Chapter 2

Mac Meriweather couldn’t contain his easy smile at seeing the shocked look on Lady Leticia Crane’s—Letty’s—face as he took the seat beside her. He had met her months earlier through his acquaintance with her older brother, Viscount Cedemoor. The heir to an earldom, Cedemoor was spoiled and entitled, like Mac’s own brother, which was probably why the two men were friends.

Since spending a fortnight at the earl’s hunting party, Mac quickly realized he did not like Cedemoor at all. Any gentleman that would go to such lengths to gain his fortune was no gentleman at all.

Meeting Letty, however, was like being born anew. Sneaking into the library at Crestview Manor and discussing printing with her had been the most invigorating of discussions. He had spent every free moment of his stay with her, and their stolen kisses had been cemented in his mind ever since. Mac knew he had nothing to offer her— he was but a third son with a failing print shop. Yet, he found he couldn’t stop thinking about the beauty who was a rose among thorns.

“Mr. Meriweather, I didn’t expect to see you participating in the season.” She smiled at him, taking his breath away.

She had a quiet beauty about her, it was delicate from the slight bump on her nose to her full, curvy lips. Smooth, light-brown skin captured his gaze, trailing up a long, delicate neck to a head full of long thick curly hair arranged in a barely contained hairstyle. His fingers twitched with the need to run his fingers through her dark tresses—no. He couldn’t afford such thoughts. She wasn’t meant for him, she was meant for someone who could provide for her, like his older brother. She didn’t need a struggling print shop owner with no future.

“I like to attend a ball or two. Besides, it also stops my mother from bickering if she sees me on occasion.” He nodded his head to his mother, where she stood in the center of her four closest friends, her dark hair and gray eyes identical to Mac’s and his older brother’s.

“One can always depend on mothers to bicker.” Letty sat back in her chair, looking entirely too comfortable on the wall with the other wallflowers.

“I know you have one of those yourself.” He rested a shoulder against the chair, a very un-gentlemanly position to be certain, but he didn’t care. He wanted to see her fully, to take in every breathtaking inch of her.

Born the third son of a viscount, he knew his path in life would be different from his older brother’s—and he relished that simple fact. Like his grandfather, Mac enjoyed hard work and wanted to make his own way. He never gave a damn about fitting in with society. The only thing he ever cared about was his print shop—that was until now.

Until her.

“Oh yes, indeed. I believe she mentioned finding husbands for me and my sister at least five times during the carriage ride, if I was counting.” She tilted her head and a stray curl fell over her right eye.

He laughed, always finding her sense of humor on the topic of the marriage mart comical. They had discussed her mother’s obsession with finding both her and her sister husbands in great detail. The thought of her marrying anyone made Mac ill.

“It’s the beginning of the season. Aren’t all mothers concerned about finding husbands for their daughters?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m sure they are, but why must I forget my hopes and dreams to be a wife?” she challenged, the fire in her eyes so bright he thought he would burn from their intensity.

“You shouldn’t. If you marry the right man, he will share your hopes and dreams.” Their gazes locked before hers traveled to his lips.

His tongue teased his lower one, and her audible gasp was joy to his ears. He remembered every breath he’d stolen from her. Mac wanted to kiss her again, and as often as possible if he could help it. Their forbidden kisses at her home had haunted his dreams and, when he’d awoken, he longed to fall back to sleep to be with her again.

“I didn’t take you for a romantic.” She smiled teasingly, tugging at the shield around his heart.

Mac shrugged his shoulder, his gaze dragging down her pleasing form. The pale peach gown was flattering to her curves. Her medium-sized bosom strained against the bodice of her gown, and his gaze lingered on the plump flesh longer than what was acceptable.

“It depends on the situation.” Mac could be romantic if he wanted to, but he never had cause to be.

His newspaper had been his only love interest the past eight years. The abolitionist movement needed him to print the truth about slavery. He wouldn’t stop printing papers until every man, woman, and child was free.

“What situation would call for a romantic, Mr. Meriweather?” Her long dark lashes batted at him.

The current dance ended, and its occupants cleared the floor, making room for the next set of dancers.

“One where I would be completely captivated and overtaken by her beauty and charm.” He held his hand out. “May I sign your dance card?”

She eyed his hand, her light-brown eyes wide. “You know I don’t dance, Mac,” she whispered using his given name.

“I know you try to avoid it.” He tilted his head observing her.

Surely, she wasn’t turning him down.

“Are you refusing me?” He leaned forward, closer than what was appropriate in society, but he cared not.

After six long months away from her, he thought perhaps the spell between them would have broken, but it hadn’t. And he found that he did not want it to be.

She reluctantly held out her arm, where the dance card and small pencil dangled from her delicate wrist. Mac grasped the pencil, the fingers of his free hand circling her arm as he neatly scrawled his name in the small space.

Once he was finished, Mac stood, taking an elaborate bow, “My lady, may I have this dance?” he asked as Letty slipped her gloved hand into his outstretched one.

Leading her to the dance floor felt like the most natural act in the world to Mac. Could he afford to think in such a manner?

“I told you I am a horrid dancer,” she said, turning to stand beside him in the beginning of a minuet.

“I would like to be the judge of that myself, thank you,” he replied, before he turned to face her.

Mac bowed as she gave a shaky curtsy, his heart clenched at seeing her so unsure of herself. She was nothing like the Letty he’d met in Norfolk. When they had become acquainted at her home, he only saw the brave, intelligent side of her. Mac wished that all of society knew the fierce woman he had met at Crestview. He gave her a reassuring smile, wanting to see her fire again. Unlike the shy wallflower in front of him, the temptress he had met six months earlier would have had suitors from London to France.

As they joined the other couples in a circle, it became apparently clear to Mac why Lady Leticia was a wallflower. On several occasions, she went left when she was meant to go right or stepped forward when the dance called for two steps back. She tripped over her own gown three times, and nearly sent another lady flying as she turned back to Mac.

“I did warn you,” she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Laughter punched out of him, causing the other dancers to eye them both with disdain. He couldn’t help himself, really. She was refreshing. Letty was no simpering debutante who would feel embarrassed at her lack of dancing skills.

Before he’d arrived at her home, Mac thought he knew what sort of person Lady Leticia Crane was, but he’d been wrong. He had learned much about her from their previous interaction, but she was so much more than he had ever imagined.

“I assumed you were being modest. I had no idea you truly could not dance.” His shoulders shook with the force of holding in his laughter. He tried to contain it, but he could not, a chuckle bursting out of his cheeks until he was laughing loudly.

“I am glad this is amusing to you. Do you know how difficult it is to be an utter disaster on the dance floor but able to sing every note perfectly?” She pouted those pretty lips at him.

He licked his own lips, imagining what hers would taste like—no—there was no time for such thoughts.

“That does sound rather difficult.” He noticed the musical chords change, cueing up for their exchange of partners. “On the next turn, you go right to partner with Hendershot, follow his lead, then left back to me,” Mac instructed with a tilt of his head.

He released her, spinning to partner with Madame Kitty Delcour, the owner and proprietor of Pleasure House, who gave him a knowing smile as if she was aware of a secret. Mac returned back to his own partner, happy when Letty stumbled into him.

He caught her with a firm hand to her waist before he righted her and smoothly pulled her into him, never missing a step.

“Why are you such a good dancer?” she asked her voice full of frustration as he took her hand and lifted it up over her head.

“My mother insisted we all learn so we wouldn’t embarrass my father or brother.” He stepped back before pulling her toward him again. “In a circle and then to the left.”

Mac released her, turning to grab the hand of the lady on the other side of him as they all danced in a circle. His gaze never left Letty’s.

A brilliant smile lit up her face as she turned back to him. “I need you with me for every ball.”

“It will be my pleasure to be with you always,” he whispered, before they turned one last time to the circle of other dancers.

“Will it?” she asked, as Mac offered his arm, escorting her away from the dance floor.

Mac led them through the crowded ballroom, nodding to different members of society and avoiding the hopeful gaze of his mother. With three unmarried sons, she often complained of not knowing the joys of being a grandmother.

He’d never wanted to be a husband and a father before. Now, Mac wasn’t sure it was a possibility that he wanted to give up.

Leaning in closer, he breathed in her scent, a delicate mixture of rose water and citrus. “Meet me in the parlor down the long hall to the right in a half hour.”

Her breath hitched; a quick nod of her head was Mac’s only sign of agreement. He couldn’t let the night end without tasting her again, just one last time.