Where to Woo a Bawdy Baron (Romancing the Rake 3)

She twisted her hands together. “Cordelia.”

“And what is Cordelia like? Does she defend you against troublesome youth as well?”

Bianca shook her head. Somehow, she didn’t want to tell him about her quiet, thoughtful sister. The two might have a great deal in common and Bianca had the urge to keep Lord Craven to herself. “She’s very smart, talented, and thoughtful. Basically, she’s the exact opposite of me.”

His brows lifted and she caught a glimpse of his chocolate brown irises again. “I see.”

Did he? Did he see how she was the most annoying, least talented sister of the Moorish clan? She opened her mouth, set to launch into an explanation of what people found so awful about her but for once, she snapped it shut again and didn’t say a word. They stood there silently, their bodies only a few inches apart.

“You’re not going to explain what you just said to me?” he asked, his voice low so only she could hear.

The corners of her mouth turned down into a frown. “I would but you seem to understand already. I rarely stop talking. That’s the first annoying thing about me.”

“And the others?”

She twisted her hands into her skirts even as her insides lurched. “You heard them. I’m always bumbling about.”

“And does anyone notice your honesty?” he asked, lifting one hand to lightly caress her arm. “Or your kindness?”

She gasped, looking up at him. His features were unusually relaxed, his lips curved into a small…smile? “I don’t know.”

“You, Bianca Moorish, are—”

“Did you find Mittens?” Juliet called from across the square.

Lord Craven stepped back, turning toward Juliet and Lord Dashwood. The pair crossed the square, joining them at the tree. Dashwood leaned over and whispered, rather loudly, “Please tell me you found her.”

Juliet tsked, her hands coming to her hips. “I’m so sorry to have put you out, my lord.”

Dashwood grimaced. “It’s no trouble, Miss Moorish.”

“Good,” she huffed. “But I suppose you’re right. We may as well return home. We’re not likely to find her here. Hopefully, Adrianna and Lord Crestwood have had better luck.”

Juliet turned and started down the path and Dashlane held his hands around his mouth as he silently mouthed the words thank you. Then he stepped up next to her and held out his elbow.

Lord Craven did the same, holding out his arm for her.

They walked in silence, only the sound of the gravel crunching under their feet. Odd. She was normally only quiet when she was comfortable, and she’d only known this man for a few hours. Perhaps she just didn’t know what to say at the abrupt end of their conversation, though that didn’t usually stop her from talking.

They walked along the road as it wound by the ocean, a light breeze peppering their walk.

“It is beautiful here,” he said looking out at the water. “It’s a nice change from London.”

“Tell me what London is like,” she replied, giving his arm a light squeeze. “My father keeps promising to take us. He’ll have to deliver soon.”

“Why’s that?” Craven stopped, turning toward her.

She looked up into his rough features, wishing she could reach up and touch his face, lift his furrowed brow. “I’m nineteen and Adrianna is eighteen. As it is, we’ll all have to participate in the same season. Except Ophelia, of course, now that she’s engaged.”

“The Duke of Rathmore. Engaged? Here?” Craven’s muscles flexed under hers, but she didn’t understand his reaction at all. Why did he care?

“Yes. Engaged.” Bianca swallowed. “Did you fancy her?” A wave of jealousy washed over her.

If it was possible, his brow scrunched deeper into a frown. “Fancy her? I hardly know her.”

Her insides relaxed. “Of course. Forgive me. She’s just so lovely and kind. She knows exactly how to act. No one ever mocks her.”

She expected him to laugh, or not to respond at all, but he stood staring for several seconds before he finally answered. “They shouldn’t ridicule you either.”