“I didn’t sneak.” His grin broadened. “I’ve been sitting here the entire time. Isn’t that right, Dashlane?”
“Are they who we’re waiting for? Can we get on with it then?” Dashlane cracked his knuckles. “I’ve got a lovely brunette waiting for my attention.”
Rathmore frowned at the other fellow. “Must you be so indiscrete about your indiscretions?”
Crestwood quirked a brow. “How else should a man be? We are young, single, titled. Seems perfect to me.”
“It’s tawdry. It’s one thing to participate in such behavior but another to speak so openly about it.”
Rathmore frowned and Raithe realized he should get this conversation moving before the men began to squabble. That could come later. “Gentlemen,” he started, clearing his throat. “I’m having a party at the end of next week. You are the premier guests on the list.”
Crestwood slapped the table, his attitude completely changing. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
Craven continued to grimace; his face a complete mask. “What sort of party?”
“The sort men of your kind would like.” He winked. Raithe had a particular sort of reputation for having parties filled with women and liquor. That wasn’t what this was going to be and so he wouldn’t outwardly promise such delights. It would give him plausible deniability later.
Rathmore dropped his arms to his sides. “Next week? I couldn’t possibly.”
Raithe tried not to frown. The duke, once a notorious rake, had hardly been seen at the gaming hells or at parties of ill repute. Coupled with his comments to Crestwood, that made him the most important candidate of them all.
Hartwell stepped forward. “We’re headed to the coast to check in on some of our properties.”
Excellent. He tightened his grip around his glass. “Then you’ll be close to my home. Surely, you can spend a few days with us.”
Hartwell shook his head. “My sister will be travelling with me. I seriously doubt she is suited to one of your parties.”
Raithe didn’t respond. This gathering would be perfectly appropriate for such a lady but he wasn’t about to tell them all of that. Besides, Charlie was the last woman he wanted in his house, under his roof, near his bed. “That doesn’t mean Rathmore can’t attend. For a few days at least.” He leaned forward. “Tell me you’re not craving something different.”
He saw the flicker of indecision in the other man’s eyes.
Victory roared in his blood.
“Count me in,” Crestwood crowed. “What about you, Dashlane?”
Dashlane took a sip of his drink. “Why not? I could use a change of pace. Craven?”
The third man frowned. “I suppose.”
Raithe didn’t care if Craven attended or not. In fact, he’d prefer he didn’t but the three were often together making Craven a necessary evil. “Rathmore?”
“I’ll think on it,” Rathmore shrugged, staring at the far wall.
“I’ll attend,” another voice called from the corner. Raithe turned, his jaw clenching when he’d seen who spoke. His Grace, the Duke of Danesbury sat, partially obscured by shadow. The man was rarely seen out, his face having been scarred on one side from some accident or another. Raithe’s eyes widened to see the man here on such a busy night. “Your Grace?” he asked. Strictly speaking
the man was not invited but as a duke, he’d be difficult to refuse.
“I’ve heard of your parties, Balstead. I’ll come if you’ll have me.”
Raithe swore softly under his breath. This was not one of the carefully chosen men. He didn’t know what sort of man Danesbury was and didn’t wish to find out. “Of course, Your Grace.”
Raithe sat back in his chair. He had five men after all. Not the five he’d originally set out to invite but still… that ought to give Cassandra some choices…
Chapter One
Chase, better known as the Duke of Rathmore, stared out the window of his carriage, watching the darkening sky with a narrow-eyed glare. The clouds suited his mood. One might argue that he should be happy. He was on his way to a summer house party that was likely to be the event of the season.
At least for lords with power, money, and a proclivity for fun. And by fun, he meant drinking, gambling, and sex, likely in that order.