’t wanted her. He was her past. And tonight was only about her future.
‘This way,’ Addy called. Smiling over her shoulder, she added, ‘Corbet has a great many friends that he rides and drinks and plays cards with. We’ll convince him to take you out for a dance and then they will all have the chance to become intrigued.’ She paused to wait for Mae to catch up. ‘We’ll have you in the first stare of fashion before you can blink!’
‘I admit, I’m anxious to meet your new husband, but I don’t wish to be a bother.’
‘Oh—not to worry! Corbet won’t mind. He’s a darling, that way.’
The baron was, in fact, a darling. He greeted his wife with a kiss and made Mae’s acquaintance with every evidence of pleasure. Immediately, Lord Corbet introduced her to a card table full of his friends, and with only the smallest nudge from Addy he begged for her hand in a dance.
Mae’s estimation of Addy’s husband only rose from there. She could only hope to be half so fortunate in her search for a mate. The baron danced with enthusiasm and when the country dance brought them together he had her chuckling at his self-deprecating humour. They were near the end of a line, the set nearly over, when he made a ludicrous comment about needing to lace his corset tighter in order to buckle his shoe. Mae choked as they circled. Lord Corbet handed her off to the next gentleman, and, still laughing, she looked up and into her new partner’s face.
She stumbled to a stop.
Breathless laughter. Good-natured teasing. Longing. Admiration. Determination. Every one of them a sensation that collected into a cold knot at the base of her spine. She shivered as one by one they raced the message upwards to her brain.
Stephen.
Any connection between her head and her limbs had melted away. She’d lost her place in the dance. The couple behind them, oblivious to the earth-shattering nature of this moment, danced on. The lady backed into Mae, sending her stumbling. Her ankle wrenched. She bit back a cry of mingled shock and pain and started to fall.
Strong arms plucked her from the air before she could hit the floor. Stephen was frowning down at her. ‘Good heavens, are you all right?’
She saw the moment that recognition forced its way into his consciousness. He faltered, too, his eyes bright and his colour high. Mae stared. His expression was the most fascinating mix of pleasure and horrified surprise she’d ever seen.
‘Mae?’ His voice had gone hoarse.
Dizziness swamped her. He stood so close—held her in his arms, even—and yet the distance between them was immense, in every way that counted.
She winced. ‘Good evening, Stephen.’
Chapter Two
Irreconcilable events hit Stephen from opposite directions and from out of the blue. The incongruity of it set his brain box to rattling. He glanced about in an attempt to anchor himself once more. Newmarket, Lord Toswick’s house party, fire in his belly and determination in his heart—to do whatever might be necessary to thrust Fincote into the collective awareness of the racing world. Yet one minute he’d been partnering his hostess in a dance, and the next he was holding Mae Halford pressed up tightly against him.
Impossible. Or at least highly unlikely. He would have pinched himself if his hands hadn’t already been full.
Pleasurably full, too—filled with generous curves and sweetly yielding flesh. She realised it in the same instant and tried to back away, out of his embrace. But her ankle gave way and she started to go down again.
With a shake of his head he swooped her off her feet and into his arms. The entire dance had broken down and people had begun to gather around them. The music limped to a stop, leaving the air full of murmurs of concern, curious whispers and tittering laughter.
Stephen caught Lady Toswick’s eye. ‘Could you lead us to a private spot, my lady?’ he asked his erstwhile dance partner. ‘I believe the lady has injured herself.’
‘Of course!’ Lady Toswick, staring bemused at the wreck in the midst of her ball, gave a start. ‘If you’ll follow me, Lord Stephen?’
Mae twisted in his arms. Warm breath stirred over his ear and interesting bits of anatomy brushed against his chest as she spoke over his shoulder. ‘Lord Corbet, would you be so good as to fetch Addy? And my mother!’ she called as Stephen strode away.
A frazzled butterfly, Lady Toswick flitted her way through the crowd gathered on the dance floor. Casting false smiles and breathless reassurances, she led the way out and down the hall to a small antechamber.
Stephen followed, his jaw clenched in irritation as fans fluttered and tongues wagged in their wake. Two years ago he would have revelled in the attention, but circumstances had changed. He had changed. He was here to win the respect of these people, to prove himself as a knowledgeable racing man and a sound man of business, not to stir up old scandalbroth.
He’d entered the ballroom in a state of focused resolution. But now he’d been knocked off course. By Mae Halford. Again.
‘Oh, dear,’ the countess moaned. She’d opened the door onto an empty room. ‘The
