Why a Marauding Marquess is Best (Romancing the Rake 4)

“I see just fine,” he answered her, the tip of his nose finally touching hers.

Her eyes narrowed. “Really? From what I can tell, you don’t see anything at all.”

Hoyden, he thought as he stared down at her. She stared back in absolute challenge. Dane knew he was a man of strong conviction. Always had been. People rarely challenged him and certainly not dainty little females with adorable noses and plush, kissable lips. Not that he’d be fooled by such trappings, but still, a man couldn’t help but notice. “You little whelp. How dare—”

“That’s enough.” Rathmore cut in, stepping close to both of them. “Our host, Mr. Moorish, will be expecting us inside.” Then Rathmore pushed at his arm. “And he wouldn’t like to step out looking for us and find you holding his daughter.”

Dane blinked, realizing that he was somehow in a stand-off with a woman he didn’t even know. “Of course,” he responded, taking a step back. He didn’t let go of the little hoyden’s waist. Rather he maneuvered her the rest of the way up the stairs until she was safely on the large landing. Then, slowly, he removed his hands from her waist. As though she might break, or fall, if he let go too quickly. Which was absurd. He didn’t need to protect her from her own front steps, but he couldn’t quite shake the feeling.

Color flooded her cheeks and somehow, she looked even more beautiful with pink staining her face and sliding down her neck. He clenched his hands at his side as he resisted some ridiculous urge to touch her again.

She turned to Chase and huffed a breath. “Your Grace, please explain to your cousin that he needn’t accuse Ophelia of anything.” Then her gaze lanced back to Dane. “In fact, Ophelia tried to fend off His Grace’s advances. It was he who courted her.”

Then she stepped around him and stomped toward the door, her chin high in the air, her skirts swishing across his legs. She disappeared inside without another look back.

Dane rubbed the back of his neck while looking over at Chase. He wouldn’t ask the question for several reasons. He didn’t want to give anyone the satisfaction and he was sure the answer wouldn’t be the truth. Ophelia was beautiful, Dane would give her that. And beautiful women had a way of making you believe you were chasing them when, in fact, they were manipulating you the entire time.

“What is this about?” Chase narrowed his gaze. “Why are you manhandling Juliet on the front steps and what did she mean you’re accusing Ophelia?”

Dane drew in a deep breath. “Nothing. I’ll explain later. Let’s go inside before Charlie accuses me of being ill-mannered and ill-tempered.”

Chase gave his cousin a long look. “A charge you might deserve.” He slapped Dane’s back. “And give Ophelia a chance, would you? You have a tendency to judge too quickly. You’re going to like her.”

H

e scowled, thumping his fist on the outside of his thigh. He most certainly did not judge too quickly. Chase, however, often chose to overlook key details in his attempt to have fun. Dane’s face tightened, but he said nothing as he followed Chase inside.

The house was as impressive inside as it was from the outside. Shiny marble floors graced the foyer and plush rugs cushioned his feet. A large mural graced the two-story ceiling of the foyer and he had to confess that the Moorish family might be financially sound. Either that or they’d spent well beyond their means. In which case, they’d have a keen interest in matching with a duke.

He watched as Lord Craven, a man who wore a perpetual scowl under normal circumstances, smiled down at a woman, whispering in her ear. He couldn’t make out the words but he didn’t need to. Craven was a completely different man from the one he’d met two weeks ago in London. Lovestruck was the only word that came to Dane’s mind.

Craven brushed the back of his hand down her arm. The woman herself was very pretty with dark hair and sparkling blue eyes. She had a kindness about her that a man like Craven could use. Still, he’d probably been manipulated too.

“Did you think my sister, Bianca, was also plotting to trap Lord Craven?” a feminine voice drawled next to him.

He turned his head to the side, catching sight of the little hoyden. “No,” he said, looking back at the couple. “But now that you mention it, it’s odd that so many men who were determined to remain unattached are suddenly playing the part of devoted beaux.”

She sniffed, crossing her arms. “What are you implying?”

He wasn’t certain. Witchcraft seemed unlikely, though at this point, he was beginning to wonder. “I’m not implying anything. I’m simply making an observation.”

“Observation?” she asked moving a bit closer. Outside, he caught a whiff of a silky perfume, like summer flowers in a meadow, sweet but not overpowering. He’d assumed it was a blooming tree somewhere nearby. But as she moved closer, he realized it was her.

“Miss Moorish,” he said, adding a dry note to her name. “An observation is when you carefully inspect a situation or set of behaviors and then you determine a change that has occurred.”

Her lips pressed together, which should have been unattractive. It was in most women. But not in her. Her mouth formed into a lush, kissable line. “Well, since you’ve so nicely defined the word for me, I will also make an observation. The mood of this gathering went from joyous to dreary and the only change that I can observe is you.”

His mouth parted, and his brow went up as he allowed a small chuckle to escape. He had to confess, it was a clever comeback and he quite liked it. More to the point, despite himself, he liked her. “Touché.”

One corner of her lip tipped up. But he didn’t get the pleasure of her response as Mr. Moorish clapped his hands. “Let’s all move to the salon where refreshments have been prepared.”

Miss Moorish, Juliet, his little redhaired minx, began to move away. While he might like to continue their sparring, her little victory might prove to be to his advantage. With this tiny truce, he might be able to glean some useful information from her. Without her even knowing, could he discover what had happened to his cousin?

* * *

“Miss Moorish?” Lord Hartwell stepped up next to her, his fingers brushing her elbow.

That odd tingling started down her skin again. “Yes?”