When Only An Indecent Duke Will Do (Romancing the Rake 1)

“Indeed they are,” Ophelia answered, reaching for her sister’s hand. “Come. We’ll miss the butcher if we don’t hurry.”

Juliet harrumphed. “That’s hardly fair. You got to kiss a duke. Can’t we at least accidentally on purpose bump into them? You’re not the only Moorish who is getting on in years. At twenty, I need to find a husband soon.”

“We’ll accidentally on purpose bump into them after we go to the butcher. I can’t go home without meat.” But secretly she hoped they’d be gone by the time she finished shopping. It turned out the village felt even better for her brush with the duke. The interaction had left her vulnerable and the familiarity of this place was exactly the balm she needed, minus the strangers, of course.

Ophelia and Juliet started across the square, cutting an angle toward the butcher shop. Ophelia pulled her sister along, hoping to hurry before anyone saw them.

But just as they walked almost across, a voice rang out over the square. “Pardon me, ladies,” a deep male voice called. “But I wonder if you might help us.”

Drat. They’d been caught.

For a moment, she considered ignoring the caller. Could she pretend she hadn’t heard?

But Juliet stopped, digging her heels into the soft dirt. “Of course,” she called back. “How can we help?”

Ophelia shot her sister a glare but Juliet didn’t pay her attention as she waved to the approaching men. Ophelia followed her sister’s gaze and froze in place as Chase’s green eyes connected with hers. One of the men was indeed her duke. A lump formed in her throat. What was Chase doing here? Should she run? Or was this her chance to help heal her wounded duke?

Chapter Seven

Even with the bonnet partially obscuring her face, Chase could see the surprise that widened her eyes. While he’d have preferred to reunite back at her home, he’d not leave her alone with these men for all his land in England.

He didn’t trust Crestwood in particular. While Craven was quiet, which lent him an air of dangerous mystery, he’d not actually uttered much that was disrespectful either. And Dashlane was an exuberant fellow who liked fun. But Crestwood? His rakish streak ran deep. The man talked of little else besides chasing skirts—all skirts, older wo

men to young, rich to poor. He seemed to have a taste for truly beautiful ladies, which meant his interest would likely be in Ophelia.

He supposed he was making a rather uneducated judgment. He’d only known the men a few hours, other than their one other meeting, but they’d ridden in his carriage on the way back to Seabridge Gate and the filth that had dribbled from Crestwood’s mouth had made Chase’s teeth clench. Dashlane and Craven had only been a little better. He wasn’t sure when he’d become this man, disgusted with their loose morals.

Crestwood faltered in his step. “Christ,” he muttered. “That one on the left is stunning. I wonder what color her hair is under that bonnet.”

Chase clenched his hand, fisting his fingers into his palm. Crestwood referred to Ophelia. If the man said anything crass, Chase would punch him before the earl even knew it was coming.

“Their clothes are fine, they’re not milkmaids or fishermen’s daughters,” Dashlane grinned. “And they might be amenable to spending time with titled lords. They’ll be looking for husbands, but what they don’t know…”

Chase’s nostrils flared. Never mind that he’d done the exact same thing last night. No other man was touching Ophelia, that he was certain of. Remorse over his own behavior the night before weighed down his chest.

Crestwood stopped two feet in front of the ladies and gave a bow. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, ladies. I’m the Earl of Crestwood.”

Chase clenched his teeth as Ophelia’s sister giggled. He couldn’t remember her bloody name. He had to learn them.

Crestwood made the last of the introductions, even announcing Chase. Both Ophelia and the other one dropped into dutiful curtseys. “Your Grace,” Ophelia murmured, her voice dropping low on the last note which added a definite chill to the courtesy. Then she rose. “I am Miss Moorish, as is my sister. Apologies, gentlemen but we have an urgent errand to run. What might you need help with?”

Chase relaxed a bit as Ophelia’s cool tone extended to the other men. She might sound cold because she was angry with him, but she was sending a clear message to these other men to keep away and he was grateful.

“There’s no need to rush, Ophelia.” The other one giggled, stepping forward. “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” she said as she held out her hand.

“Juliet.” Ophelia also moved ahead placing a restrictive hand on her sister’s arm. “We don’t have time to dally.”

“We’ll be quick then.” Crestwood took Juliet’s hand, then placed a light kiss on her glove. The gesture was long and drawn out and not at all fast. “We’re in need of a boat to carry us north.”

“Why?” Ophelia asked, giving Juliet a long stare.

“The bridge is washed out,” Chase answered, cutting in front of the other men to stand next to her. He intended to send a clear message as well.

She looked up at him. “Is that why you’ve returned?”

“Returned?” Dashlane asked. “You didn’t mention you knew such lovely ladies here in Seabridge Gate during our carriage ride.”

Chase straightened. “I didn’t.” Then he placed a hand under Ophelia’s elbow. “I’ll escort you ladies on your errand and then perhaps your father can help these gentlemen charter a ship out of Seabridge Gate.”