Romancing the Rake: Seven Regency Romances

by Tammy Andresen

  She’d just gotten so excited for her sisters. Three of them had announced their engagements. Tonight, her family was hosting a ball in their honor. And the fourth…well, she’d seen her sister Juliet sneak off to the garden with Lord Hartwell. He was a man of the highest quality and Juliet would surely receive an offer in the morning. She’d sipped champagne and reveled in their success, so happy for them.

  And then her joy had turned dark and that had been when she’d grabbed her second glass. Likely a mistake. She was neither accustomed to alcohol nor jealousy.

  She took a deep breath and trusted her fingers on the keys where her eyes failed her, striking up a low, soft tune on her pianoforte. She didn’t even wish to marry. That was the odd part. She’d already found the love of her life and even now, her fingers stroked her first and only mate, effortlessly invoking beautiful music from the instrument.

  She wasn’t foolish enough to think she might be able to perform as a professional musician. That was a career only awarded to men. But she could write music. As C. Moorish, she’d already begun to send pieces to other players for purchase.

  Normally, a father might not support such a career for his daughter but with four of her sisters about to marry, Cordelia was certain hers would agree to allow her to become a spinster. Well…perhaps certain was a bit confident. But she did have reason to think he might consider the idea.

  Thomas Moorish didn’t wish to travel to London to see her matched, the only place she was likely to find a suitable candidate, and besides, he was a lover of the arts. Some part of him would rejoice at her chosen path. Hopefully.

  Which was why she couldn’t explain her sudden fit of longing. She didn’t want a man of her own, he’d only hold her back. And yet…the party tonight had sparked some sort of secret wish. When she thought about a stolen kiss, or a hand at her back, her breath caught. For the first time, she considered what she might be giving up.

  Each of her sisters had become engaged, one by one. And each now glowed with a happiness that left her feeling…empty.

  Her fingers flew over the keys as she attempted to drown out the ball just across the hall. Her desires had forced her from the room, and she’d retreated to her bench, a place to remind herself who she was and what she wanted.

  “Lovely,” a male voice said behind her. The low baritone of his voice skimming down her spine and making her tingle with all sorts of secret longings.

  Despite the champagne, or perhaps because of it, Cordelia’s vague notions about a man’s touch sharpened. She didn’t want just any man. In fact, she’d only had these thoughts when one very particular male had arrived at her door a few days ago. Lord Dashlane.

  She’d recognized his voice now. “Thank you,” she said, not turning to look at him. That would only muddle her thoughts further. He had golden blond hair and flashing grey-blue eyes like the ocean after a storm. His square jaw was softened by full lips and a ready smile that likely put many at ease but only served to make her more on edge.

  No, she didn’t need to look at him now. She’d memorized every detail already, so instead, she lifted her glass of champagne and drained the last of the bubbly beverage, feeling the drink tickle its way down her throat. “I’ve always loved to play.”

  His low chuckle made her skin shiver. “I wasn’t talking about your skills at the pianoforte. I was referring to you.”

  Cordelia sat straighter on the bench, her eyes fluttering closed. Her body pulsed at his low words, the intimate tone of it, and once again, she blamed the champagne. She knew what he was. A rake. He’d likely told a hundred women tonight the very same line. It would be folly to change her path now for such a man, even if she wished to. Which she didn’t. “Liar,” she mumbled softly, letting the single word settle between them.

  “I beg your pardon?” he said, and she could hear that he moved closer as he spoke.

  She slid her hands off the keys, gripping the bench she sat on. “I said that you were a liar, my lord. My playing makes me lovely. But I am…” she drew in a breath, searching her muddled thoughts for the correct word, “plain.”

  “Plain?” he whispered just behind her back. He was near now, his heat touching her skin. She gripped the bench tighter. “There is very little that is plain about you, Miss Cordelia Moorish. Hidden perhaps, even disguised. But not dull.”

  Liar, she thought again but this time she didn’t voice it. Instead, she pushed the bench back, until it just brushed his knees, forcing him to take a half step back and then she stood, shuffling away from the pianoforte. Cordelia reached for her glass and plucked it off the top of the instrument just before the crystal stem was out of reach, and then she retreated to the other side of a settee before turning to look at him.

  Which was a very smart plan if she did say so herself. Because every time she looked at him, she might swear that he grew more handsome than the last and tonight was no exception.

  Her breath caught in her chest, making her head swim as she studied the broadness of his shoulders, the thickness of his chest, the way his torso tapered to his narrow hips, perfectly accentuated by his expertly tailored coat. “So kind of you to say,” she murmured, taking another swallow, only to discover her glass was empty. Drat. She had drained it, hadn’t she?

  He cocked a single brow and began crossing toward her again.

  She started to back up, certain she was like a deer in the woods being stalked by a beautiful beast. “Lord Dashlane,” she said, holding up a single hand. He was too tempting, far too distracting, and she’d had too much mind-muddling beverage to allow him any closer.

  He ceased moving forward and instead smiled. That glorious smile that made her insides melt to pudding and her most intimate area ache and flutter with longing. “I only wished to offer you another glass of champagne.” And he held one of two glasses up to her.

  She squinted, looking at the delicate little bubbles rising up in the glass. Her father ran a shipping company, and he imported some of the most wonderful wines from France. “I shouldn’t…” she started, but her hand was already reaching for the stemware. Even she understood this was a terrible idea.

  He was so handsome, a known womanizer, offering her more alcohol. Their fingers brushed as she took the glass and she couldn’t quite hide the gasp that fell from her lips as a tingling spread up her arm from the touch.

  He quirked a one-sided smile. “I thought we might toast.”

  “Toast?” she asked, cocking her head to one side. “Why would we do that?”

  His half smile transformed into a full grin. “Because. All of my friends are marrying your sisters. You and I are the last men standing, so to speak.”

  She tsked, a sound her sister Juliet was much better at. “I’m not a man.” It was a thought she’d had more and more often these days. If she had been of the male species, her life might be completely different. Then she nearly cringed but managed to just hold herself still. He didn’t understand her hopes and dreams. To him she just stated the obvious.

  “No.” He gazed at her, cruising down her body and making it heat in all sorts of strange places as he looked at her from her head to her toes and back again. “No, you certainly are not.”

  Why was he here? Lord Christopher Dashlane watched the fluttering little songbird standing on the other side of the settee, his body tightening. He’d been watching her for days. As his two best friends were marrying her sisters, he’d had to attend several events at the Moorish home.

  Ash, as his family called him, had kept his distance. Because of Cordelia’s station in life and her status as sister to Bianca and Adrianna, he knew he should stay away and that was exactly what he’d done. He’d watched her from afar and barely spoken a word to her beyond the most basic of niceties. Until tonight.

  He’d seen her slip from the ballroom with champagne in hand and a sudden fit of jealousy had propelled him to follow, thinking she’d gone to meet another man. He wasn’t certain why he indulged that particular urge. She’d never be his. W
hy couldn’t she sneak off to meet someone else? Ash would never give her a future. He had no intention of marrying ever.

  And not just because he was a rake. Well more precisely, he was a rake because he had no intention of marrying. The order of those two circumstances mattered. But either way, he intended to stay away from the beautifully tempting Cordelia Moorish.

  “Did you intend to be the last man standing?” she asked, fiddling with the stem of her drink.

  He nearly started. That was the thing he’d learned about this woman already. She was quiet but her silence hid an intelligent and intuitive woman. Had she just read his thoughts?

  “I did. And you?” He found himself stepping closer. For some reason, he was intensely curious about her answer. What did she want? Did she wish to marry and have a family?

  She lifted the glass then, taking a delicate swallow. Her dark hair had been styled with an intricate coif at the back of her head, which glistened in the candlelight. Her pert little nose turned up as those full lips gently cupped the rim of the glass. He swallowed, tightening his fingers on his own stem.

  “I did too,” she said as she lowered the beverage.

  He closed his eyes for just a moment processing those words. What? She’d intended to be the last of her sisters to marry. He couldn’t seem to help the next words that popped from his mouth. “But why?”

  Her tongue darted out to remove a single bead of champagne that had pooled on the glistening skin of her full bottom lip. A delicate shade of pink, it slid along her full, soft skin and nearly made him groan aloud.

  But everything about this woman seemed to appeal to him. He’d memorized the sweep of her jaw, her long slender neck, the lithe lines of her body.

  The way her dark brown eyes sparkled with flecks of gold and how she moved when she played her pianoforte, like a reed dancing in the breeze.

  One of her shoulders rose and fell. “I don’t want to be tied to a man. Once I am a wife, I am beholden to all of his wishes and wants rather than pursuing my own desires.”

  His mouth parted for an instant before he clamped his jaw shut to hide his surprise. He should have known she’d have a more sophisticated answer. Everything about her was more complex than any other woman he’d met before.

  For a boy who’d grown up in Cheapside, he dreamed of touching something so amazingly stunning. She was everything his life had never been. Perfect, beautiful, effortless in her grace. But that was exactly why he needed to stay away.

  Still, he was, talking with her…alone. With champagne no less. “You don’t want to marry ever?”

  She shook her head. “Never ever.” And then, her arm flew out and for no reason, she tipped to one side, a bit of her bubbly drink spilling out of her glass as she righted her feet under her.

  A new, lovely thought occurred to him as he abandoned his position on the other side of the settee and traversed the settee in a few steps to slide a hand under her elbow and steady her. She was tipsy. “Oh dear,” she whispered. “Champagne is deliciously evil.”

  He chuckled then, still holding her arm. Because now that he’d touched her, he wasn’t certain he wanted to let go. And she seemed to have lost her wariness and was allowing it and this might be the only time he got to touch something so magical. Who knew if he’d ever have this opportunity again? After tonight, he needed to stay away from Cordelia Moorish.

  Chapter Two

  Cordelia looked up into the face of the man currently holding her upright and smiled. The fog in her mind had only grown thicker, but several thoughts did manage to peek through the murkier layer. His hand felt marvelous, for example. Lean, large, and strong, he had the sort of fingers which would be excellent for playing the pianoforte. And he smelled amazing. Like evergreen with a touch of fresh sea air.

  She’d never been this close to a man and she might never be again. By slow ticks, Cordelia realized he was a rake. Well, she’d known that already. But rakes did all sorts of things a gentleman would not, and this might be her one opportunity to sample a bit of the delights she’d given up on in favor of a music career.

  He was the man tempting her after all.

  “Why do you never, ever wish to marry?” he asked, his lips dropping close to her ear, tickling the sensitive skin.

  She drew in a breath. “I already told you. I don’t want to be beholden to a man.”

  “And why not be…beholden? What else shall you do with yourself instead?”

  That struck her as funny and she giggled, her body bending forward and her cheek brushing his chest. She straightened and stopped giggling, suddenly wanting to run her hand along the very flesh she’d just touched with her face. “Do you want to be beholden to anyone?”

  He sucked in her breath, his fingers tightening on her elbow. “I do not.”

  Was it her imagination or had his face tightened, grown paler? “So you understand?”

  He looked down at her and she became aware of just how close they were. Her heart began to beat wildly, and she glanced at her glass, intent upon breaking the contact and using her drink to create some distance when she realized the glass was once again empty. “Oh dear, I’m out of champagne.”

  “Probably best,” he answered, plucking the empty flute from her fingers and setting it on the nearby table. “You’ll have a terrible headache tomorrow if you drink any more.”

  She squinted up at him again, forgetting her need to look away. “You’re a rake, my lord.”

  He paused and his mouth tightened. “How do you know that?”

  “Everyone knows it.” She waved her hand, knocking it into his chest. Dear Lord, why didn’t her body work?

  A muscle in his jaw ticked. “What does my reputation have to do with you not drinking any more champagne?”

  Cordelia swayed closer. She didn’t mean to. It just sort of happened and she placed her hands on his chest to steady herself. But his chest felt wonderful. So strong and…masculine. She lightly caressed the bulging muscles underneath his jacket. “Aren’t you supposed to give me drinks and then take advantage of me?”

  Her words made him pause and he drew in a sharp breath, his other hand coming to her waist. “Fortunately for you, I’m not that sort of rake.”

  “Not that sort of rake? What sort are you, then?” she asked, and to her complete dismay, a hiccup followed the question.

  “Miss Moorish,” he said, low and deep. “I’m the sort that doesn’t wish to marry, but that doesn’t mean I go around ruining perfectly innocent women.”

  He didn’t? “What a pity,” she murmured before she could stop herself. She’d always had very dexterous hands and her fingers had developed minds of their own as she began tracing the outline of several muscles along his chest and down his abdomen. Her breath grew shorter as her fingers danced lower until he finally grabbed her hand when it reached his waist.

  “Pity?” he asked as he laced his fingers into hers.

  She tilted up her chin to look at him again. “I’m glad to keep my freedom but lately I’ve been wondering about what I’ll miss. What I am giving up as a woman.” She tilted her head to the side again, the gold in her eyes dancing in the flickering candles. “It has occurred to me that you are in a unique position to show me some of the things I might otherwise never know.”

  Every muscle seized as Ash’s trousers grew heavy with lust. Damn it all to bloody hell, Cordelia was propositioning him.

  He should say no. If anyone caught them, he’d be married for certain and she’d be stuck with not just a husband, but a filthy one, dirty from his past. But part of him longed to say yes. Taste her. Just this once.

  “So you want me to do what exactly?” This was so much better than toasting with champagne.

  Her tongue darted out again and he followed its movement, his mouth growing dry.

  She gave her head a soft shake. “Would you…would you kiss me? Just so that I might know. I see my sisters and they look so happy…”

  He growled deep in his throat. It was a slip
pery slope. “I shouldn’t. You’re a nice girl from a nice family and—”

  Her body pressed lightly to his. “I shan’t tell. One kiss, one time. That’s all I ask. Surely, it’s not too great a favor from a rake such as yourself?”

  The word rake made him wince. Oh, he played his part well. Happy go lucky, smiling, attending parties.

  But played was the exact right word for it was all an act. He almost never acted rakishly. In fact, he’d been on his way to attend a party at the Baron of Balstead’s. It was meant for lords to participate in the most indecent of behavior. He’d go, he’d choose a lady, he’d pay her, and then he’d give her the weekend off. In fact, he’d allow her to use his room. Most often, the poor women just slept for days. Being a lady of the evening was damned hard work that most usually ended with the lady’s death.

  They deserved that small respite. And he felt better for not having used them.

  “Cordelia.” He gave her his best smile. “I appreciate what you’re asking. And I even applaud your decision, but it’s a tangled web you ask me to enter in with you. If you truly wish for a kiss from me, I’ll ask you to make the request again when you’re not so…altered.”

  She frowned, her brow drawing together. “For a rake, you are decidedly unrakish.” Then she leaned back. “My sister, Juliet, was obviously interested in you for days and you never made a single move toward her either.”

  He stilled, his body growing cold. She was too smart. She’d figure out one of his secrets already. How soon until she untangled them all? “For the same reason I’ll not kiss you. I don’t want to be caught in the marriage noose.”

  He stepped back, finding the conversation to be too intimate. But she wobbled when he did, and he immediately reached for her again. “Miss Moorish, you’re so—”

  “Plain?” she asked as she let out a little noise of dissatisfaction. Then her head dropped. “Of course,” she murmured, and his heart stopped beating. “We’re not to your taste, are we? Too simple. Country girls that are too—”