Nine Rules to Break When Romancing a Rake

He paused in the act of opening the folded sheet and, curiosity in his blue eyes, watched her approach. She placed one hand over his, taking hold of the paper and attempting to pull it from his fingers, but his grip tightened.

“Why not?” he asked, his words smooth and teasing.

“It’s mine.”

“It seems you misplaced it.”

“I wouldn’t have if you hadn’t taken it upon yourself to unbind my—” She stopped, unwilling to finish the sentence.

His raised a brow. “Yes, well, I’m certainly not going to apologize for that.”

She squared her shoulders, attempting her most regal of poses. “Nevertheless, it’s my property.”

With a quick move of his wrist, Ralston ensured that she had lost her grip on the paper and he, once more, was in full possession of her list. Her heart jumped into her throat as he moved to open it once more. “Please, Gabriel. Don’t.”

Whether because of the use of his given name, or because of her pleading tone, he would never know, but Ralston stayed his movement, instead meeting her gaze, and saying, “What is it, Callie?”

She shook her head, looking away from him, and stammered, “It’s nothing…It’s silly…It’s personal.”

“Tell me what it is, and I shan’t look at it.”

Her eyes flew to his. “That rather defeats the purpose of your not looking at it, doesn’t it?” she said, peevishly.

He was silent, turning the crinkled paper over and over in his hand. She sighed, irritated. “Fine. It’s a list.” She put out one hand, as though he would place the paper in her palm, and that would be that.

His look turned quizzical. “What kind of list?”

“A personal list,” she said, attempting to infuse her voice with ladylike disdain, hoping the tone would make him feel ungentlemanly and relinquish this particular battle.

“A personal shopping list? A list of inappropriate books you’d like to read? A list of men?” She blushed at the thought, and he paused, his eyes widening. “Dear God, Callie, is it a list of men?”

She stomped her foot in irritation. “Good heavens, no! It isn’t really relevant what the list contains, Ralston. What is relevant is that it belongs to me.”

“Not a good answer, Empress,” he said, and began to unfold the paper.

“Wait!” She placed a hand over his once more. She couldn’t bear the idea of him seeing her secret desires. Refusing to meet his gaze, she said, “If you must know, it is a list of…activities…that I would like to try.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Activities. Most of which men can partake in but women are barred from for fear of our delicate reputations. I’ve decided that, considering few care a whit for my reputation, I have no reason to sit quietly whiling away the rest of my days doing needlepoint with my sisters in spinsterhood. I am tired of being thought of as passive.”

He raised a brow. “You may be many things, Empress. But I would never label you as passive.”

What a lovely thing for him to say.

She swallowed, closing her fingers over the edge of the paper.

He watched her fingers, so closely entwined with his own, as he considered her words. He could not help but be intrigued. “So, this a list of actions that Lady Calpurnia believes constitute living.”

She recognized the words from their earlier conversation. Perhaps if he had spoken them prior to their interlude on the floor of the practice room, she would have agreed with them. Those few, precious moments in Ralston’s arms, however, had changed everything. In that embrace, Callie had really lived. She had finally experienced the life she’d dreamed of since that first chance meeting with Ralston, a decade—a century—ago. And now, drinking scotch rather paled in comparison—tavern or no. Of course she couldn’t tell him that.

“The list is mine. I would appreciate your returning it, unopened. This conversation is embarrassing enough, I should think.”

He neither responded nor released the paper, forcing her to meet his eyes. He must have seen the truth in hers, because he relinquished his prize. She refolded the paper and inserted it into the pocket of her jacket with all speed. He watched her movements carefully before saying, “I gather fencing is on this list?”

She nodded.

“And scotch?”

Another nod.

“What else?”

Kissing. “Gambling.”

“Dear Lord. And?”

“Cheroot.”

He snorted. “Well that shall be a difficult one. Not even I would let you smoke a cheroot. And my morals are questionable at best.”

His words, so supercilious, set her on edge. “Actually, my lord, I have already crossed that particular item off my list.”

“How? Who gave you a cheroot?”

“Benedick.”

“Of all the irresponsible things—” Ralston paused, amazed. “I shall have his head.”

“That’s what he said about you and scotch.”

He let out a bark of laughter. “Yes, I imagine he did. So he knows about this ridiculous list?”

“Actually, no. Only my maid knows.” She paused. “And, well…now you.”

“I wonder what your brother will say when he finds out I wounded you at his fencing club?”

The question, so calm, sent her eyes flying to his. “You wouldn’t!” she said incredulously.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said, retrieving her gloves and passing them to her.

Taking the gloves, she let them hang from distracted fingers. “You can’t!”

“Whyever not?”

“Think of—” She paused, considering her words. “Think of what it would say about you!”

He smiled, making a production of pulling on his own gloves. “It would say I am a rake and a libertine. And I think we’ve already established the truth in that.” The words were spoken in a tone that only underscored their truth, and Callie’s ears burned as she recognized them as those she had flung at him in anger at the theatre several evenings earlier.

He pressed on. “Not to mention the fact that you have to exit the club without being discovered by any number of other men who would be more than happy to regale your brother—and legions of others—with tales of your indiscretion. You may have arrived at a quiet time of day, Empress, but it’s nigh on five o’clock now. The hallways will be teeming with men, eager to have their afternoon exercise before returning home for dinner and the evening’s festivities.”

She hadn’t considered that. She’d been so focused on getting into the fencing club that she hadn’t really imagined that leaving would be just as much of a challenge—perhaps more. Now that he had drawn her attention to their presence, she could hear shouts of male laughter and raucous conversation coming from other members of the club as they passed, unknowing, just outside the room. She quashed a flood of embarrassment at the notion that any one of those men could have entered minutes ago and caught them in the midst of a highly inappropriate act.

“Of course, I would be happy to keep quiet”—his words broke into her thoughts—“and to help you escape from the difficulty in which you seem to have found yourself. For a price.”

Her brows snapped together, and she looked at him warily. “What price?”

He lifted her mask and handed it to her. “I shall protect your reputation today if you allow me to do so for the duration of your list.”

Her jaw dropped.

“Ah,” he said genially, “I see you take my meaning. Yes. If I discover that you’ve completed another item on that list without my escort, I shall tell your brother everything.”

She was silent for a long moment, emotions flaring. “That’s blackmail.”

“A loathsome word. But if you must label it such, so be it. I assure you it’s for the best. You obviously need a chaperone and, for the good of both of our families, I am offering my services.”

“You can’t…”

“It would seem that I can,” he said, matt

er-of-factly. “Now, you can either put on your mask and let me help you exit this club, or you can put it on and take your chances on your own. Which will it be?”

She met his eyes for a long moment. As much as she wanted to leave him there, smug expression on his face, and find her own way out of the mess, she knew that his would likely be the quickest and easiest exit strategy.

Callie donned her mask, taking her time as she tucked her hair up under the cowl, away from view. When she was done, she spoke, her words muffled by the wire mesh.

“It would seem I haven’t much of a choice.”

He smiled wickedly, sending a shock of excitement through her. “Capital.”

Fourteen

No! No! Non! Miss Juliana, ladies should be all daintiness while dancing! You are meeting my gaze altogether too often!”

As the dance master spoke, his affront clear as day, Callie turned toward the massive floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the impressive Ralston House gardens and hid her smile. The small, effete Frenchman was Juliana’s least favorite teacher despite being one of the finest dancing masters in England; the two had very different opinions on the importance of dancing in the life of a young woman, and Callie had a sneaking suspicion that young Miss Fiori enjoyed irritating him.

“Apologies, Monsieur Latuffe,” Juliana said, her tone indicating absolutely no remorse. “I was merely trying to ensure that I knew your whereabouts—and did not tread upon your toes.”

The dance master’s eyes widened. “Miss Juliana! Neither do young ladies presume to discuss toe treading. If such a horrible thing should occur, I assure you that your partner will not notice. For, ladies, when dancing, should be light as air.”

Juliana’s laugh was rife with disbelief, sending Latuffe into a fit of sputtering hysterics. Callie covered her mouth to keep her own laughter from spilling out—thereby ruining her image as an impartial bystander.

Callie had been overseeing the lesson from a settee on the far end of the ballroom for the better part of an hour, but as Juliana and Monsieur Latuffe had progressed through the steps of several country dances, a quadrille, and now a minuet, the patience of both parties had worn thin, and Callie was finding herself unable to hide her amusement at their bickering. Affixing what she hoped was a neutral expression upon her face, she turned back to Juliana and Latuffe.

The Frenchman was stalking across the bare floor, arms flailing, toward the pianoforte, where the pianist who had been hired for the afternoon’s lessons was looking more than a little uncertain. Placing one hand to his heart and the other on the edge of the piano, Latuffe made a show of taking several deep, calming breaths between harried French muttering. One side of Callie’s mouth twitched as she almost certainly heard him take the names of the Island of Great Britain, Italian females, and the quadrille in vain. She had to admit to a modicum of surprise at the last—Juliana must be quite a trial if he was ready to give up his faith in dance.

Approaching Juliana, Callie met the younger woman’s blue eyes, which were immediately rolled in exasperation. Flashing a grin, Callie whispered, “You’ve only another twenty minutes. Do attempt to suffer through.”

Juliana spoke through gritted teeth. “I’m doing this for you, you realize.”

Callie squeezed the younger woman’s arm, and said, “A fact for which I shall be forever grateful.”

Juliana snickered as the dance master turned abruptly. “It is no matter,” he said, firmly. “We shall move on to the waltz. Surely, even a young lady such as you must respect the waltz.”

Juliana’s eyes widened. She looked at Callie, and whispered, “A young lady such as I?”

It was Callie’s turn to snicker as the Frenchman swept a surprised Juliana into his arms and, in an act that belied his diminutive size, whirled her across the ballroom floor to a rousing tune. Callie smiled genially at the obviously relieved pianist and watched as the pair swayed and turned with the music. As they danced, Latuffe kept up his litany of do’s and don’ts—Juliana was chastised in quick succession for having too firm a grip, too rigid a form, and, finally, too wild a look in her eye. Callie had a rather firm suspicion that the wild look would be less of an issue once the younger woman was out of her dance master’s grasp.

Callie couldn’t help the wide grin that had settled on her face, especially when Juliana looked her instructor square in the eye and stomped quite deliberately upon his foot. I rather expect that belied the theory that young ladies are light as air while dancing.

“Is it I, or is my sister requiring her exorbitantly expensive dancing instructor to earn every shilling?” The words, spoken at a close proximity, surprised Callie, and she whirled toward the sound to discover Nicholas St. John standing nearby, his amused attention focused on Juliana.

Callie ignored the burst of emotion in her chest, unwilling to define it as either disappointment or relief that this was the St. John who had made an appearance that afternoon. Instead, she offered Nick a bright smile, and said, “I think that given the opportunity, your sister would enjoy roundly trouncing Monsieur Latuffe.”

Nick watched silently for a long moment, during which Juliana and her dance master had rousing words about the appropriateness of young ladies smiling at other gentlemen—even her brothers—while waltzing. Turning back to Callie, Nick said, “Yes, well, I’m not entirely certain I would reprimand her for doing so.”

Callie laughed. “Between us, I’m rather tempted to allow her free rein.”

“Retribution for past dance masters?”

“That…and the supreme enjoyment of the circus that would almost certainly ensue.”

Nick raised one brow. “Why, Lady Calpurnia. I confess, I hadn’t pegged you for such a wicked sense of humor.”

“No. No! Non!” The explosion of negativity from the far end of the room interrupted Nick and Callie’s banter, causing them to share an amused look as the dance master blustered. “It is the gentleman who leads the young lady. I am the gentleman. You follow! You are merely a leaf in the wind!”

The analogy spurred a burst of irate Italian. While Callie did not wholly understand the words, Juliana’s meaning was unmistakable.

Nick flashed a grin at Callie. “I do not imagine women take well to being compared to foliage.”

“Certainly not Italian women, it seems.”

Her words drew a bark of laughter from him which, in turn, drew a pair of angry looks from the other couple. Clearing his throat, Nick turned to Callie and, holding out a hand, said, “Shall we show them how it is done?”

Callie looked down at the proffered hand, dumbfounded. “My lord?”

“Come now, Lady Calpurnia,” he whispered teasingly, “never tell me you are afraid that Latuffe will critique your form.”

Callie squared her shoulders in mock affront. “Certainly not.”

“Well then?”

She placed her hand in his.

“Excellent.”

And, with a wave of the hand at the pianist, who began another waltz, Nick swept her into his arms and they started across the room. As they dipped and turned their way through the sun-drenched ballroom, Callie craned her neck to keep watch over the bickering Juliana and Latuffe.

“Lady Calpurnia,” Nick said finally, “I would be offended by your lack of interest were I not so very sure of myself.”

Callie snapped her attention back to Nick at the words, only to laugh at the twinkle in his eye. “Apologies, my lord. I am merely preparing to enter the fray should the two of them come to blows.”

“Never fear. I shall be the first to leap to Latuffe’s aid should my sister act on the emotions with which she so clearly struggles.” He tilted his head toward Juliana, and Callie looked in that direction, to find his sister looking thoroughly annoyed.

“’Twould be a pity if Italy and France were to war so soon after Napoleon was bested,” Callie said, wryly.

Nick grinned. “I shall do my best to foster a universal peace.”

“Excellent,” C

allie said, with mock seriousness. “But you do understand that may require playing dance master yourself?”

Nick pretended to consider the proposition. “Do you think the pianist would come back?”

Enjoying their game, Callie tilted her head and made a show of considering the wiry young man at the pianoforte. “Likely not, my lord. Aren’t you lucky that your brother is a virtuoso?”

The words were out before she could consider their implication. To Nick’s credit, he did not miss a step of their waltz, instead fixing her with an intrigued look, and quietly asking, “And, how do you know that my brother plays, my lady?”

Callie hedged, desperate for an escape from the conversation. “It is…quite…well-known, is it not?” She attempted a curious, innocent look.

One side of Nick’s mouth kicked up in amusement. “No. It isn’t. Yours would have been a convincing effort, however, were I not his twin brother.” He paused, watching as defeat fell across her face. “When have you heard him play?”

Callie’s mouth opened, then closed.

“Or should I ask, where have you heard him play?”

Was he teasing her? She was caught, but would not go down without a fight. Meeting Nick’s eyes again, she said, “Nowhere.”

He leaned close and whispered. “Liar.”

“My lord,” she protested, “I assure you that Lord Ralston has not…”

“There’s no need for you to defend him,” Nick said casually. “You forget I know my brother well.”

“But we haven’t—” Callie stopped, feeling a telltale spread of heat across her cheeks.

Nick raised one eyebrow. “Indeed.”

Callie turned her gaze to Nick’s cravat, attempting to distract herself with the cambric knot. He allowed her to remain quiet for several moments before he let out a rich laugh. “Never fear, my lady, your secret is safe with me, although I confess a twinge of jealousy. After all, it is well-known that I am by far the handsomer St. John.”