Read How to Marry a Rake for Free Online Page A

soothed that bit of his past and at the same time promised security to the people of Fincote who were his future.
    Now if only he could find the chance to inspire it in the Earl of Ryeton. He made a surreptitious half-turn, trying to search out the earl’s whereabouts, but his gaze fell on Mae Halford instead.
    And held there.
    She had left her chair and was moving gingerly about the ballroom. He seemed to have been almost unnaturally aware of her all evening. It felt ridiculous—as if time had somehow swapped their roles and now he was the one with the fixation. He told himself that he was only being wary. That it was only that laugh, so much more adult, more
aware
somehow, than the girlish giggle he remembered. But there was more to it than that.
    At least fifty other ladies flitted throughout the ballroom; Mae managed to outshine them all. The others shone in the bright light of the chandeliers, their jewelled gowns and soft skin showing to advantage. But it was as if a thousand little lamps were lit
inside
Mae.She glowed from within—and it took an extreme force of will to look away.
    He expended the effort. Lord Toswick was calling him. His host clapped him on the shoulder as Stephen stepped over to join his group.
    ‘We’re discussing the growing difficulties with the legs,’ Toswick informed him. ‘Seems like more and more of them have gone crooked.’
    A leg, or black leg, was a professional gambler, a man who ‘made a book’ by taking bets on all the horses in a race. Legs flocked to every major race, and racing men flocked to lay down their money with them.
    ‘I heard the Blands were in town,’ someone said in hushed tones. The Bland brothers, and a few others like them, had become notorious for interfering with horses in order to affect the outcome of a race. Laming, opium balls, even poison had been used to nobble a favourite and ensure the leg a hefty income.
    ‘Lord Stephen has had some first-hand experience with just their sort,’ Toswick said with a laugh. ‘And he was barely out of leading strings.’
    ‘I was fifteen,’ protested Stephen. ‘Hardly a babe.’
    ‘Tell the story,’ Toswick urged.
    The other gentlemen urged him on, so Stephen told the tale of how, disappointed at being left behind when his parents travelled to see the St Leger, he had run away to Doncaster on his own. While hiding in the stables he had uncovered a plot to maim the race favourite. He’d foiled the plan, reported it, and then won a small fortune betting on another horse altogether.
    As it was rather late, and the champagne had been flowing freely all evening, the gentlemen all found thisto be uproariously funny. Stephen’s hand was shook and he was congratulated all around, until a more officious voice broke in.
    ‘That was extremely well done of you, and at such a young age, too.’ It was the Earl of Ryeton, joining their group and shaking his head. ‘Surely something must be done about these blasted legs.’ He glanced down his nose. ‘Young Manning, is it not?’
    Lord Toswick stepped in to make the introductions. Stephen’s heart accelerated and he sent the man a silent blessing for the opportunity.
    ‘Of course, I don’t mean to paint all the legs with the same brush,’ he told Ryeton. ‘Gambling has always been a large part of the sport.’ He nodded to the company around them. ‘Everyone here knows that racing would not be what it is today, if not for the betting.’
    ‘Yes, yes, and of course there are plenty of honest men making books.’ The earl appeared to be impatient with even a hint of disagreement. ‘It’s the crooked ones that are making things so damned difficult. Three separate incidents I’ve had in my stables over the past year. Two were caught in time, but I lost a very promising filly to poisoned feed.’ Ryeton’s colour had grown higher. ‘It’s a travesty, is what it is.’ He tossed back his drink and waved for another.
    ‘It does lend an ugly taint,’ Stephen