Why a Marauding Marquess is Best: Romancing the Rake Book 4 Read online

  “I’m glad you agree.” Cordelia huffed as she tried to keep up with Juliet. “I think you should turn your attention to someone other than Lord Dashlane. He’s not the best choice—”

  “He most certainly is.” She cut her sister off as they came up behind the two lords. Dashlane was friends with Craven and Crestwood. The man wasn’t just good looking, he was dreamy with blond hair, blue eyes, and a flashing smile that could make a lady swoon. He was charming and funny with a light, witty personality that Lord Hartwell could only wish for. “Now let me listen. I want to know what these two are discussing.”

  Cordelia groaned softly. “Juliet. Don’t cause trouble.”

  Juliet didn’t bother to respond. She was too busy listening in to what Hartwell was saying. The men were walking up the stairs, and she was just a step behind them. “I know you only met her a week ago. You left my company less than seven days prior. How does a man go from being happily single to engaged in a matter of six days?”

  Rathmore clapped him on the back. “It isn’t the sort of thing that can be explained. It has to be experienced.”

  “Did she trick you? Trap you? Try and coerce you?” Hartwell held out his fingers, ticking off the options as he talked. Juliet’s fingers tightened in the folds of her skirts. It was just as she’d expected. How dare he accuse Ophelia of such things?

  Juliet moved closer even as Rathmore shook his head. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve just…. Well. The truth of the matter is, I’ve fallen in love.”

  Hartwell stopped walking, so abruptly that Juliet nearly ran into his back. She stopped just in time, so close, she could feel the heat radiating through his clothing.

  “Love?” Hartwell scoffed. “That’s the most asinine thing I’ve ever heard.”

  Juliet clucked her tongue unable to keep her opinion to herself. Before she could think it through, she found herself saying, “Love is not ridiculous. Love is beautiful and wonderful.”

  He spun about, and Juliet realized just how close she was because she had to duck so that his elbow didn’t hit her face. But as she pushed out and away from his flying body part, she also stepped back where there was nothing but air behind her.

  With a scream, she flailed her hands in a wild attempt to catch her balance but she continued falling, almost in slow motion.

  Every muscle clenched, waiting for the inevitable pain that was coming when suddenly Lord Hartwell reached out, grasping her about the waist with two large, warm hands, which almost completely circled her middle.

  In response, she grasped his biceps, feeling them flex underneath her fingers. Heavily corded muscles locked her in place and she gasped her surprise.

  With her exhale, he brought her close to his body. Likely, he meant to steady her but Juliet had never in her life had a man touch her with so much intimacy. The feel of his long, lean length against hers sent her heartbeat rioting in her chest.

  She snapped up her chin to look in his face. Confusion made her breathing erratic and she tried to steady her breath and she met his warm brown eyes.

  “I…” She pushed out the single word. “I…”

  “You nearly fell,” he said.

  “I…” Why couldn’t she get out a single other word?

  The corners of his mouth turned down, his brow marked in equally deep frown lines. He went from handsome to harsh in an instant. “You ought to be more careful and shouldn’t have been following behind me so close.”

  She squeezed his arms tighter, which somehow made her bosom press into the hardness of his chest. “You ought to mind your own business.”

  Her pulse raced even as her chin notched up. Who did he think he was telling her what to do? On her own front steps no less. And how dare he try to convince Rathmore he didn’t love Ophelia? The events before the near fall crashed into her memory. Suddenly she wasn’t awe-struck by the feel of his large hands or his muscular body. Her breath still hitched but that was surely irritation.

  “I was minding my own business.” He still held her and if anything, he pressed her abdomen closer to his.

  “You were not. Quite honestly, you were minding my sister’s business. Of which you have no right.”

  Surprise widened his eyes, but then he grunted, leaning down closer to her face. “His Grace is always my business.”

  She lifted up on her toes a bit only to realize that her body slid along his, causing her to shiver. “Now see here,” she started, nose nearly touching his.

  He raised his brows, erasing the frown lines and widening his lids so the chocolate brown of his eyes danced in the sun. Cordelia had been right about one thing: he was quite handsome but in the most annoying way.

  Chapter Two

  Dane looked down at the lush little redhead currently nose-to-nose with him. Her tiny waist fit in his hands even as a rather plump bosom pressed into his chest. And that mouth… pouty dark pink lips pressed into a line, her nose wrinkling, making several little freckles scattered on her face darken into a shade of bronze.

  Her eyes were large and sparkling green, her nose, before the wrinkling, was small, straight, and completely darling. And her hands… Small, small but surprisingly strong as they dug into his muscles.

  “I see just fine,” he answered her, the tip of his nose finally touching hers.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Really? From what I can tell, you don’t see anything at all.”

  Hoyden, he thought as he stared down at her. She stared back in absolute challenge. Dane knew he was a man of strong conviction. Always had been. People rarely challenged him and certainly not dainty little females with adorable noses and plush, kissable lips. Not that he’d be fooled by such trappings, but still, a man couldn’t help but notice. “You little whelp. How dare—”

  “That’s enough.” Rathmore cut in, stepping close to both of them. “Our host, Mr. Moorish, will be expecting us inside.” Then Rathmore pushed at his arm. “And he wouldn’t like to step out looking for us and find you holding his daughter.”

  Dane blinked, realizing that he was somehow in a stand-off with a woman he didn’t even know. “Of course,” he responded, taking a step back. He didn’t let go of the little hoyden’s waist. Rather he maneuvered her the rest of the way up the stairs until she was safely on the large landing. Then, slowly, he removed his hands from her waist. As though she might break, or fall, if he let go too quickly. Which was absurd. He didn’t need to protect her from her own front steps, but he couldn’t quite shake the feeling.

  Color flooded her cheeks and somehow, she looked even more beautiful with pink staining her face and sliding down her neck. He clenched his hands at his side as he resisted some ridiculous urge to touch her again.

  She turned to Chase and huffed a breath. “Your Grace, please explain to your cousin that he needn’t accuse Ophelia of anything.” Then her gaze lanced back to Dane. “In fact, Ophelia tried to fend off His Grace’s advances. It was he who courted her.”

  Then she stepped around him and stomped toward the door, her chin high in the air, her skirts swishing across his legs. She disappeared inside without another look back.

  Dane rubbed the back of his neck while looking over at Chase. He wouldn’t ask the question for several reasons. He didn’t want to give anyone the satisfaction and he was sure the answer wouldn’t be the truth. Ophelia was beautiful, Dane would give her that. And beautiful women had a way of making you believe you were chasing them when, in fact, they were manipulating you the entire time.

  “What is this about?” Chase narrowed his gaze. “Why are you manhandling Juliet on the front steps and what did she mean you’re accusing Ophelia?”

  Dane drew in a deep breath. “Nothing. I’ll explain later. Let’s go inside before Charlie accuses me of being ill-mannered and ill-tempered.”

  Chase gave his cousin a long look. “A charge you might deserve.” He slapped Dane’s back. “And give Ophelia a chance, would you? You have a tendency to judge too quickly. You’re going to like her.”

  H
e scowled, thumping his fist on the outside of his thigh. He most certainly did not judge too quickly. Chase, however, often chose to overlook key details in his attempt to have fun. Dane’s face tightened, but he said nothing as he followed Chase inside.

  The house was as impressive inside as it was from the outside. Shiny marble floors graced the foyer and plush rugs cushioned his feet. A large mural graced the two-story ceiling of the foyer and he had to confess that the Moorish family might be financially sound. Either that or they’d spent well beyond their means. In which case, they’d have a keen interest in matching with a duke.

  He watched as Lord Craven, a man who wore a perpetual scowl under normal circumstances, smiled down at a woman, whispering in her ear. He couldn’t make out the words but he didn’t need to. Craven was a completely different man from the one he’d met two weeks ago in London. Lovestruck was the only word that came to Dane’s mind.

  Craven brushed the back of his hand down her arm. The woman herself was very pretty with dark hair and sparkling blue eyes. She had a kindness about her that a man like Craven could use. Still, he’d probably been manipulated too.

  “Did you think my sister, Bianca, was also plotting to trap Lord Craven?” a feminine voice drawled next to him.

  He turned his head to the side, catching sight of the little hoyden. “No,” he said, looking back at the couple. “But now that you mention it, it’s odd that so many men who were determined to remain unattached are suddenly playing the part of devoted beaux.”

  She sniffed, crossing her arms. “What are you implying?”

  He wasn’t certain. Witchcraft seemed unlikely, though at this point, he was beginning to wonder. “I’m not implying anything. I’m simply making an observation.”

  “Observation?” she asked moving a bit closer. Outside, he caught a whiff of a silky perfume, like summer flowers in a meadow, sweet but not overpowering. He’d assumed it was a blooming tree somewhere nearby. But as she moved closer, he realized it was her.

  “Miss Moorish,” he said, adding a dry note to her name. “An observation is when you carefully inspect a situation or set of behaviors and then you determine a change that has occurred.”

  Her lips pressed together, which should have been unattractive. It was in most women. But not in her. Her mouth formed into a lush, kissable line. “Well, since you’ve so nicely defined the word for me, I will also make an observation. The mood of this gathering went from joyous to dreary and the only change that I can observe is you.”

  His mouth parted, and his brow went up as he allowed a small chuckle to escape. He had to confess, it was a clever comeback and he quite liked it. More to the point, despite himself, he liked her. “Touché.”

  One corner of her lip tipped up. But he didn’t get the pleasure of her response as Mr. Moorish clapped his hands. “Let’s all move to the salon where refreshments have been prepared.”

  Miss Moorish, Juliet, his little redhaired minx, began to move away. While he might like to continue their sparring, her little victory might prove to be to his advantage. With this tiny truce, he might be able to glean some useful information from her. Without her even knowing, could he discover what had happened to his cousin?

  * * *

  “Miss Moorish?” Lord Hartwell stepped up next to her, his fingers brushing her elbow.

  That odd tingling started down her skin again. “Yes?”

  “Tell me,” he said, as his fingers, gentle on her arm didn’t retreat, but rather, held her as he leaned closer. “How did His Grace and your sister, Ophelia, meet?”

  Juliet narrowed her gaze. What was he about? He clearly didn’t approve of the match and now he was asking questions. “There was a storm. His Grace arrived at our door, asking if we might shelter him for the evening.”

  “That’s right. A storm did blow through the night Chase left. A fierce one.”

  She nodded. “It blew out the bridge to the north and—”

  “The bridge? Ruined? Is that why Chase stayed?”

  Juliet nodded, her head cocking to the side. Her arms crossed as she narrowed her gaze. Was she giving him weapons or helping to explain why nothing was actually amiss? “Yes. My father offered to help His Grace go north. We own a fleet of ships but His Grace refused.”

  She watched as Lord Hartwell frowned. “Chase doesn’t like boats.”

  “He planned to return to the south, I think but…” She shrugged. Come to think of it, she didn’t know why he didn’t use a ship to leave Seabridge Gate.

  Lord Hartwell stopped, pulling her just to the right of the doorway so the crowd passed them by into the salon. Hadn’t anyone noticed they hadn’t entered? His hand was still on her elbow and he stroked small circles through her sleeve. “Is the bridge still broken?”

  Juliet shook her head. “No. I believe Lord Crestwood helped repair it.”

  “Crestwood?” His brow crinkled. “Repairing a bridge?”

  Even she had to confess the behavior seemed odd. The first night she’d met Lord Crestwood, he had been a complete rake, smiling and winking at all her sisters. Even her. Now, he acted like a completely different man. Adrianna and Crestwood had begun by sparring but they’d quickly become engaged and Crestwood hadn’t looked away from her sister since. “He missed his ship to do so.”

  Both his brows went up as he stared down at her. “Your home is lovely. Did you say your father owns a fleet of ships?”

  She frowned, furrowing her brow. Why the sudden change in topic? “Why yes. He does.”

  “That he runs his fleet from Seabridge Gate?”

  She gave a small jerk of her chin. “It’s a uniquely protected harbor, which makes it excellent for a business like my father’s.”

  He tilted his chin down, giving her a long look. She couldn’t help but notice that his nose was rather straight and fine while his jaw had a decidedly masculine angle. “A most fortunate occupation.”

  “Fortune had little to do with it. My grandfather gave this land to my father, his second son.” She narrowed her gaze. What was his game? Whatever it was, she was surely losing, though she couldn’t rightly see how exactly.

  “And who is your grandfather?” His fingers tightened just a touch on her elbow and Juliet took a half step back. She refused to give him any more information.

  Jerking her arm, she pulled it from his grasp. “He’s the Earl of Seabridge.” Then she gestured toward the door. “It’s time for us to step inside.”

  He frowned but turned toward the door. “One more question,” he said spinning back again.

  “No.” She shook her head. “No more questions. Not unless you answer some first.”

  He made a sound of dissent, deep in this throat. “That hardly seems necessary.”

  “Then we have nothing to discuss.” And she made to step around him.

  “Miss Moorish.” He reached out a hand, touching her waist with his long, tapered fingers.

  She gasped in a breath. Tingling spread through her, which she deftly ignored. She notched her chin and dropped her voice in disapproval. “My lord.”

  He removed his hand. “Apologies.”

  “I have been trying to decide why you’re asking all these questions. While I still don’t know the answer, I do know I’m done answering them. That is, unless, you’d like to supply some information of your own.”

  He drew in a long breath. “Fine. What do you wish to know?”

  She raised a single brow. “I’ll meet you on one of the balconies in just a few minutes. For now, we need to make an appearance.”

  “But we’re not done talking.” He stepped closer again, but she held up her hand to stop his other hand coming to her hip.

  “If we don’t step into that room soon, you’ll have a joint wedding with your cousin.” She straightened her shoulders for added effect. “We might not be sophisticated ladies, but here in the country we follow the rules.” It was a lie, of course. With very few eligible men about Seabridge Gate, her father was decidedly lackada
isical about such social guidelines.

  He straightened. “Really? Simple country girl is what you’re going with? You’ve given me more trouble in the last five minutes than any woman I’ve met in the last five years.”

  “Thank you,” she answered, hiding her smile.

  “That wasn’t a compliment.”

  She shrugged, turning toward the door. “I’m going to take it as one anyway. I’ll see you out on the balcony in precisely five minutes.”

  Chapter Three

  The little devil turned and was gone. He’d been honest. Juliet was more cantankerous than any woman he’d met for a long time. More interesting too.

  The troubling part was that she’d been perfectly honest in all of her answers. Like she had nothing to hide. But surely, she must be hiding something. Chase would not have changed his mind so completely in a week.

  She might not be aware of Ophelia’s deception. He’d have to talk with Chase to find out for certain. But for now, he had a meeting on the balcony with a beautiful woman. Chase could wait for a bit. And any information would help him to understand, even if she didn’t know the full extent of the truth.

  For example, the knowledge that their grandfather was the earl meant Ophelia wasn’t quite as inappropriate as he’d first believed. Not that he still didn’t believe Ophelia had trapped Chase in some way.

  He was positive there was more to this story.

  After stepping into the room, he made his way over to the buffet and looked at the delights that filled the table. Delectable pies filled with both fruits and meats met his gaze, platters of fresh vegetables that had clearly been shipped in. He supposed that was easier when the host owned a shipping company.

  He picked up a small turnover and took a bite, finding the middle stuffed with juicy and perfectly seasoned pheasant. As he ate, he caught sight of Lord Crestwood. The man was legendary in London for bedding every beautiful woman he met. Handsome and charming, Dane wasn’t surprised the man had been such a rake. And yet, at this exact moment, he was holding a piece of embroidery that he and a beautiful blonde were assessing. Dane could only assume that was Crestwood’s fianceé. The legendary rake stared down at the piece of thread thoughtfully as though he were considering the needlework just as carefully as he might a hand of cards.