The Rake and the Wallflower by Allison Lane

away, her lids fluttering enticingly over the top of her fan. He hadn’t considered her a problem, for she was a beauty with a large court of admirers that should have kept her too busy to bother him. Now she swiftly dispersed her court, then headed in his direction.
    He swore.
    “Who is the beauty in the yellow gown?” he asked Nick. A name would let Jaynes discover her plans in the future.
    “The blonde passing Lady Jersey?”
    “That’s the one.”
    “Miss Seabrook. I mentioned her yesterday. Her brother is a baron with an estate in Devonshire, and her older sister married Rockhurst. He is sponsoring her and a younger sister this Season.” He glanced around. “I don’t see Lady Rockhurst at the moment. Do you need an introduction?”
    “No. Diamonds are usually too selfish for my taste, so wrapped in their own wishes that they care little for others.”
    “You always were partial to bluestockings.”
    Gray shrugged. “At least they can converse intelligently.” Miss Seabrook drew closer. Her mouth stretched into a practiced smile, but her eyes gleamed with avarice. “No doubt about it, she has her eye on me. Would you distract her? I refuse to tarnish another reputation.” When Nick nodded, Gray headed for the card room. He was too dizzy to deal with problems tonight.
    Lord Oxbridge was in deep play with a dozen other gamesters, none of whom noticed him. And just as well. His vision was fading in and out, his head whirled, and sounds had merged into the pulsing echo that presaged a swoon. He should have heeded the doctor’s advice and stayed abed for a week. But it was too late — for everything. He had to lie down before he collapsed. His carriage would not do. He would never find it in time.
    He left the card room by the other door. The hallway led to the ladies’ retiring room and then to the family quarters. They were not open to guests, but he no longer cared. He would never hear the end of it if he collapsed in public.
    Black spots were crowding his eyes by the time he staggered into Oxbridge’s library. Moisture beaded his brow. With his last ounce of strength, he closed the door and collapsed on a couch.
    Time passed. The dizziness gradually faded, steadying the ceiling fresco. Not until he shifted into a more comfortable position did he realize that the room was occupied. His artist was sitting at a table.
    He swore.
    “You should have stayed in bed another day, Lord Grayson,” she said calmly. “Skipping a ball would damage your credit less than swooning in public.”
    “Hiding again?” He kept his tone light. She knew his identity now, though she made no move to flee.
    “Not exactly. Lord Oxbridge mentioned a folio of animal prints, but he was interrupted before I could ask to see them. I hope he won’t mind.”
    Gray raised his head. The table was littered with natural history books and prints. He recognized the folio. The hand-tinted drawings showed animals in their natural state, with more detailed backgrounds than most artists used, more detailed even than the bird illustrations his friend John Selby drew — he’d urged the fellow more than once to publish a collection.
    He dropped his head back on the couch. “He won’t mind, but your reputation will suffer if anyone finds you here. This part of the house is closed.”
    “Which is why you came here to swoon.” She nodded.
    He started to deny it, but closed his mouth without a word. She knew the truth. How could she not? He’d staggered in half dead and continued to recline despite her presence. She was right. He should have stayed home. All of society would know the tale by morning.
    She shook her head. “You are in terrible shape, Lord Grayson. Your face reveals every thought. But relax. I won’t mention your foolishness, though you should return home as soon as you can remain on your feet.”
    Embarrassment heated his face. “You have the advantage of me,” he said through clenched teeth. “We’ve not been