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

“No,” he said the single word with authority as he cut her off. “No more meddling, love. Let them find their own course.”

“But.” She shifted as they began walking past the assembly and toward the path that would take them back to the house. After a wedding breakfast, they’d be setting off for his country estate. Charlie had agreed to stay here with her family to allow them some privacy. “What if they don’t…find the path or whatever.”

“They will,” he answered, brushing a soft kiss along her temple. “Don’t worry. They will.”

She gave a soft sigh. “Fine. I’ll stay out of it for now. But if they haven’t made a match by the time we’re back from our honeymoon then…” She let her words drift off for a moment as she turned back to give them another glance. “We’re helping.”

“We?” he asked, cocking a brow.

“Of course,” she answered with a delicate sniff. “You just agreed, remember?”

He scrunched his brow. “When did I do that?”

She patted his arm. “During the vows, of course. You must love, honor, and cherish everything about me.”

He laughed then. “I do, my love. I do.”

What a Vulgar Viscount Needs

Romancing the Rake Book 5

Tammy Andresen

What a Vulgar Viscount Needs

Miss Cordelia Chase sat on the bench of her pianoforte and stared down at the keys as they blurred in front of her vision. Perhaps that champagne had been a bad idea after all.

She’d just gotten so excited for her sisters. Three of them had announced their engagements. Tonight, her family was hosting a ball in their honor. And the fourth…well, she’d seen her sister Juliet sneak off to the garden with Lord Hartwell. He was a man of the highest quality and Juliet would surely receive an offer in the morning. She’d sipped champagne and reveled in their success, so happy for them.

And then her joy had turned dark and that had been when she’d grabbed her second glass. Likely a mistake. She was neither accustomed to alcohol nor jealousy.

She took a deep breath and trusted her fingers on the keys where her eyes failed her, striking up a low, soft tune on her pianoforte. She didn’t even wish to marry. That was the odd part. She’d already found the love of her life and even now, her fingers stroked her first and only mate, effortlessly invoking beautiful music from the instrument.

She wasn’t foolish enough to think she might be able to perform as a professional musician. That was a career only awarded to men. But she could write music. As C. Moorish, she’d already begun to send pieces to other players for purchase.

Normally, a father might not support such a career for his daughter but with four of her sisters about to marry, Cordelia was certain hers would agree to allow her to become a spinster. Well…perhaps certain was a bit confident. But she did have reason to think he might consider the idea.

Thomas Moorish didn’t wish to travel to London to see her matched, the only place she was likely to find a suitable candidate, and besides, he was a lover of the arts. Some part of him would rejoice at her chosen path. Hopefully.

Which was why she couldn’t explain her sudden fit of longing. She didn’t want a man of her own, he’d only hold her back. And yet… the party tonight had sparked some sort of secret wish. When she thought about a stolen kiss, or a hand at her back, her breath caught. For the first time, she considered what she might be giving up.

Each of her sisters had become engaged, one by o

ne. And each now glowed with a happiness that left her feeling…empty.

Her fingers flew over the keys as she attempted to drown out the ball just across the hall. Her desires had forced her from the room and she’d retreated to her bench, a place to remind herself who she was and what she wanted.

“Lovely,” a male voice said behind her. The low baritone of his voice skimming down her spine and making her tingle with all sorts of secret longings.

Despite the champagne, or perhaps because of it, Cordelia’s vague notions about a man’s touch sharpened. She didn’t want just any man. In fact, she’d only had these thoughts when one very particular male had arrived at her door a few days ago. Lord Dashlane.

She’d recognized his voice now. “Thank you,” she said, not turning to look at him. That would only muddle her thoughts further. He had golden blond hair and flashing grey-blue eyes like the ocean after a storm. His square jaw was softened by full lips and a ready smile that likely put many at ease but only served to make her more on edge.

No, she didn’t need to look at him now. She’d memorized every detail already, so instead, she lifted her glass of champagne and drained the last of the bubbly beverage, feeling the drink tickle its way down her throat. “I’ve always loved to play.”

His low chuckle made her skin shiver. “I wasn’t talking about your skills at the pianoforte. I was referring to you.”

Cordelia sat straighter on the bench, her eyes fluttering closed. Her body pulsed at his low words, the intimate tone of it, and once again, she blamed the champagne. She knew what he was. A rake. He’d likely told a hundred women tonight the very same line. It would be folly to change her path now for such a man, even if she wished to. Which she didn’t. “Liar,” she mumbled softly, letting the single word settle between them.