Who Wants a Brawling Baron: Romancing the Rake Read online

  “Is it a hunting party?” she asked, once again moving closer. He caught her scent of lilac and sage. Without meaning to, he drew in a deep breath.

  “No,” he answered. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I should find the master of the house and request an audience.”

  She shook her head. “In a moment.”

  Raithe looked up at the ceiling. His fist clenched against his thigh. She was so used to getting her way. “Lady Charlotte,” he started, leaning closer, his voice dropping low. “It’s the sort of party where men do things they don’t want respectable ladies to see. Which is why you are most definitely not invited.”

  One of her brows rose. “You don’t like respectable ladies?”

  “Not particularly,” he answered. Which was partially the truth. He had once been married, after all, so he’d liked at least one respectable woman, loved her, in fact. But that was a situation he hoped never to find himself in again.

  Her lips parted as she assessed him and his breeches tightened. Did she realize what sort of invitation she’d given him? She likely did. Charlie was a practiced flirt. That much had been clear from their one dance together. He’d watched her on several other occasions, which had only confirmed his suspicions.

  What had been surprising was how much he longed to let her practice the art on him.

  “Is that why you never asked me to dance again?” She shifted closer, the warmth of her body radiating through his jacket.

  “Precisely,” he said, resisting the urge to step away. That would look weak. But then again, he was fighting an even stronger urge to pull her against his body.

  She lifted her hand, the one not holding champagne, and brushed it along the lapel of his jacket. A light touch that danced over his skin, making his skin tighten underneath his clothing. “But I’m really quite lovely. Everyone thinks so.”

  “I am not everyone,” he said through gritted teeth. The truth was, he was everyone. At least in this regard. He’d fallen instantly under her spell.

  She gave him a knowing smile. “No you’re not. Even I know that. And I’ve heard that girls like me should stay far away from men like you.” Her hand flattened on his chest, her palm brushing his nipple. Desire made his limbs heavy as the damn treacherous flesh tightened in response, giving him away.

  He gave his head a small shake as he reached for her gloved hand resting on the lapel of his coat and carefully removed it.

  Except, now that her hand was in his, he could see how much smaller her fingers and palm were compared to his. He found himself holding onto the hand. “They’re right.”

  “What makes you bad?” she asked, her voice dropping to a tempting whisper. As though they were lovers sharing a secret. The words actually rose to his lips because, if he shared them, she sounded as though she’d join him in the debauchery.

  He needed to end this and he needed to do so quickly. Charlie felt too nice this close, her hand in his, and she’d haunt his dreams again tonight for certain. And likely tomorrow too. The day after and the day after that. “Well, for starters…” He lowered his head to just a few inches from hers and could see the specks of green in her hazel eyes, smell the champagne on her breath. “I pay lots of women to share my bed.” He knew his revelation was the exact sort of thing that would scandalize her and his words hit their mark.

  She gasped in a breath as she took a step back and then another, one hand covering her mouth. Her fingers dropped a fraction of an inch. “Beast,” she accused, her eyes crinkling in hurt or accusation. He couldn’t be certain.

  “My parties aren’t for you. I am not for you,” he said, crossing his arms again. “Stay away from me, Lady Charlotte.”

  Chapter Two

  Charlie stared at the Baron of Balstead, wanting to give him a good slap in the face. She’d only wanted a bit of fun. A diversion from the monotony of life in the country and he’d been rude.

  She spun about and started back up the stairs. She could confess to herself that this man in particular was not just an idle diversion. Several men had pressed their favor in London, but none had made her heartbeat quicken like Balstead. Something about his large frame, the almost dangerous glint to his eyes set her pulse racing through her veins.

  When she’d first seen him standing below her in the entry, she’d had a moment where she was certain fate had brought them together again.

  Not that she wanted to fall in love. Even she knew that Balstead wasn’t the sort of man a woman like her married. But she did wish to test the flutter he so effortlessly caused in her stomach. Was that sort of excitement the answer to her constant need for action and attention?

  She slipped back into the music room, taking her seat on the settee once again. Whatever the answer to her boredom was, Balstead couldn’t provide it. The man had been positively dreadful. She ignored the other thought that popped into her mind. The one that said he was also delightfully masculine. She thought to the feel of his bulging muscles under her hand and shivered.

  Her fingers shook a bit as she took another healthy swallow of her beverage. She had little experience with the bubbly concoction sliding down her throat but the liquid seemed to quiet her thoughts as the butler appeared in the doorway once again.

  “May I present the Baron of Balstead.”

  The room went silent.

  Charlie, rather than rise, lay back on the settee propping her head up on her hand and sliding her feet onto the lush cushions.

  She had no intention of rising and curtsying for him.

  “Charlie,” Cordelia murmured from just behind her. “Do get up.”

  Charlie let out a soft breath. Cordelia was one of her favorite Moorish sisters, though she liked them all and for her host’s sake, she rose.

  Balstead glared at her from the doorway, but she refused to meet his gaze, instead staring at the wall just to his left.

  Mr. Moorish stepped forward, shaking the man’s hand, and inviting him to join them. “You are just in time, my lord. Dinner will be served soon.”

  “Most gracious,” Balstead said, his voice rumbling low and deep. “I shouldn’t stay. I’ve yet to secure a room.”

  “Nonsense,” Mr. Moorish returned. “You’re free to stay here. Tell me, what brings you to Seabridge Gate?”

  “Do tell,” Charlie murmured, though several others heard and turned a curious eye to first her and then Balstead.

  He cleared his throat, glancing about the room. “I am well acquainted with some of your other guests. Lord Crestwood, Lord Craven, and Lord Dashlane are personal friends of mine.”

  Charlie looked over at the three men who were also guests in the Moorish home. Lord Crestwood was engaged to Adrianna and Lord Craven to Bianca. Were they once debauchers too?

  Mr. Moorish gave Balstead a glowing smile. “You know my future sons-in-law?”

  Balstead paused. “Sons-in-law?”

  Mr. Moorish waved. “That’s right. Were they about to visit you, my good fellow? The storm last week washed out the bridge north of town. We’ve only just gotten it repaired.”

  “The storm?”

  The baron’s voice had grown rock hard and Charlie found herself drifting closer once again.

  Mr. Moorish nodded, a pleasant smile playing about his lips. “Fortunate for us, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Very,” Balstead answered. “And I would happily accept your invitation, Mr. Moorish. Thank you.”

  Charlie squinted her eyes, assessing him. He’d changed his attitude very quickly.

  “Excellent.” Mr. Moorish clapped as he began the introductions. “These are my daughters, Ophelia, Cordelia, Adrianna, and Bianca.” Then he pointed to Charlie. “And our lovely guest, Lady Charlotte. My daughter, Juliet, is away on her honeymoon.”

  “Honeymoon?” One of the baron’s eyebrows quirked. “With whom? The only man I see missing is the Marquess of Hartwell…” And then his eyes slid to Charlie again. “Is that why you’re here without your brother? He’s gone and gotten married?”

/>   She didn’t answer, looking away again. She’d learned her lesson in the foyer. He wasn’t a man to try and verbally spar with. His experience far outweighed hers.

  “Precisely,” His Grace called from next to Ophelia. “And you’ll have to forgive us for not attending your party. We were waylaid.”

  Charlie stared at the other men. All three of those lords, who now stood attentively next to a lady, had been going to Balstead’s party. What was it he’d said? His parties were where men do things they don’t want respectable ladies to see. Were all lords like that?

  How interesting. And they said men were far simpler than women…

  She looked back at the massive man filling the doorway. His dark looks as intriguing as they were hard. He was the first man to ever utter little pearls of truth about what men did when they weren’t pretending to be gentlemen. He could teach her a great deal.

  She touched her lips with a single finger. She wanted to marry a good man, a man of quality, of course. And knowledge of men could only help with that, but right now she wished for a few more immediate needs to be met. Excitement. Interesting company. The Baron of Balstead could potentially help her with all of that.

  And of course, she’d be able to sharpen her sparring skills. She’d lost the first round handily. But that didn’t mean one should give up. No, quite the contrary, she would try again. It was time for round two with her Bawdy Baron.

  Raithe swore softly under his breath. These lords that he’d invited to his home were all pairing off already. Damn it all to bloody hell, he’d needed them single.

  His childhood friend, Lady Cassandra Rainsville, had been recently widowed. Not surprising considering she’d married a man who’d been ill from the start. But to her dismay, he’d not left a single shilling to his wife’s name.

  Raithe had offered to marry her himself, and she currently lived in his home. He’d not allow her to be turned out onto the streets, but she’d flatly refused his offer of marriage. Something about marrying for the wrong reasons once was enough.

  He supposed he understood. He’d married for the right reason at the age of twenty, before he’d discovered he was the next Baron of Balstead.

  He’d loved Jennifer with his whole heart and when she’d grown heavy with his child, his affection had only grown deeper.

  Neither of them had survived the birth. They’d left him alone and adrift in this world. The familiar ache weighted his stomach. The one he usually lessened with alcohol and meaningless liaisons.

  But one good marriage had ruined him for the institution forever so he could see how a bad one might frighten Cassandra away.

  Yet, he wanted her to be happy. She was the closest thing to family he had. And so he’d chosen some of the most eligible bachelors he could find to attend his party. Men who had slightly tarnished reputations and might be willing to overlook her poverty while still being kind-hearted enough to make a decent spouse.

  He scratched the back of his neck. Unfortunately, he’d been right. They were primed and ready for a good match. Just not with Cassandra.

  “Have a seat.” Mr. Moorish gestured for him to step further into the room. “Dinner will be served shortly. Cordelia was about to play for us.”

  Balstead crossed the room as everyone returned to his or her seat. Charlie sat down on the settee she’d been lounging on but blessedly didn’t stretch out. If she lay back again, he might…what? Toss himself atop her in front of all these people?

  Belatedly, he realized the only chair left was next to the very woman currently torturing him. With a frown, he slid next to Charlie as the music began.

  He’d heard a great many debutantes “entertain” with pianoforte recitals, but never had he heard anything like the Moorish woman. The music flowed through him, sweet and strong as the heat from Charlie’s body penetrated into his side. He closed his eyes, wondering how Charlie might feel pressed against him. Then he gritted his teeth. Somehow the music was making the whole experience of sitting next to her extra intimate.

  The song finally ended and he breathed a sigh of relief. Which was a mistake. Dashlane had slid next to him at some point, sitting just to his right. And Charlie leaned against his left side in a way he wasn’t prepared for. Her shoulder and left breast brushing down his arm making everything inside him rock hard.

  “She’s so wonderful, Lord Dashlane,” Charlie gushed, her breath tickling across Raithe’s neck.

  “That was excellent,” Raithe called over the clapping. “You’ve a gift.” He needed to focus on anything other than the woman pressed to his side.

  “Thank you,” Cordelia said, giving him a smile.

  From his left, Dashlane let out a gurgle deep in his throat. “She’s taken,” he gritted out the words through clenched teeth.

  Raithe looked at the other man. He’d do nearly anything to ignore how Charlie’s touch was affecting him. “Dashlane,” Balstead drawled, meeting Dashlane’s angry gaze with an unspoken challenge. “I do believe you’re getting sand on my arm.”

  Dashlane grimaced, rising from his seat even as Charlie eased back, giving him room to breathe.

  What was he doing here?

  But he knew. Even as he’d realized the men were taken, already engaged, he’d realized that another person in this room could help Cassandra. She was young and beautiful with all of London at her feet. Lady Charlotte Summerset was one of the few people he might be able to coerce into helping Cassandra. What he needed to discover was what Charlie would ask for in return.

  Chapter Three

  Dinner was lovely as always, though Charlie had been distracted by the man who remained next to her. He’d said little since the music room, but she felt his presence like a physical touch. She fiddled with the stem of her glass as she gave him another sidelong glance. Was he as aware of her as she was of him?

  And how did one go about getting sensitive information from a man she hardly knew? And one who stole her breath every time he moved even the slightest bit?

  “I need to speak with you,” he whispered softly, barely looking her way.

  Her eyebrows lifted. That was convenient. “Good. I want to speak with you too.”

  His lips pressed together making the angles of his face even more prominent. “You want to speak with me?”

  She gave a small nod, leaning toward him once again. Why did she keep doing that? She was like a moth drawn to a flame. “I have some questions.”

  “Questions?” The thin line of his lips turned down into a decided frown. “What sort of questions?”

  She most definitely was not answering that yet. “When the men go up to smoke. Excuse yourself. I’ll meet you in the garden.”

  Then she straightened, turning away from Balstead. The last thing she needed to do was make Mr. Moorish or her cousin suspicious.

  Soon enough everyone stood, the men retreating to wherever it was they took themselves off to while the women made their way back to the music room.

  She took a deep breath. “I find that champagne has given me an awful headache.” She started rubbing her temples.

  Mr. Moorish was an avid Shakespeare fan and she suspected he’d had a secret wish to be an actor. The Moorish girls had grown up putting on plays. Which meant acting was a dangerous endeavor when trying to trick them.

  But fortunately, Cordelia turned around, giving her a sympathetic glance. “That’s happened to me too. Go to bed and take a bit of laudanum.”

  Charlie gave a forlorn nod, parting from the group and heading to the back stair. But she didn’t go up, rather down. She crept down the hall until she reached the kitchen door. Opening it as slowly as possible, she slipped out and back around the side of the house to the garden.

  She wasn’t certain how long she’d have to wait, so she searched for a good place to hide. Somewhere she could see the patio doors and perhaps the kitchen too.

  “For a woman who made an illicit meeting, you’re doing a terrible job of hiding yourself.”

  Balstead. Sh
e spun about seeing the glow of a cigar coming from the shadows. “You’ll have to forgive me. This is my very first one.”

  “Your first?” He stepped out so that she could see his exceedingly large outline, the raw masculine edges of him. “I’m honored.”

  That made her smile and she walked toward him, sinking into the darkness. “What did you need to speak with me about?”

  “Oh no, I’m enough of a gentleman to know that a lady should go first.”

  “Not that much of a gentleman, I hope,” she muttered, not meaning to say it out loud.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” he asked, his voice dropping low, the deep timbre of it reverberating through her.

  Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. Despite the dark, she heard him make a low noise, deep in his throat that sounded a bit like a moan. She pulled her tongue back into her mouth. “Did you mean what you said earlier? Do lords attend parties where they drink and bed women away from the eyes of society?”

  He straightened. Her eyes were adjusting to the dark and she could see his near black irises glittering in the sliver of moonlight that lit the night sky. “Many. Yes.”

  A shiver skittered down her spine. Oh, this was terribly exciting. Her idle mind needed this meeting, the information exactly what she craved to fill her thoughts. “What sort of women go to these parties if not ladies? Are they light skirts?”

  He let out a sigh. “Why do you wish to know all this?”

  She cocked her head. How did one say that she kept busy with parties and gossip because she hated the feeling of quiet? “I’ll marry someday. Knowing all of this will help me choose the right husband for me.” She raised a finger. “Which reminds me. Do good men or bad men ultimately make better husbands?”

  He scoffed. “Depends on the man, the woman, and the circumstance.”

  “Lord Crestwood and Lord Craven?” She was sincerely concerned for her friends.