Nine Rules to Break When Romancing a Rake

Callie swallowed back a nervous laugh, edging toward the door. “My lord. I am quite honored that you would think of me…” She paused, attempting to find the appropriate words to delicately refuse.

And then his arms had snaked around her and his lips were on hers, wet and soft and not at all pleasant. His tongue pushed into her mouth, and Callie recoiled from the touch, her hands flying up to his shoulders to stay his advances. He mistook the movement for a caress and pressed on, towering over her, crowding her into the wall until she felt the hard edge of the doorjamb pressing into the back of her as he pulled back briefly to whisper, “Do not be shy. We shan’t be caught. And if we are, we are betrothed.”

Callie leaned away from the baron, shaking her head at his unmatched arrogance. The idea that she would simply collapse into gratitude at the mere hint of a proposal would have stung if it weren’t so preposterous. Pushing against him with all her might, Callie said, “I am afraid you are severely misguided.” He stopped his advancement as she squeezed out from between him and the wall. “I have no intention of marrying you. I should like you to leave.”

Oxford blinked twice, as though unable to comprehend her decision. “You cannot be serious.”

The irony of the situation was not lost on Callie. After twenty-eight years of waiting for someone, anyone, to show interest in her, two men propose to her and she rejects both suits. Was she mad?

“Indeed, I am quite serious. It appears that you have mistaken my friendship.”

“Friendship!” Oxford sneered, sending a bolt of fear through Callie at the harsh change in his tone. “You think I’m looking for friendship? On the contrary. I’m looking for a wife.” He spat the words at her as though she were addle-pated.

Callie recoiled instinctively from him, surprised by this new Oxford—gone was the brightly smiling vapid dandy, replaced by an angry, unpleasant man. “Then it appears you have been laboring under a misapprehension that I am seeking a husband.”

Oxford’s lip curled, and he spoke, rudely. “Come now. You cannot expect me to believe that you haven’t been dreaming of this. Isn’t this the moment of which all aging spinsters dream?”

She pulled herself up to her full, proud height. “Certainly, Lord Oxford, we dream of proposals of marriage. We simply do not dream of them coming from you.”

She watched as rage passed over him, and he stiffened, his face turned a shocking shade of red. Ordinarily, she would have taken some pride in such a transformation, but instead, fleetingly, she thought he might strike her. He did not, instead pulling back and freeing her from his stifling closeness. She watched as rage turned to disgust, and she finally saw what he really felt for her—complete and utter disdain.

“You are making a terrible mistake,” he warned.

“I sincerely doubt that.” Callie’s words turned cold, her defenses raised. “This conversation is over.”

He stared at her, eyes glittering with anger, as she turned resolutely away, returning her attention to the dark gardens beyond. “I’m the best offer you’ll ever have. You think anyone would actually want a piglet like you?” The words were meant to sting, and they did. She kept her back straight as he exited the room, and she listened to his footsteps disappear, returning him to the ballroom, before she came back to her chair.

And then she let out a long sigh, feeling the strength leave her as Oxford’s horrible words repeated themselves over and over inside her head. Of course, he was right. She’d received two proposals in her lifetime, and neither of them had had anything to do with her. Oxford had needed the money he would receive from her dowry, and Ralston…Ralston was attempting to keep her reputation intact which, while honorable, was not exactly the most romantic of notions. Why couldn’t someone, somewhere, want her for her?

Tears sprang to her eyes at the thought. What a thorough mess. She bowed her head and slumped, her shoulders squeezing the back of a padded chair positioned near the door as hard as she could, her muscles protesting the movement. She took deep, cleansing breaths and wondered how long she could stay in this room without being missed.

“You should not be here by yourself.”

She stiffened at the firm words, but did not turn around, unwilling to show her tear-stained face to Ralston. “How did you know I was here?”

“I saw Oxford coming from this direction. Did something happen? Are you all right?”

Instead, she whispered into the darkness, “Please go away.”

There was a pause, followed by a shift in the air around them as he stepped closer, reaching out to her. “Callie?” he said, and the quiet concern in his voice tore at her heart. “Are you all right? My God. Did Oxford touch you? I’ll kill him.”

She took another deep breath. “No…No. He did nothing. I am fine. I should just appreciate your leaving before my…reputation…becomes an issue.”

He gave a little laugh. “I think we’re rather past that, don’t you think?” She didn’t respond, and he pressed on, speaking to the back of her head. “That’s part of why I came to find you.”

She kept her viselike grip on the chair. “Ralston, please. Just leave.”

“I cannot,” he stepped closer, setting his hands to her shoulders as he spoke, his tone at once pleading and enticing. “Callie, you must give me a chance to convince you that my offer is a good one. Please. Marry me.”

It was all too much. She couldn’t bear it. Tears came again, fast and uncontrollable and entirely embarrassing. She stayed quiet, willing herself not to make a sound to give away her sorrow. He whispered again, close to her ear, the words so tempting and lovely. “Marry me.”

She bowed her head again. “I cannot.”

A pause. “Why?”

“I—I don’t want to marry you.” The untruth was almost too much to bear.

Anger began to edge into his voice. “I don’t believe you.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Look at me and say it.”

There was a long pause as the words hung between them, and Callie considered her options. She had no choice. She turned and looked at him, thanking her Maker that her face remained in shadow as she did. Her voice trembling, she repeated, “I don’t want to marry you.”

He shook his head slowly. “I don’t believe you. You do want me. Do you think I haven’t noticed how compatible we are? Intellectually? Physically?” When she didn’t respond he said, “Shall I prove it to you again?” His lips were so close to hers, and she was so aware of him. The breath of his words caressed her in a way that made her want nothing more than to close the scant distance between them and take the kiss she yearned for. “You know I shall give you everything.”

She closed her eyes against the words and their dark promise. “Not everything,” she said, sadness in her tone.

“Everything I can give you,” he vowed, reaching up to touch her face and pulling back when she flinched, almost violently.

“And what shall happen when that is not enough?” The question fell between them.

He brought a hand down hard on the chair behind her, and Callie flinched at the sound that his palm made on the wood. “What more do you want, Callie? I’m rich. I’m handsome…”

She cut him off with a pained, frustrated laugh. “Do you think I care about any of that?” she said, angry and sad and hurt all at the same time, “I’d have you poor and ugly—I don’t care—as long as you—”

His gaze narrowed on her as she stopped the flow of words. “As long as I, what?”

As long as you loved me.

She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.

He let out a harsh breath and tried again, confusion making him frustrated and angry. “What do you want from me? Name it, and I’ll give it to you! I’m a marquess, for God’s sake!”

That was it. She’d had enough. “I don’t care if you’re the bloody king. I’m not marrying you!”

“Why the hell not?”

“Any number of reasons!”

?

??Give me one decent reason!” He was so close to her, so angry, and she said the first thing that came into her head.

“Because I love you!”

They were both surprised by the words. He recovered first. “What?”

She shook her head, tears spilling over. When she spoke, her voice was laced with self-deprecating humor, her only defense against this awful, awkward moment. “Please, don’t make me say it again.”

“I—” He stopped, uncertain of his words.

“You don’t have to say anything. In fact, I’d prefer you not say anything. But there it is. I can’t marry you. Because it would kill me to spend the rest of my days with you when you are only marrying me out of some newfound—and misplaced—sense of honor and duty.”

He watched her for long moments, followed the tears as they traveled, unhindered, down her cheeks. “I—” He repeated, for the first time in his life entirely without words.

She couldn’t bear to look at him. “Do you remember the night in your bedchamber?” she whispered. “When we negotiated the terms of our transaction?”

The night everything changed. “Of course I do.”

“Do you remember you promised me a favor? Of my choosing? In the future?”

A feeling of cold dread settled in the pit of his stomach. All of a sudden, he knew what she was going to say. “Callie, don’t do this.”

“I’m asking you to honor that promise. Right now. Please, just go away.”

The pain in her voice was heartbreaking, and Ralston itched to touch her, to comfort her. Instead, he raked his hands through his hair, cursing violently. “Callie—” He stopped, not knowing what to say but determined to say something, anything, that would convince her that she should marry him.

She held up a single hand, and Ralston had a fleeting moment of surprise at its steadiness. “Please, Gabriel. If you care for me at all,” she repeated, “please, just go away. Go away and leave me alone.”

And, because it was the one request she’d made that he could honor, he did.

Callie sat for a long while in the quiet room, allowing the darkness to surround her. The tears that came were fleeting, soon replaced by a bone-deep sadness that came with the sense of finality that the interaction with Ralston had brought.

For, in that moment, she knew with utter certainty that she would be alone forever. Refusing Ralston’s suit so summarily had ruined her for all others. For, if she could not have him, she would never want anyone else.

Perhaps she had made a mistake. Perhaps she could have loved him enough for both of them. But could she survive a lifetime of knowing that he never really wanted her? That he had proposed simply because it was the thing to do? That, left to his own devices, he would have found someone infinitely more worldly? Infinitely more beautiful? Infinitely…more?

No. She couldn’t bear it. Refusing him had been her only option.

She wiped a stray tear from her cheek and sniffled quietly, knowing she should return to the ball but unable to make the effort.

“Callie?”

The whisper, barely a sound, came from the doorway and Callie snapped her head around to face Juliana, who was peering through the dim light to confirm that the woman in the darkness was, indeed, her friend.

Dashing another tear from her cheek, Callie sat up in her chair, facing the younger girl. “Juliana, you should not be here, alone!”

At the words, Juliana closed the door firmly behind her and crossed to Callie, sitting on a nearby ottoman. “I am quite tired of being told what I should and should not do. You are here, are you not? I am not so alone now!”

Callie smiled a watery smile at the girl’s defense. “That much is true.”

“And it looks as though you could use a companion, amica. As could I.”

Callie blinked, focusing on Juliana’s face, registering her blue eyes, rounded and…hurt? Callie pushed her own sadness aside, and said, “What has happened?”

Juliana waved one hand with what Callie knew was feigned dismissiveness. “I wandered away from the celebration and became lost.”

Callie’s look softened. “Juliana, you cannot allow them to upset you.”

Juliana’s lips twisted wryly. “I am not upset. Indeed, I find myself eager to show them what I am capable of.”

Callie smiled at the younger girl, “Yes! That is how you must face them. Proud, and strong, and wonderfully you. They shall not be able to resist you. I guarantee it!”

Juliana’s face shadowed for a moment—so fleeting that Callie almost missed it. “Some shall resist me, it seems.”

Callie shook her head, placing a warm, reassuring hand on the other girl’s knee. “I vow they shan’t be able to for long.”

“May I tell you something?” Juliana bowed closer until their foreheads almost touched.

“Always.”

“I have decided to stay here. In England.”

“You have?” Callie’s eyes widened as the words registered. “But, that’s wonderful!” She clapped her hands with pleasure. “When did you come to your decision?”

“Just moments ago.”

Callie sat back. “The ball decided your fate?”

The younger woman nodded firmly. “Indeed. I cannot simply allow these aristocratic nobs…”—she paused, pleased with her use of the slang—“to scare me off. If I were to return to Italy, who would set them to rights?”

Callie laughed. “Excellent! I shall take great pleasure in watching them all tumble!” She squeezed Juliana’s hands in hers. “And your brothers, Juliana…they shall be thrilled.”

Juliana beamed. “Yes…I suppose they will.” Her expression quickly turned serious as she looked into Callie’s eyes. “However, I am not certain that Gabriel deserves such good news.”

Callie looked down at her lap.

It was Juliana’s turn to take Callie’s hands in hers. “Callie, what happened?”

“Nothing happened.”

Your brother merely broke my heart. That is all.

Juliana waited for Callie to look up again and, when she did, her eyes liquid with tears, the younger woman searched her gaze for answers. After a very long moment, Juliana seemed to find what she was looking for.

Squeezing her friend’s hands, she said, “You must face him proud, and strong, and wonderfully you.”

The words, an echo of those Callie had spoken only moments earlier, sent her tears spilling over, coursing down her cheeks in long, silent tracks.

Instantly, Juliana moved to perch next to Callie on the chair, pulling her into a strong, powerful embrace.

And, as Juliana held her, Callie whispered the words she could no longer deny.

“But what if I am not enough?”

Twenty-two

Ralston exited the ball immediately. Leaving the carriage for his siblings, he departed on foot, heading in the direction of Ralston House, no more than a quarter of a mile away.

For his entire life, he’d been avoiding precisely this moment: He had eschewed relationships with women with whom he had too much in common; he had avoided matchmaking mamas at all costs, out of fear that he might actually like the women they attempted to foist upon him. He’d grown up in a household destroyed by a woman, marred by an unrequited love that had eaten away at his father, who had eventually died of the affliction—too heartbroken for too long to fight the fever to which he had ultimately succumbed.

And now, he was faced with Callie, fresh-faced, open-hearted, charming, intelligent Callie, who seemed to be everything that his mother had not been, and yet, was equally as dangerous as the former marchioness. For, when she’d looked at him with those stunning brown eyes and professed her love, Ralston had lost his ability to think.

And when she had begged him to leave, he had known precisely what his father had felt when his mother had left—the sense of complete and utter helplessness, as though he were watching a part of himself being stolen away but could do nothing at all to stop it.

It was a terrifying

feeling. And if it was love, he wanted none of it.

It was raining, a fine London mist that seemed to come from all directions, casting a shining, wet glow over the darkened city and rendering umbrellas useless. Ralston was blind to the wet, his thoughts clouded by a vision of Callie, tears streaming down her face, devastated—and all because of him.

If he were honest with himself, he would admit that he’d been destined to make a mess of the situation since the moment she’d arrived on the threshold of his bedchamber—all big, brown eyes and full, tempting lips—asking him to kiss her. If he’d paid closer attention, he would have realized then that she was going to wreak marvelous havoc on his perfectly satisfactory life.

Tonight she had given him an opportunity to walk away—to return to that life. To spend his days at his men’s club, and his sporting club, and his taverns and to forget that he’d ever found himself entangled with an adventurous wallflower who appeared to be entirely unaware of society’s boundaries.

He should have leapt at the chance to be rid of the vexing woman.

But now there were memories of her in all of those places. And now, when Ralston considered his life prior to the night she’d barged into his bedchamber, it didn’t seem satisfactory at all. It seemed sorely lacking in laughter and in conversation and in entirely inappropriate visits to taverns and clubs with adventuresome females. It was lacking in wide smiles and lush curves and insane lists. It was lacking in Callie.

And the prospect of returning to a life without her was dismal, indeed.

He had been walking for several hours, having passed Ralston House multiple times as he roamed the darkened city, mind racing. His greatcoat was soaked through when he finally looked up, only to find himself outside Allendale House. The house was dark, save for a light in a lower-level room facing the side gardens, and Ralston stood for a long moment considering that golden glow.

The decision was made.

He knocked on the door and, when the aging butler, whom he’d terrorized previously, opened the door, eyes wide with recognition, Ralston had one thing to say. “I am here to see your master.”