Nine Rules to Break When Romancing a Rake (29 page)

“I think that, though diminutive, you should pass just fine. Assuming the lights inside Brooks’s are similar to those here. In your garden. In the dead of night.” His lips set in a firm line as he considered her, then shook his head. “One would have to be an imbecile not to know you’re a woman. This is going to be a disaster.”

Pulling his gloves back on, Ralston began to walk the short distance to his coach. She followed, pointing out, “You didn’t notice I was a woman in the fencing club.”

He gave a noncommittal grunt.

“I find that people see what they expect, my lord, as opposed to what is there.”

He opened the coach door and handed her up into the darkened interior. As she scrambled across the seat to make room for him, she could have sworn that she heard him say, “This was a terrible idea,” before he joined her, pulling the door closed behind him and knocking on the roof to set the carriage in motion.

They rode in silence, Callie attempting to ignore Ralston’s obvious second thoughts when it came to smuggling her into his club. She had come this far…she most certainly was not turning back. The drive wasn’t far, and when the carriage arrived, Callie sat forward on her seat to get a better look out the window. As she pressed her face to the glass, Ralston produced a large greatcoat and handed it to her. “Here. Put this on.”

“But, I—”

“This is not negotiable,” he cut her off in a clipped tone. “It is my membership on the line if you get caught.”

“Not to mention my reputation,” she said under her breath.

He gave her a firm look. “Yes. Well, tonight I’m rather more concerned with my club. Put on the cloak; pull the collar up; keep your head down. Do not meet anyone’s eye. Stay close to me. Do not look at anyone. And for God’s sake don’t use that ridiculous voice you think sounds manly.”

“But, I—”

“No, Callie. I promised you I’d take you gambling at Brooks’s. But I did not promise to do it your way.”

She sighed. “Fine.”

He opened the door and hopped out of the carriage, striding to the door of the club without giving her another glance. She watched for a moment, surprised that he so easily ignored his gentlemanly instincts—leaving her, instead, to fend for herself in alighting from the coach. She did so, slamming the door behind her.

The coach door banged shut with a too-loud crash, drawing attention from Ralston and several others on the street. As several heads spun toward her, Callie’s tentative steps faltered. She met Ralston’s brilliant blue gaze with her panicked brown one and watched as he raised one brow just enough for her to read his thoughts.

Are you quite finished?

She dipped her head, hiding her face in the ample collar of his greatcoat, and headed for him. When she was a few steps away, he entered the club, throwing the door open wide enough for her to catch it and follow him inside.

Callie’s first thought upon crossing the threshold was that Brook’s was stunning. She hadn’t known what to expect, but it was not this. The wide marble entryway boasted the wealth and stature of the men who were members—all lovely planes and gilded edges.

She caught her breath at the space, outfitted like the finest London homes in deep masculine colors and rich woods. And there were men everywhere. They stood in little pockets of conversation in the foyer, acknowledging Ralston with quick nods as he passed through the large entryway and led Callie down a long corridor toward the back of the building. Trying to be discreet, she peeped into the rooms that stood open, some large and warmly lit, where clusters of men were engaged in billiards, cards, and discussion, and others, small and intimate, hosting just a handful of occupants who drank port and smoked.

Callie slowed down as she passed each doorway, cataloging the activities and those present inside, eager to absorb every bit of this mysterious, fascinating place. As Ralston led her deeper into the maze of corridors, the number of open doors dwindled and the hallway became darker and more quiet. As they passed one room, Callie noted the door was ajar and the room inside warm and golden with candlelight. She heard a distinctly feminine laugh from within, and she froze midstep, unable to help herself from taking a closer look.

Peering through the crack in the door, Callie’s eyes widened as she took in the scene beyond. There were three men inside, each wearing a domino mask, each seated in one of three large leather chairs arranged in a tight circle. The men, though relaxed in their chairs, were transfixed by the woman who stood at the center of the cluster, tall and buxom, her hair cascading down her back in a luscious mane of ebony curls. She was stunning: high cheekbones, lovely skin, perfectly kohled eyes, pouting red lips curved in a wicked, knowing smile. Callie was transfixed by her—just as the men inside seemed to be—for it was obvious that the woman was a courtesan.

She wore a gown that was not for public view—a bold, sapphire silk with a tightly fitted bodice that appeared more corset than dress. Her breasts nearly spilled from the top of the dress as she bent low over one of the men. Callie held her breath as he reached out and grazed the side of one breast, his eyes transfixed on the woman’s feminine bounty. She gave a low laugh as he touched her, boldly placing her hand over his and guiding him to touch her breast more firmly. He did as he was directed, and one of the other men reached for the hem of the courtesan’s gown and began to raise it, baring long legs and, finally, her rounded bottom. Callie gasped quietly as he caressed the woman’s behind.

The gasp turned into a little squeal as Ralston grabbed her arm and pulled her from the spot where she had been frozen. He growled close to her ear, “This is exactly why men’s clubs are not for women.”

“It appears that particular room is most definitely for women,” she replied tartly.

He did not respond, instead guiding her into the next open doorway before closing and locking the door behind them. When she heard the lock click ominously in the silence, she whirled to face Ralston, who was glowering at her from his position—pressed against the closed door.

“Did I not make myself clear? You were to stay close to me and not to look at anyone.”

“I didn’t!”

“So you were not just peering into a room full of people?”

“I wouldn’t call it full,” Callie hedged. His gaze narrowed at her words. “It’s not as if they saw me!”

“They could have!”

“They were rather busy,” she pointed out. “Perhaps you could explain something to me?”

His gaze turned wary. “Perhaps.”

“How is it that one woman is…enough…for three men?”

Ralston raised his eyes to the ceiling and made a choking sound. After a moment, he looked back at her. “I don’t know.”

She gave him a look of disbelief. “She must be a very talented courtesan.”

He raked a hand through his hair before saying in a strangled tone, “Callie.”

She plunged ahead, innocently, “Well, that was what she was. Wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“How very fascinating!” She smiled brightly. “I’ve never met a courtesan, you know.”

“I could have surmised as such.”

“She looked just as I imagined they did! Well, she was rather prettier.”

Ralston’s eyes darted around the room as though he was looking for the quickest escape route. “Callie. Wouldn’t you rather gamble than talk about courtesans?”

She tilted her head, considering his question. “I don’t really know…both things are worth the time, don’t you think?”

“No,” he said with a surprised laugh. “I don’t.”

Ignoring him, she took in the room around them. It was decorated with Grecian friezes depicting the gods and goddesses in a variety of different scenes, and furnished with a large card table and a collection of carved wooden chairs. At one side of the room, in front of a roaring fireplace, there was a seating area complete with two overstuffed chairs and a long chaise. The walls that did not boast the enormous pieces of marble artwork were lined with bookshelves. It was a comfortable, if masculine, room.

She turned back to Ralston. “Won’t others be irritated that we’ve commandeered this room?”

Ralston removed his gloves and hat and placed them on a small table by the door. “I doubt it. By this time of night men are usually fully ensconced in whatever…pursuits they are planning for the evening.”

“Pursuits.” She repeated dryly, mimicking his actions with her own hat and gloves before removing his greatcoat and hanging it on a nearby stand. Turning back to him, she noted his sharp gaze. “You’re not still angry with me, are you? We arrived with no difficulty. No one out there even knows I am in here.”

A long moment went by as he gave her outfit a thorough perusal. He shook his head. “I just find it impossible to believe that not one man in this entire club noticed that you’re no more a man than you are a giraffe.”

One side of her mouth kicked up. “I should think they would have noticed if I were a giraffe. And why do you say that? Don’t you think the disguise is a good one?” She looked down at herself, suddenly uncertain. “I know I have rather a…figure, but I think I’ve hidden it…well, as much as I can.”

When he spoke, his voice was low and dark. “Callie. It would take a blind man not to notice your figure in those clothes. No man I have ever known has had such a lovely—”

“That’s quite enough, my lord,” she cut him off, primly, as though she weren’t standing in the middle of Brooks’s with one of London’s most notorious rakes, wearing men’s clothing. “It’s getting late. I would like to learn to gamble now, if you don’t mind.”

He gave a little smirk and held out a chair, indicating that she should sit at the card table. She moved to take the proffered seat, keenly aware of his nearness. When he had seated himself across from her at the table, he lifted the deck of cards that had been set there, and said, “I think we should begin with vingt-et-un.”

For the next few moments, he explained the rules of the game—helping Callie to understand the strategy required to ensure that her cards were valued as closely to twenty-one as they could be without exceeding the number. They played several rounds, Ralston letting her win before, on the third and fourth games, he beat her roundly. On the fifth game, she was thrilled that she had reached twenty when he flipped over his cards and showed his twenty-one.

Frustrated by another loss, Callie burst out, “You cheated!”

He looked at her, wide-eyed with feigned outrage. “I beg your pardon. If you were a man, I would call you out for that accusation.”

“And I assure you, my lord, that I would ride forth victoriously on behalf of truth, humility, and righteousness.”

He chuckled, shuffling the cards. “Are you quoting the Bible to me?”

“Indeed,” she said primly, the portrait of piousness.

“While gambling.”

“What better location to attempt to reform one such as you?” she said, humor twinkling in her eyes. They shared a smile before he dealt the cards, and she continued, “It would be rather fortuitous, however, if you were to call me out, though. I should like to attend a duel.”

He froze for a fleeting moment, before shaking his head in surrender. “Of course you would. Is there anything on this list that won’t shock me?”

She checked her cards casually before saying, “Oh, most assuredly not.”

“Well, considering it seems that it has become my particular role to help you complete the items, I must ask…how are you enjoying this one?”

She wrinkled her nose as she considered the question. “The club is quite remarkable. I feel certain that I would never have had such an experience if not for you, my lord.”

“Gabriel,” he interrupted.

“Gabriel,” she corrected herself. “But I will say that I am rather uncertain as to what it is about gambling that is so very compelling. To be sure, it is a fine pastime, but I fail to see what it is about the process that lands so many in debtors’ prison.”

He leaned back in his chair and watched her carefully. “You don’t see it, lovely, because you have nothing at risk.”

“At risk?”

“Indeed,” he said, “the appeal of the tables is enhanced by both the thrill of winning and the fear of losing.”

She considered the words before nodding thoughtfully. “Shall we play for money, then?”

He inclined his head toward her. “If you’d like.”

She changed her mind. “You don’t care about losing money.”

“Not particularly.”

“Then it’s not a risk for you.”

“It doesn’t matter if there is no risk for me. This is your night. Only you have to feel the edge of risk. I’m merely your able assistant.”

She couldn’t help the smile that broke at the trivial description. “Oh, no, Gabriel,” she said, and he stiffened at her free use of his given name. “If we are to play a legitimate round of cards, I should like you to feel that you might lose.”

His blue eyes glittered across the table. “Name your terms.”

Excitement flared. “All right, for every round I win…you must answer a question. Truthfully.”

His brows snapped together. “What kind of questions?”

“Why?” she teased. “Are you afraid you will lose to me?”

He leaned forward. “All right, Empress, but for every round I win, you must grant me a favor…of my choosing.”