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

He squeezed her hand as he helped her out of the carriage. “Come inside.”

They breezed past the small staff that waited for them with a short hello and then headed up the stairs. At the end of the hall, he opened the double doors. Inside the room, stood a large, four post bed sprinkled with dozens of pale pink rose petals.

“Chase.” She covered her mouth but then dropped her hands. “Did you get the feathers?”

He laughed as he lifted her and swung her about in a circle. “What my lady asks for, she receives. Now and always.”

Sighing, she kissed his lips as her toes brushed the ground. “I’m so glad I managed to find such an indecent husband,” she murmured against his lips. “This shall be fun indeed.”

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How to Catch an Elusive Earl

Romancing the Rake Book 2

Tammy Andresen

Chapter Seventeen

Lucius Marks, the Earl of Crestwood, assessed the stately manor as the last rays of sun set in the sky. How nauseatingly pretty, Luke thought as the bright rays bathed the red brick in bright hues of orange and yellow. Below him, the ocean beat against the high rocks of the bluff, creating a scene fit for a work of art.

This house was like the rest of Seabridge Gate, the village he currently found himself stranded in: disgustingly wholesome.

He sighed, regretting his decision to come to this dinner, and he hadn’t even gone inside yet. Which was ridiculous. This entire affair had been his idea to begin with. In his defense, the meal with the Moorish family was a sound plan. First because he needed Mr. Moorish’s help. The man ran a shipping business out of Seabridge Gate and catching a ride on one of those ships was his best chance of getting out of this quaint little hell hole and making his way north to a deliciously debaucherous gathering being held by the Baron of Balstead.

Just thinking of that party and all the delights that would surely greet him made his spine straighten with determination. The br

idge to the north had washed out, making the trip to Balstead’s property in Haversham days longer than was necessary. Meanwhile, if he could catch a boat, say tomorrow morning, he’d be at Balstead’s by lunch. And wrapped in a woman’s arms by dinner.

And so he raised the knocker on the door, letting it fall from his hand. Luke heard the sound echo through the house. The door immediately opened, a sharp-looking butler giving him a solemn stare. “Good evening. Lord Crestwood, I presume?”

“Correct,” he answered. “I’ve clearly arrived at the right place.”

The man gestured for him to step inside. “Are Lord Craven and Lord Dashlane joining you?”

He gave a momentary grimace before replacing the look with a firm smile. Yesterday, his friends, Craven and Dashlane, had met the eldest Moorish daughter, Miss Ophelia Moorish. He couldn’t be entirely certain, but he suspected that she might have infected them with a dose of morality. She’d been incredibly beautiful but also so kind that a man might get ideas about the sort of life he should be living. “No, they’ve other business to attend in the village.”

Not him, of course. Luke had been firmly and completely expunged of any wholesome hope several years ago. A woman who seemed to be the very pinnacle of goodness and light had so thoroughly broken his heart that he’d devowed ever taking such a risk again.

Which was why he planned to not only secure passage on one of Moorish’s ships, he also intended to steal a kiss or two from one of the other four Moorish daughters. He pulled his lips down to keep from giving a salacious grin. If he were going to be stuck in such a place, he may as well leave a little mark upon it. It was the duty of all rakes to do so.

“Very good, then. Right this way, my lord.” The butler turned and started up the stairs, Luke following.

Reaching the second floor, they made their way down the hall where the butler stopped in the doorway. “May I present his lordship, the Earl of Crestwood.”

Luke held back his grunt of disdain. He was as fond of the title as he was of wholesome pursuits. None of them were meant to be his.

The Honorable Thomas Moorish rose along with four young women, each a delight in her own way. He swept his gaze down the line of them, attempting to decide which might be his favorite. Moorish gave him a welcoming smile. “Good evening, my lord. So nice to see you again.”

“And you,” he gave a nod, his gaze drifting to the man’s daughters again.

“Right,” Moorish pointed to the first of the ladies in the line. “My daughter, Miss Juliet. I believe the two of you met yesterday.”

They had. She was a darling little auburn-haired confection with curves like Ophelia’s but a more trusting nature. She’d do nicely for his purposes.

“And this is Cordelia,” Lord Moorish pointed to a serious looking, but very pretty woman that Luke dismissed on the spot. She’d never fall for a rake’s charm. Even now, as she stared back at him, her eyes sparkled with intelligence.

“My daughter, Bianca.” Mr. Moorish pointed to the third woman in the line.