What a Vulgar Viscount Needs (Romancing the Rake 5)

His gut turned as they approached the doors. How did she do that? How did she ask the very question that probed to the heart of the issue? Rather than answer, he dipped behind a large crowd of bystanders and then pulled her through the open door. “I find your question odd. Why would you ask who I inherited from?”

She stepped out of the light and into a shadow, grabbing his hand and pulling him with her. The silk of her glove caressed his palm, but he wished to feel her bare fingers instead.

She stopped for a moment, turning toward him in the dark. “You didn’t say, ‘my father passed away a year ago.’” Then she pulled again. “Duck.”

He did, just in time as leaves brushed the top of his head. “Well, he did.” But she’d figured it out exactly. His father wasn’t actually a father at all. In the most technical term, he’d sired Ash. But in no other way, had he contributed anything good to Ash’s life and that included the fucking title with which he’d saddled his son.

“I see,” she answered as she stopped again. The moon shone above them, peeking out from the clouds, and he could now see the ring of trees that circled them, a bench in the middle a little hideaway. “You two were close then?” Her voice dropped, dripping with sarcasm.

He let a humorless laugh fall from his lips. “You’re ridiculously smart.”

“Analytical,” she corrected. “It actually makes me a better musician.”

“I can imagine.” He could. She had the perfect amount of artistic talent coupled with the exact amount of discipline and intelligence to make her truly gifted. What a shame she couldn’t go on tour as

the great pianist she was.

“So if you are in need of cash, why aren’t you marrying a rich lady to save your title and your holdings?”

He clenched his jaw. That was the easiest solution if saving the title was what he had in mind. “I don’t want to save them. I’m going to allow them to burn down in a fiery blaze of rakish ruin.”

Chapter Four

“Oh dear.” Her stomach dropped at his words even as her fingers tightened on his. Something truly dreadful had happened. She was certain of that.

He’d said as little as possible, but Cordelia could fill in several of the details. He hated his father. Didn’t want to honor his title or even mourn the man’s death. And he wasn’t actually a rake either, despite his assertions to the contrary. It was almost as though he was pretending.

“Indeed,” he answered. “No money, no heirs, no future for the Viscount of Dashlane.” His lip curled over the words and voice hardened like granite. “I won’t be trapped into a marriage, Cordelia.”

He sounded utterly determined, immoveable in his assertion. So she believed him. If she were more beautiful, or better at flirting, or more talkative even, she might have convinced herself she could sway him. Not that she wanted him anyway. Did she? No, she’d already chosen a path. “Me either.”

He gave her a small smile then. “Last men standing.”

“Last man and woman standing.” She dipped into a small curtsey, still holding his hand. “If I were a man, as I said before, I could pursue my music career and have a family, but I can’t as a woman. So, I won’t.”

“You do intend to be a career woman after all,” he murmured, almost to himself. “How interesting.”

She shrugged. “I can’t perform. But I can write and sell music. I’m quite good at composition.”

“I believe you,” he said, and he tugged her a bit closer. “So we’re actually in agreement then. Neither of us wishes to marry.”

She nodded, suddenly a bit nervous. The champagne had worn off and the dawning realization that she’d openly propositioned the most handsome man in all the world to kiss her flamed her cheeks with heat.

Her father’s warning about alcohol rang in her head.

“About earlier,” she whispered. Had she forgotten that while men fawned over her sisters, they never noticed her. Not ever.

“You wish for a kiss. Just one so that you know what you’re giving up. And you want a rake to give it to you.”

She didn’t bother to tell him she’d decided he wasn’t a rake. Not really. “I understand if you don’t wish to kiss me. I’m not as lovely as Ophelia or friendly as Juliet and I don’t have Bianca’s warmth or Adrianna’s strength.”

He brought her up against his body, his other arm snaking about her back. “You’re just incredibly talented?”

She gave a small laugh that held little humor. “That doesn’t make men fall in love.”

His breath whispered across her cheek. “I’ve been afraid all evening that you’d figure me out, Cordelia Moorish. But, it turns out, I’m learning about you too. Are you certain you don’t want to marry? Or are you just afraid to fail?”

“What?” She tried to pull away, but his arm was firm against her back. Because those words stung and though she hated to admit it, rang with a bit of truth.