Romancing the Rake: Seven Regency Romances

by Tammy Andresen

  “I should climb up instead of you,” he called after her.

  She waved, causing the chiffon of her gown to flutter about. “No need. It’s easy climbing.” Then she started making cute little kissing noises again. “Mittens.”

  He tried to relax the tight knot that had formed in his chest. As a baron he’d spent some time in the company of virtuous ladies. Mostly he just glared and they gave up attempting to speak with him.

  It wasn’t that he disliked them, he just preferred the company of women who didn’t need to talk. He did his best work when no words were required. Which was probably why he was dreaming of kissing a trail up that shapely little calf and then climbing higher under her skirts.

  “Oh. I’ve found the cat,” she called down. Then almost immediately, “Drat.”

  “Drat?” he repeated, grabbing the branch next to him. “What’s wrong?”

  “It isn’t Mittens.” Not two seconds later, a cat came streaking from the tree, landing lightly on the ground, and sprinted across the square.

  “Drat,” she said again.

  “Drat?” he repeated because he didn’t know what else to say.

  “Yes. Drat.” He heard her sigh, a high sweet sound that vibrated across his ears. “I seem to be stuck.”

  Chapter Two

  Bianca tugged at her skirt again, wishing she were a man. She didn’t mean it truly. Men just seemed to have an easier time with this sort of thing. Well, lots of women too. But, if she was male right now, she wouldn’t be wearing a dress and she’d be able to curse with utter abandon at her situation. She’d like to say “bloody hell” right about now and not even feel bad about uttering such blasphemies.

  But the man below her made her feel uncomfortable and awkward. She’d been trying to ignore him for the better part of an hour, but she’d mostly just succeeded in saying foolish things, and now she’d gotten herself stuck.

  The tree creaked and she realized he was climbing toward her. She gripped the tree tighter, letting out a squeak. How could she ignore him in the close confines of the branches? “Lord Craven, there is no need to climb up here. I can surely get myself out of this tree. I’m sure if I just tug my skirt…” She did so, hearing the fabric tear. Well, double drat.

  He stopped looking up at her, his brow heavier than ever. There was a pause in which he was most assuredly deciding how stupid she actually was before he finally mumbled, “You said you were stuck.”

  “I am,” she replied, heat flooding her cheeks. “But I’m usually able to save myself. If you’ll just step out from under the tree, I’m sure I can do it.” Unfortunately, she couldn’t untangle herself without lifting her skirts clear to her waist before climbing back down. And she certainly couldn’t disrobe with this man looking on.

  He made that growly sound again, then finished scaling the tree. Positioned just below her, he reached up to the sharp twig on which her skirts had snagged. Within a second he had her dress unhooked from the branch it had tangled in and the tension in the fabric disappeared. She sighed with relief, ready to get down from the tree. “Thank you,” she said, grabbing onto a branch as she expected him to do the same thing.

  He didn’t. Instead, he continued up. His head reached her knees and she pressed her back to the trunk of the tree, attempting to give him room but his body was so close, she could feel the heat of him radiating through her clothing.

  She gasped in a breath, doing what she always did when she was nervous. She started talking. “Lord Craven, really, I can get down myself. I just wasn’t watching my skirts and then that cat tried to claw me, and I dropped all the fabric and—”

  She gasped in a breath as his head reached her stomach, his hands now resting on the same branch as hers, their bare fingers just inches apart. Her pulse fluttered and her breath came out in short gasps as she assessed just how very large his hands were. So much bigger than hers. And his arms were so muscled and his skin dangerously dark along with his hair and—

  “Really, Lord Craven. I am absolutely fine to get down. I know what I said about my family, but sincerely, I was joking. I can climb back to the ground without incident and—” She stopped again as he paused, his face level with her breasts. She looked at his hands, her cheeks aflame with heat. Was he clenching the branch even tighter so that his knuckles were turning white?

  “I’ll see you back home in one piece,” he muttered before stepping up one more branch to bring his face level with hers.

  Finally looking from his hand, she gazed into the warm chocolate brown of his irises and she gasped in surprise. “Your eyes are…stunning.”

  His chin tucked back and mouth tightened as though she’d hit him rather than complimented him. Then he frowned. “I think it best that I carry you.” Apparently he was going to ignore her compliment.

  She only had a moment to be irritated that he hadn’t even said thank you when the weight of his words hit her like a head wind. Carry her? Hold her close? Press her body to his? The heat that had filled her cheeks flushed down her neck and chest. “Please. No, my lord.” She heard the tremble in her voice as she squeezed the branch so hard, she was sure she’d wear the bark right off.

  He shuddered. “I can’t see any other way.”

  “But I can climb myself. You stay just below me so that you can untangle my skirts again should they get caught.”

  His frown deepened. “Or I could just carry you down.” And with that, he slid an arm about her waist and pulled her body to his.

  Warm prickly tingles erupted all over her flesh every place her body pressed to his and she gasped, as she stubbornly held the branches even as he shifted her weight further out onto the branch. “My lord,” she cried, fear lacing her voice.

  He made that low rumble deep in his throat. “For feck’s sake, I’m not going to hurt you, nor are you going to catch some disease from touching me the tiny amount of time it takes to get down this tree.”

  A shot of awareness surged through her. She wasn’t worried about disease. She scrunched up her brow. What did that mean? But she was deathly afraid that in touching him, she might completely lose her senses. The man’s body was hard and strong and powerful pressed against hers.

  Chris blew out a breath as she stared at him, her eyebrows knitted together.

  “You curse a great deal,” she finally said, her eyes roving over his entire face.

  He clenched his jaw. “I’m not usually in such delicate company.”

  Delicate didn’t even begin to describe her company. As he’d climbed, he’d gotten to inspect every detail of her sultry curves. From the flare of her hips to her tiny waist to her ample… He stopped, growing aroused just thinking about all her feminine attributes. And then there was her scent, like fresh strawberries on a summer day, she was sweet and he’d guess delicious.

  “You’re a titled gentleman. Whose company are you in?” Her head cocked to the side as she waited for his answer.

  Bloody hell, he thought but didn’t say out loud, as his cursing clearly offended her. Instead he stared back at those lovely clear blue eyes. If she was a different sort of woman, he would kiss those lips silent. This was why he didn’t spend time with ladies. All the talking. “Other men.”

  She nodded, her teeth worrying her lip. Her body was pressed to his, every enticing curve of her, as she’d begun to relax into him. “What did you mean you wouldn’t give me a disease?”

  He closed his eyes for a split second, resisting the urge to pin her to the trunk just to make her cease talking. “Can we discuss this when we’re not in a tree?”

  He watched that lovely shade of pink climb back into her cheeks. “Of course. I’m so sorry. Everyone says I talk too much. And about nothing too. I’m flighty and I trip and I—”

  “Miss Moorish,” he cut her off. Briefly he considered letting her continue. He liked her body pressed to his, and honestly, he didn’t mind a woman who chattered. He’d had a mistress who’d always filled the silence with chatter and he found he quite liked it
. The difference was, when a man paid a woman, he could choose not to respond and she’d learned not to ask him to reply. Then, he never risked stuttering. Though, stuttering rarely occurred since those times, save for today of course. He also never risked saying the wrong thing. That was more his struggle now. Everyone else had learned the art of conversation at a time when he’d applied himself to silence.

  “Apologies,” she whispered. She stopped talking but she didn’t do anything else either, staring up at him with wide eyes.

  “Put your arms about my neck,” he finally directed. She did so, lifting one at a time and lacing them behind his head. It pushed her bosom even closer to his chest. His body pulsed and he gritted his teeth together. “Good,” he said after a brief pause to gain his wits again. “Now let me lift you off the branches. I won’t drop you.”

  “But you’ll only be holding me with one arm.”

  Her heart raced against his, the rushing beat penetrating through his jacket. “You’re a light little thing and I am rather strong. There’s no need to worry.”

  She lowered her gaze, then nodded. “I’ll just close my eyes.” She did and her long sweep of lashes rested on her pink cheeks.

  Blood was pooling in his nether region. He’d like to kiss those lids one at a time as he held her against his body. “Tuck your head into my neck,” he said quietly.

  She did as he commanded, then he easily lifted her off the branches and slowly made his way down to the ground. Chris could have gone faster but he didn’t want to frighten her and he liked holding her like this. It was exquisite torture. He leaned his head down, just to draw in a whiff of her scent. Her soft curls tickled his nose and caught in the scruff of his beard. He had the distinct feeling that he held something precious, lovely and sweet, not tainted and made ugly. Oh, how he wished to savor that sensation.

  He placed a boot on the ground, still holding her to his chest. She looked up at him, her lips parted. If he’d liked her tucked under his chin, the view of her open to him as though waiting for a kiss made every muscle in his body tense and he wrapped his other arm about her waist.

  “We still haven’t found Mittens,” she said, though she didn’t loosen her arms from about his neck either.

  The cat? That’s what they were going to talk about? Not that he wanted to discuss anything, but if he were to talk about something, it might be how well they fit together, or how soft her lips appeared, or he might wish to consider her taste. “Cats usually come home on their own.”

  She nodded, nibbling at the inside of her lip again. “Oh but I do worry about those little babies. You should see them. They are so tiny and their fur is terribly soft and—”

  From out of nowhere a young male voice interrupted their conversation. “Did Bumbling Bianca get stuck in a tree?”

  Two other young men laughed. And they pushed one another as they cackled. Bianca tensed in his arms, her pliable body going rigid as her mouth snapped closed.

  Irritation coursed through him as he glanced at the three men. Having a stutter as a child meant he’d endured merciless teasing in his youth; as he watched her jaw tense, felt her fists clench behind his head, he wanted to protect her from the same abuse. Verbal sparring was not his strength so he couldn’t outwit the men, but he set Bianca down on her feet, understanding now why she hadn’t wanted him to rescue her.

  But he did have another strength. Brute strength. Stepping out from the branches he drew up to his full height and glared fiercely at the young men, challenging them with his sheer physical presence.

  They took off at a run, still laughing. He moved to go after them, but behind him, he heard Bianca sigh.

  “Don’t trouble yourself,” she said in a small voice that hinted at her sadness. “I’m quite used to it.”

  And those forlorn words nearly undid him, making him feel even closer to her, making him at once uncomfortable and yet, strangely feeling a kindred spirit.

  Chapter Three

  Bianca winced as she stared at Lord Craven’s broad back. Never in her life had she experienced anything like that climb down the tree. She’d felt his muscles working underneath her body even as his sandalwood scent had wrapped about her. The scruff of his chin had rubbed against the top of her hair and his large, strong hand had held her waist in the most intimate way.

  Butterflies danced in her stomach just thinking about it. Every moment had been breathlessly wonderful until she’d done what she always did and filled the silence with incessant prattle. Surely her constant chatter would scare away any man she wished for her own. Hadn’t that very thing happened once already?

  He turned back to look at her, his gaze narrowed once again. She tucked her chin into her neck. He’d realized how annoying she actually was to other people too. “Do boys often tease you so?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “Sometimes.” The better word would have been often. They called her Bumbling Bianca, Babbling Bianca, and Boring Bianca to name a few. In her younger days, they’d pulled her hair and poked her with sticks and even ripped one of her dresses at the age of twelve.

  He rumbled low and deep in his throat. The sound she didn’t much care for. “Do you want me to go beat some sense into them?”

  Did she not like that sound? When he was using it to threaten violence against those bully boys she found she didn’t mind it so much. “That isn’t necessary, but thank you.”

  “Those boys need to learn respect.” He crossed his arms again, his jaw flexing.

  Despite her embarrassment, a small smile touched her lips. “Thank you. Usually the only one who threatens violence on my behalf is my sister, Adrianna.”

  “Adrianna?” he asked. “How many sisters do you have?”

  She giggled. “Four. Adrianna is the youngest, and the thinnest too, but somehow, she is the fiercest. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t have a big heart because she does.” She glanced up at his furrowed brow. Did he have a big heart too despite his gruff exterior? He’d rescued her from the tree and he never admonished her once.

  “I’ve met Ophelia. And Juliet, of course. And you. So there is Adrianna and…?”

  She twisted her hands together. “Cordelia.”

  “And what is Cordelia like? Does she defend you against troublesome youth as well?”

  Bianca shook her head. Somehow, she didn’t want to tell him about her quiet, thoughtful sister. The two might have a great deal in common and Bianca had the urge to keep Lord Craven to herself. “She’s very smart, talented, and thoughtful. Basically, she’s the exact opposite of me.”

  His brows lifted and she caught a glimpse of his chocolate brown irises again. “I see.”

  Did he? Did he see how she was the most annoying, least talented sister of the Moorish clan? She opened her mouth, set to launch into an explanation of what people found so awful about her but for once, she snapped it shut again and didn’t say a word. They stood there silently, their bodies only a few inches apart.

  “You’re not going to explain what you just said to me?” he asked, his voice low so only she could hear.

  The corners of her mouth turned down into a frown. “I would but you seem to understand already. I rarely stop talking. That’s the first annoying thing about me.”

  “And the others?”

  She twisted her hands into her skirts even as her insides lurched. “You heard them. I’m always bumbling about.”

  “And does anyone notice your honesty?” he asked, lifting one hand to lightly caress her arm. “Or your kindness?”

  She gasped, looking up at him. His features were unusually relaxed, his lips curved into a small…smile? “I don’t know.”

  “You, Bianca Moorish, are—”

  “Did you find Mittens?” Juliet called from across the square.

  Lord Craven stepped back, turning toward Juliet and Lord Dashwood. The pair crossed the square, joining them at the tree. Dashwood leaned over and whispered, rather loudly, “Please tell me you found her.”

  Juliet tsked, her ha
nds coming to her hips. “I’m so sorry to have put you out, my lord.”

  Dashwood grimaced. “It’s no trouble, Miss Moorish.”

  “Good,” she huffed. “But I suppose you’re right. We may as well return home. We’re not likely to find her here. Hopefully, Adrianna and Lord Crestwood have had better luck.”

  Juliet turned and started down the path and Dashlane held his hands around his mouth as he silently mouthed the words thank you. Then he stepped up next to her and held out his elbow.

  Lord Craven did the same, holding out his arm for her.

  They walked in silence, only the sound of the gravel crunching under their feet. Odd. She was normally only quiet when she was comfortable, and she’d only known this man for a few hours. Perhaps she just didn’t know what to say at the abrupt end of their conversation, though that didn’t usually stop her from talking.

  They walked along the road as it wound by the ocean, a light breeze peppering their walk.

  “It is beautiful here,” he said looking out at the water. “It’s a nice change from London.”

  “Tell me what London is like,” she replied, giving his arm a light squeeze. “My father keeps promising to take us. He’ll have to deliver soon.”

  “Why’s that?” Craven stopped, turning toward her.

  She looked up into his rough features, wishing she could reach up and touch his face, lift his furrowed brow. “I’m nineteen and Adrianna is eighteen. As it is, we’ll all have to participate in the same season. Except Ophelia, of course, now that she’s engaged.”

  “The Duke of Rathmore. Engaged? Here?” Craven’s muscles flexed under hers, but she didn’t understand his reaction at all. Why did he care?

  “Yes. Engaged.” Bianca swallowed. “Did you fancy her?” A wave of jealousy washed over her.

  If it was possible, his brow scrunched deeper into a frown. “Fancy her? I hardly know her.”