Where to Woo a Bawdy Baron (Romancing the Rake 3)

Crestwood grabbed his arm. “You want to stay?”

He turned and pulled up to his full height, his fists clenching. “Remove your hand.”

“Don’t be like that,” Crestwood said as he took his hand away. “We’ve been friends for five years now. Why must you be so pissy?”

“It comes naturally,” he growled back.

Dashlane came to stand next to Crestwood. “He doesn’t like to talk in general but he especially doesn’t like to talk about feelings.” Dashlane wagged his finger. “And I happened to see him holding Bianca under that maple tree. It was very cozy.” Dashlane batted his eyes, imitating a woman. “He can say whatever he wants about marriage, but our surly friend is smitten.”

Chris didn’t say a word as he spun on his heels and marched back to the village, refusing to look behind him to see his friends followed. He hoped they hadn’t. At this moment, they could jump off a cliff for all he cared. Gravel crunched under his boots as he stomped away.

He didn’t return to the cottage the Moorish family had lent to them while they waited for the bridge to Balstead’s to get rebuilt. Instead he headed straight for the village inn and tavern. He needed an ale.

Sidling up the bar, he barked out his order and plunked down on a stool. Nearby there were several tables, but he paid them no mind as he crossed his arms on the rich polished wood and allowed his head to hang down. Feelings? Him? Impossible.

But then, he’d been attracted to Bianca. More so than he’d felt in a long time. And possessive, and jealous, and protective. All in the span of an hour or two. What the bloody Christ?

“Hey,” a voice called from somewhere in the inn. “I saw you this morning.” A shower of deep male laughter burst from the same direction. “You were with Babbling Bianca.”

“Don’t you mean Boring Bianca?” another called.

More male laughter rang out. “I’m not certain boring works.” A third hooted. “I thought it was Bumbling Bianca.”

He spun on his stool, his fists clenching at his sides. Talk of feelings had him riled and he’d love the opportunity to give those emotions an outlet that had nothing to do with words. Not that he liked reacting this way, the actions far too closely resembling his father’s. However, these young men desperately needed a lesson on how to treat a lady.

Chris pushed off the stool, allowing the heavy wood to fall to the floor. Its clatter on the floor silenced the entire room in an instant. Drawing to his full height he straightened his shoulders and puffed out his chest as he stalked over to their table. Four sat in total, two pushing back at the sight of him. They must have been about eighteen and dimly he realized it wasn’t a fair fight. He was twice their size and far more experienced.

He stopped just short of the table. “You are discussing the granddaughter of an earl.” He let his words fall out slowly and deliberately to prevent his stutter while dropping his voice low to sound menacing. “She is a woman of quality who deserves your respect. Now which of you requires a lesson on respectful behavior?”

None of them said a word as he leaned down over the tabl

e. “I wonder if Mr. Moorish is aware of how you speak to his daughter?”

He watched two of them pale. “We didn’t mean no harm?” One of them said, his hands coming up. “It was all in fun. Wasn’t it, lads?”

His nostrils flared and Chris slammed his fist down on the table as they all jumped. “For who?” he demanded. “Who was having fun?”

Another pushed back from the table, creating more distance between himself and Chris. “We won’t do it again.”

He pivoted away from the table and left them, returning to his bar stool. He’d gotten the result he’d hoped for, but somehow, he’d have had more fun hitting someone. Perhaps he needed more than an ale. There had to be some way for him to vent the sudden frustration pumping through his veins.

* * *

Bianca slipped out the kitchen door, knowing she’d be in trouble later. The afternoon was the time she and her sisters usually spent together. They embroidered, practiced music, gossiped, and planned for the future, but today she didn’t want to participate in any of that.

She needed a quiet moment to reflect and compose her jumbled thoughts.

Lord Craven had created a riot in her stomach, and she wasn’t quite certain how to calm the churning in her belly. The only solution she could think of was to take a walk. She should have invited one of her sisters or a maid to join her, but she didn’t need more voices crowding her confused brain and clouding her ability to think rationally about her feelings. Her thoughts were a jumbled mess.

She made her way down the path and headed for the beach with a sun umbrella over her head as the ocean breeze ruffled her hair. No one ever came this far down the beach, so it was just the place for a bit of solitude and reflective thought. Except, as she made her way to the bottom of the steep path that zigzagged down the rocky cliff, someone ran toward her.

Surprise jolted her still and she gasped, then took a step back. Who could that be? And did he mean her harm? Why had she come down here unaccompanied?

But then she realized, he wasn’t running toward her as much as he was simply running down the beach. And he didn’t sprint, taking more measured steps as he followed the shore, water crashing close his feet. When he raised his hand to swipe his hair back, she realized Lord Craven jogged ahead of her.

She startled, shifting her umbrella even as he turned his head to look at her.

He stopped. “Bianca?”