Nine Rules to Break When Romancing a Rake

The butler seemed to sense the importance of the matter because he did not argue the lateness of the hour or speculate that, perhaps, the Earl of Allendale might not be in. Instead, he indicated that Ralston should wait and shuffled off to announce the visitor.

In less than a minute, he was back, taking Ralston’s sopping coat and hat and indicating that he should see his way into the earl’s study. Ralston entered the large, well-lit room and closed the door behind him to find Benedick leaning on the edge of a large oak desk, eyeglasses on the tip of his nose, reading from a sheaf of papers. He looked up when the latch clicked. “Ralston,” he acknowledged.

Ralston dipped his head. “Thank you for seeing me.”

Benedick cocked a smile, setting the papers down on his desk. “I was having a rather boring evening, frankly. You are a welcome distraction.”

“I’m not sure you’ll think so after you hear what I’ve come to say.”

One of the earl’s eyebrows lifted. “Well, then, I think you should out with it, then, don’t you?”

“I’ve compromised your sister.”

At first, there was no indication that Benedick heard Ralston’s confession. He did not move, or take his gaze from his visitor. And then he came to his full height and slowly removed his glasses, setting them on top of the papers he’d discarded before walking toward Ralston.

Standing in front of Ralston, Benedick said, “I assume we are talking about Callie?”

Ralston’s gaze did not waver. “Yes.”

“I don’t suppose that you are overstating the situation?”

“No. I’ve compromised her. Quite thoroughly.”

Benedick nodded thoughtfully, then punched him.

Ralston didn’t see the blow coming; he reeled backward, pain exploding in his cheek. When he straightened, Benedick was shaking off the residual sting in his hand calmly. He said, apologetically, “I had to do it.”

Ralston nodded calmly, testing the tender skin around his eye. “I wouldn’t have expected anything less.”

Benedick moved to a low table nearby and poured two tumblers of scotch. Offering one to Ralston, he said, “I suppose you had better explain yourself.”

Accepting the glass, Ralston said, “It’s quite simple, actually. I’ve compromised your sister, and I should like to marry her.”

Benedick sat down in a large leather chair and watched Ralston carefully for a moment. “If it is so simple, why did you arrive at my home sopping wet in the middle of the night?”

Taking the chair across from the earl, Ralston said, “Well, I suppose it is simple to me.”

“Ah.” Understanding dawned. “Callie has refused you.”

“Your sister is infuriating.”

“She does have a tendency to be so.”

“She won’t marry me. So I am here to enlist your help.”

“Of course she will marry you,” Benedick said, and a wave of relief coursed through Ralston—far more powerful than he would have liked to admit. “But I shan’t force her. You’re going to have to convince her.”

The relief was short-lived. “I’ve tried. She won’t hear reason.”

Benedick laughed at the surprise and frustration in Ralston’s voice. “Spoken like someone who did not grow up with sisters. They never hear reason.”

Ralston gave a small smile. “Yes, I’m beginning to see that.”

“Has she told you why she won’t marry you?”

Ralston took a long pull of scotch and considered his reply. “She says she loves me.”

Benedick’s eyes widened before he said, “That seems like a reason to marry someone.”

“My thoughts exactly.” He leaned forward in his chair. “How do I convince her of that?”

Benedick leaned back in his chair, met Ralston’s scowl and took pity on him. “Callie is a hopeless romantic. She has been since she was a little girl. It’s the natural result of our being the products of a complete and utter love match, her reading every romantic novel she could get her hands on over the last twenty years, and my own encouragement of her resistance to the institution of the loveless marriage. I’m not surprised she won’t marry you without the promise of love. So, it raises the question: Do you love her?”

“I—” Ralston stopped, his mind racing. Did he love her?

One side of Benedick’s mouth kicked up as he watched the thoughts play over Ralston’s face. “You shall have to do better than that when she asks you, old man.”

“I would make her a good husband.”

“I do not doubt it.”

“I’ve the money, the lands, the title to do it.”

“If I know Callie, she doesn’t care about any of that.”

“She does not. Which is yet another reason why she is legions better than I deserve. But you should care. So I am telling you.”

Benedick’s rich brown gaze locked with Ralston’s firm one, and understanding passed between them. “I appreciate it.”

“Then I have your blessing?”

“To marry her? Yes, but it is not my agreement you must secure.”

“I shan’t force her. But in order to convince her, I need some time with her. Alone. I should like it sooner rather than later.”

Benedick took a sip of scotch and watched Ralston carefully. Noting the frustration in his eyes, the tension in his form, the earl took pity on the man whom his sister was running ragged. “If Callie is half as distraught as you appear to be right now, she is in the library.”

Ralston’s brows snapped together. “Why would you tell me that?”

One side of Benedick’s mouth kicked up. “Suffice it to say I don’t like the idea of my sister even half as distraught as you look. Try the library. I shan’t bother you. But, dear God, don’t get caught by my mother, or there will be hell to pay.”

Ralston smiled halfheartedly at Benedick’s jest. “I shall try my best to keep a low profile, but, to be honest, your mother demanding I make it right might be the best way to secure precisely what I want.” He stood, squaring his shoulders as though he were about to do battle. Looking down at Benedick, he said, “Thank you. I promise that I shall consider it my life’s work to make her happy.”

Benedick tipped his glass at the marquess in acknowledgment of the vow. “As long as you make it your day’s work tomorrow to secure a special license.”

Ralston nodded his head in solemn confirmation that he would marry Callie as soon as humanly possible and left the room, crossing the darkened, quiet foyer to the door of the library. He set his hand to the door handle cautiously and took a deep breath to calm his racing pulse. He’d never been so on edge; so concerned with the outcome of a conversation; so willing to do whatever it took to get what he wanted. And yet, here he was, certain that the next few minutes would be the most important of his life.

He pushed open the door, his eyes immediately finding her in the dim light. She was curled in one of the large leather chairs positioned by the fireplace, her back to the door, one elbow propped on the arm of the chair, holding her chin as she stared into the flames. He noticed the swath of blue satin that spilled over the edge of the chair to just barely brush the floor; she was still in the lovely blue dress she had been wearing at the ball earlier in the evening. She sighed as he closed the door quietly and approached her, noting the column of her neck, the soft skin that ran along her collarbone and down to the trimmed edge of her gown. He took a moment to stand behind her, admiring her relaxed form, as she said, “I really don’t want any company, Benny.”

He didn’t say anything in response, instead moving stealthily around the edge of her chair and seating himself on the ottoman that she had pushed to the side when she had sat down. She turned her head as he sat, her breath catching as she sat straight up and put her feet to the floor.

“What—what are you doing here?”

He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and said, “I tried to stay away. But there are some things I must say.”

She shook

her head, eyes wide. “If you’re caught…Benedick is in the other room! How did you get in?”

“Your brother let me in. He knows I’m here. And, I am afraid, Empress, that he is on my side.”

“You told him?” She was aghast.

“I did. You gave me little choice. Now, be quiet and listen, for I have much to say.”

Callie shook her head, not trusting herself to stand firm in her decision if he showered her with pretty words. “Gabriel—please don’t.”

“No. This is both of our lives you’re playing with now, Callie. I won’t have you making decisions without all the information.” She tucked her feet up under her and the image of her, curled into a little, sad ball, tugged at Gabriel’s heart. “You love me. Don’t you feel that you owe it to yourself to hear what I have to say on the matter?”

She squeezed her eyes shut and groaned in embarrassment, “Oh, God. Please don’t bring it up. I cannot believe I told you.”

He reached out and ran a finger down her cheek, he spoke in a deep, gravelly tone, “I shan’t let you take it back, you know.”

She opened her eyes, and the look in them was wide and clear and nearly stole his breath. “I don’t take it back.”

“Good,” he said, “Now listen to me.” He didn’t know where to begin, and so he spoke the words as they came. “My mother was very beautiful—dark hair, brilliant blue eyes, delicate features, like Juliana. She was barely older than Juliana when she left us—fled to the Continent to escape her family and her life here. My memories of her are vague, but I remember one thing with complete certainty. My father was mad for her.

“I can remember sneaking out of my bed to eavesdrop on their conversations late at night when I was small. On one particular evening, I heard the strangest noise coming from my father’s study, and I crept down the stairs, curious. The hallway was dark—it must have been very late—and the door to the study was ajar.”

He stopped, and Callie sat forward in her seat, a sense of dread coursing through her at the story, this critical memory. She waited for him to continue. She would have waited all night.

“I looked in, and I could see the graceful line of my mother’s back, so straight and unfeeling—the way she always was with Nick and me. She was standing at the center of the room in a perfectly pressed, unwrinkled gown of the palest lavender…” He paused, and spoke the next words with surprise, “It’s amazing how the details come so fresh so long after…” And then the story started up again.

“She was facing my father, who was kneeling at her feet—kneeling—both hands wrapped around one of hers, and he was crying.” The words were coming easier now, and Callie watched as his eyes glazed over, recounting the memory. “The sounds I had heard from above stairs were my father’s sobs. He was keening, begging her to stay. He pressed her cold, passionless hand to his cheek and professed his undying love, telling her that he loved her more than life, more than his sons, more than the world. He begged her to stay, repeating the words again and again, telling her again and again that he loved her, as though the words could stop her dispassionate glances, her cool responses to him, to her sons.

“She was gone the next morning. And so was he, in a sense.” He stopped, his mind stuck in the moment over twenty-five years earlier. “I swore two things that night. First, I would never eavesdrop again. And second, I would never become a victim of love. I started playing the piano that day…it was the only thing that could block out the sound of his sorrow.”

When he looked to Callie again, he noted the tears streaming silently down her cheeks, and his gaze cleared instantly. He reached out and took her face in his hands, brushing away the errant teardrops with his thumbs. “Oh, Callie, don’t cry.” He leaned in and kissed her softly, his lips warm and welcome against hers. Placing his forehead against hers, he smiled. “Don’t cry for me, Empress. I’m not worth it.”

“I’m not crying for you,” she said, placing her hand against his cheek. “I’m crying for that little boy who never had a chance to believe in love. And for your father, who obviously never experienced it either. Because that was infatuation, not love. Love isn’t one-sided and selfish. It is full and generous and life-altering in the best of ways. Love does not destroy, Gabriel. It creates.”

He considered her words and the emotion in them, her vehement belief in the emotion that he had been avoiding for his entire adult life. And he told her the truth. “I cannot promise you love, Callie. The part of me that could have…that might have been…has been closed off for so long. But what I can tell you is this…I will do my damnedest to be a kind and good and generous husband. I will work to give you the life you deserve. And if I have my way, you will never doubt how much I care for you.”

He came off the ottoman, onto his knees, and Callie could not help but see the parallel between that moment and the story he had told about his parents. “Please, Callie. Please, do me the very great honor of becoming my wife.” The words came on a fervent, poignant whisper, and Callie was lost. How could she deny him after all he had confessed? How could she deny herself?

“Yes,” she said, quietly, barely loud enough for him to hear.

One side of his mouth kicked up. “Say it again.”

“Yes,” she said, this time firmer, more certain. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

And then his hands were in her hair, scattering her hairpins, and his lips were on hers, stealing her breath, and she was touching him—this remarkable man whom she’d loved for so long and who was finally, finally hers.

Callie sighed into Ralston’s mouth—noting that he tasted of scotch and something more exotic, more male—and a feeling of complete and utter elation coursed through her. This was Ralston, her future husband, and he was making her feel so warm and wonderful and alive. And then he was kissing down the column of her neck, whispering her name like a litany as he lifted her arms over his shoulders and set his lips to the expanse of white skin above the neck of her gown. Callie gasped as his strong hands spread wide across her torso, stealing up to cup her breasts in a gesture of complete and utter possession.

“This gown,” he said, the words coming thick and liquid, “is sinful.”

Callie couldn’t help her smile as he leaned back to watch her breasts lift against the satin edge of the dress. “Do you think so?”

“Indeed. It is made to drive men crazy…to reveal all your luscious curves”—he ran a finger beneath the satin lazily, just far enough to graze the edge of a nipple—“without showing off anything. It’s a torturous viewing experience,” he added, wickedly, as he pulled the edge of the gown lower, exposing the straining tip of one breast to the cool air and his hot mouth. He suckled briefly, until Callie was writhing against him, then, releasing her, he said, “When we are married, I shall buy you one in every color.”

She giggled at the words, the laughter fading into a sigh, then a low moan as his mouth worked its magic on her tender, sensitive flesh. He drew the sound out for as long as he could before he remembered their location.

“It occurs to me,” Gabriel said, pulling back, “that this is a highly inappropriate place for us to be in such a delicate position, lovely, what with your entire family mere moments away.” He met her gaze, and the liquid heat in her eyes consumed him for a moment and, with a little groan, he took her mouth again in a hot, open, consuming kiss that stole reason and thought for several long minutes. When he pulled away again, leaving them both breathless, he restored her dress to its original position with a soft, nibbling kiss on the delicate skin of her breast.

“I cannot stay, Empress. You are too much temptation, and I am nowhere near strong or good enough to resist you.” He spoke the words quietly at her ear, his nose buried in her hair—hair he no longer considered brown, but a rich myriad of chocolate and mahogany and sable that was fast becoming his favorite of all colors. “I shall return tomorrow. Perhaps we could ride on the Serpentine?”

Callie didn’t want him to leave. Didn’t want the night to en

d. Didn’t want to risk the possibility that this was a very dear, very wonderful, very realistic dream. “Don’t leave,” she whispered, placing one hand boldly at the nape of his neck and turning to capture his lips in a lingering kiss. “Stay.”

He smiled, setting his forehead to hers. “You are very bad for me. I am trying to turn over a new leaf—I am trying to be more gentlemanly.”

“But what if I want you to stay a rake?” she teased, her fingers trailing down his neck and chest, fingering the buttons on his waistcoat. “A libertine, even?” She slipped one fastening from its seat and he grabbed her errant hand, bringing it to his lips for a swift kiss.

“Callie,” he said, his voice thick with warning as she set her free hand to the second button on his coat.

“What if I want the rogue, Gabriel?” The question was soft and sweet.

“What are you saying?”

She kissed across the firm square line of his jaw and whispered to him, shyness in her shaking voice, “Take me to bed, Gabriel. Give me a taste of scandal.”

His breath quickened at the words, and he realized that leaving her would be the noblest thing he had ever done. His reply came deep in his throat, “I think you’ve tasted rather a lot of scandal in the last few weeks, Empress.”

“But, once we’re married, it’s back to plain old Callie. This could be my last chance.”

A shadow of self-doubt crossed her face, and he took her head in both of his hands. “Make no mistake, lovely, there is nothing plain about you.” He kissed her again, stroking until she broke away, panting.

Meeting his gaze with her most smoldering, inviting and irresistible look, she tried again. “Come upstairs, Gabriel.”

There was a long pause, and Callie thought she might have pushed him too far. He stood, reaching down to her and pulling her up to stand in front of him. “You realize that, if we’re caught, we shall have to marry immediately.”

A thrill coursed through her. “I do.”

“And that you shan’t have the enormous wedding of which your mother has no doubt dreamed for ages.”