Excerpt of Redeeming The Rogue by Donna MacMeans

"A matchmaker?" His lips quirked in humor for just a moment, before he straightened. Arianne thought she heard a seam rip. "My apologies, Lady Arianne. Obviously this note was intended for another. I hope the true recipient—"

"So on the basis of a nickname, you decided I was ripe for a tryst?" She wasn’t sure why she couldn’t let the matter drop. Perhaps his apology seemed insufficient for the affront to her honor. She should let him make a hasty departure like Crenshaw and the others.

His eyes narrowed. "There were other considerations…"

"Please tell me of these considerations. I wouldn’t want others to be under the delusion that I’m available for illicit sport." Her sarcasm hit its mark.

He hesitated as if debating the wisdom of saying nothing, or defending his unconscionable behavior. His eyes raked over her, then a faint smile bloomed on his lips.

"I was told the recipient would be wearing a green dress. As I assumed the sender was interested in a tryst, I simply looked for the most attractive woman in the room wearing the proper color. I chose you." He bowed his head. "Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll—"

She ignored his transparent flattery. "There are several other women in green. I saw you speaking to Lady Trembel earlier, yet you gave the note to me…"

What began as an attempt to correct his foolish assumption festered into something altogether different. Had something changed about her since her unfortunate incident in Vienna? Could complete strangers recognize her probable shift in society’s acceptance? " Surely," she pressed, suspicion taking root, "there was something else."

He reflected a moment, then leaned closer. "Lady Trembel’s scent wasn’t that of the angel’s share."

"Angel’s share?" Her face must have betrayed her ignorance. Was this was more Irish flattery?

He glanced away and laughed softly before returning his gaze to her. "The angel’s share is that portion of fine Irish whiskey that evaporates in the distillation." A decidedly seductive gleam simmered in his gaze. "It’s been my experience that women who drink overly much find themselves in positions that—"

"You believe I’m a drunkard?" She sputtered in outrage. Her cheeks flamed anew.

He smiled. "Not all would find the scent of whiskey about a miss as appealing as I, but—"

"I erred in my cologne water!" She insisted perhaps a bit too loudly. A few heads turned their way. She dropped her voice. "I thought a stronger base would carry the florals."

"And a very fine error it was."

The impudent, non-conforming misfit was laughing at her! She could see his amusement in the creasing about his eyes, hear the blitheness in the timbre of his voice. The cad!

"Now if you’ll excuse me," he said. "I should try to find — "

"May I remind you, sir, that I am the sister of a duke." She pitched her voice low and cold so he would know her displeasure. "I’m not certain how a man as common as yourself gained entrance to this reception, but your accusations are not appreciated."

He stopped his determined egress. His shoulders shifted back, and if she wasn’t mistaken, she heard a button bounce on the floor. He turned, then glared down his decidedly handsome nose at her.

"I believe I’ve already apologized for my misapprehensions. My only defense is that I had assumed your company would be highly desired by any man." His nostrils flared. "I trust you will forgive such a common and erroneous assumption." He lifted her fingers as if to kiss her hand, but she jerked them away, striking his injured lip in the process.

Fresh blood rose on the wound. More heads turned their way.

Guilt and shame filled her. She wouldn’t have acted in such a low-bred manner if she hadn’t been provoked. A truly noble lady would have risen above the taunt. "I have a handkerchief," she murmured, opening her reticule.

"No." He reached into a pocket of his ill-fitting jacket. "I wouldn’t wish my common Irish blood to stain the linen of a sister of a duke."

He removed a white handkerchief, but the white linen pulled a red cloth, that was attached to a blue cloth, which pulled a yellow cloth in succession. Rafferty froze, the white handkerchief clenched in his hand while the colored cloths dangled in a nautical line to his pocket. He swore beneath his breath, something rather derogative coupled with the name "Phineas."

Abrupt barking laughter sounded from various directions. Arianne tried, unsuccessfully, to conceal her own amusement. Rafferty’s glance of anger and embarrassment seared straight through her levity. She immediately regretted her unkind words, but he gave her no time for apologies.

"Good evening, madam," he said, stuffing the colorful assortment in his pocket. "I trust you will take pleasure in the likelihood that our paths shall never cross again." He turned on his heel. "I know I shall."

Of course they will meet again and fall in love and face a whole host of difficulties together.