She clucked her tongue, swatting at his arm. “Our dearest cousin is getting married. We should be happy for him.”
Dane turned to his sister. “Rathmore left our company a week ago a determined bachelor.” He did not add that the duke had been heading to a house party filled with the sort of delights he hoped Charlie never understood. “Now he’s engaged to a completely unknown girl, who isn’t even titled. If you ask me, something dreadful has happened.”
Charlie sighed, the sort of sound that made his brows draw together. The sigh spoke volumes, accusing him of being absurd. He frowned. How did she not see that she was the one being ridiculous? “Maybe they fell in love?” she said, pressing her fingers to her cheeks as she stared dreamily out the window.
He scoffed at her statement. “Or perhaps she trapped him with some claim.” The idea made him shift a bit in his seat. Rathmore was a rake to be certain, but he usually kept his activities to women who understood the bargain. Dane didn’t think he would have knowingly compromised an innocent lady. If he had, there was no helping him. But, if this girl had made some sort of false charge, then there might be something Dane could do. He had no idea what, but his first objective was just to understand the situation.
Since they’d been children, Dane had always had the clearer head. Rathmore, as a duke, had the world at his fingertips and yet, his heart often allowed emotion to sway his decisions. He’d needed Dane to use reason and judgment to help him out of several scrapes and this one was likely no exception.
“You’re always so cynical,” Charlie tapped her fan on his knee.
He crossed his arms staring at his sister. “Or perhaps I am intelligent. Let’s play a game…”
Charlie wrinkled her nose. “Your games are never fun.”
He ignored his sister’s barb. “Which is more likely.” He sensed that his sister was also anxious to find love, though she’d had plenty of opportunity the previous season. She was assuredly painting Rathmore’s situation with her own wishes. “That Rathmore, a young, handsome, eligible duke, had a sudden and immediate change of heart after meeting a woman or—” He held up a finger. “That a lady, upon meeting the young, handsome, eligible duke, decided that he was excellent husband material and set a quick and effective trap.”
Charlie huffed, leaning back in her seat, her arms crossing in a mirror image of his. “While I must admit, the timeline is very quick—”
“Precisely.” He responded, triumph pulling his shoulders straighter.
“I will not go into this meeting with such doubts.” She leaned closer, her eyes narrowing as she gave him a long stare. “This woman, whoever she is, is going to be our family, Dane. Do not make a bad first impression.”
He didn’t reply as he stared back at his sister. Despite Charlie’s warning, he knew she was wrong. This woman wouldn’t be his family if he had anything to say about it. He’d pulled Rathmore out of more than one romantic scrape and he’d have to do so again this time.
His thoughts drifted back to a few years earlier when Rathmore had taken a mistress. The woman had declared herself enceinte and convinced Rathmore to marry her. Dane had stepped in and required Rathmore to wait three months. Within two weeks the woman had bled. She’d been forced to admit she’d lied about being with child. If Chase hadn’t heeded his warning, he’d have been married before he’d discovered the truth.
The carriage pulled into a drive and Dane shifted his gaze from the lovely ocean scene to the large stone house that stood high on a hill. Well, he had to admit one fact: the Moorish home was lovely.
As they made their way up the drive, a crowd of people stood in a line to greet them. As he drew near, he recognized several of the men. His cousin, of course, wearing a bright grin. But near him were two other lords he recognized from London. The Earl of Crestwood and the Baron of Craven. What in the bloody bullocks was happening here? He knew both the men were complete rogues who’d also been bound for Balstead’s party. Why were they here?
The carriage rolled to a stop and the footman snapped open the door. He climbed out, handing Charlie down.
“Welcome to Moorish Manor,” an elderly man stepped forward, sweeping his arms wide. Dane had to confess that he was a likable sort with kind eyes behind his spectacles. If he were honest, the man didn’t look like a conspirator, but then again, looks could be deceiving. The woman he’d nearly married had looked and acted completely innocent but it had turned out that act had been the appropriate word to describe her. Their entire relationship had been complete fiction.
Dane gave a short bow, his fists clenching at his sides.
Rathmore stepped forward. “May I present my cousin, The Marquess of Hartwell, and his sister, Lady Charlotte Summerset.”
“A pleasure,” Mr. Moorish swept into a deep bow. “I am honored to have you at my home. These are my daughters,” the man gestured toward the crowd of women. “Please come inside where you’ll be more comfortable. The sun is growing quite warm already, is it not?”
Charlie stepped forward. “The sunshine feels lovely to me, but I am excited to see your home. Thank you so much for hosting us. What a pleasure.”
Dane tried not to roll his eyes. The older man might look kind but for all Dane knew, he was the very person who’d actually trapped his cousin. Now was not the time to waver, he needed to keep his wits about him.
It was time for Dane to start getting some answers.
* * *
Juliet stared at the marquess who’d arrived at her door and pursed her lips. She didn’t like him.
He was handsome enough with his sandy hair and chocolate-brown eyes. And he had the sort of broad shoulders that might make another girl swoon, but his face was set in stern serious lines. His mouth was marked with a slight frown and his eyes crinkled in disapproval as he stared down the line of her family.
Judgment rolled off him in waves and her own skin bristled in response. How dare he make assumptions about the people she loved?
The group started for the front door. Her sister, Adrianna, took the arm of her fiancé, the Earl of Crestwood, while Bianca paired off with her soon-to-be husband, the Baron of Craven. Juliet tried not to sigh as her only other single sister, Cordelia, stepped up next to her. “The marquess is handsome,” Cordelia whispered as she leaned close to Juliet’s ear.
Juliet scowled as she looked ahead. Ophelia had linked her arm with Lady Charlotte’s and they walked ahead while Rathmore spoke with his cousin, Hartwell. The marquess’s profile was in her view and she watched as his frown grew more pronounced as his hand sliced through the air. “He is handsome. Let’s move closer.”
In truth, she didn’t give a fig about his looks but she did care to hear what he might be saying. Juliet had worked rather hard to throw Ophelia and Rathmore together and she fancied herself a bit of a matchmaker. Was the annoying marquess attempting to undo her hard work? That would explain all the contempt he displayed.
“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 gave a soft groan. “Juliet. Don’t cause trouble.”
But Juliet didn’t bother to respond. She was too busy listening 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? That’s the most asinine thing I’ve ever heard.”
Juliet huffed, 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, her hands flew up into the air in a wild attempt to catch her balance but she was 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. Two large warm hands 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 out 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 like this. The feel of his long, lean length against hers sent her heart beat 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 supplied.
“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. 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.”
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 came crashing back suddenly; she wasn’t awestruck 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.
Want to read more? Why a Marauding Marquess is Best
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How to Catch an Elusive Earl
Where to Woo a Bawdy Baron
Why a Marauding Marquess is Best
What a Vulgar Viscount Needs
Who Wants a Brawling Baron
When to Dare a Dishonorable Duke
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Baron of Bad
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Wicked Lords of London
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My Duke’s Seduction
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My Earl’s Entrapment
My Duke’s Desire
My Wicked Earl
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How to Reform a Rake
How to Reform a Rake
Don’t Tell a Duke You Love Him
Meddle in a Marquess’s Affairs
Never Trust an Errant Earl
Never Kiss an Earl at Midnight
Make a Viscount Beg
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The Fate of a Highland Rake
A Laird to Love
Christmastide with my Captain (FREE!!!)
My Enemy, My Earl
Heart of a Highlander
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Taming a Duke’s Wild Rose
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About the Author
Tammy Andresen lives with her husband and three children just outside of Boston, Massachusetts. She grew up on the Seacoast of Maine, where she spent countless days dreaming up stories in blueberry fields and among the scrub pines that line the coast. Her mother loved to spin a yarn and Tammy filled many hours listening to her mother retell the classics. It was inevitable that at the age of eighteen, she headed off to Simmons College, where she studied English literature and education. She never left Massachusetts but some of her heart still resides in Maine and her family visits often.
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Seeds of Love: Prequel to the Lily in Bloom series
Lily in Bloom
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Where to Woo a Bawdy Baron: Romancing the Rake Book 3 Page 11