Who Wants a Brawling Baron (Romancing the Rake 6)

She barely managed to hold in her gasp. She knew the man. She’d even danced with him once. He’d held her waist with a possessive power that had left her breathless. Where other men showered attention on her, he’d captured all hers with a single glance.

But their dance had never been repeated. And he’d never so much as looked at her again.

“Good evening,” the butler said, giving a stiff bow.

“Good evening,” the Baron replied, handing the man a card. “I apologize for the lateness of my arrival but I need you to deliver this to the man of the house.”

With a curt nod, the butler turned and headed back up the stairs. Charlie ducked deeper into the shadows until he’d passed and then she hurried into the light, stopping at the top of the stairs.

Looking down, her gaze clashed with Balstead’s. “It’s you,” she uttered quite without meaning to.

His eyes were dark and unreadable, and his lips turned down into a marked frown. “It’s me.”

Her insides skittered with nerves as his gaze held hers. He had that same power as their first meeting. Effortlessly, he captured her attention and held her breath in the palm of his hand.

Damn it all to bloody hell, Raithe muttered under his breath as he looked at none other than Lady Charlotte Summerset. The little brunette minx had played a starring role in more than one of his dreams of late, not that he was happy to see her tonight.

There was no place in his life for such a woman. Not anymore.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, standing on the last step of the grand stair, a glass of bubbling champagne resting delicately in her tapered fingers.

He took in the silky mass of hair piled on top of her head, her grey-green hazel eyes, large and fringed with long, dark lashes. Her pert little nose accentuated by a flush of pink cheeks an

d those lips… So lush and full they made a man ache.

His dreams hadn’t done her justice.

Charlie, as her brother called her, was the sort of woman who shined wherever she went. Droves of people followed her about just to bask in her glow. He wasn’t one of them. Sure, his body throbbed in the most inappropriate places, but he knew better than to give in to a woman like Charlie.

“I came,” he drawled, “because I was hosting a party and the majority of my guest list failed to attend.”

Her brows arched as she cocked her head to the side, stepping off the final step. Which brought his gaze sliding down her body. Petite, certainly, but still lush. Her hips swayed as she walked, practically hypnotizing him.

“A party? And I wasn’t invited?” She stuck out her bottom lip even as a teasing smile played about her lips.

She slid closer and he straightened, preparing for the onslaught of her nearness. He’d been this close to her once before as he’d held her tiny waist in his hand.

She’d made him feel…well, the sort of feelings he’d thought long dead. “It’s not a party for the likes of you.”

She stopped, one of her shoulders rising. “Not a party for me? I like all sorts of parties.”

Raithe narrowed his gaze. He should have known that Charlie might be here. He’d attempted to lure several lords out to his country estate with the promise of delightful debauchery.

It wasn’t the best idea. First because that wasn’t the actual reason he’d wanted them to attend, and second they’d had some change of plans and failed to arrive. Which was why he’d come to collect them. “Not this sort.”

“Is it a hunting party?” she asked, once again moving closer. He caught her scent of lilac and sage. Without meaning to, he drew in a deep breath.

“No,” he answered. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I should find the master of the house and request an audience.”

She shook her head. “In a moment.”

Raithe looked up at the ceiling. His fist clenched against his thigh. She was so used to getting her way. “Lady Charlotte,” he started, leaning closer, his voice dropping low. “It’s the sort of party where men do things they don’t want respectable ladies to see. Which is why you are most definitely not invited.”

One of her brows rose. “You don’t like respectable ladies?”

“Not particularly,” he answered. Which was partially the truth. He had once been married, after all, so he’d liked at least one respectable woman, loved her, in fact. But that was a situation he hoped never to find himself in again.

Her lips parted as she assessed him and his breeches tightened. Did she realize what sort of invitation she’d given him? She likely did. Charlie was a practiced flirt. That much had been clear from their one dance together. He’d watched her on several other occasions, which had only confirmed his suspicions.