Who Wants a Brawling Baron (Romancing the Rake 6)

Belatedly, he realized the only chair left was next to the very woman currently torturing him. With a frown, he slid next to Charlie as the music began.

He’d heard a great many debutantes “entertain” with pianoforte recitals, but never had he heard anything like the Moorish woman. The music flowed through him, sweet and strong as the heat from Charlie’s body penetrated into his side. He closed his eyes, wondering how Charlie might feel pressed against him. Then he gritted his teeth. Somehow the music was making the whole experience of sitting next to her extra intimate.

The song finally ended and he breathed a sigh of relief. Which was a mistake. Dashlane had slid next to him at some point, sitting just to his right. And Charlie leaned against his left side in a way he wasn’t prepared for. Her shoulder and left breast brushing down his arm making everything inside him rock hard.

“She’s so wonderful, Lord Dashlane,” Charlie gushed, her breath tickling across Raithe’s neck.

“That was excellent,” Raithe called over the clapping. “You’ve a gift.” He needed to focus on anything other than the woman pressed to his side.

“Thank you,” Cordelia said, giving him a smile.

From his left, Dashlane let out a gurgle deep in his throat. “She’s taken,” he gritted out the words through clenched teeth.

Raithe looked at the other man. He’d do nearly anything to ignore how Charlie’s touch was affecting him. “Dashlane,” Balstead drawled, meeting Dashlane’s angry gaze with an unspoken challenge. “I do believe you’re getting sand on my arm.”

Dashlane grimaced, rising from his seat even as Charlie eased back, giving him room to breathe.

What was he doing here?

But he knew. Even as he’d realized the men were taken, already engaged, he’d realized that another person in this room could help Cassandra. She was young and beautiful with all of London at her feet. Lady Charlotte Summerset was one of the few people he might be able to coerce into helping Cassandra. What he needed to discover was what Charlie would ask for in return.

Chapter Three

Dinner was lovely as always, though Charlie had been distracted by the man who remained next to her. He’d said little since the music room, but she felt his presence like a physical touch. She fiddled with the stem of her glass as she gave him another sidelong glance. Was he as aware of her as she was of him?

And how did one go about getting sensitive information from a man she hardly knew? And one who stole her breath every time he moved even the slightest bit?

“I need to speak with you,” he whispered softly, barely looking her way.

Her eyebrows lifted. That was convenient. “Good. I want to speak with you too.”

His lips pressed together making the angles of his face even more prominent. “You want to speak with me?”

She gave a small nod, leaning toward him once again. Why did she keep doing that? She was like a moth drawn to a flame. “I have some questions.”

“Questions?” The thin line of his lips turned down into a decided frown. “What sort of questions?”

She most definitely was not answering that yet. “When the men go up to smoke. Excuse yourself. I’ll meet you in the garden.”

Then she straightened, turning away from Balstead. The last thing she needed to do was make Mr. Moorish or her cousin suspicious.

Soon enough everyone stood, the men retreating to wherever it was they took themselves off to while the women made their way back to the music room.

She took a deep breath. “I find that champagne has given me an awful headache.” She started rubbing her temples.

Mr. Moorish was an avid Shakespeare fan and she suspected he’d had a secret wish to be an actor. The Moorish girls had grown up putting on plays. Which meant acting was a dangerous endeavor when trying to trick them.

But fortunately, Cordelia turned around, giving her a sympathetic glance. “That’s happened to me too. Go to bed and take a bit of laudanum.”

Charlie gave a forlorn nod, parting from the group and heading to the back stair. But she didn’t go up, rather down. She crept down the hall until she reached the kitchen door. Opening it as slowly as possible, she slipped out and back around the side of the house to the garden.

She wasn’t certain how long she’d have to wait, so she searched for a good place to hide. Somewhere she could see the patio doors and perhaps the kitchen too.

“For a woman who made an illicit meeting, you’re doing a terrible job of hiding yourself.”

Balstead. Sh

e spun about seeing the glow of a cigar coming from the shadows. “You’ll have to forgive me. This is my very first one.”