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.
Dane would see his cousin safe again this time.
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 home of the Moorish family was lovely. Rows of balconies peeked out from thick ivy and beautifully maintained gardens. The sweeping steps drew visitors toward the grand front door.
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 Dane had 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 a 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 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 wonderful 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. He refused to waver, knowing he’d have 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, leaning 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 his frown grew more pronounced, slicing his hand through the air. “He is handsome,” she said, looking for an excuse to eavesdrop. “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 groaned softly. “Juliet. Don’t cause trouble.”
Juliet didn’t bother to respond. She was too busy listening in 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?” Hartwell scoffed. “That’s the most asinine thing I’ve ever heard.”
Juliet clucked her tongue 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, she flailed her hands in a wild attempt to catch her balance but she continued 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 with two large, warm hands, which 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 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 with so much intimacy. The feel of his long, lean length against hers sent her heartbeat 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 said.
“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 and shouldn’t have been 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.”
Her pulse raced even as her chin notched up. 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 crashed into her
memory. Suddenly she wasn’t awe-struck 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.
Chapter Two
Dane looked down at the lush little redhead currently nose-to-nose with him. Her tiny waist fit in his hands even as a rather plump bosom pressed into his chest. And that mouth… pouty dark pink lips pressed into a line, her nose wrinkling, making several little freckles scattered on her face darken into a shade of bronze.
Her eyes were large and sparkling green, her nose, before the wrinkling, was small, straight, and completely darling. And her hands… Small, small but surprisingly strong as they dug into his muscles.
“I see just fine,” he answered her, the tip of his nose finally touching hers.
Her eyes narrowed. “Really? From what I can tell, you don’t see anything at all.”
Hoyden, he thought as he stared down at her. She stared back in absolute challenge. Dane knew he was a man of strong conviction. Always had been. People rarely challenged him and certainly not dainty little females with adorable noses and plush, kissable lips. Not that he’d be fooled by such trappings, but still, a man couldn’t help but notice. “You little whelp. How dare—”
“That’s enough.” Rathmore cut in, stepping close to both of them. “Our host, Mr. Moorish, will be expecting us inside.” Then Rathmore pushed at his arm. “And he wouldn’t like to step out looking for us and find you holding his daughter.”
Dane blinked, realizing that he was somehow in a stand-off with a woman he didn’t even know. “Of course,” he responded, taking a step back. He didn’t let go of the little hoyden’s waist. Rather he maneuvered her the rest of the way up the stairs until she was safely on the large landing. Then, slowly, he removed his hands from her waist. As though she might break, or fall, if he let go too quickly. Which was absurd. He didn’t need to protect her from her own front steps, but he couldn’t quite shake the feeling.
Color flooded her cheeks and somehow, she looked even more beautiful with pink staining her face and sliding down her neck. He clenched his hands at his side as he resisted some ridiculous urge to touch her again.
She turned to Chase and huffed a breath. “Your Grace, please explain to your cousin that he needn’t accuse Ophelia of anything.” Then her gaze lanced back to Dane. “In fact, Ophelia tried to fend off His Grace’s advances. It was he who courted her.”
Then she stepped around him and stomped toward the door, her chin high in the air, her skirts swishing across his legs. She disappeared inside without another look back.
Dane rubbed the back of his neck while looking over at Chase. He wouldn’t ask the question for several reasons. He didn’t want to give anyone the satisfaction and he was sure the answer wouldn’t be the truth. Ophelia was beautiful, Dane would give her that. And beautiful women had a way of making you believe you were chasing them when, in fact, they were manipulating you the entire time.
“What is this about?” Chase narrowed his gaze. “Why are you manhandling Juliet on the front steps and what did she mean you’re accusing Ophelia?”
Dane drew in a deep breath. “Nothing. I’ll explain later. Let’s go inside before Charlie accuses me of being ill-mannered and ill-tempered.”
Chase gave his cousin a long look. “A charge you might deserve.” He slapped Dane’s back. “And give Ophelia a chance, would you? You have a tendency to judge too quickly. You’re going to like her.”
He scowled, thumping his fist on the outside of his thigh. He most certainly did not judge too quickly. Chase, however, often chose to overlook key details in his attempt to have fun. Dane’s face tightened, but he said nothing as he followed Chase inside.
The house was as impressive inside as it was from the outside. Shiny marble floors graced the foyer and plush rugs cushioned his feet. A large mural graced the two-story ceiling of the foyer and he had to confess that the Moorish family might be financially sound. Either that or they’d spent well beyond their means. In which case, they’d have a keen interest in matching with a duke.
He watched as Lord Craven, a man who wore a perpetual scowl under normal circumstances, smiled down at a woman, whispering in her ear. He couldn’t make out the words but he didn’t need to. Craven was a completely different man from the one he’d met two weeks ago in London. Lovestruck was the only word that came to Dane’s mind.
Craven brushed the back of his hand down her arm. The woman herself was very pretty with dark hair and sparkling blue eyes. She had a kindness about her that a man like Craven could use. Still, he’d probably been manipulated too.
“Did you think my sister, Bianca, was also plotting to trap Lord Craven?” a feminine voice drawled next to him.
He turned his head to the side, catching sight of the little hoyden. “No,” he said, looking back at the couple. “But now that you mention it, it’s odd that so many men who were determined to remain unattached are suddenly playing the part of devoted beaux.”
She sniffed, crossing her arms. “What are you implying?”
He wasn’t certain. Witchcraft seemed unlikely, though at this point, he was beginning to wonder. “I’m not implying anything. I’m simply making an observation.”
“Observation?” she asked moving a bit closer. Outside, he caught a whiff of a silky perfume, like summer flowers in a meadow, sweet but not overpowering. He’d assumed it was a blooming tree somewhere nearby. But as she moved closer, he realized it was her.
“Miss Moorish,” he said, adding a dry note to her name. “An observation is when you carefully inspect a situation or set of behaviors and then you determine a change that has occurred.”
Her lips pressed together, which should have been unattractive. It was in most women. But not in her. Her mouth formed into a lush, kissable line. “Well, since you’ve so nicely defined the word for me, I will also make an observation. The mood of this gathering went from joyous to dreary and the only change that I can observe is you.”
His mouth parted, and his brow went up as he allowed a small chuckle to escape. He had to confess, it was a clever comeback and he quite liked it. More to the point, despite himself, he liked her. “Touché.”
One corner of her lip tipped up. But he didn’t get the pleasure of her response as Mr. Moorish clapped his hands. “Let’s all move to the salon where refreshments have been prepared.”
Miss Moorish, Juliet, his little redhaired minx, began to move away. While he might like to continue their sparring, her little victory might prove to be to his advantage. With this tiny truce, he might be able to glean some useful information from her. Without her even knowing, could he discover what had happened to his cousin?
“Miss Moorish?” Lord Hartwell stepped up next to her, his fingers brushing her elbow.
That odd tingling started down her skin again. “Yes?”
“Tell me,” he said, as his fingers, gentle on her arm didn’t retreat, but rather, held her as he leaned closer. “How did His Grace and your sister, Ophelia, meet?”
Juliet narrowed her gaze. What was he about? He clearly didn’t approve of the match and now he was asking questions. “There was a storm. His Grace arrived at our door, asking if we might shelter him for the evening.”
“That’s right. A storm did blow through the
night Chase left. A fierce one.”
She nodded. “It blew out the bridge to the north and—”
“The bridge? Ruined? Is that why Chase stayed?”
Juliet nodded, her head cocking to the side. Her arms crossed as she narrowed her gaze. Was she giving him weapons or helping to explain why nothing was actually amiss? “Yes. My father offered to help His Grace go north. We own a fleet of ships but His Grace refused.”
She watched as Lord Hartwell frowned. “Chase doesn’t like boats.”
“He planned to return to the south, I think but…” She shrugged. Come to think of it, she didn’t know why he didn’t use a ship to leave Seabridge Gate.
Lord Hartwell stopped, pulling her just to the right of the doorway so the crowd passed them by into the salon. Hadn’t anyone noticed they hadn’t entered? His hand was still on her elbow and he stroked small circles through her sleeve. “Is the bridge still broken?”
Juliet shook her head. “No. I believe Lord Crestwood helped repair it.”
“Crestwood?” His brow crinkled. “Repairing a bridge?”
Even she had to confess the behavior seemed odd. The first night she’d met Lord Crestwood, he had been a complete rake, smiling and winking at all her sisters. Even her. Now, he acted like a completely different man. Adrianna and Crestwood had begun by sparring but they’d quickly become engaged and Crestwood hadn’t looked away from her sister since. “He missed his ship to do so.”
Both his brows went up as he stared down at her. “Your home is lovely. Did you say your father owns a fleet of ships?”
Romancing the Rake: Seven Regency Romances Page 29