Romancing the Rake: Seven Regency Romances

by Tammy Andresen

  “It’s easy to believe that when you don’t agree with them. But in this case, if people were to think badly of me because I was your lover, I’d be inclined to think them correct.”

  Damian let out a growl of frustration.

  He supposed part of what made her so special was that she was moral. Cassandra was a treat only he got to unwrap.

  But he didn’t like waiting and she was making him participate in an excessive amount. “Patience is not my virtue.”

  “What is?” she asked, stopping again to turn to him.

  “Strength,” he answered, reaching out and touching her arm. “I can shield you from the worst…”

  “Not when it’s over,” she whispered back. Then she began walking again. “That’s the whole thing. Your protection is very finite.”

  They’d nearly reached the kitchen door as Cassandra stopped to allow him to open the door for her.

  He did so, glad that he’d taken several packages from her. It meant he’d once again have access to her room.

  “The protection of my money will last the rest of your life.”

  “Will it keep people from treating me rudely? From whispering behind my back?” she started up the stairs.

  “It will keep you from starving,” he barked as he watched the sway of her hips up the stairs. He didn’t want to talk anymore, he wanted to touch her. Now.

  They reached the third floor. Cassandra didn’t answer as she made her way to her room. Then she turned back to him, holding several parcels in front of her like a barrier between them. “We both know I am unlikely to starve, whatever I choose.”

  He frowned, setting down the packages he’d carried for her and crossed his arms over his chest. “I told you. The money and home I’d provide would give you independence. A chance at a life that was completely your making.”

  She shook her head. “It would be your making.” Then she snapped open the door. “I don’t expect I’ll be down for dinner.”

  She slipped into the room and the door clicked closed behind her just before the lock slipped into place.

  Irritation and desire coursed through him as he stared at the wood paneled door. He’d need to take another three-hour ride.

  Or drink himself into a stupor.

  Likely the latter.

  Chapter Seven

  The next morning, Cassandra paced her room, not touching the breakfast tray that had been delivered.

  The maid delivered the toast, eggs, tea, and biscuits, as well as some delectable looking tarts.

  As she’d dropped the tray, Cassandra had been unable to resist asking if the duke had by chance left.

  He’d given her no indication that he planned to go, but she’d also ignored him since midday yesterday. She’d wondered if he might lose interest. Part of her would be relieved. He was dangerous, temptingly so.

  A deeper part shuddered with regret at the idea of never seeing him again.

  But the maid had informed her that the duke was still in residence at the house.

  In fact, he’d been up late, drinking alone, and had only gone to bed when the sun had risen.

  She’d thought he’d be gone already. Which made her stomach twist in knots.

  But the thought of seeing him made the organ drop to the floor.

  Giving her head a shake, she walked to the door reaching for the knob. Then she dropped her hand again. Was she actually going to spend the entire day hiding in her room? This was her home. Or Raithe’s home, who was her best friend in all the world.

  She twisted her hands. What was keeping him? She’d have expected him to be back by now.

  If he were here, she might not have to hide out in her room. Which was silly. She ought to leave.

  But even as she thought about leaving the safety of these four walls, she turned back to the center of the room then let out a frustrated sigh.

  She didn’t lie, she wasn’t brave. Sin made her retreat into a frightened ball of worry. What exactly was she good at? After her disastrous marriage, she could no longer be sure. She’d been honest with Damian last night. She was the daughter her parents had raised. Obedient and demure, she wasn’t prepared to square off with a strong and willful duke.

  So she’d have to stay here until he’d left. There was nothing else to do.

  A loud knocking filled her room, echoing off the walls. Everything in her tensed. She didn’t need to ask who stood on the other side.

  It was Damian.

  Who else would knock with such force? His voice filled the room even with the oak panel that separated them. “Cassandra,” he called. “Open the door.”

  A shiver raced down her spine but this time, there was nothing scary about it. It was pure excitement. “No.”

  He let out a rumble of frustration, rattling the knob. “I didn’t sleep much—”

  “I heard.”

  A moment of silence met her comment before he said, “I’m off to speak with a barrister.”

  That caught her attention. She moved closer to the door, leaning one ear toward the hall. “Why?”

  “I’m having a contract drawn up. I’ve every confidence it will help you to make up your mind.”

  Oh dear. She twisted her hands together. She knew what she wanted to say. She wished to accept. But a night of thinking had solidified her thoughts. She was going to say no. “I already know what my answer will be.”

  “I think I’ll be able to change it.”

  She let out a sigh. He knew by her absence that she was going to deny him and he was making a last effort to persuade her otherwise.

  She should have been prepared for this. He was a man who pushed for his way. But she couldn’t back down. Not this time, even if part of her was tempted to open the door and see his face. “You won’t.”

  She heard something thump against the wood.

  “What was that?”

  “My head. I thought it might help the ache.”

  Sympathy coursed through her. “If I open the door do you promise not to kiss me?”

  He didn’t answer at first and then she heard him shift. “I promise.”

  Slowly, she turned the lock, allowing the door to swing open. She stepped back, letting him into the room.

  He stepped in, his face pale and dark circles under his eyes.

  She smiled a bit. “Silly man. Drinking yourself into such a state.”

  He gave a small smile even as he walked into the room and tossed himself into a chair next to the fire. She grabbed the unused breakfast tray. “Let’s start with some tea. Shall we?”

  Fifteen minutes later, he’d cleaned the contents of her breakfast tray and much of his color had returned. “I feel much better. Thank you.”

  Cassandra had settled into the chair that sat a few feet from his. She looked into the fire, not wanting to break the companionable silence that had settled between them, but knowing that she needed him to understand. “You should stay and rest today rather than riding into the village.”

  He leaned over and touched her chin, then gently turned her face toward his. “And see the barrister tomorrow?”

  She shrugged, allowing one shoulder to rise up as Cassandra wrapped one hand about his wrist. “You know that isn’t what I meant.”

  He leaned forward, stopping only inches from her face. “You should know I’m not a man who gives up easily.”

  Oh. She knew. Which is why he needed to leave. She’d never survive the onslaught. “You have to.”

  One of his eyebrows lifted and then his hand was gone as he stood. “Meet me for dinner this evening. Seven again? We’ve much to discuss.”

  She stood too, her brow furrowing. “You’re not listening to me.”

  “On the contrary.” His chest expanded, and he appeared an impregnable wall. “I have listened a great deal. In fact, I do believe it’s your turn to listen to me.”

  Her mouth dropped open as she stared at him. He had her there. “But—”

  “No buts. Dinner.” Then he turned and starte
d out of the room. Then he spun back. “Unless you’d like to come with me. We could do some shopping after I’m done with the barrister. You’ll need a new wardrobe.”

  The man was impossible. First, she was never going back to that shop and certainly not with him. But also, buying her clothes would mean that she had become his responsibility. Considering she’d just told him no, it was terribly presumptuous that he’d come out the victor. She placed her hands on her hips. “I won’t—”

  He gave her an alarming grin. It was boyish and charming and made him look like an entirely different man. “You will. But it can wait for another time. I’ll see you tonight.”

  He whistled as he kicked his horse faster, heading back toward Balstead’s home. Patting his pocket, he made certain the papers he’d had drawn up were still tucked safely in his pocket.

  He knew several things for certain. First and foremost, he wanted Cassandra with a passion that was consuming him. He’d hardly slept or eaten. And a taste of her had only sharpened that desire.

  But also, she had a temperament that suited him. While he’d only known her a day, he was a decisive man and he’d already made up his mind. She was kind, caring, but she lacked strength and money, and needed a man willing to fight her battles.

  He’d spent the night thinking, and drinking, and he’d come to several conclusions. He wasn’t likely to find another woman who would both incite such passion and suit him personally. In addition, she was too moral to be a mistress. She’d take the roll but she’d withdraw from him, sooner rather than later.

  And for whatever reason, that unsettled him. Likely because he wanted her to run hot in his bed, not cold.

  Therefore, rather than take her as mistress, he’d decided to act on his other inclination, to just marry her, which was the correct course. She’d make an excellent wife and mother and he doubted very much she was capable of even the smallest acts of violence. Everything he’d witnessed showed him she was nurturing.

  And of course, there was the bedsport.

  He’d enjoy teaching her about passion. She clearly needed a husband. One who could provide for her financially and personally.

  In his mind, he’d already helped her in one area of her life. He’d aid her in more and he’d certainly keep her in whatever lifestyle she’d envisioned. Surely, she was better off with him than the other suitor that Balstead had chosen.

  Balstead. He was the only hitch in this plan.

  The man was a rake and a force in his own right. He’d chosen a groom for Cassandra and he might think he’d made the best possible decision.

  His gut tightened. He’d have to explain to Balstead himself, unless Cassandra was inclined to do so. But he was getting ahead of himself.

  First he needed to ask and gain Cassandra’s consent. Balstead was tomorrow’s problem or, with any luck, the day after.

  The manor came into view and he slowed his horse, trotting up the long drive. Strange, Balstead’s home reminded him of his time with Amelia.

  Perhaps it was just the bucolic setting. After his face had been scarred, he’d retreated to London. There was anonymity in crowds.

  At home, he’d have to face the curious and sometimes revolted stares of people who knew him.

  But as he sat on his horse, memories assaulted him. Amelia in his bed, in his home. The laughter and heat they’d shared. The quickness with which that passion had turned dark.

  First, she’d begun to fight with him, suffering from fits of jealousy. Even a wrong glance at one of the maids would send her into a fit of rage. She’d scream, yell, hit. He hadn’t really been afraid, he was nearly larger than her by half. And then when she’d repent, the passion such anger evoked had been explosive.

  But the longer their relationship lasted, the worse her temper became, and the more easily she flew into irrational anger.

  And then he’d made the difficult decision that their relationship wasn’t tenable.

  The ensuing fight had left his face scarred.

  She’d left that day, never to return. He’d discovered three months later that she’d taken her own life.

  Regret lanced through him, hot and deep. He’d have cared for her the rest of his life. Even with how they’d ended things. And he might have married her anyway except…he needed an heir and she, well… He ran a hand over his face. She had not been fit to be a mother.

  The thought of a child being subjected to her rage, knowing her capable of such violent behavior even toward him, was more than he could bear.

  He grimaced as he stared at the house, the sun sinking low in the sky as night fell. It bathed the world in shades of pink and orange. He was burning for another woman now.

  He touched the papers in his pocket once again.

  This time, however, he’d weighed her personality as well as his attraction. And…he’d not allow himself to fall in love. He’d slate his lust, make an heir, and settle into a life of companionable matrimony. Most likely he’d leave her in the country as he travelled about his duties. They’d live their own lives and he could trust her to raise their child with a gentle hand. Easy. Simple.

  It was an excellent plan.

  But his plans rarely worked out the way he intended.

  Chapter Eight

  Cassandra stood in front of her wardrobe assessing the dresses that hung in front of her. What was wrong with her clothes?

  She sighed. Likely everything. The frocks were old, worn, and had never been in fashion. She’d married young and John had hardly had funds for new clothes. Not that she’d cared. She was happy in her gowns, but it seemed to upset him that he couldn’t provide better for her.

  Raithe had attempted to give them money at various points, but John always refused. His pride had demanded that he not borrow money from his friend. Raithe swore the funds were a gift, but his assertion only seemed to upset John the more. He didn’t need charity, he’d railed.

  Cassandra drew in a deep breath. Moments like those, he’d look at her with such resentment. As though he wouldn’t need charity if he didn’t have her.

  She hung her head, allowing her fingers to trail over the only silk gown she owned. What would John think now to see her living on their friend’s largesse?

  He’d turn over in his grave.

  And the duke’s offer?

  Would he hate her or the duke? Likely both.

  Fortunately, her parents were not alive to see how far she’d fallen. Her mother had died before her marriage, her father shortly after. Though, if either of them were alive, she might not have considered his offer at all.

  Her hands trembled as she pulled a serviceable wool gown from the four from which she had to choose. The dress would be a reminder to her later tonight that she’d said no and that she intended to keep her word.

  It was a simple, somber gown more suited to a vicar’s daughter than a duke’s mistress. She’d need the reminder because he was the one man who’d really made her feel alive.

  She rubbed her brow. She supposed John had wanted her. At the start. But more often than not, those interludes would end in frustration for both of them and always for her.

  She sighed again as she began to dress. Raithe had assigned a maid to her, but Cassandra couldn’t bring herself to use the woman’s services. She wasn’t accustomed to it and her wardrobe wasn’t fit for such an extravagance. Nor was her personality.

  The clock gave a single chime alerting her that it was six thirty. She finished dressing her hair, a simple twist at the nape and then started out of her room. Maybe tonight, she’d be waiting for him instead of the other way around. She needed some measure of control to make it through this evening.

  Making her way downstairs, she settled next to the fire in the sitting room across from the dining room. She twisted her hands in her lap as her eyes fluttered closed. What she should be thinking about was one of her father’s sermons. A stark reminder of how she should behave.

  Instead, Damian filled her thoughts. The way he’d touched her, kis
sed her, made her feel. Her breath caught as her hand touched the knot of hair she’d twisted into place.

  “Miss me?” Damian’s deep voice rumbled from the doorway.

  She didn’t open her eyes as she considered her answer. She settled for avoidance, answering his question with one of her own. “How was your day?”

  He chuckled, striding into the room. Or she imagined him striding by the long deliberate footfalls in the thick carpet. “My day was very fruitful.”

  That made her eyes pop open as she turned to him. Her lips parted in an unasked question.

  His grey eyes met hers, darkening as he assessed her. “And yours?”

  She shook her head, unable to look away or lie. “Less so.” She’d spent most of the day pacing as she’d attempted to school herself for this evening.

  That would have been fine except any lectures she’d given herself had flown out of her head the moment he’d arrived and filled the room with his dark, brooding, and arresting presence. She ran her hands down the wool of her dress as a quick reminder to stand her ground.

  Tonight, she needed to remember she was a vicar’s daughter.

  “Shame,” he replied, sitting across from her once again. “Would you care to hear about my day?”

  She hesitated; surely this was part of his plan to coerce her. “Do I have a choice?”

  “You always have a choice,” he replied, pulling a carefully folded stack of papers from inside his coat pocket. “I never asked, but who are you engaged to currently?”

  Her breath caught. She hadn’t said because she wasn’t actually engaged. “I don’t…”

  “It doesn’t matter.” He waved his hand. “We’ll deal with him later.”

  She shook her head, not liking the way the lie was sitting in her stomach. “I doubt we’ll have to deal with him at all.”

  Damian stopped, mid pull, to give her a long, unblinking, look. “What do you mean?”

  She looked down at her clenched hands. “I told you. I’ve never even met the man. I don’t know—”