How to Marry a Rake Read Online Free PDF

woman.
    Mae chewed her bottom lip as she watched Stephen stalk away. Two long years, she marvelled. Thousands of miles travelled. Countless new people met, more than a few flirtations engaged in and two sincere marriage proposals received. None of which she was to be given credit for. Stephen had treated her as if she were still the same over-eager, love-struck girl.
    Well, she was not that girl any longer—she smiled at her mother and at Lady Toswick, assured them that,
yes,
she was fine and,
no,
she ought not dance any more this evening—and she set out to prove it.
    It turned out not to be as difficult as she feared, thanks in large part to Addy and her husband. Mae returned to the ballroom and was enthroned upon a comfortable chair in the corner, with a padded ottomanupon which to prop her foot—decently covered with an embroidered shawl, of course. She suffered a moment’s panic after settling in, envisioning herself an island of misery and loneliness in the midst of all the gaiety, but within moments Lord Corbet’s friends were obligingly clustering about her.
    At first they were all a bit stiff and formal in their enquiries, but Mae was so grateful she did not hesitate to turn the sharp edge of her wit onto her own clumsiness. She thought she showed remarkable restraint in only sacrificing Stephen upon a pointed barb or two, and soon enough the gentlemen were relaxed and chuckling and vying for the right to sit out a set at her side.
    Mae relaxed, too, as the evening went on and she concluded that, despite the inauspicious beginning, this evening was proving to be a grand start to her campaign. She was meeting eligible gentlemen, gathering vital information and making excellent connections.
    She slipped only once. A Mr Fatch had taken the seat beside her. An earnest young gentleman, he was thrilled with the opportunity to tell her—extensively—about his ancestral acres and the minerals that had recently been discovered there.
    The whole thing was Stephen’s fault, really. Mr Fatch rambled comfortably on about the canal he wished to build to transport his ores to market and Mae found she could not quite keep her gaze from straying in Stephen’s direction.
    She could hardly be blamed. It had ever been thus—Stephen was invariably and always the most
alive
person in the room. It was impossible not to sneakglances at him, and impossible not to feel lighter for doing so.
    He had a thousand mercurial moods—and the gift of always donning the correct one for the occasion. Tonight he was polished, convivial and full of dry wit, judging from the outbursts of laughter from the group of gentlemen he’d joined.
    And Mae was distracted, despite her intent not to be. And intensely annoyed with herself, too. Mr Fatch might be a perfectly lovely gentleman, might he not? She turned her attention firmly back to him and took up his chosen subject with interest and fervour.
    Except that wasn’t the right course either. Mae knew quite a bit about canals. Over the next few minutes she recalled her lessons on how the ancients had made use of them, talked of what she had learned in Paris, where Napoleon had attempted to use the idea to bring water to the city, and speculated that the use of steam-powered engines in boats was going to bring about an expansion of canal systems all over Europe.
    She realised her mistake too late. Mr Fatch’s expression transformed from content to bemused and on to faintly horrified.
    She stopped talking and stifled a groan.
    ‘Or so my papa believes,’ she finished with a weak smile. And threw in a flutter of her eyelashes for good measure.
    But there was no salvaging the situation.
    ‘Indeed? Well, then, I thank you for sharing his views. And so thoroughly, too.’ Mr Fatch stood and sketched a hasty bow. ‘Do enjoy the rest of your evening.’
    And he was gone. Mae bit back an eloquent curse she’d learned from her French maid.
    She had not a moment to dwell on the setback, however, for her