The Angel in My Arms: A Regency Rogues Novel by Stefanie Sloane Read Free Book Online Page B

too … male. “Very well, then. I fear that your return to the districtwill pique my mother’s interest in matrimony—mine, to be more specific.”
    Lord Weston’s forehead wrinkled slightly. “And the thought of marrying me is what’s troubling you?”
    “Not exactly,” Sarah replied, flustered. “Did Gregory tell you anything of my mother?”
    “He mentioned a few things.”
    Sarah winced at the thought of their conversation, though she could hardly blame herself for her mother being, well, her mother. “Then you might understand why I’m loath to undertake a courtship—doomed to fail, no less—with Lenora Tisdale at the helm. I am perfectly content on my own and have no reason to assume that I’ll ever feel otherwise.”
    Sarah watched the earl take in the information with a purposeful detachment, as if she’d shared a trifle from the morning’s newspaper. It was humiliating, which only made everything worse.
    “So this has nothing to do with our encounter at the lake?” he asked, slowing as the music floated to a halt.
    “Not at all,” Sarah replied, pointedly retrieving her hands from his.
    He looked relieved as they walked from the dance floor, which only made Sarah feel more humiliated. “Thank you for the dance, my lord. And good night.”
    “Miss Tisdale, wait—”
    But Sarah could not. She’d noticed that his limp was now slightly more pronounced. She knew she could outrun him if she had to. And she desperately needed to be away from the man, though she could not explain why.

Marcus sat on the edge of the cliff overlooking the cove. Moonlight illuminated the craggy rocks and beyond, to where the channel lay, its waters black beneath the night sky. As a boy, he’d made a habit of sneaking out at night and settling in the very same spot, the cool summer air soothing his restless thoughts then much as it did now.
    Lulworth society had changed little in the past twenty years. His position and wealth could not be denied now that he was a man and marriageable, but the thinly veiled repudiation was still there.
    Marcus supposed he could have done more throughout the years to endear himself to the village. Made more of an effort to guide the goings-on at the castle, as most landowners did. But his pride had been stung, and if there was one truth he’d walked away with, it was that someone such as he would never find where he belonged, no matter how hard he might try.
    He’d learned in his time with the Corinthians that his charm, when applied evenly, was enough to smooth his way in most situations. That was all he could hope for in the way of acceptance. Not that he’d hoped for anything in quite some time.
    He stretched out his leg and swore, the pounding throb of pain in his healing wound hitting him. He should not have danced with Miss Tisdale.
    “Miss Tisdale,” he said aloud, the words carried off ina rush by the wind. She was a mismatched puzzle of right and wrong, the pieces fitting into place only when coaxed with a considerable amount of strength. Nothing like any other woman of his acquaintance. God, the woman was charming for the very reason that she tried so hard
not
to be charming.
    “And tae mak’ matters worse, th’ lassie is bonnie and braw,” he said to the sky, his burr appearing as if it had never left. Part of Marcus wondered that no man had wedded her for the great pleasure of bedding such a creature.
    The other part of him completely understood why she’d been put so firmly on the shelf.
    Marcus retrieved a rock from the ground and turned it between his fingers, the cool smooth surface slowing his thoughts. He was not himself around her. His reliable charm and easy wit were compromised in the presence of Miss Tisdale.
    And he could not say why. Shock, perhaps? He dropped the rock into his other hand and repeated the pattern. How could anyone find themselves at ease with Miss Tisdale? One never knew what to expect, which, in Marcus’s experience, was