Nine Rules to Break When Romancing a Rake (27 page)

“Forgive me, my lord, but it rather seems that everything you do near me is a risk to my reputation.” She lashed out, desperate to hurt him, eager for him to feel the pain that she had felt for the days since she’d seen him last.

One side of Ralston’s mouth lifted. “I deserved that.”

“And much more.” She met his eyes boldly. “I told you that afternoon in your ballroom, my lord, I’m through with these interludes. And with you. You have quite extraordinarily misinterpreted my interest. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Baron Oxford will be searching for me.”

“You can’t really be serious about Oxford.”

She ignored him, instead moving to pass him and escape around the edge of the screen into the room beyond. He captured her hand as she pushed past, and the touch stopped her. He did not hold her firmly enough that she couldn’t extricate herself from his grasp, but the heat of his gloved hand against her own made her look back at him, forced her to meet his eyes.

In that moment, the only thing he wanted was for her to stay with him. For her to forgive him. He’d arrived with Juliana, ready to find Callie and apologize for his boorish behavior—ready to do whatever it took to repair the obvious hurt that he had caused. And he’d located her almost immediately, beaming up at Oxford, clearly having a lovely time, as the pair had reentered the main gallery. The sight had infuriated him—Callie so lovely and happy, Oxford so foppish and simple.

She’d never smiled so openly at Ralston. And if she were to do so, he certainly wouldn’t respond as Oxford had, the fool, walking away from her. No. If she ever looked at him in such a way, he’d sweep her into his arms and kiss her senseless. Hang the Royal Art Exhibition.

Hell. He wanted to kiss her senseless right then, and she certainly wasn’t smiling at him.

He’d find a way to repair the damage he’d caused. But first, he had to eliminate Oxford from the equation. The stupid wager that he’d made with the ridiculous baron, was just that—stupid. Ralston now understood that he’d done nothing but taunt Oxford into proving his ability to win Callie; he was not going to give up the chase for Callie. Particularly not with one thousand pounds riding on its outcome.

“Don’t get attached to Oxford,” Ralston said.

“Whyever not?” Her words taunted him.

“He’s a gold digger with the intelligence of a goat.”

“Of course he is,” she said, simply, as though he had just proclaimed the sky blue.

His brow furrowed. “Then why come here with him?”

“Because he asked.”

The answer, so obvious, frustrated him. He ran a hand through his hair before pointing out, “That shouldn’t be enough, Callie. For God’s sake.”

She smiled then, a sad, small smile that set him on edge. “You’re right. It shouldn’t be enough.”

He felt a strange pressure in his chest at the words and, in that moment, the decision was made. Oxford couldn’t have her. Ralston wouldn’t allow it.

Their gazes locked for several long moments before she moved to pull her hand from his, and he found that he could not let her go. His fingers tightened around hers, unyielding. She looked to him with surprise.

“Let me take you somewhere,” he said.

“My lord?”

“Where would you like to go? Surely you’ll afford me the same opportunity you’ve given Oxford.”

“It’s not a competition.” The words were quiet, and he sensed an underlying meaning in them that he didn’t entirely understand.

Ignoring that for a moment, he repeated, “Let me take you somewhere. You choose. The theater again. A picnic with Mariana and Rivington. A damn carriage ride.”

She thought for a moment. “I don’t want your escort to any of those places.”

“Why not?”

“I am turning over a new leaf. Nowhere plain. Nowhere missish.”

He felt the words like a blow, immediately recognizing the hurtful words as his own. Damn it. What could he say to make it right? He ran another hand through his dark hair, setting several thick locks loose. Suddenly, the conversation seemed one of the most important he’d ever had.

“God, Callie, I’m sorry. Give me a chance to prove that I’m not entirely a cad and an imbecile.”

“I don’t think you are an imbecile.”

“I note you did not refute the other claim,” he said, with a crooked smile. “Anything you want.”

She gave a frustrated sigh, looking anywhere but directly at him. Her eyes settled on their entwined hands before she met his gaze again. “Anything?”

His eyes narrowed as understanding dawned. “You’re thinking about your damned list, aren’t you?”

“Well, you did request I refrain from completing any other items on the list without your escort.”

“Indeed, I did.”

“I could always ask Oxford…” She trailed off deliberately, coaxing a half laugh from him.

“You are learning to play me quite well, Minx. Fine. We shall complete another item on your list. Which shall it be?”

She thought for a moment, worrying her lower lip. The action served to draw Ralston’s attention away from the conversation for a brief moment, as he considered kissing her to stop the nervous habit. For a moment, he was lost in the memory of the sweetness of her mouth, the softness of her lips, the wild abandon with which she met him at every turn. He felt himself harden at the thought, and was mere seconds from taking her mouth again when her lips formed a single word.

“Gambling.”

His eyebrows shot up, and he shook his head as though to clear it. Surely she hadn’t just said—“Gambling?”

She nodded eagerly. “Yes. Gambling. In a gentleman’s club.”

He laughed. “You can’t be serious.”

“Indeed, I am, my lord.”

“You just asked me to smuggle you into Brooks’s, Callie. I think we’re rather past the point where you need stand on titular ceremony.”

She offered a small smile. “Very well, Gabriel. I should like you to take me gambling. At your club.”

“No woman has ever breached the defenses of Brooks’s, Callie—”

She interrupted him dryly, “I find that rather difficult to believe.”

“Very well, no gentlewoman has ever breached the club’s defenses. I would be exiled from its ranks if we were discovered.” He shook his head firmly before continuing. “May I talk you into a game of vingt-et-un at Ralston House instead? We shall play for money. I can assure you the experience will be quite the same.”

“I don’t think it would be the same at all, actually,” Callie speculated. “Part of the draw of this item is the experience of the club itself.”

“Whatever for?” He was genuinely baffled.

She paused, changing tack. “Have you ever wondered what it is that women do behind closed doors at teas and after dinners? What we talk about, how we live without you?”

“No.”

“Of course not. Because our lives are out in the open. We may be alone in a room, sequestered from men, but you own the houses in which we congregate, you’ve been in the rooms in which we cloister ourselves. There is always the possibility that you might enter, and so we set ourselves to needlepoint or idle gossip and never allow ourselves to say or do too much beyond the bounds of propriety, for fear that you might see.

“It’s different for you,” she pressed on, growing more impassioned as she spoke. “Men have these secret locations…taverns and sporting clubs and men’s clubs. And there you can do and feel and experience anything you’d like. Far from the prying eyes of women.”

“Exactly,” he said, “which is why I cannot take you to Brooks’s.”

“Why should you be the only ones to have that kind of freedom? Why do you think I’ve got the list at all? I want to experience that sense of freedom. I want to see this secret place—this inner sanctum where men really can be men.”

He didn’t answer, not entirely sure how to handle this new, strong-willed stranger. “Callie,” Ralston said quietly, firmly, in an attempt to bring reason to the discussion, “if you were caught, it would be the end of you. Gambling is one thing. But…at Brooks’s?”

“Is the great Marquess of Ralston afraid of what might happen if he takes such a risk? The same man who once compromised a Prussian princess in Hyde Park?”

He blinked. “I did no such thing.”

Callie couldn’t help the little smile that flashed. “Ah, so we finally discover a legend that is not grounded in reality.” His eyes narrowed on her as she pulled herself up to her full height and, with all the pride of a queen, said, “I don’t need you, you know. I can sneak into White’s on my own—using a letter of invitation from Benedick.”

Gabriel gave her a look of disbelief. “He’d never write it.”

“He doesn’t have to,” she said, matter-of-factly, “I sneaked into his fencing club without issue.”

“And you needed me to shepherd you out of there!” he said, a touch louder than was ideal for their clandestine location.

“Are you saying you won’t take me?”

“I am.”

“A pity. I had looked forward to your escort.”

He shook his head, dumbfounded. “You cannot do this.”

“Why? Because I’m a woman?”

“No! Because you’re mad! You will be caught!”

“I haven’t been caught yet.”

“I’ve caught you! Twice!”

“As I’ve said before,” she scoffed, “you’re different.”

“How am I different?” his exasperation was clear.

“Well, it seems you are my partner in crime.” She smiled then, a beaming grin not unlike the one he’d seen her give Oxford earlier.

He lost his bluster at the words, feeling the full force of her pleasure like a blow, and a nonsensical wave of pride coursed through him…pride at being the one she would turn to with such excitement, pride at being the one she would ask to escort her on such an adventure. And, in that sun-filled moment, with all of London mere inches away from their hiding place, he was struck by her beauty—her bright brown eyes and her hair, gleaming auburn in the light and her mouth, wide and welcoming and enough to bring a man to his knees.

She was really quite extraordinary.

The revelation made it difficult to breathe, so intense was the truth of it. “My God. You’re lovely.”

Her eyes widened in shock as she processed the words, then narrowed suspiciously. “Don’t try to throw me off course with your compliments.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Because I’m doing this. I’m gambling. I won’t be distracted from my purpose.”

“Of course not.”

“Certainly telling me that I’m—Well, that I’m—”

“Lovely.”

“Yes. That. It won’t deter me.”

“I didn’t mean it to.”

“I’m not a fool, you know.”

He took a step closer to her. “I know. I shall take you.”

“Even if you won’t take me—” She stopped. “I beg your pardon?”

“I said I would take you.”

“Oh. Well. Then.”

“Yes, I thought it was rather magnanimous of me.” He lifted a finger and tucked an errant lock of hair behind one of her ears.

“I’m not lovely,” she blurted out.

One side of his mouth kicked up. “Now, there,” he said quietly, searching her face as if to memorize this new Callie, whom he’d just discovered, “I shall have to disagree.”

And then he set his lips to hers and she was drugged by his caress and his words, both equally intoxicating. This kiss was different from all that they had shared before—softer, seeking, as though they were both discovering something altogether new. This was a concert of stroking tongue and soft lips. Gabriel lifted his head and waited for her to open her eyes; when she did, he was struck once more by her loveliness. He searched her face, watching as she returned from the sensual place where the kiss had taken her.

“You said I was plain.”

He shook his head slowly, marveling at the clear, brown depths of emotion in her eyes. “There is nothing plain about you.” And then, he kissed her again.

Her mouth was his banquet. He sipped at her lips, savoring their taste, their softness. Her hands found their way around his neck and into his hair—threading through the dark locks. The caress sent a shiver of pleasure through him. He ate at her, nibbling at her lips before gently laving the worried skin there with his tongue. When he pulled away and met her eyes once more, they were both breathing heavily, and Gabriel was wishing that they were anywhere but here, hundreds of Londoners mere feet away.

He had to stop. He was about to do exactly what he had resolved not to do. Had he not promised himself that he would not compromise her again? He owed her more. Better.

A vision flashed in his mind of Callie naked, spread before him in a pool of sunlight, and he pushed it aside. This was no time to indulge in fantasies that would further arouse him—as it was, his excitement was embarrassingly obvious in his breeches. Reaching up, he unwound Callie’s arms from around his neck, kissing the knuckles on both hands before meeting her gaze once more.

“I owe you an apology.”

Her brow furrowed. “I beg your pardon?”

He set a soft kiss to her forehead, smoothing the lines there, pulling her tightly into his arms before continuing. “An apology. For everything. For the afternoon at Ralston House, for the fencing club, God, Callie, for this afternoon, even. I have treated you quite abominably, nearly compromising you at every turn. And—I should apologize.”