Nine Rules to Break When Romancing a Rake

by Sarah MacLean

  He watched her go, unmoving. When he heard the main door to the house close, signaling her exit, he swore roundly, the vicious sound echoing around the room.

  Much later, Ralston sat at his piano, willing the instrument to perform the task it had done throughout his life—to help him to forget. He played with rigor—with a strength that brought unbridled sound from the instrument. The notes came fast and furious, his fingers flying across the keys as he closed his eyes and waited for the music to drive Callie from his mind. It’s always been you.

  The music enveloped him, dark and venomous, stinging his senses as he lingered at the keys in the lower register, pouring his emotion into his playing. The sound, aching and lyric, punished him, reminding again and again of Callie’s expression, so wounded, so pained, just before she had escaped the house. Before she had escaped him.

  I just wish it were anyone else.

  He swore, and the sound was swallowed up by the piano. Her cool response to him—so very deserved—had nevertheless left him consumed with a desire to possess her. To brand her his own.

  He’d pushed her to the limits of her awareness of herself, of her body, of her emotions. He’d known what he was doing; he’d sensed that he was going too far. But he couldn’t have stopped if he’d wanted to. He’d been just as entangled in the moment as she had been. The king himself could have entered the study, and Ralston would have been hard-pressed to stop.

  The truth of it shocked him, and his fingers paused on the piano keys. He shook his head, as if he could clear it of her memory. What was it about this woman? This plain, unassuming woman whom he had never before noticed? There is nothing about her that is plain or unassuming now.

  And he hated himself for describing her as such.

  No…Lady Calpurnia Hartwell was coming into her own in a spectacular way—entirely new and thoroughly different from every woman he had known before her. And it was her heady combination of innocent curiosity and feminine will that had lured him into behaving the way he did.

  He wanted her. Viscerally. In a way he’d never wanted any woman before her.

  Of course, he could not have her.

  Nick had been right; Callie wanted love. Ralston had known that from the very beginning—she didn’t hide her belief in the power of the emotion, her unwavering faith in it. He paused in his playing, wondering what it would feel like to believe so strongly in the power of love to do good. To bring happiness.

  He shook his head, bowing low over the keys of the piano. He’d never seen that side of love. He’d only seen the pain it wrought, the soul-crushing devastation that came when it was rescinded. A memory flashed, of his father professing his undying love for his wife. A wife who walked out on her duties as wife and mother without ever looking back. Twice.

  So much for love everlasting.

  He swore roundly. He might not agree with Callie’s assessment of love, but it did not mean that he had the right to treat her so unconscionably. He would not deny the pleasure he’d felt with her in his arms that afternoon, but he did admit his behavior was unacceptable. She deserved infinitely better.

  He would apologize. Even if he did not regret his actions in the slightest.

  He continued to play, the notes growing slower, more contemplative, reflecting the mood of their master.

  Minutes later, a knock sounded, and Ralston stopped playing, turning on the piano bench to face the door. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if it was possible that Callie had returned, that it was she outside the door, waiting for him to allow her entrance.

  “Enter.”

  The door opened and he registered the woman who stood silhouetted in the bright lights of the hallway beyond. His sister.

  He seemed inundated with females deserving of his apology.

  “Juliana, come in.” He stood, reaching for a tinderbox and making quick work of lighting a candelabra nearby and waving her in the direction of a chair near the room’s large fireplace. “I had not noticed that it had grown so dark.”

  “It is quite late,” Juliana said quietly, taking her seat and waiting while he lit several more candles and seated himself across from her. When she opened her mouth to speak, he stayed her words with a raised hand.

  “Please, allow me to apologize.” Her eyes widened as he added, “I should not have lost my temper.”

  A smile flashed. “It appears that the loss of temper is yet another something we have in common, brother.”

  One side of his mouth kicked up. “So it does.”

  Juliana sighed, relaxing into her chair. “I have come to fare la pace.”

  Gabriel extended his legs, leaning back with a smile at his sister’s Italian. “I would very much enjoy making peace.”

  She extended a large parcel wrapped in brown paper. “In Italy, we have an expression, a gift after an argument—it is an olive branch.”

  He accepted the package. “It is the same in English.”

  She grinned. “It is nice to know that some things do not change.”

  “I should think you have had enough change recently.”

  She dipped her head. “As you say.” Her gaze fell to the parcel. “Are you not curious about your gift?”

  Gabriel looked down at the package, carefully wrapped and tied to best protect its contents, and he found he was filled with curiosity. How long had it been since he’d received a gift? A gift from someone who expected nothing in return? Looking back at his sister, he registered the expectant excitement on her face—her obvious hope that he would enjoy whatever was inside the simple, brown wrapping.

  Yes. He was very curious.

  He tore into the package, breaking the string that held the paper and shucking the wrapping. Turning the book over in his hands, he registered her thoughtfulness. “How did you know that I have a passion for Mozart?”

  She smiled. “I have a bedchamber in this house, also. It is not difficult to recognize your favorite composer.”

  He ran his fingers across the leather-bound cover with reverence. “I shall begin reading it tonight.” He met her eyes, all seriousness. “Thank you, Juliana.”

  She gave a small, shy smile. “You are welcome. I am happy that you like it.”

  “I do. Very much.”

  He marveled at the fact that this girl who had been through so much, who had found herself unceremoniously delivered to the doorstep of a complete stranger two countries away, would have thought to purchase a gift for him.

  “I do not have a gift for you.”

  She laughed. “Of course you do not. Why would you?” When he seemed unable to find a decent response, she added, “We are family. This is what family does, is it not?”

  He paused for a moment, thinking. “Actually, I haven’t any idea if this is what family does. It has been rather a long time since I’ve had anyone other than Nick.”

  Juliana considered his words. “Indeed. Well then. Shall we make a decision now that this is what family does? At least, our family?”

  “That sounds like a capital idea.”

  Juliana clapped her hands quickly and grinned broadly. “Excellent!” She added in a casual tone, “Do you know, my lord, that I have always wanted a brother who would spoil me?”

  He laughed at her feigned innocence. “Really? May I suggest you discuss that particular desire with Nick?”

  Her eyes widened at his jest before she burst out laughing. “I think that is a marvelous plan!” Lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, she said, “Do you think he will be very extravagant?”

  “One can certainly hope so.”

  “Indeed, she can!”

  They settled into companionable silence for a few long minutes, and Juliana watched as Gabriel leafed through his new book. Finally, he looked up, and said, “When did you find time to purchase this?”

  Juliana waved one hand in the air, and said, “Several weeks ago, Callie and Mariana and I were on Bond Street and discovered a bookshop there—that book came highly recommended—and Callie s
eemed to think that it would make an excellent gift for you.”

  He stiffened at the mention of Callie. “Did she?”

  Juliana nodded, “I find she gives excellent counsel.” When he shifted in his chair and said nothing, her eyes narrowed perceptively, and she said, “You look guilty, brother.”

  Gabriel looked away, eyes focusing on the candelabra he had set nearby earlier. “I did rather an excellent job of running her off earlier. I imagine she is quite…vexed with me at the moment.”

  “Ah,” she said, knowing and teasing in her tone. “You are saying that Monsieur Latuffe was not the only idiota in the room this afternoon.”

  One side of Ralston’s mouth twitched in chagrin. “No. It appears not.” He relaxed into his chair. “Do you know, I do not think that anyone has ever spoken to me such?”

  A smile flashed. “You are long overdue for a sister, my lord.”

  He considered her words. “I think you may be right.”

  “Callie, she is different from other women,” Juliana said, entirely overstepping her bounds. “She is so willing to do what she must to make a situation right.”

  A vision flashed, Callie standing in the doorway of his study, so obviously hurt by the words she had overheard and yet so willing to defend Juliana to him—to tell him precisely where he had overstepped the bounds of brotherhood. As though her personal pride were somehow less important than Juliana’s happiness.

  When he turned his attention back to his sister, she was looking at him with a knowing gaze. “I see you have noticed the same.”

  “Yes. She is quite remarkable.”

  “Perhaps you should apologize for your…” She waved one hand, searching for the word.

  “Idiocy?”

  She smiled. “If you like.”

  He shifted in his chair, resting one leg over the other, and they grew quiet once more, each lost in thought. Finally, Gabriel spoke up, “Do you enjoy art?”

  She looked up, curious. “I do.”

  “I should very much like to take you to the Royal Art Exhibition.” He lifted his book. “To thank you for the gift.”

  “You do not have to thank me for the gift. Remember? This is what our family does.”

  He inclined his head. “Then, I would like for our family also to attend the Royal Art Exhibition.”

  “Ah, well then. If you are going to make a rule of it…I suppose I have no choice but to accept your invitation.”

  He laughed. “How very magnanimous of you.”

  “I thought so.”

  Gabriel leaned forward with a smile. “You know, Juliana, I think you may be long overdue for a brother.”

  Juliana tilted her head again, in a gesture he was coming to find rather endearing. “I think you may be right.”

  Sixteen

  Callie alighted from the Rivington coach at the front of Somerset House and turned back to meet Mariana’s smile as her sister followed her down from the carriage. The sisters were immediately surrounded by throngs of people, all scrambling for entrance to the private viewing of the Royal Academy of Art Exhibition, one of the most sought-after invitations of the season.

  She watched as Mariana took Rivington’s arm with a loving look, allowing the duke to guide her up the wide marble steps to the entrance of Somerset House, where the exhibition was already under way. Callie suppressed a little sigh at the obvious adoration between the two.

  “My lady?”

  Callie started at the words, turning to her own companion, Baron Oxford.

  “Shall we?”

  Callie pasted a bright smile on her face and took his offered arm. “Indeed, my lord.”

  They followed Mariana and Rivington up the wide entryway to the gallery, refusing to allow Oxford’s odd behavior to mar the events of the afternoon. The Royal Exhibition had always been one of Callie’s favorite activities of the season, as it gave Londoners a rare look at the work of the country’s most revered contemporary artists. Callie loved art, and made it a point never to miss an exhibition.

  “I have heard that we might see the most recent Blake etchings today, my lord,” she offered as she climbed the steps.

  Oxford gave her a strange look before asking disbelievingly, “You aren’t really here to see the art, are you?”

  Callie’s confusion showed. “Certainly. I very much enjoy the fine arts. You do not?”

  “I like a pretty painting as much as the next chap,” Oxford said. “But no one really comes to the private viewing to see the art, Lady Calpurnia. It’s about proving you are able to secure a ticket.”

  Callie dipped her head to keep the baron from seeing her roll her eyes. “Oh, yes. Well that is an impressive feat as well.”

  “Have you ever been here before?” Oxford asked, a boast already in his voice.

  Callie hedged, uncertain of whether she should answer truthfully. She didn’t have to.

  Mariana, who had been waiting with Rivington for Callie and Oxford to catch up to them, stepped in and answered for her. “Our father was a trustee of the Royal Academy, Baron Oxford. This is one of Callie’s favorite days of the year.”

  “Truly? I hadn’t thought you would be such an…academic.” The word sounded foreign on his tongue.

  “Oh, Callie’s quite brilliant when it comes to art. You should hear her speak about the Renaissance.” Mariana turned a bright smile on the baron before continuing, “You don’t mind if I steal my darling sister away, do you? I see a Pearce that we’ve been longing to have a look at.”

  With that, Mariana clasped Callie’s arm and whisked her through the crush of people, away from their escorts. “Ugh. He’s insufferable! What on earth possessed you to accept his invitation?”

  “He extended an invitation, Mari. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not in a position to refuse them.” She paused. “Besides, he’s not as bad as all that.”

  “He’s an imbecile. And a drunk,” Mariana said frankly before smiling broadly in acknowledgment of the Viscountess Longwell, who tipped her head in response as they passed her. “For goodness sake, you’re willing to dress as a man and sneak into Benedick’s fencing club, but you won’t turn down Oxford?”

  “Shh!” Callie looked around to be certain that Mariana hadn’t been heard. “Are you addled, mentioning that here? The fact is that I accepted Oxford’s invitation. And now we’re being rather rude.”

  “Pshaw. Rivington will entertain him,” Mariana was distracted, standing on her toes, craning to see above the crowds. “You don’t see Juliana, do you?”

  Callie froze. “Juliana Fiori?”

  Mariana gave Callie an odd look. “Yes, Calpurnia. Juliana Fiori. Which other Juliana would I be looking for?”

  “I didn’t know she was going to be here.”

  “Mmm,” Mariana said, looking about. “Apparently Ralston offered to bring her. I promised her we wouldn’t see Blake’s Jerusalem without her.”

  Callie opened her mouth to speak, uncertain of what to say, only sure that she would have no choice but to leave the exhibition before she ran into Ralston. She couldn’t see him. Couldn’t be in the same room with him. It didn’t matter that half of London would be there as well. Callie began to feel panicked.

  “Ah…here are the ladies for whom we’ve been searching.” Callie and Mariana whirled to face Oxford and Rivington. Oxford captured Callie’s gaze and flashed a brilliant smile. “You left us, but we are excellent at tracking our prey.”

  “Indeed, it appears so, my lord.” This afternoon was growing more and more odd. She should have remained home. That much was clear.

  “Lady Calpurnia, may I escort you to see some of the paintings in the North Gallery?”

  “I—” For a fleeting moment, Callie considered refusing before realizing that an afternoon with Oxford would be infinitely less awkward than an afternoon spent avoiding Ralston. “I would enjoy that very much, my lord.”

  “Wonderful.” He offered Callie his arm. She took it, and they were off across the main gallery
toward the northern exit. As they walked, he said, “We shall have to seek out the Renaissance artists here today, shan’t we?”

  She bit her tongue, keeping herself from explaining that, as a contemporary exhibition, there were no Renaissance artists represented at the event. Instead, she smiled mutely and allowed the baron to guide her along. When they arrived at the slightly less crowded North Gallery, Oxford turned a bright smile on her, and, with a broad gesture, said, “What do you think?”

  Callie smiled up at the baron, and said, politely, “It is an excellent exhibition this year, my lord. Thank you very much for escorting me.”

  He leaned closer. “Come now, Lady Calpurnia. Surely you have more to say than that.” Pointing to a large portrait, he asked, “What of that one?”

  Callie considered the painting, a rather forgiving likeness of the king, before saying, “I think that King George must have been very happy with it.”

  Oxford laughed. “How very diplomatic of you.”

  Callie laughed as well, considering the baron. Certainly, he was a dandy and rather vapid, but he seemed in possession of a good humor and a not-unpleasant countenance. She was surprised to find that she was rather enjoying herself.

  Oxford leaned in to speak close to her ear. “I had hoped we would get a chance to be apart from your sister and Rivington.”

  Her eyebrows shot up at the words. “My lord?”

  “I know,” he said, misunderstanding her reticence. “It’s hard to believe that this is happening.” He ran a single finger discreetly down the length of her forearm, and his smile broadened as he leaned in once more. “But indeed it is happening to you, Lady Calpurnia.”

  “Baron Oxford,” she said, quickly, searching for a distraction to save them both from embarrassment. “I thought we were going to seek out the Renaissance paintings? I do not see them here.”

  “Perhaps we should look for them in a quieter, more secluded locale?” he said, his voice low. Was that whiskey on his breath?

  Callie hedged. “I wonder if they might be back in the main gallery?”