Romancing the Rake: Seven Regency Romances Page 5

  Juliet harrumphed. “That’s hardly fair. You got to kiss a duke. Can’t we at least accidentally on purpose bump into them? You’re not the only Moorish who is getting on in years. At twenty, I need to find a husband soon.”

  “We’ll accidentally on purpose bump into them after we go to the butcher. I can’t go home without meat.” But secretly she hoped they’d be gone by the time she finished shopping. It turned out the village felt even better for her brush with the duke. The interaction had left her vulnerable and the familiarity of this place was exactly the balm she needed, minus the strangers, of course.

  Ophelia and Juliet started across the square, cutting an angle toward the butcher shop. Ophelia pulled her sister along, hoping to hurry before anyone saw them.

  But just as they walked almost across, a voice rang out over the square. “Pardon me, ladies,” a deep male voice called. “But I wonder if you might help us.”

  Drat. They’d been caught.

  For a moment, she considered ignoring the caller. Could she pretend she hadn’t heard?

  But Juliet stopped, digging her heels into the soft dirt. “Of course,” she called back. “How can we help?”

  Ophelia shot her sister a glare but Juliet didn’t pay her attention as she waved to the approaching men. Ophelia followed her sister’s gaze and froze in place as Chase’s green eyes connected with hers. One of the men was indeed her duke. A lump formed in her throat. What was Chase doing here? Should she run? Or was this her chance to help heal her wounded duke?

  Chapter Seven

  Even with the bonnet partially obscuring her face, Chase could see the surprise that widened her eyes. While he’d have preferred to reunite back at her home, he’d not leave her alone with these men for all his land in England.

  He didn’t trust Crestwood in particular. While Craven was quiet, which lent him an air of dangerous mystery, he’d not actually uttered much that was disrespectful either. And Dashlane was an exuberant fellow who liked fun. But Crestwood? His rakish streak ran deep. The man talked of little else besides chasing skirts—all skirts, older women to young, rich to poor. He seemed to have a taste for truly beautiful ladies, which meant his interest would likely be in Ophelia.

  He supposed he was making a rather uneducated judgment. He’d only known the men a few hours, other than their one other meeting, but they’d ridden in his carriage on the way back to Seabridge Gate and the filth that had dribbled from Crestwood’s mouth had made Chase’s teeth clench. Dashlane and Craven had only been a little better. He wasn’t sure when he’d become this man, disgusted with their loose morals.

  Crestwood faltered in his step. “Christ,” he muttered. “That one on the left is stunning. I wonder what color her hair is under that bonnet.”

  Chase clenched his hand, fisting his fingers into his palm. Crestwood referred to Ophelia. If the man said anything crass, Chase would punch him before the earl even knew it was coming.

  “Their clothes are fine, they’re not milkmaids or fishermen’s daughters,” Dashlane grinned. “And they might be amenable to spending time with titled lords. They’ll be looking for husbands, but what they don’t know…”

  Chase’s nostrils flared. Never mind that he’d done the exact same thing last night. No other man was touching Ophelia, that he was certain of. Remorse over his own behavior the night before weighed down his chest.

  Crestwood stopped two feet in front of the ladies and gave a bow. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, ladies. I’m the Earl of Crestwood.”

  Chase clenched his teeth as Ophelia’s sister giggled. He couldn’t remember her bloody name. He had to learn them.

  Crestwood made the last of the introductions, even announcing Chase. Both Ophelia and the other one dropped into dutiful curtseys. “Your Grace,” Ophelia murmured, her voice dropping low on the last note which added a definite chill to the courtesy. Then she rose. “I am Miss Moorish, as is my sister. Apologies, gentlemen but we have an urgent errand to run. What might you need help with?”

  Chase relaxed a bit as Ophelia’s cool tone extended to the other men. She might sound cold because she was angry with him, but she was sending a clear message to these other men to keep away and he was grateful.

  “There’s no need to rush, Ophelia.” The other one giggled, stepping forward. “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” she said as she held out her hand.

  “Juliet.” Ophelia also moved ahead placing a restrictive hand on her sister’s arm. “We don’t have time to dally.”

  “We’ll be quick then.” Crestwood took Juliet’s hand, then placed a light kiss on her glove. The gesture was long and drawn out and not at all fast. “We’re in need of a boat to carry us north.”

  “Why?” Ophelia asked, giving Juliet a long stare.

  “The bridge is washed out,” Chase answered, cutting in front of the other men to stand next to her. He intended to send a clear message as well.

  She looked up at him. “Is that why you’ve returned?”

  “Returned?” Dashlane asked. “You didn’t mention you knew such lovely ladies here in Seabridge Gate during our carriage ride.”

  Chase straightened. “I didn’t.” Then he placed a hand under Ophelia’s elbow. “I’ll escort you ladies on your errand and then perhaps your father can help these gentlemen charter a ship out of Seabridge Gate.”

  “Excellent,” Crestwood answered. “We can all go on your errand.”

  Chase stopped, drawing in a deep breath, trying to control his intense dislike for this man. Crestwood needed to leave. Immediately. “Perhaps you should secure potential lodging? In case you can’t leave town tonight.”

  Ophelia gave a quick nod. “That’s a good idea. It’s a difficult time of day to reach my father.”

  Chase turned, taking Ophelia with him. “We should go before it’s too late.”

  She nibbled her lip, looking up at him. “Will you be going with them? On the boat?”

  He lightly squeezed her elbow. Now was not the time to share that his parents had died in these very waters and he’d never set foot in a boat as long as he lived. “No. I’ll stay here until I return home.”

  Her head cocked to the side. “Then I’d appreciate your escort to the butcher, Your Grace.”

  He gave a quick nod. “I’d be happy to.” Then he turned to her sister, “Come along, Juliet. We’ll see our new friends in just a bit.”

  Juliet gave an audible sigh but did as he commanded. A quick glance back confirmed the three men glared at him. He didn’t care. Let them glare. Just as long as they weren’t anywhere near the Moorish sisters, Ophelia in particular, they could hate his guts.

  Ophelia glanced over at Chase, his fingers sure and strong on her elbow as she continued to bite her lip. Why was he escorting her to the butcher? Why wasn’t he going to his party? Why— She stopped. There was little point in letting all these questions swirl about now, they weren’t likely to be answered.

  “Do you think your father would permit me to stay again?” Chase asked, his chin dropping close to her ear.

  She turned to look at him, aware of how close their faces were. “I’m sure he would.” She drew in a steadying breath and inadvertently inhaled his fresh sandalwood scent. “For how long?”

  He turned down the side street where the butcher was located. “I’m not certain. But I didn’t know if I’d be welcomed back after last night.”

  She stopped then, Juliet nearly running into her back. “I didn’t tell him, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Juliet tapped both their shoulders. “We know, though. Adrianna caught you.”

  Chase muttered something under his breath that she was fairly certain was a curse word.

  “Perhaps.” She looked back at her sister, giving her a glare. “It would be best if you didn’t stay after all.”

  “Why not?” He scrunched his brow, staring down at her.

  She shook her head, wondering if the man was daft. She hadn’t thought so up to this point but the an
swer seemed obvious to her. “My sisters are not the best secret keepers. If my father finds out…”

  He shrugged. “We’ll deal with that when it comes.”

  Well that wasn’t helpful and only added to the questions she was trying to quiet in her thoughts. She let out a small noise of dissent. “How lovely.”

  He raised a brow as they entered the shop. “Most women would be thrilled to catch a duke.”

  “I’m not most women,” she answered, moving ahead of him toward the counter. The truth was, the entire conversation had her at her wit’s end. Had she wanted to help this man? She’d suspected that was a silly notion, he scrambled all her plans whenever he was near.

  He chuckled as she left his side and approached the butcher.

  She ordered the meat, though Ophelia had little memory of what or why when their small party exited the shop, Chase once again stationed at her elbow. Though they didn’t make it far.

  Outside the shop stood the three lords that Chase had been with in the square. Chase stopped short, Ophelia stopping too and Juliet, once again, bumping into their backs.

  “We’ve got a bit of a problem,” Crestwood said, frowning at the possessive hand Chase had on her elbow. “The inn is full.”

  Chase paused and she wondered if he were going to answer. Was it her place to? But then he cleared his throat. “Where are your holdings that you came to check on?”

  Crestwood narrowed his gaze. “More than a day’s ride south of here. And then we’ll have that much more to sail in order to reach Dover.”

  “Perhaps,” Chase pulled her a touch closer, “the house party just isn’t in your future.”

  “Is it in yours?” Crestwood stepped a bit closer.

  “No,” Chase bit back, hostility that Ophelia didn’t quite understand crackling in the air.

  But Juliet gave the tiniest giggle behind her. “Oh. This is delicious. You lucky thing, you.”

  What did that mean? She glanced over her shoulder at her sister. Then back at the three men before them. All three were assessing her with various degrees of interest. Their eyes roved her body, her face, her basket.

  “If not the party then where will you go?” Crestwood asked, running a hand through his wavy blond hair and flashing her a bright smile.

  “Back to London,” Chase grit out.

  “Really,” Crestwood shifted. “You won’t stay here?”

  Chase’s fingers tightened on her elbow. “That’s none of your business.”

  “I disagree.” Crestwood said before his gaze flipped to her again. “Miss Moorish. You mentioned that you could introduce us to your father. Could we trouble you to do so now?”

  Chase gave a rumble in his chest that sounded near like a growl. The sound, rather than frightening, however, seemed to settle deep in her belly and cause little tendrils of pleasure to go dancing in her most private of areas. Oh dear. What was she going to do now?

  Chapter Eight

  Chase wanted to bash Crestwood’s head with his fist. If he were lucky, blood would squirt from the man’s perfectly straight nose. He gave a mean grin at the thought. He could see Crestwood sizing up Ophelia. He’d be interested in her anyhow. She was stunning and her body… He clenched his teeth together. But with Chase having laid claim, well, he’d piqued the man’s interest further. Chase was sure of it.

  Drawing in a deep breath, Chase attempted to calm the surge of jealous rage that had risen up, making it difficult to even think. He’d never responded like this before, the feeling was almost primal.

  Ophelia gave a delicate cough. “I can try, my lord. It’s half tide, which means he’s likely doing rounds on all the ships getting ready to leave the harbor.”

  Craven gave a grumble. “If we don’t find him that means we can’t board a boat until at least tomorrow.”

  Crestwood wiggled his brows. “We’ll have to find somewhere to stay then, besides the inn. Does anyone have any ideas?”

  “Oh,” Juliet called from the back. “I’m sure we can help you.”

  Chase looked back at Juliet, he hoped his face properly portrayed how much he wanted her to cease talking. She caught his glare and took a half step back, her lips pressing together as her eyes widened.

  “We’ll see if there is a house in the village where you can stay,” Chase pushed out between gritted teeth. “In fact, since we’re unlikely to find Mr. Moorish, perhaps we should secure lodging for our fine friends first.”

  “Fine friends?” Crestwood repeated. “I thought so in the carriage, but now I’m beginning to wonder.”

  That was fair, Chase supposed. In his defense, he’d actually said little. “Miss Moorish,” he looked down into Ophelia’s kind, chocolate-brown stare. Everything about her eyes warmed him on the inside. “Do we know where these men might be able to stay?”

  Ophelia’s nose twitched, just a bit, as she considered his question. “There is an empty cottage at the back of the square that my father owns. I’m sure he’d allow them to stay there.”

  Chase gave a tight nod. He’d prefer to get these men on a boat and out of Seabridge Gate as quickly as he could but at least they weren’t staying at the manor with the family.

  “And you must come for dinner,” Juliet called again.

  “Excellent idea,” Crestwood answered. “Tonight?”

  Ophelia shook her head. “I’m sorry, my lord, but I doubt it. With high tide so late, my father isn’t likely to be home this evening until very late.”

  “Tomorrow then.” Juliet actually put her hand on his shoulder to lift up and see the other men better. He didn’t have any strong feelings about any of Ophelia’s sisters but if she spoke one more word, he might have to stuff his cravat in her mouth.

  “They are trying to get to Ipswich, Miss Moorish,” Chase said, giving her the eye again. Why wasn’t she getting the hint to stop? These men were the worst sort of rakes and they needed to leave this sleepy village at once.

  “We can delay one more day for such an invitation,” Crestwood volunteered.

  “Now see here,” Dashlane interrupted.

  “What?” Craven asked, his voice dropping dangerously low.

  Chase looked back at Juliet. The woman was mad and he’d like to throttle her, but instead he’d have to protect her from these men. Because somewhere between that broken bridge and right now, he’d made a decision. He’d marry Ophelia. He couldn’t stand the thought of another man touching her. Later he’d worry about what a disappointment he was likely to be as a husband.

  “We’ll make it for the second half of the debauchery,” Crestwood said to his companions.

  Ophelia sucked in a sharp breath. Debauchery? What did that mean? She looked at Chase whose jaw had tightened to the point of appearing as though it might shatter. But a whole new series of questions had started thrumming through her thoughts. Was he also planning debauchery at this party? Was that his intent with her as well?

  She took a half step away from him but he pulled his arm tighter to his body.

  “That’s enough, Crestwood.” But it wasn’t Chase who spoke but Craven. “There are ladies present.” Craven’s gaze settled on Juliet, who blushed furiously.

  Crestwood looked back at them, his mouth tightening as he gave a quick bow. “Apologies, ladies.”

  “Let’s find your father,” Chase said as he started leading her down the street. “Juliet, if you’d kindly take my other arm.”

  Her sister dutifully stepped up next to Chase, though she gave a long look back at Craven. Ophelia understood that Chase didn’t want Juliet being escorted by one of those other men but she was beginning to wonder if he was any better.

  She wasn’t saving this man from anything. Her instinct to run had been much more apt. They walked down toward the docks, and she turned to the left. Her father had a small office in one of the buildings located on the shore. He could watch all the ships coming in and out and captains could easily report to him.

  The building was painted a fun shade of dark re
d with large black-trimmed, multi-paned windows. A bell hung above the door and its cheerful call had given her and her sisters hours of entertainment as children.

  Seabridge Gate was technically a peninsula between two rivers. But the mainland of England jutted out just beyond Seabridge Gate’s shore on both sides, providing a uniquely protected harbor and her father a booming business providing them all with a wonderful life. She entered the shop to find her father’s clerk behind his desk. “Hello, Mr. Burton,” she said as the entire group filed into the office.

  Mr. Burton looked up, surprise lighting his gaze. “Ophelia, Juliet. Good to see you. To what do I owe this…” He glanced at the four men. “Surprise?”

  Ophelia gave Chase a hesitant glance before she looked back to her father’s old clerk. “His Grace was a guest of ours last evening.”

  “Interesting,” Crestwood muttered behind her.

  Ophelia continued as though he hadn’t spoken. Weary as she was of Chase, she knew she was relatively safe in his company and she’d stay close to him while with Crestwood. “These other lords are trapped in town because the bridge to the north was damaged in the storm. They were hoping to speak with Papa about passage and the use of the cottage on Mayfair Street.”

  Mr. Burton nodded. “I’m sure you know your father is currently making the rounds. But I can give you the key to the cottage and Mr. Moorish will most certainly visit the gentlemen there on his way home.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Burton,” Ophelia answered. “That is an excellent plan.”

  Chase leaned down close to her ear. “I’ll see both you and Juliet home.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to say that wasn’t necessary but a quick glance back over her shoulder, and she swallowed the words, giving a terse nod instead. With the wolf Crestwood just behind her, it seemed prudent to accept his offer.

  They made their way back out of the shop and down the coastal street and then took a right onto Mayfair. Though the cottage was empty currently, it was used by captains who were in Seabridge Gate on longer stopovers and so it was kept clean and well-stocked. “You’ll find everything you need in the cottage,” she said to the men. “There is food as well but you’ll likely enjoy dinner out at the tavern.”