Writing the Rake - Ellie St. Clair Page 0,2

hopefully at her sister-in-law, but Celeste’s green eyes flashed uncertainly.

“I’m not sure that Jemima would be interested in having her story told,” she said, biting her lip. “I doubt that Archie would be in favor.”

Alice sighed, although she nodded in understanding. “I suppose I could change it enough so they didn’t realize I was writing their story. What do you think?”

Celeste took a sip of her drink, cringing at what Alice determined must have been the sweet tartness of the lemonade. “I am fairly certain that most would realize just who the actual protagonists were based upon.”

“Which is exactly what I would like to speak to you about,” Oliver said from behind her, and Alice jumped slightly at his presence.

“Ollie,” she greeted her brother, pretending they were talking about something entirely different as he was not the biggest fan of her work. “It is lovely in here, is it not? I must ask what shade of pink those flowers are.”

Oliver rolled his eyes at her, although there was affection held within their depths.

“Alice,” he said slowly. “I could hear you from halfway across the room. You have to be more careful.”

“Why?” she questioned. “Should I not be proud of my work? You should understand.”

“That’s different,” he said, looking at her with consternation. “We study the skies. You study other people.”

“For inspiration only,” she qualified, but he had that arched brow that told her that he was not pleased.

“People are beginning to suspect that you are the infamous Lady Love.”

“Careful,” Alice said, looking around to make sure there were no eavesdroppers nearby. “You calling me out in a crowd is not going to help matters.”

“Nor is asking questions about the relationships of everyone in the room.”

“Oliver,” Celeste interjected, placing her hand on her husband’s arm. “Alice does have much to be proud of. Her stories have been entertaining half of London since they began appearing as serials. Everyone wants to know the latest love story.”

“Fictional love story,” Alice added helpfully, but Oliver and Celeste both eyed her with suspicion, which made sense, for they were all well aware that her stories — the published ones, anyway — were all based on truth.

“Well, I have heard some rumblings,” Oliver said, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “There are some who are not entirely pleased to know that you have been asking questions.”

“Which questions?” Alice said, taken aback. She had thought she was quite discreet.

“Questions regarding their connections, their business dealings, how they became acquainted, whether they are after the dowry or the woman,” Oliver said, looking at her pointedly, and Alice colored somewhat at the accuracy of his words.

“It helps me tell the story,” she said in defense, but Oliver only sighed.

“Please be careful?” he pleaded, but before she could answer, Celeste exclaimed, “Oh, there are Freddie and Miles!”

Alice couldn’t stop her head from swiveling toward the door. She could try to tell herself she was not trying to see if he was there.

But then she would only be lying.

For there he was. And he was staring straight at her.

She turned her back quickly, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment in supplication. Please don’t walk over here, she prayed. Just Freddie and Miles. No need for Benjamin. In fact, if he could just ignore her, that would be ideal. She was easy to ignore. She was well aware of the fact, and the only way a man would want to pay any attention to her was due to his need to conquer every female he became acquainted with. A man like Benjamin Luxington.

“Lord Essex, Lady Essex.”

Damn, but he had the most beautiful, smooth voice, like fine new silk.

“And Miss Cunningham.”

Could she continue staring at the back wall, not turning around, without anyone noticing?

Oliver elbowed her in the side, and she realized that she most decidedly could not. She slowly turned around and met Benjamin’s beautiful blue-green eyes.

As he lifted her hand and bent over it with a bow, Alice bemoaned the fact that the man turned her entire being into liquid with just one touch. He was too handsome for his own good and far too charming. He attracted every female in the room, and she dearly wished she wasn’t one of them.

But, sadly, she was one of the worst.

“How are you?” he asked, his gaze burning into her. She hoped her emotions weren’t written on her face, for that would be the worst of embarrassment. She had no connection to him, no further attraction. All that had occurred between