Chapter Three
Pere wasn’t sure what was more confusing; the fact that Lord Hawthorne had dared to use his charm on her, in front of her brother, or the fact that she’d been completely taken in by it.
She rather thought she was made of stronger stuff than that.
It was disappointing to have been so fully caught off guard—and, devil take him, interested!
In Hawthorne! It truly was a maddening scene.
Her pulse still fluttered like a trapped sparrow against her ribs, and she blamed the waltz music, not the man.
Her hands balled into tight fists as she heard the first strains of the supper waltz begin.
She released her fingers and took a deep breath, scanning the crowd for her partner.
“Lady Peregrine.”
She turned toward the voice, her eyes narrowing as she met his gaze and arched a brow.
He might have caught her off guard before, but not again.
“Lord Hawthorne.” She offered her hand and resisted a shiver as his warm hand took hers, placing it on his arm as he led them to the dance floor.
His cane tapped once—soft, almost apologetic—against the parquet before he tucked it beneath his coat.
His lips tipped up in a half smile, as if trying to keep his expression from revealing too much.
“Don’t disguise your amusement on my account, my lord.” Pere spoke sweetly, met his gaze as he wrapped his hand around her waist for the frame of the waltz.
Effortlessly, he led them into the swirling dancers. The scent of bergamot and leather drifted from his coat, and she hated that she noticed.
“And what amusement am I disguising?” he asked, his eyes roaming her features, somehow making her feel beautiful, fascinating. She shook her head.
“Stop it,” she commanded, then glowered for good measure, then offered a smile to a passing dancing couple.
“Stop what?” His tone was honey and heat, just low enough to make her involuntarily move forward to better hear him.
“How—” She stopped, flustered. “You’re good. I’ll give you that.”
“At?” he asked, caressing the word as he tightened his hand at her waist.
Her traitorous body warmed, her focus pinpointing on the exact place on the body where he touched her.
“This is … how do you do that? Good Lord, I don’t even particularly like you—”
“But you could,” he murmured.
The truth struck too close. “I’m not answering that.” She took a safe route, her skin flushing as he continued to regard her with that blasted, yet sinfully delicious gaze.
“The smartest decision you’ve made tonight.”
Like a page being turned, his whole demeanor shifted, and he regarded her with an aloof detachment. “I suggest you give more weight to your brother’s words, my lady.” His hand loosened its hold on her waist, ever so slightly, and his expression cleared completely.
“How—”
“You seem to be preoccupied with that word this evening,” he interrupted.
“But I’ll answer regardless, because I can.
Because gentlemen such as myself will use our charm and hundreds of other tactics to engage your …
bod—” He cut off the word, as if realizing it was scandalous to even mention and frowned.
“Yourself against you, for our own purposes. Using what you don’t know against you.
So, in light of this revelation, I suggest you amend your plans for this season. ”
Pere blinked, simmering over his words before landing on the last phrase that he spoke.
“What plans, may I ask?” She clipped the words.
Surely her brother didn’t betray her musings—or perhaps, maybe they were more than musings.
But surely, he didn’t divulge all her carefully laid plans to Lord Hawthorne.
“Rakes do not make the best husbands, and they will never be reformed. I don’t know who told you such lies, but—”
Pere stepped on his boot, hard, and glared.
“What did my boot do to you, Lady Peregrine?” Lord Hawthorne asked, biting back a grin, his eyes crinkling up on the sides ever so slightly. “I assure you, I’ve not stepped on your delicate toes once.”
“I cannot believe my brother—”
“Who is concerned about you, and rightfully so—”
“I’m not going to be foolish—”
“You already are.”
“I’ve been to one ball—”
“It doesn’t take more than one whisper to cause a ripple effect, and you’ll be no longer reforming rakes, Lady Peregrine, you’ll simply be ruined. And I, for one, do not wish that on you. So, rather than allow your wounded pride to dictate your words and actions…” He glanced to his boot.
Pere held a tight breath, forcing herself not to abandon him on the dance floor. That would do more harm than good, and everyone would talk. No, she was avoiding that, and like a snake in the grass, he must have known that. In fact, she stopped listening as all the puzzle pieces fell into place.
“You asked for a waltz so you could scold me?” She interrupted whatever lecture he was giving and watched his expression.
“And you used your charm on me to make a point, one that you are continuing to beat, like a dead horse, in the middle of a ballroom where I cannot make any escape without causing talk.” She blinked, then gave a humorless laugh.
“I must say I’m impressed and outmaneuvered, my lord.
I’d clap for your performance, but I don’t think it will have the desired effect.
” Her tone was forcibly sweet as she watched his deep brown eyes narrow.
“Figured out the answer to your own question, did you?”
“I’m quite brilliant.”
“I do not doubt it. You forgot one detail.”
“Enlighten me?” Pere asked as the music ended.
He didn’t release her, and she didn’t step back.
A stalemate; she paused. “I’m waiting.”
A bitter laugh ripped from his lips. “You have to love your brother, he’s your family, but me?
You don’t have to like me. In fact, it won’t matter if you hate me for the rest of your days, so I can speak the truth, however blunt I wish, because you need to know what you’re about before you play games with men you cannot control. ”
“Who says I want to control them?” Pere shot back.
“Because you think you know what you’re doing.”
“And?”
“And the end result won’t be a reformed rogue. It will be your ruin. And I, for one, do not wish that on anyone—least of all my friend’s sister. So … I’ll leave you with that harsh truth and take my leave.”
Lord Hawthorne released her waist, bowed with stiff correctness, and turned on his heel.
The abruptness of it—barely within the bounds of propriety—sent a ripple through the nearest couples.
A dowager’s fan fluttered like an alarmed pigeon, but no one dared more than a raised brow.
The orchestra struck the final chord; the set dissolved into polite applause.
Henley was at her side in three strides, face carefully neutral. “Supper, Pere. Now.”
Anna took her other arm, murmuring, “Smile, darling. You look as though you’ve been jilted by a duke, not lectured by a marquess.”
Pere forced her lips into a curve that felt more like a snarl. “Next time, I’ll bring a field guide. Rakes are clearly more migratory than I thought.”