What a Vulgar Viscount Needs (Romancing the Rake 5)

“Come on. If my father invited you, you’ve nothing to fear.” And she tugged on his arm. That part of her that felt the need to care for him tugged now. He looked terrible, still handsome, but awful nonetheless. “Our cooks make an excellent eggs benedict.”

He groaned, touching his stomach. “Please. That sounds awful.”

She covered her mouth. “Porridge?”

“Tea, first,” he said, combing his hair back and then stretching. “And I think that settee was too short.”

“If my father invited you, he surely would have given you a bed.”

“He did.” Ash shook his head. “But I came back down to the music room to—” He stopped. “And then I couldn’t find my way back.”

Cordelia cocked an eyebrow. After their kiss, she’d excused herself from the party. She couldn’t socialize any more, she’d needed time to think everything through. Everything meaning handsome lords who kissed her in moonlit gardens.

“Tea it is,” she said as they made their way into the breakfast room to find it…empty. “Well now.” The buffet was completely stocked but no one was there.

He chuckled. “Apparently I wasn’t the only one who over-indulged.”

She crossed and poured him a cup of tea, then gestured to a chair for him to sit. He did and Cordelia handed him the tea, returning to the buffet for porridge that she then sat in front of him. “Eat.”

He groaned again and she patted his shoulder. A mistake. Fire shot through her and she pulled her hand away again.

He didn’t seem to notice as he dipped his spoon in and took a bite, then another. “You’re right. That is better.”

She nodded and then got food of her own, returning to the table. Sitting across from him, she picked at an egg, her mind too crowded with questions to actually eat. She glanced at him several times before he finally rubbed his forehead. “Whatever you want to ask, you might as well spit it out.”

She snapped her jaw shut, surprised he’d known. “I don’t spit.”

He smiled at that, a dimple showing on his cheek. “Of course, not. My apologies.”

She leaned toward him. “And my questions are not for breakfast.”

“No?” He set his spoon down, straightening in his chair.

She shook her head. “I meant what I offered last night. You can tell me…anything.”

* * *

Damn her and her beautiful brown eyes. His gut churned again but it wasn’t because of the champagne this time. He could never tell her about growing up in a whorehouse. About how his mother became ill. About how his father lost his real wife, and without an heir, had married his mum to make him legitimate.

His stomach twisted. That sounded like a happy ending, but it wasn’t. Not even close. It was the beginning of hell.

Rather than share any of that, he studied her face. The curve of her cheek, the tilt of her chin, the way her eyes sparkled in the morning light.

For a moment, he wished he was a different man. One who deserved a beautiful, talented, pure wife.

“You are too kind,” he answered, finally.

“She is, is she not?” Her father appeared in the door and Ash said a silent prayer of thanks that he’d not said more.

Cordelia twisted around to look at her father, a slight frown marking her lips. “Good morning. How do you fare?”

He grimaced. “I’ll be all right.” He crossed to the buffet and began to heap piles of food onto a plate. Then turning, he crossed to the table and gave Dashlane a nudge on the shoulder before taking his own seat. “We certainly had fun last night.”

Ash smiled at that. They had. “I dare say we could have used Miss Moorish’s skills at the pianoforte. Our singing left a bit to be desired.” The truth was, Ash had had a great deal of fun with Mr. Moorish. They’d talked and laughed and for a moment, Ash had wondered if this was what it was like to have a real father.

Mr. Moorish chuckled. “A man always benefits from a woman’s company.”

Cordelia sat straighter in her chair, her eyes casting down to the table. “In this case, I think it’s just my playing that was called for. My company is not my strongest suit.”