Romancing the Rake: Seven Regency Romances

by Tammy Andresen

  One delicate shoulder rose. “All sorts of things. Once I choose a path, I can’t undo it. Not this one.”

  He gave his head a tiny shake. Should he be relieved or afraid? It was almost as though she’d read his thoughts. “True. What are you worried you’ll regret?”

  She looked down at her hands. “I want my music. More than anything. But to give up intimacy forever…” She drew in a breath. “I know I said I was fine with a single kiss but watching Juliet…”

  He grimaced. She had every right to feel that way. His gut clenched. He wished he could give her that. She deserved it. “I understand. Do you think another husband would be open to you pursuing music?”

  She nibbled at her lip. “Unlikely.”

  Relief washed through him. He hated to admit that he’d grown rather attached to the idea of marrying her. Which was all wrong. The entire point was to avoid such feelings. He had the vague sense that the entire situation was spinning out of control.

  “With me, you can have your music, the front of a successful match for your family, and—”

  She held up her hand. “The problem with a front, as you called it, is that I actually feel a…” She stopped, looking into the room as she reached for his hand and pulled him into the shadows. “I allowed you to kiss me last night. Can we really keep up a front at all, especially when we’re living together?”

  He leaned down to whisper in her ear. “We should discuss this in a more private setting. Meet me in our spot at midnight.” Then he stepped back into the light. What was he doing?

  Being alone with her again was a terrible idea for so many reasons. First, she grew closer to uncovering his past every time they talked. And second, he was trying to avoid intimacy with her, not promote it. But she also needed convincing.

  And if he were honest, not that he wanted to be, he’d like to hold her again.

  “I’m not sure…” She frowned as she followed him back into the lit and visible section of the balcony.

  He tried to calm his racing heart. It thrummed at the very idea of being alone with her. “As I said to you this morning. This can only work if we’re clear on the rules. Perhaps agreeing to some might ease your worries.” The rules wouldn’t ease his. Even now, he had the distinct urge to pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless.

  She nodded slowly. “That does make sense. Knowing where we each stand would be helpful.”

  “And we can’t do that under your family’s watchful gaze.” He nodded into the music room where no less than three sets of eyes watched them on the balcony.

  She gave a tentative nod. “That makes sense. I’ll meet you at midnight.” And then she slipped back through the doors.

  Ash followed, the group already toasting to the new couple. He took a glass of champagne but hardly drank. Last night had been enough for him and besides, he needed to keep his wits about him now.

  Cordelia also took a glass, but he noted she didn’t drink either. Instead, she crossed to her pianoforte and struck up a tune that had the whole group dancing.

  It was lively, effortless, and fun in a way that stole his breath. Everything about this woman was beautiful.

  He didn’t attempt to engage her for the rest of the evening. Just watching her play was exquisite torture. Never had he wanted to touch someone so much. But also, he couldn’t bring himself to interrupt such beauty.

  The evening wore on, and to his relief, the entire family indulged in a fair bit of champagne. He quirked his brow. They had decided to hold Juliet’s wedding the following day. That made him laugh. The morning was going to be painful.

  At quarter till twelve, he watched Cordelia stand from the bench and say her goodnights. She gave him a single glance as she left the room.

  He kicked his feet out, as though he didn’t have a care in the world. As though he weren’t going to wait fifteen minutes and follow her. Best not to arouse suspicion yet.

  The clock ticked by agonizingly slow as he waited and then finally slipped from the room, staying outside the door, listening to see if anyone missed him. They didn’t.

  He crept down the stairs, through the ballroom and out into the garden. While he’d been to the spot twice, the layout was intricate and he worried that he might not find the spot.

  “Ash,” her voice called from the shadows, making his trousers heavy as the blood pooled in his manhood.

  “Cordelia,” he replied, his voice rough and harsh.

  She stepped from the deep shadow, reaching for his hand. Her small fingers slid into his, making his muscles tense as she pulled him down a dark path. “This probably isn’t the best place for us to go. My entire family knows it’s my favorite.”

  “They don’t suspect a thing. They’re busy planning Juliet’s wedding.”

  “And drinking.” He heard the laugh in her voice. “I can assure you, we hardly ever drink. It’s been an interesting week.”

  He laughed too, sliding his other hand to her waist. She stopped. “You shouldn’t do that.”

  “I shouldn’t.” She was absolutely right. “It goes against the one term I’ve already established.” And yet, he couldn’t help himself.

  Cordelia wanted to turn and step into his arms. Truth be told, she wanted to accept his offer. But not with that term.

  Somehow, making that decision made her feel better. She did want him, and she wanted her music. Was that wrong?

  Wrong or right, having it both ways likely wasn’t possible. That was the fact. But they had tonight. Now. “So our first term is that should we marry, there is no intimacy.”

  “Correct.”

  She let out a trembling breath as she shook her head. “Because of your father.”

  “Yes,” he answered, his voice dropping lower.

  Her hand whispered up his arm. “Did he hurt you?”

  He stepped back, retreating into the darkness, away from her, but his silence was her answer. “Talking about my past is not part of the bargain,” he finally said.

  She didn’t move, allowing him to retreat. “All right. We’re not to touch. We’re not to share.”

  He let out a long breath. “I’m proposing a business partnership, Cordelia.”

  And so he was. And she knew that she didn’t wish to take it. But his kiss, that was a different matter entirely. “I changed my mind. When you touched my waist, I said you shouldn’t. I was wrong. You should.”

  She heard him shift. Her own heart was hammering in her chest at his nearness. “I shouldn’t. It will cloud our agreement.”

  She stepped closer to him then. Even if she couldn’t see him in the dark, she could feel him. She reached up allowing her fingers to slide down him like they were an instrument she wished to play. It was a bold move on her part and something she’d never done, but if she didn’t think and trusted her fingers, she’d likely know how to touch him. Her hands never failed her.

  He didn’t hold her, but he didn’t withdraw either. There was so much she wished to say but she was afraid he’d retreat again and so she remained silent allowing her fingers to slide over the deep ridges of his muscles.

  “Cordelia,” he warned, his voice tinged with desperation.

  She moved in closer, her body only a whisper from his. “And if there was no ‘agreement?’”

  He slid his hand to her waist and suddenly she was pressed to his front, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders. His breath blew light and warm across her cheek. “Are you turning me down?”

  She swallowed, breathing in his scent. “I am.”

  His hand stiffened at her waist. “Because I didn’t tell you about my father?”

  “Because I was wrong yesterday.”

  “Wrong about what?” Did his lips brush her cheek?

  “It turns out that music may not be the most important thing in my life after all.” She stopped before she said more. It was too soon to admit her true feelings.

  Then again, if they were ever going to move forward, one of them had to start sharing.

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nbsp; “You’ll give up your music career?” he whispered, his hand tightening at her back. “You can’t, Cordelia. You’re too good.”

  “Thank you,” she breathed. “But I find that I want both music and romance.”

  He slid his hand to her cheek. “But you said that you didn’t think another man would allow you to play like I would.”

  She drew in a breath. “No. You might be the only one.”

  Silence met her words. Her heart beat several times before he finally answered. “I can’t give you both.”

  Disappointment rained down on her. She knew the answer was coming, of course, but the answer still hurt. “I understand.” Then she lifted up on her tiptoes and gently placed her lips on his. It was a light touch that filled her with a longing that stole her breath.

  He kissed her back, his lips strong and so tender they made her ache. His hands slid up and down her back even as he slid her mouth open and touched his tongue to hers. The kiss deepened, lengthened, as she tested her response, touching him the same way he’d touched her.

  He groaned against her. Pulling back. “I didn’t expect that response.”

  She shook her head. “If there is no agreement, there are no rules.”

  “There are rules,” he answered. “There are always rules and you should follow them, Cordelia. It’s important. To play with this sort of passion without even a promise of marriage is dangerous.”

  What did that mean? Of course, she knew what he referred to socially. But there was a pain in his voice hinting of something far more personal. “You’re right, of course. But if I’m not to be your wife, perhaps you can tell me why you need to marry a friend.”

  He let out a long breath. “That’s not something I can reveal to you ever.”

  She gave a tentative nod even as he slipped away into the darkness. Cordelia wrapped her arms about her body. He was leaving, they’d dissolved their arrangement and she had no more answers. What had she just done?

  Chapter Eleven

  Two days later, Ash stood outside a merry little shop overlooking the waterfront. He’d been summoned. There was no other word for it.

  His host, Thomas Moorish, had pulled him aside at Juliet’s wedding and requested his presence at the shop bright and early this morning.

  He’d briefly considered returning to London. He could come back in a month’s time when Craven and Crestwood had their actual weddings, but his father’s lessons were too deeply ingrained. He couldn’t be that openly rude.

  So here he was.

  Mr. Moorish came down the street, whistling a merry tune and smiling as he stuck out his hand to shake with Ash. “Good to see you, Lord Dashlane. Thanks for coming.”

  Ash pumped the man’s hand, relaxing. In truth, he admired and liked this man. More than he’d ever believed possible. He could picture what life might have been like with a man like Mr. Moorish as a father.

  He was a good man and he saw that kindness and caring reflected in his children. Would it carry through to his grandchildren? Ash suspected that it would. The entire family radiated a warmth that made him ache with a longing he’d long ago thought impossible.

  Then a new thought flashed through his mind. Cordelia on the bench of her pianoforte teaching her own daughter to play. The image nearly stole his breath.

  “Glad you came, Ash.” Mr. Moorish smiled, shaking his hand. “If you’re free today, I’ve a mind to show you my operation.”

  Confusion knit his brow. Was that what this was about? Showing him the business? But why? “I’d be honored.”

  Mr. Moorish gave him a wide grin. “Excellent. Let’s head inside for just a few. There’s always a bit of paperwork to do in the morning before we head out to the boats.”

  “The boats?” Ash had to confess, that did sound interesting. “What do we do on the boats?”

  Mr. Moorish opened the door, leading the way inside. “Check cargo. Talk with the captains, assign times for each of the boats to leave the harbor. It’s a busy job and I’ve always liked it.” Mr. Moorish took off his spectacles. “I’ve built a nice, wholesome life here for me and my family. It’s a good place to get ahead in this world, away from the trappings of the city and all its sins.”

  Ash looked over at Mr. Moorish’s kind eyes. Could a man really rebuild himself here? “You were raised here? Or did you make it your home later?”

  Mr. Moorish took off his spectacles, carefully cleaning them. “I was raised here and then went to London to make my own fortune. It didn’t work out.”

  Ash grimaced. “You’re fortunate you had family to fall back on.”

  They moved into a back room and Mr. Moorish opened several logs, spreading them out on the desk. As he worked, he didn’t look at Ash as he softly spoke. “I know you don’t have anyone to rely on. Likely never did.”

  Ash’s brow crinkled. “What do you mean?”

  The other man stopped, his hands spreading out on the desk. “We only need ever talk about this once. But I knew your father back from my days in London.”

  Ash stilled, his body growing cold. “I’m sure. You’re the son of an earl. He was the son of a viscount.”

  Mr. Moorish nodded. “There wasn’t a kind bone in that man’s body.”

  Ash rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze carefully trained on the floor. He didn’t want to show any emotion now. It was too late to do a thing about his lost childhood. No one knew his past. Granted, he preferred for others not to know the shame, but it also made him lonely. “No. There wasn’t.”

  “And he was a terrible gambler. Womanizer. Left you in ruin.”

  Ash’s shoulders sagged. Was this relief he was feeling? It was actually nice to open up about his life and the problems he faced with someone. “I don’t care about inheritance. I wouldn’t have wanted his money.”

  Mr. Moorish took a seat and gestured for Ash to do the same. “Good for you. The question is what to do with yourself now.”

  Ash shrugged. How much did he tell Mr. Moorish? He liked this man and for the first time ever, he’d like to open up. Share his feelings, his past. He drew in a shaky breath. This was so new to him. “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought beyond not continuing my father’s legacy.”

  Mr. Moorish cocked his head to the side. “That shouldn’t be hard.”

  Ash nearly laughed. Very true. “May I ask what my father has to do with me touring your shipping company?”

  Mr. Moorish sat back in his chair. “You may, indeed. I’d like to offer you a job, if you’re interested.”

  Ash squared his shoulders. “A job?”

  Mr. Moorish shrugged. “I know that viscounts don’t usually work for shipping companies, but you’re in a unique position. Well-educated, connected, and in need of money. I could use a man who can be groomed to take over for me at some point. I’m not getting any younger.”

  “Take over?” He’d seen the way the Moorish family lived. Lavish might describe their home. Far more so than many titled lords.

  Mr. Moorish leaned forward, steepling his hands in front of his face. “I’ve seen your interest in Cordelia.”

  Bloody Christ. He was being offered the most tempting woman in the world and a thriving business in one conversation. “Mr. Moorish.” He spread his hands out on the other side of the desk. “Your daughter is lovely…”

  The other man’s eyebrows rose up. “But?”

  He shook his head, his gut absolutely rioting with nerves. “Because you knew my father, I will be more candid with you than I have ever been. I have no intention of continuing his legacy. I plan to allow the Viscountcy to die with me.”

  Mr. Moorish sat back in his chair again. He tossed his glasses on the desk and rubbed his face. “I see.” He cleared his throat again and he shifted in his chair. “My father was not as mean as yours, but he wasn’t kind either. I met with his fist on a rather frequently and the wrong end of a riding crop with a decent amount of regularity.”

  Ash stilled, his hands gripping the arms of his chair.

/>   “When I was old enough, I ran away to London, and I spent my time drinking, whoring, and laughing away the hurt I felt deep inside.”

  “I…” Ash started, swallowing a lump. He could hear the pain in the other man’s voice, and it mirrored his own.

  Mr. Moorish waved away the futile attempt at conversation. “My father called me back on his deathbed. He gifted me the part of the earldom my older brother didn’t want. Now the current earl bears a striking resemblance to my father and his wife is awful. I’m surprised Cordelia believed I would send her to live with Mildred for even a second.” He took a deep breath. “But I decided on that day to be the man I wanted to be. The father I knew I should be. I’ve stuck by that. Even after my wife’s death. And I hope that love, the love I’ve taught my daughters, will carry through the generations.”

  “Mr. Moorish,” Ash started, shifting in his chair. “That is a moving story.”

  “Call me Tom,” he answered. “Listen, son. You have a choice.”

  Ash swallowed. “I do?”

  “Yes. You can allow your title to die. That’s one way to hurt your father’s memory. Or…” He held up a single finger. “You can live your best life. Bring beautiful children into the world, that have all the love, happiness, and an enduring kindness that trickles through generations of Dashlanes. Kill the man your father was with love and kindness. It’s your choice.”

  Ash’s heart pounded in his chest. He thought of Cordelia again. The vision of her on the bench with the little girl at her side. “Take me to your boats. I’ve got a business to learn.”

  Cordelia sat on the beach as the last rays of sun began to set. She needed to return home for dinner or her family would wonder where she’d disappeared.

  If only she were doing what they suspected. Meeting with a rake.

  Twice she’d sat at the bench of her pianoforte and attempted to play. She’d failed both times. She leaned an elbow back in the sand not caring about her dress.

  She suspected that she wanted Ash even more than she wanted music. It was a strange and wonderful feeling if not for the fact that he’d rejected her offer for a real marriage.