Romancing the Rake: Seven Regency Romances Read online

  The other man nodded. “We’d be most delighted to have such a guest.”

  Chase nodded again as he noted the we in the sentence. Did the man have a wife? Children? Then something wonderful caught his gaze. At the top of the stairs, one, two, three, four, five ladies appeared. Dressed in a rainbow of pastels, two brunettes, two blondes, and one redhead gazed down at him. At least that’s how it appeared from his spot near the door. He couldn’t quite make out any of them individually but the effect of all five was staggering. Had he wanted to keep driving? Damn fool. This was the perfect spot to weather a storm.

  Miss Ophelia Moorish stood at the top of the stairs and gazed down at the young duke. He was the stuff of fairy tales and romances and… She stopped, realizing she was getting carried away.

  As a longtime lover of all books, she tended to cast herself as the heroine in the pages and make the people who surrounded her characters in her own story. It had gotten her in trouble on more than one occasion.

  For example, last year she’d discovered a gelding that had gotten trapped in the sea grass that stretched for miles when the tide was out. She’d imagined herself the animal’s great rescuer. Instead, it had nearly trampled her in its fear. She had gotten the horse safely out, but she’d suffered a broken arm from the experience.

  Drawing a deep breath, she looked at the duke again. He’d removed his hat and dark hair waved back from his forehead and down over his ears. She couldn’t see the color of his eyes, but his jaw was square and his shoulders broad. Her heart hammered in her chest again. He really was like a prince from a story.

  And she could swear his gaze followed her every move. Was that her imagination again? She wasn’t certain but her pulse accelerated even more.

  “Girls,” her father called from the bottom of the steps. “Come down and meet our guest.”

  One of her sisters, likely Bianca, giggled hysterically while Juliet fluttered her hand in the air. Ophelia pursed her lips. Apparently, she wasn’t the only sister who had noticed the handsome duke.

  As the eldest, however, she was most entitled to seek his attention. She was nearly two and twenty and still had yet to participate in a proper season. Without a mother and with five sisters, her father hadn’t been able to step away from his business and family in order to take her. Adrianna, her youngest sister, was about to turn eighteen. Her father threatened to unleash them all on London at once. Not conventional, but potentially necessary.

  Ophelia sighed. She understood and she agreed. When their mother had passed, she’d taken up the role of mother figure with her young sisters and she didn’t regret it a bit. But lately, she’d begun to wonder about her own future. Would there ever be time for her to find her own husband and have her own family? And what about the adventure of a season? The opportunity to live her own fairy tale before she settled into a future?

  She had to confess, she loved children. Even when they cried or acted naughty. Caring for her sisters had been a blessing and she’d gladly do it again.

  Her sisters stepped back, allowing her to make her way down the steps first. Gently, she lifted the front of her skirt, giving His Grace her best smile. He smiled back, and she nearly gasped with awe. He had the sort of flashing green eyes that made her heart race in her chest. His nose had a bit of a crook, but that only made him more masculine, while his mouth was full and completely…well…kissable. His shoulders were just as broad as she’d imagined and his skin-tight breeches left little question to the narrowness of his hips and muscles of his legs. His boots were polished to a high shine and she admired them for a moment before she realized she’d just given him a head to toe perusal.

  Her gaze snapped back up to his eyes and he quirked one eyebrow as his smile broadened into a knowing grin. Heat flamed in her cheeks.

  “Your Grace, this is my eldest daughter, Miss Ophelia Moorish.”

  She dipped into a deep curtsy, her cheeks still radiating heat as she murmured, “Your Grace.”

  Her father went down the line by age. “My second eldest, Juliet. Then we have Cordelia, Bianca, and lastly, Adrianna.” Each woman curtseyed in turn but Ophelia noted that the duke’s gaze returned to her the moment the introductions finished. Heat spread through her body at his sparkling emerald eyes.

  “It’s a pleasure, ladies.” He subtly skimmed his gaze down her frame and Ophelia stared at the wall attempting not to blush again. She had a trim waist but she was fuller in her hips and bosom than most of her sisters. Then he looked to her father. “You sir have been blessed with a beautiful brood of daughters.”

  Her father chuckled. “I was handsome enough in my day and my wife, God rest her soul, was a beauty to be certain.”

  The duke’s mouth tightened. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Her father waved his hand and the dull ache that always weighed Ophelia down at the mention of her mother, filled her limbs. She knew her father still hurt as well but he gave a small smile.

  “Thank you kindly. Loss is never easy but today we have a reason to celebrate. Rarely do we have such a distinguished guest.” Then he turned to his daughters. “What shall we do to turn this storm into a night of merriment?”

  Ophelia, stepped forward, giving another small curtsy. “Perhaps we should ask His Grace.”

  As she came back up, their eyes met again and her breath stuttered in her throat.

  “Dinner would be lovely,” he answered, his deep baritone sending a thrill down her spine and making her stomach flutter.

  “We could play music for you,” Cordelia quietly volunteered. Though shy, she spoke best with an instrument and her pianoforte skills were beyond compare.

  The duke gave a nod as Juliet clapped her hands. “And we could dance.”

  Bianca nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, that would be fun.” Then she turned to the butler. “Would you tell the kitchen we have a guest? And have the music room ready.”

  But Ophelia turned to the duke. “Does that suit you, Your Grace?”

  The intensity of his green eyes made her cheeks heat again. She truly felt like a princess being discovered by her prince the way he stared at her. Her favorite tale was Cinderseat and she imagined that this was just how Ella felt.

  “It sounds lovely,” he said. “I am very much looking forward to this evening.”

  So was she. Excitement sizzled along her skin when she thought about dancing with this magnificent man. Tonight felt like the party she’d wanted to attend for so long but hadn’t had the opportunity. Finally, she had a chance to meet her prince.

  Chapter Two

  Devilish ideas were swirling about his head as Chase assessed the eldest daughter of the Moorish clan. She had luxurious dark hair and sparkling brown eyes, which were set in a lovely porcelain and pink skin. High cheekbones, a pert little nose, and that mouth... Damn, he could spend a week devouring just her lips. His quick and subtle perusal of the rest of her told him that he’d need a great deal longer than just a week. She had the sort of figure that drove a man wild. Tiny in the middle with all sorts of curves. They made a man want to do bad things.

  But he’d met beautiful women before. Hell, they practically tossed themselves in front of him at every opportunity. There was something different about this one. She was a bit older, not a girl in her first season, but still, she held an air of innocence. Or perhaps it was just optimism or kindness. Like her father. The pair of them oozed the sort of gentility and grace that his class was supposed to personify but so often did not. And they made him feel as though he were being wrapped in a warm blanket after years in a cold harsh world.

  Which was why he’d leave the woman alone despite his obvious lust. How could he be the man to tarnish such a pure spirit? Then again, her lips called a siren song that left him weak and unable to think logically.

  He squinted his eyes. Somehow referencing Odysseus made him think of other famous authors and the women’s names made him pause. “Ophelia, Cordelia, Juliet?” He softly repeated. “Are they all…”
r />   Mr. Moorish chuckled. “Guilty. I named them from various Shakespeare works. I’m an avid reader and a bit of a romantic.”

  A few of the ladies giggled while one of them rolled her eyes. He sincerely couldn’t remember which sister she was. They were all lovely, to be certain, but Ophelia had captured his attention. He gazed at her again, hardly able to look at anyone else when one of the sisters spoke.

  “Ophelia is exactly like him,” her sister said. “Always has her nose in a book.”

  The words gave him the perfect excuse to drink in Ophelia’s visage again. He wasn’t at all surprised to know that she had more in common with her father. For a brief second, he wondered what it might be like to be around someone like Ophelia all the time. Would it grow tiring? Or would his worn view of the world shift?

  He swiped those thoughts away. He’d stay here for tonight and tomorrow, when the storm had passed, he’d leave again and return to his life. Or the party. He still wasn’t certain and he honestly didn’t want to think about it right now.

  “Just out of curiosity, how far is the village from here?” He wondered how close he was to passing this little slice of paradise.

  “Seabridge Gate is just a few miles. We walk there in the nice weather.” Mr. Moorish gestured to a room on their right. “Shall we sit and have a few refreshments?”

  Chase stepped into the room. “Thank you. Is it a large village?”

  “No,” Ophelia answered, her honey voice washing over him. “Quite small. Not many take this coastal route so it’s more the people who make it home.”

  He nodded as they all sat. “Is there an inn? We almost travelled there instead of stopping here.” Not that it mattered now. His staff were surely huddled about the kitchen stove already.

  “Yes, there is but again, it only has a few rooms. And even with the small number of travelers, it’s likely to be full on a night like tonight.” He pointed toward the window to the front of the house.

  Rain soaked the panes making it difficult to see, but beyond that, a heavy downpour pummeled the ground and the ocean’s waves crashed into the rocks. Normally he hated looking at the ocean in a storm, but he was safe enough here in this house sitting up high above the beach. “Whoever built this house was smart to set it up on this hill.”

  “It was our great grandfather, The Earl of Seabridge,” one of the women answered. “Made from heavy stone, it was meant to withstand cannon fire, wind, water, basically anything England or its invaders could throw at it.”

  “Quite right, Cordelia,” Mr. Moorish said. “My grandfather was very smart in his holdings and made sure to provide for all his children and grandchildren after them.”

  A younger, very pretty blonde spoke up next. “And you’ll do the same for us, right Papa?”

  “That I will, Adrianna.” He reached for his daughter’s hand just as a tray of snacks was carried in by a footman. “Now, let’s allow our guest to eat.”

  Ophelia rose and began pouring steaming cups of tea. “How do you like yours, Your Grace?”

  His women or his tea? He supposed the answer was the same. Steaming hot and very sweet, he thought to himself and then clenched his teeth together. “Milk and one lump of sugar, please.”

  Ophelia did as he requested and then carefully handed him the delicate china. His hands were large but he’d a lifetime of practice balancing delicate cups in his long fingers. Still, he inadvertently brushed hers as he took the cup.

  Every muscle in his body tensed with a longing he hadn’t thought possible. She leaned over slightly, smiling down at him and he wanted to pull her into his lap and worship that mouth. Maybe he needed to attend that party after all, considering how he lusted after an innocent woman right now.

  Ophelia held her breath as the final notes of Cordelia’s piece on the pianoforte echoed about the room. The haunting song had been magnificent and suited to the weather outside. She clapped with pride as Cordelia finished.

  “That was just marvelous,” she gushed, looking over at the duke who sat next to her on the settee. “Don’t you think?”

  They’d passed the evening pleasantly with a lovely meal and had retired to the music room afterward.

  “I think a sister who supports her sibling so enthusiastically is quite marvelous too.”

  She pressed her hands to her cheeks, looking at the floor. He’d peppered her with compliments like that all evening. He’d given a few to her sisters too, of course. But her entire family had noticed the attention he’d paid her and they stared at the two of them now. “Do you have any siblings, Your Grace?”

  “No,” he answered, sitting back a bit. “I had a brother but he died when I was very young.”

  She frowned, wishing she could touch him in support. Something in the tension in those broad shoulders, the angle of his chin told her that he hurt from the loss. “I’m so sorry. My sisters are my world. I can’t imagine not having them.” She meant every word. Turning toward him, she very lightly brushed her hand against his as Cordelia began another song. “Do you have other family?”

  He shook his head and subtly grasped her fingers, hiding the touch behind her skirts. “I do have one rather annoying cousin who pesters me often. The Marquess of Hartwell. He also has a younger sister whom I adore.”

  “Pesters you?” She raised her eyebrows, trying to keep up with the conversation though she was completely distracted by his touch. It was exactly as she’d pictured romance to begin.

  He gave a tiny wink. “All right. You’ve caught me. He keeps me sane and grounded most times. Though, he did caution me against this leg of the trip.”

  “Why is that?” Ophelia leaned closer, her shoulder just brushing his. Nervous flutters erupted over her skin. This sort of flirting was exactly what she’d always hoped for and she tried to etch every touch into her memory.

  She felt his muscles tense against hers. “I’m to attend a house party but the guests aren’t the most savory members of society. Lord Hartwell and Lady Charlotte stopped just south of here, but I continued on to join the merriment.”

  That made her lean back to look at him, study the tight lines in his face. “Unsavory company near here?” The village, her father often jested, was the most wholesome spot in all of England. Everyone knew everyone, people were kind and nurturing. Of course, she’d known every man here for most of her life, which had made finding a husband rather difficult, but overall it was a lovely place to live.

  The duke lifted a shoulder, looking down at his lap. “A day’s ride. Closer to Ipswich.”

  “Ah,” she nodded. “Were you summering by the sea?”

  He shook his head. “I came from London.”

  Passing through here to get to Ipswich? “I don’t quite understand how you arrived here. This is the rather long way to reach your destination.”

  He glanced up at her again. “I suppose it is. I was using the journey as a bit of time to think…” His fingers squeezed hers. “Away from all the pressures in the city.” He winked then. “And my cousin has a property just south of Seabridge Gate. It’s his favorite so we’re there often.”

  She wanted to ask him more. Her lips parted but she closed them again. Cordelia’s second piece was drawing to a close and she didn’t dare ask him more. She wasn’t certain probing for more information was her place and she didn’t want anyone else to overhear their conversation.

  Cordelia immediately launched into an upbeat folk song and His Grace stood, momentarily letting go of her hand but then reaching it out to her again. “Would you care to dance?”

  She looked to her father who gave her a wink. “No objection from me.”

  She turned back to Lord Rathmore. “I’d be honored.” This time, as she slipped her fingers into his, her entire family watched. He led her to the middle of the open floor and suddenly, his hand was on her waist, her fingers clasped in his much larger ones. Heat radiated from his body and the subtle scent of sandalwood and a deeper male musk assaulted her senses. How had she never notice
d how good a man smelled. Or was that just him?

  Then he started the steps of a fun country dance and she didn’t think about his seductive masculine aroma anymore instead, caught up in the feel of him as they moved together. Dancing with a handsome Duke, being swept away by him, had filled her daydreams and night fantasies since she’d come of age…maybe even earlier.

  Chapter Three

  Damn this woman felt good. And she’d looked at Chase with such understanding, her face soft, her eyes warm and crinkled at the corners. Hell, he’d wanted to confess his darkest secrets to her. Which was ridiculous. He’d done that with a woman once at the tender age of eighteen. His parents were gone and he’d been lonely. She was the daughter of a baron and he’d thought he might marry her. Only she told half of London about his confessions, his secret pain.

  It had taken years for people to stop calling him the forlorn duke afterward. Of course, nowadays they more often referred to him as the indecent duke, but that he could live with. He’d earned that title after years of debaucherous behavior. Sometimes he wondered if behaving badly was all he was good at.

  He gave her waist a small squeeze, wishing that he could pull her close. She had a slightly sweet scent like strawberries warmed in the summer sun and he wondered how she’d taste.

  The song ended all too soon and he was obligated to dance with her other sisters. Normally, he would have appreciated each one of them for their attributes but he couldn’t see anyone but Ophelia tonight. She’d entranced him with her beauty and charm. As the evening grew later, he’d wondered how he’d ever sleep. Between the weather and the storm Ophelia was creating in his head, he’d be up all night at this rate.

  “Tell me.” He leaned over toward Ophelia, a bit of a plan hatching in his brain. “You said that you and your father are avid readers. Is there a library in your fine home? I fancy some reading before bed.”