What a Vulgar Viscount Needs: Romancing the Rake Book 5 Page 3

  Dashlane went stone still against her. “I’m managing just fine,” he said so low and deep, he almost sounded dangerous. “And besides…are you certain your daughter is interested? I didn’t get the impression that she was.”

  Her father let out a long breath. “I’m afraid you’re right there. I have to confess that I encouraged her to play. She’s so naturally talented. But lately she’s been dropping hints that she might want to pursue a career in music rather than marriage.”

  “Ahh,” Dashlane answered. “Music is the passion that trumps all.”

  She squeezed her eyes more tightly closed, wondering if she imagined the bit of sadness in his voice. Surely, she must. He didn’t even want to kiss her. And why would he? He had his pick of women to choose from.

  Her father returned to the settee, she heard his feet shuffle across the hardwood floor. “If she were a man of course, she could have both.”

  Dashlane shook his head. “If she were a man, she’d be expected to take over your business. It’s what all fathers want in the end.”

  She’d been peeking through her lashes, but she longed to open her eyes and study his face. What was she hearing underneath his words? Regret? Anger? So many questions swirled in her thoughts.

  Her father was silent for several seconds, the sounds from the party filtering in. “I suppose you’re right. I never had sons, so I haven’t thought much about it. Fathers do tend to have an opinion on how their children should live their lives.”

  Obviously. Hadn’t this conversation been a shining example of this very idea? She fluttered open her eyes, tired of being a silent observer of this conversation. “Papa?”

  Dashlane’s hand tightened and gave his head the tiniest jerk to show his disapproval. But she knew precisely how to handle her own father.

  “Corde?” her father asked, bending down. “Are you awake?”

  She sat up, rubbing her eyes. “I am. Was I asleep?”

  Dashlane rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, but her father patted the top of her head. “Wore yourself out today with all the preparation.” Then he tapped a glass. “Remember this the next time you think about having a glass of alcohol.”

  “I will.” She gave her father the most innocent smile she could muster. “Is my hair terribly mussed?”

  “No dear, it looks perfect.”

  She stretched, raising one arm up and yawning. “In that case, I shall rejoin the party. I feel much refreshed.”

  “Excellent,” her father cheered as he clapped.

  “Has Lord Dashlane been seeing to my care?” She looked over at him then, his gaze unwavering on hers. His eyes were dark, and his brows set low.

  “He has,” her father answered. “Wasn’t that so kind?”

  She gave a large false smile, first at her father and then at Dashlane. “It was. I shall reward him with a dance.”

  His hard stare turned to a glower.

  * * *

  Ash tightened his grip on her waist as the first strains of the waltz played.

  One thing was certain. Whatever he thought he knew about Cordelia Moorish, he’d been wrong.

  She was quiet, subdued, talented, all that was true. But she also drank too much champagne, pretended to fall asleep in a stupor, and collected dances for favors not actually given. She’d successfully manipulated both her father and him.

  Granted, her father was clueless to the fact that he was being put on, but Ash? He knew full well that she just stole a dance from him, and he’d been unable to stop it without revealing that he’d been alone with Cordelia.

  She was rather dangerous. And that was unexpected.

  And scary as hell.

  Because if she could outthink him, he might find himself caught in a web of her making with no way out. He had already been captured in this dance. He’d nearly been caught in a kiss.

  She was still stunningly beautiful, complex, and as sophisticated as he’d first imagined. She was just more than that and every new thing he learned made her increasingly dangerous. Damn his fit of jealousy.

  Her waist was so slender beneath his hand and as he pulled her closer, he felt her gasp, and the tiny jerk of her body as her lungs expanded. It touched some male need in him, and his chest puffed out as they spun across the floor.

  She’d told him she didn’t want to marry but what if that was all part of a ruse? Lure him into feeling safe and then spring the trap.

  “I know that you see a viscount before you,” he said as he let go of her waist to spin her about and then pulled her close again.

  She blinked. “I see a man before me.” Her eyes searched his face. “One who currently looks angry.”

  “I’m not.” They glided across the floor. “I think leery is the better word.”

  Her brows rose as she stared at him. “Why is that?”

  He spun her again, but this time when he pulled her close, he began dancing them toward the terrace doors. They needed to get a few things straight. “I’m not going to be caught by you, Cordelia Moorish. You or any other woman, for that matter.”

  She stared up at him, her lips pressing into a firm line. “Did we or did we not establish that I do not wish to catch you or any other man?”

  He narrowed his gaze. When he’d been poor as dirt with barely enough food to eat, he’d seen the worst of people. The lengths they’d go to take from others. He’d thought at one time, the upper class might be different. They weren’t. In his short time as a member, he found they were every bit as ruthless and selfish. The question that plagued him was where he went from here. He had no answers. “In my experience people rarely just tell you the truth.”

  She gave him a wide-eyed stare, her hand going limp in his. “That does make sense, I’m afraid.” And then her shoulders sagged a bit. “What did my father mean about you needing seed money?”

  He growled out a low sound but didn’t provide any actual explanation. He hated discussing his past and his teeth clenched at the idea, but he didn’t exactly want to leave her company either. That was the trouble. Despite his best efforts, he was drawn to her. To tell her the truth, however, was only to give her more possible weapons. Then again, her father already knew so it was only a matter of time before she found out. “I inherited the title last year, only to discover that I am in debt up to my eyeballs.”

  The corners of her eyes crinkled. “From whom did you inherit your title?”

  His gut turned as they approached the doors. How did she do that? How did she ask the very question that probed to the heart of the issue? Rather than answer, he dipped behind a large crowd of bystanders and then pulled her through the open door. “I find your question odd. Why would you ask who I inherited from?”

  She stepped out of the light and into a shadow, grabbing his hand and pulling him with her. The silk of her glove caressed his palm, but he wished to feel her bare fingers instead.

  She stopped for a moment, turning toward him in the dark. “You didn’t say, ‘my father passed away a year ago.’” Then she pulled again. “Duck.”

  He did, just in time as leaves brushed the top of his head. “Well, he did.” But she’d figured it out exactly. His father wasn’t actually a father at all. In the most technical term, he’d sired Ash. But in no other way, had he contributed anything good to Ash’s life and that included the fucking title with which he’d saddled his son.

  “I see,” she answered as she stopped again. The moon shone above them, peeking out from the clouds, and he could now see the ring of trees that circled them, a bench in the middle a little hideaway. “You two were close then?” Her voice dropped, dripping with sarcasm.

  He let a humorless laugh fall from his lips. “You’re ridiculously smart.”

  “Analytical,” she corrected. “It actually makes me a better musician.”

  “I can imagine.” He could. She had the perfect amount of artistic talent coupled with the exact amount of discipline and intelligence to make her truly gifted. What a shame she couldn’t go on tour as
the great pianist she was.

  “So if you are in need of cash, why aren’t you marrying a rich lady to save your title and your holdings?”

  He clenched his jaw. That was the easiest solution if saving the title was what he had in mind. “I don’t want to save them. I’m going to allow them to burn down in a fiery blaze of rakish ruin.”

  Chapter Four

  “Oh dear.” Her stomach dropped at his words even as her fingers tightened on his. Something truly dreadful had happened. She was certain of that.

  He’d said as little as possible, but Cordelia could fill in several of the details. He hated his father. Didn’t want to honor his title or even mourn the man’s death. And he wasn’t actually a rake either, despite his assertions to the contrary. It was almost as though he was pretending.

  “Indeed,” he answered. “No money, no heirs, no future for the Viscount of Dashlane.” His lip curled over the words and voice hardened like granite. “I won’t be trapped into a marriage, Cordelia.”

  He sounded utterly determined, immoveable in his assertion. So she believed him. If she were more beautiful, or better at flirting, or more talkative even, she might have convinced herself she could sway him. Not that she wanted him anyway. Did she? No, she’d already chosen a path. “Me either.”

  He gave her a small smile then. “Last men standing.”

  “Last man and woman standing.” She dipped into a small curtsey, still holding his hand. “If I were a man, as I said before, I could pursue my music career and have a family, but I can’t as a woman. So, I won’t.”

  “You do intend to be a career woman after all,” he murmured, almost to himself. “How interesting.”

  She shrugged. “I can’t perform. But I can write and sell music. I’m quite good at composition.”

  “I believe you,” he said, and he tugged her a bit closer. “So we’re actually in agreement then. Neither of us wishes to marry.”

  She nodded, suddenly a bit nervous. The champagne had worn off and the dawning realization that she’d openly propositioned the most handsome man in all the world to kiss her flamed her cheeks with heat.

  Her father’s warning about alcohol rang in her head.

  “About earlier,” she whispered. Had she forgotten that while men fawned over her sisters, they never noticed her. Not ever.

  “You wish for a kiss. Just one so that you know what you’re giving up. And you want a rake to give it to you.”

  She didn’t bother to tell him she’d decided he wasn’t a rake. Not really. “I understand if you don’t wish to kiss me. I’m not as lovely as Ophelia or friendly as Juliet and I don’t have Bianca’s warmth or Adrianna’s strength.”

  He brought her up against his body, his other arm snaking about her back. “You’re just incredibly talented?”

  She gave a small laugh that held little humor. “That doesn’t make men fall in love.”

  His breath whispered across her cheek. “I’ve been afraid all evening that you’d figure me out, Cordelia Moorish. But, it turns out, I’m learning about you too. Are you certain you don’t want to marry? Or are you just afraid to fail?”

  “What?” She tried to pull away, but his arm was firm against her back. Because those words stung and though she hated to admit it, rang with a bit of truth.

  “You’re successful at music. It’s what you know.”

  She pushed against his chest. “That’s just mean.”

  “I’m not being mean,” he replied. “Any more than you were, poking at my father.”

  “Oh.” She stopped moving and gazed up at him. That was also an excellent point. She’d wanted to get to know him. Really know him. She wasn’t entirely certain why. He was just…fascinating. “Why ask then?”

  “Because.” He slid his hand up her back, making her skin pimple all along her arms. “You made a request and…” His lips just skimmed her forehead causing her to grab the lapels of his jacket as though she needed support. “You’ve made a request and if I am to fulfill it, I need to know what you really want and what you actually want out of it.”

  She tilted her chin up to look into his gaze, her knees getting weak. “Just a kiss. That’s all.”

  He shook his head. “What you want is so much more complicated than that. Everything about you is deliciously complicated, even I know that. Tell me the truth.”

  She sighed. He’d already learned more about her than anyone else ever. What was the harm in telling him all of it? “I want to know what it feels like to be wanted. To not be plain.” She slid her hands around his neck. “What it means to be swept out into the garden for a midnight meeting under the stars.” She let out a small sigh despite herself. “Thank you for that.”

  * * *

  Ash knew he was going to kiss her. Desire was pooling in his loins even as her arms glided up his coat to thread about his neck.

  But more than he wanted to act on his own desire, he wanted her to understand she wasn’t plain at all. Never had a word fit a person less. “What do you want to be, if not plain?” he asked as his lips kissed a slow trail over her temple and down her cheek.

  “Powerful,” she said, her voice trembling. “Wanted.”

  “You don’t get that from your music?” he asked, his lips teasing down to her jaw.

  Her heart hammered against his chest. He could feel its rapid thud, his own speeding up to meet it.

  “I suppose. And I love music. But…” Her voice trailed off.

  He wanted to ask her but what? But his mouth had reached the corner of hers and he caught the subtle hints of her breath, sweet and savory, and laced with champagne and…need.

  He pressed his lips so lightly to hers; it almost wasn’t a kiss at all, except she shook, holding about his neck tighter.

  He lifted just above her and then kissed her again, firmer, harder, bringing her lips together before he repeated it all again. One of his hands cupped her cheek, her velvety skin caressing the rough calluses on his palm.

  Part of him wanted to give her more. Wished to part her lips and drink from her more fully. But this wasn’t about his desires but hers and so, instead, he tipped back. “There’s your kiss, sweetheart.”

  She looked up, her gaze unfocused, her lips puffy and dew covered. He groaned, using all his strength to resist dipping down and tasting her again.

  “That was…” She swallowed. “That was so much more than—”

  He dropped his head to hers. “I’m not your future, Cordelia. I tried to be clear on that point. But I hope I helped you choose yours. In some small way.”

  His hand was still on her cheek and she grasped his wrist. “Funny.”

  “What?” he asked despite himself. He’d meant his last words to end this interaction. He should return back to the village, the cottage he stayed in, and then leave Seabridge Gate in the morning. Because every second he stayed, the situation grew more dangerous. But rather than do any of that, he asked, “What’s funny?”

  She shook her head. “You don’t want anyone. I don’t want anyone. And yet here we are.”

  He leaned back. “I still don’t want anyone, Cordelia. I’ve made that clear, haven’t I?”

  “Yes,” she said, even as she pulled away. This time he let her. “You’ve made that clear.”

  He knew he’d just hurt her, and he was undoing some of what the kiss had given her. But he needed her to understand. This was not a forever bargain. It wasn’t even a tomorrow deal. This was just for tonight. “Don’t run away now. I’ve something to say.”

  She perched her hands on her hips as she straightened. “I don’t run away from problems, my lord.”

  “Ash,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “My name is Ash.”

  “Ash?” She tilted her head. “Is that for Dashlane?”

  “No,” he swallowed. “My father has nothing to do with that nickname.” Or perhaps he had everything to do with that nickname. The other women his mother had lived with had given it to him because he’d slept so close t
o the fire to keep warm during the long, cold winter nights.

  “I’ve a new bargain to propose to you,” she said softly. Cordelia moved closer to him, placing a hand on his crossed arms. She peered up at him. “I’ve told you my most intimate secret tonight, the one I’ve never even told my sisters. The one I hope no one ever knows.”

  His brows rose. “I see.” He did. Being plain was her big worry?

  “You can tell me yours, if you wish. I won’t judge. I’ll keep them for you.”

  He drew back, drawing in a sharp inhale. “No.” She didn’t understand the first thing about what she asked. A woman like this, sheltered, loved, couldn’t possibly understand the darkness of his past.

  “I can help you, if you let me.” Her other hand came to his waist.

  The words actually rushed to his lips. Just once, wouldn’t it be nice to share his father’s cruelty, the loss of his mother, the darkness of growing up in the ash. But if he told her…she’d push him away, or worse, she could use it against him. He looked away, not quite believing the words, but he needed a reason to push her away. Because he could never have her for his own.

  Chapter Five

  Cordelia woke to the sound of birds chirping out her window. Sitting up in bed, she realized the sun was high in the sky already.

  Her body flushed with heat as she thought about all she’d done with Dashlane the night before. What she’d told him about herself, what he’d shared with her…how they’d touched.

  Her fingers came to her lips. She’d asked for an experience, a chance to know what she might be missing, and she’d gotten it.

  Which had really created far more problems than the kiss had solved. First, if she were honest, she only wanted another. Her fingers slid down her chin. But she couldn’t have one. She’d meant every word about wanting to be a musician. And somehow, kissing him, feeling that passion, it made music itch in her fingers, buzz in her brain.

  But she also wanted to know more about him. There were hints of dark mystery about him and a hurt that truly made her want to wrap him in her arms and hold him close. He’d given her a great gift and somehow, it bound them.