What a Vulgar Viscount Needs (Romancing the Rake 5)

Why was he here? Lord Christopher Dashlane watched the fluttering little songbird standing on the other side of the settee, his body tightening. He’d been watching her for days. As his two best friends were marrying her sisters, he’d had to attend several events at the Moorish home.

Ash, as his family called him, had kept his distance. Because of Cordelia’s station in life and her status as sister to Bianca and Adrianna, he knew he should stay away and that was exactly what he’d done. He’d watched her from afar and barely spoken a word to her beyond the most basic of niceties. Until tonight.

He’d seen her slip from the ballroom with champagne in hand and a sudden fit of jealousy had propelled him to follow, thinking she’d gone to meet another man. He wasn’t certain why he indulged that particular urge. She’d never be his. Why couldn’t she sneak off to meet someone else? Ash would never give her a future. He had no intention of marrying ever.

And not just because he was a rake. Well more precisely, he was a rake because he had no intention of marrying. The order of those two circumstances mattered. But either way, he intended to stay away from the beautifully tempting Cordelia Moorish.

“Did you intend to be the last man standing?” she asked, fiddling with the stem of her drink.

He nearly started. That was the thing he’d learned about this woman already. She was quiet but her silence hid an intelligent and intuitive woman. Had she just read his thoughts?

“I did. And you?” He found himself stepping closer. For some reason, he was intensely curious about her answer. What did she want? Did she wish to marry and have a family?

She lifted the glass then, taking a delicate swallow. Her dark hair had been styled with an intricate coif at the back of her head, which glistened in the candlelight. Her pert little nose turned up as those full lips gently cupped the rim of the glass. He swallowed, tightening his fingers on his own stem.

“I did too,” she said as she lowered the beverage.

He closed his eyes for just a moment processing those words. What? She’d intended to be the last of her sisters to marry. He couldn’t seem to help the next words that popped from his mouth. “But why?”

Her tongue darted out to remove a single bead of champagne that had pooled on the glistening skin of her full bottom lip. A delicate shade of pink, it slid along her full, soft skin and nearly made him groan aloud.

But everything about this woman seemed to appeal to him. He’d memorized the sweep of her jaw, her long slender neck, the lithe lines of her body.

The way her dark brown eyes sparkled with flecks of gold and how she moved when she played her pianoforte, like a reed dancing in the breeze.

One of her shoulders rose and fell. “I don’t want to be tied to a man. Once I am a wife, I am beholden to all of his wishes and wants rather than pursuing my own desires.”

His mouth parted for an instant before he clamped his jaw shut to hide his surprise. He should have known she’d have a more sophisticated answer. Everything about her was more complex than any other woman he’d met before.

For a boy who’d grown up in Cheapside, he dreamed of touching something so amazingly stunning. She was everything his life had never been. Perfect, beautiful, effortless in her grace. But that was exactly why he needed to stay away.

Still, he was, talking with her…alone. With champagne no less. “You don’t want to marry ever?”

She shook her head. “Never ever.” And then, her arm flew out and for no reason, she tipped to one side, a bit of her bubbly drink spilling out of her glass as she righted her feet under her.

A new, lovely thought occurred to him as he abandoned his position on the other side of the settee and traversed the settee in a few steps to slide a hand under her elbow and steady her. She was tipsy. “Oh dear,” she whispered. “Champagne is deliciously evil.”

He chuckled then, still holding her arm. Because now that he’d touched her, he wasn’t certain he wanted to let go. And she seemed to have lost her wariness and was allowing it and this might be the only time he got to touch something so magical. Who knew if he’d ever have this opportunity again? After tonight, he needed to stay away from Cordelia Moorish.

Chapter Two

Cordelia looked up into the face of the man currently holding her upright and smiled. The fog in her mind had only grown thicker, but several thoughts did manage to peek through the murkier layer. His hand felt marvelous, for example. Lean, large, and strong, he had the sort of fingers which would be excellent for playing the pianoforte. And he smelled amazing. Like evergreen with a touch of fresh sea air.

She’d never been this close to a man and she might never be again. By slow ticks, Cordelia realized he was a rake. Well, she’d known that already. But rakes did all sorts of things a gentleman would not, and this might be her one opportunity to sample a bit of the delights she’d given up on in favor of a music career.

He was the man tempting her after all.

“Why do you never, ever wish to marry?” he asked, his lips dropping close to her ear, tickling the sensitive skin.

She drew in a breath. “I already told you. I don’t want to be beholden to a man.”

“And why not be…beholden? What else shall you do with yourself instead?”

That struck her as funny and she giggled, her body bending forward and her cheek brushing his chest. She straightened and stopped giggling, suddenly wanting to run her hand along the very flesh she’d just touched with her face. “Do you want to be beholden to anyone?”

He sucked in her breath, his fingers tightening on her elbow. “I do not.”

Was it her imagination or had his face tightened, grown paler? “So you understand?”