How to Catch an Elusive Earl: Romancing the Rake

  How to Catch an Elusive Earl

  Romancing the Rake

  Tammy Andresen

  Copyright © 2020 by Tammy Andresen

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Note to Readers

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  Where to Woo a Bawdy Baron

  About the Author

  Other Titles by Tammy

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  www.tammyandresen.com

  Hugs!

  Note to Readers

  Note to readers: The following prologue is featured in each of the titles in this series. If you’ve already read it, feel free to skip right over it. If this is your first book in the series, welcome! Each romance is a stand-alone, but I thought you’d enjoy meeting all our heroes first. Hugs!

  Tammy

  Prologue

  Early Spring London 1818

  Raithe, the Baron of Balstead, watched as his last two victims walked through the door. Good. They were all here.

  He’d carefully chosen this cast of characters, his soon-to-be house guests. He needed them for a very particular purpose, though he had no intention of telling them what that purpose was.

  This was a situation where it was best to lie.

  He found many situations were that way. Not all of them, of course. But here, at his gentlemen’s club, where drinking and gambling were the primary activities, it was all about the bluff. Just to his right sat three friends. Lord Dashlane, Lord Crestwood and Lord Craven. They were his first three potential…guests.

  Craven was one of the few men in England who actually frightened him a bit. Quiet and sullen, he was also tall and well-muscled. He looked quick as a snake and equally as deadly. Then there was Dashlane, blond with a flashing smile, he was a charmer to be sure. Crestwood was dark-haired and handsome. All three liked their fair share of women and liquor but he’d seen them defend a group of harlots that another band of ruffians had attempted to rob and that put these gents on his list.

  “Are you going to tell us what this is about?” Dashlane asked, bringing his whisky to his lips.

  “In a minute,” he answered, holding up a finger. A wide range of patrons/guests crowded the club tonight, seats were limited, which worked for him. His last two players had entered the club but hadn’t picked him out of the crowd yet.

  The Duke of Rathmore made his way through the mash of people and stopped directly in front of Raithe. Rathmore turned to his cousin and best friend, Lord Hartwell. “Don’t you love the smell of leather, cigars, and good whisky?”

  Hartwell rolled his eyes. “I prefer brandy and thank goodness we missed the speaker,” he quietly announced as he brushed back his rich brown hair. “I’ve no appetite for politics today.”

  Rathmore raised his brow. “What’s gotten into you?”

  “Charlie.” Hartwell grimaced, his mouth tightening.

  Raithe’s insides tightened. Charlie was short for Charlotte, Lady Charlotte Summerset. She was Rathmore’s cousin and Hartwell’s sister. As vivacious as she was beautiful, she’d come out the season before. Fearless and outspoken, many had said she should have been born a man.

  Not that her strong personality stopped her from garnering male attention. In fact, Charlie had been the premiere debutante last season with droves of men following her about but she’d yet to choose a husband. Raithe had not been one of those men. He stayed away from respectable girls as a general rule and Charlie in particular. Something about her beauty made her difficult to even look at. A man might lose his head and he couldn’t afford to do that now.

  “Are you worried for the upcoming season? I know you were beating men off with sticks and clubs.” Rathmore chuckled.

  Hartwell’s grimace turned into a full-on spasm. “Worried doesn’t begin to cover how I feel. And sticks and clubs were the least of the needed weapons. I had two incidents that involved a sword and one that required a pistol.”

  Chase clapped his cousin on the back. “I’ll help you.”

  Hartwell gave him a light shove. “You said that last year too. But we both know you’re too busy to help me keep Charlie out of trouble.”

  “Busy doing what?” Raithe asked, a light grin playing at his lips. He knew full well what sorts of illicit pastimes the duke engaged in that kept him occupied.

  Both men turned to look at him. Hartwell appeared leery while Rathmore crossed his arms over his chest. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

  “I didn’t sneak.” His grin broadened. “I’ve been sitting here the entire time. Isn’t that right, Dashlane?”

  “Are they the men 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 traveling 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.
br />   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

  Lucas Marks, the Earl of Crestwood, assessed the stately manor as the last rays of sun set in the sky. How nauseatingly pretty, Luke thought as the bright rays bathed the red brick in brilliant hues of orange and yellow. Below him, the ocean beat against the high rocks of the bluff, creating a scene fit for a work of art.

  This house was like the rest of Seabridge Gate, the village in which he currently found himself stranded. Disgustingly wholesome.

  He sighed, regretting his decision to come to this dinner, and he hadn’t even gone inside yet. Which was ridiculous. This entire affair had been his idea to begin with. In his defense, the meal with the Moorish family was a sound plan. First because he needed Mr. Moorish’s help. The man ran a shipping business out of Seabridge Gate and catching a ride on one of those ships was his best chance of getting out of this quaint little hellhole and making his way north to a deliciously debaucherous gathering being held by the Baron of Balstead.

  Just thinking of that party and all the delights that would surely greet him made his spine straighten with determination. The bridge to the north had washed out, making the trip to Balstead’s property in Haversham days longer than necessary. Meanwhile, if he could catch a boat, say tomorrow morning, he’d be at Balstead’s by lunch. And wrapped in a beautiful woman’s arms by dinner.

  And so he raised the knocker on the door letting it fall from his hand. Luke heard the sound echo through the house. The door immediately opened, a sharp-looking butler giving him a solemn stare. “Good evening. Lord Crestwood, I presume?”

  “Correct,” he answered. “I’ve clearly arrived at the right place.”

  The man gestured for him to step inside. “Are Lord Craven and Lord Dashlane joining you?”

  He gave a momentary grimace before replacing the look with a firm smile. Yesterday, his friends, Craven and Dashlane, had met the eldest Moorish daughter, Miss Ophelia Moorish. He couldn’t be entirely certain, but he suspected that she might have infected them with a dose of morality. She’d been incredibly beautiful but also so kind that a man might get ideas about the sort of life he should be living. “No, they’ve other business to attend in the village.”

  Not him, of course. Luke had been firmly and completely expunged of any wholesome hope several years ago. A woman who seemed to be the very pinnacle of goodness and light had so thoroughly broken his heart that he’d vowed never taking such a risk again.

  Which was why he planned for more than a secure passage on one of Moorish’s ships, he also intended to steal a kiss or two from one of the other four Moorish daughters. He pulled his lips down to keep from giving a salacious grin. If he were going to be stuck in such a place, he may as well leave a little mark upon it. It was the duty of all rakes to do so.

  “Very good, then. Right this way, my lord.” The butler turned and started up the stairs, Luke following.

  Reaching the second floor, they made their way down the hall where the butler stopped in the doorway. “May I present his lordship, the Earl of Crestwood.”

  Luke held back his grunt of disdain. He was as fond of the title as he was of wholesome pursuits. None of them were meant to be his.

  The Honorable Thomas Moorish rose along with four young women, each a delight in her own way. He swept his gaze down the line of them, attempting to decide which might be his favorite. Moorish gave him a welcoming smile. “Good evening, my lord. So nice to see you again.”

  “And you,” he gave a nod, his gaze drifting to the man’s daughters again.

  “Right,” Moorish pointed to the first of the ladies in the line. “My daughter, Miss Juliet. I believe the two of you met yesterday.”

  They had. She was a darling little auburn-haired confection with curves like Ophelia’s but a more trusting nature. She’d do nicely for his purposes.

  “And this is Cordelia.” Lord Moorish pointed to a serious-looking but very pretty woman that Luke dismissed on the spot. She’d never fall for a rake’s charm. Even now, as she stared back at him, her eyes sparkled with intelligence.

  “My daughter, Bianca.” Mr. Moorish pointed to the third woman in the line.

  Bianca giggled and waved. He returned a smile. She was a contender for certain. He stood straighter wondering which delightful miss he’d like to taste.

  Lord Moorish pointed to the last girl down the line. “And this is Adrianna.”

  Luke glanced at the last woman, dismissing her from the first. She was slender for starters, more so than any of her sisters, and he liked some good curves to hold onto. While her features might have been the most perfectly symmetrical and beautiful he’d ever seen, there was a hardness about her eyes that told him she’d not be interested in what he had in mind. “A pleasure, ladies.”

  “We’re very much looking forward to dining with you, my lord, but first let us discuss the schedule tomorrow.” Mr. Moorish gestured toward a chair for Luke to sit. “We’ve a boat that will be stopping to pick up additional goods in Haversham that leaves at noon. If you’re still interested in heading north, you’re more than welcome to board it.”

  Luke slapped his thigh, his first objective already met. “Thank you, most kind of you.”

  Lord Moorish held up his hand. “Please understand this isn’t a passenger ship. We keep a tight schedule and if you’re not on that boat by eleven forty-five, it sails without you.”

  Luke gave a single nod. “I understand. Perfectly. Eleven forty-five.” Silently, he cheered. That left plenty of time for drinking tonight and dragging himself from bed in the morning to board that boat.

  “You must have very important business in Haversham that you’re working so hard to get there.” Juliet straightened her skirts about her knees, her slender hands, drawing his attention to the lovely silk of her gown.

  He hated the rumble of guilt that reverberated through his chest as he tried to think of an appropriate answer. Why should he feel guilty lying to these women? He didn’t. Nor would he allow guilt at the idea of stealing a little peck. A kiss was almost no harm, it wasn’t like he intended to leave one with child. She might even like such a romantic adventure. And the experience. “Indeed. Important land deal,” he muttered trying to give as little detail as possible.

  “Really,” Adrianna asked, leaning forward. “A land deal? Are Lord Dashlane and Lord Craven also participating in this deal? Is that why you’re traveling together?”

  He looked at the last Moorish sister, attempting to quell his irritation. Her bright blue eyes stared back at him, one eyebrow slightly cocked and her chin notched at a jaunty angle that dared him to continue to lie. What a min
x. His blood surged in his veins. Dare accepted.

  Adrianna Moorish stared at the cad currently lounging in her sitting room as though he were a dear member of the family and not some snake outsider come to pillage their fruits.

  She drew in a breath, puffing out her small chest. Not on her watch. She might be the youngest Moorish but she was also the strongest. She’d developed a razor-sharp tongue over the years, likely because it had been her only defense in her youth against the onslaught of four older sisters who were all bigger and stronger. They’d teased her mercilessly too. Until she’d learned to outwit them. She was still the smallest, of course, but in all likelihood, she was now the most feared.

  Not that she’d ever truly hurt her sisters, she’d protect them with every tool she had, just as they would her. But this man had come for nefarious purposes and she was going to cut him down until he skulked away in tears. All right. She couldn’t actually picture the earl crying, but he’d skulk. There would be definite skulking. There was no doubt about that.

  Just as she’d make certain he didn’t go near any of her sisters. She’d been given this task and she had every intention of completing the job. Her future brother-in-law, the Duke of Rathmore, had pulled her aside earlier in the day and warned her that Crestwood was the worst sort of gentleman. He’d told her not to allow any of her sisters near the man and certainly not to allow them to be alone with him.

  Adrianna had scrunched her brow, staring at Rathmore. “Why are you telling me all of this?”