The Rake and the Wallflower by Allison Lane Page A

introduced.”
    She blushed. “Forgive me. Miss Mary Seabrook, Lady Rockhurst’s sister.”
    A jag of fear produced another surge of dizziness. Was she also stalking him? But reason quickly returned. She could not have planned this meeting — or the one behind Lady Debenham’s potted palms. No one could have predicted he would turn up in either hideaway.
    Nor was she like her sister. Average looks. Simple gown. Matter-of-fact tone. And a bluestocking, unless his instinct was completely gone. One of the books she had gathered was a natural history of Kent. Another was a volume on birds, written in the most turgid prose he’d ever encountered.
    “Surely they warned you to stay away from me.” The moment the words were out, he cursed himself. The beating must have loosened his brain.
    “Of course.” A smile lifted the corner of her mouth as she faced him. “You are an ogre of the first water, sir. Merely speaking with you will tarnish my reputation, cancel my voucher to Almack’s, and call my virtue into question. You are a hairsbreadth from being cast into eternal perdition with only Blackthorn as company.”
    “Ouch.”
    “The view is not universal, of course. Lady Westlake defends you with great vigor — she is grateful for a past kindness — and others suspect the tales are exaggerated. I prefer to judge for myself — not a difficult chore since fate seems eager to throw us together.”
    He nodded. “You could always leave.”
    “I see no need.”
    “Why?”
    A small frown crossed her forehead. Intrigued, for she seemed to be giving his question serious thought, he rolled onto his side, propped his head on one hand, and waited.
    “Curiosity, I suppose,” she said at length. “My instincts are usually accurate, and you do not strike me as a blackguard. I know that gossip usually exaggerates and is sometimes downright false.”
    His jaw dropped in astonishment. “You are young to have learned such wisdom.”
    “Lessons can come at any age.” Pain flashed in her eyes. “My eldest sister once suffered a malicious attack on her credibility. The resulting censure spilled onto the entire family. Only luck and considerable effort saved her reputation. The incident taught me the folly of believing everything one hears.”
    “Are you speaking of Lady Rockhurst?”
    She nodded. “Rockhurst unmasked the perpetrator. It is how they met.”
    “When was this? I’ve heard nothing of such a campaign.”
    “Not surprising. It was a country matter that did not reach town.” She shrugged. “But what is the truth in your own case? You seem kind.”
    Even more surprising than the question was her tone. No condemnation. No fury. Only curiosity and the surety that he could explain. He shocked himself by answering.
    “Like Lady Rockhurst, I did nothing. I suppose you’ve heard the stories.”
    “Of course. Those who enjoy scandal delight in warning newcomers to avoid people like you — strictly for our own good; any pleasure they derive from the exercise is purely incidental.”
    Her tone made him chuckle.
    “You are accused of jilting Miss Irwin, then ruining Miss Turner, who ultimately did away with herself. I presume that last claim is true, for no one suggests suicide lightly.”
    He nodded.
    “Everyone agrees on those charges. Other tales are more nebulous — the unnamed innocents you supposedly ruined, suspicions that your fortune was acquired dishonestly, hints that you are a French spy.”
    “None of those have any basis in fact,” he snapped.
    “So I thought. I distrust any tale that does not include specifics or that changes significantly from one teller to the next. But what of the others?”
    “Miss Irwin arrived in London with little training in the ways of society. Thus she managed to annoy or insult a great many influential ladies, including Lady Beatrice. She was poised to do the same to Lady Jersey when I deflected her.”
    “How?”
    He cautiously sat up. The room swung twice, then