Nine Rules to Break When Romancing a Rake (10 page)

Callie watched the younger woman carefully before saying, “They do not seem much like family now, do they?”

A flash of guilt crossed Juliana’s face. “It is that obvious?”

Callie shook her head. “Not at all.”

“I do not think they like me.”

Callie shook her head firmly. “Impossible. You are an exceedingly likeable young woman. I, for one, enjoy your company immensely.”

Juliana smiled a half smile before saying, “I believe that Nicholas has warmed to me. But Ralston…” She met Callie’s eyes, and her voice quieted. “He does not smile.”

Leaning forward, she placed a hand on the younger woman’s arm. “I should not read much into that. I believe I could count on a single hand the number of times I have seen Ralston smile.” And not for lack of watching.

Juliana shifted her gaze to where Callie was touching her, staring for a brief moment before placing her own hand on top of Callie’s. When she met Callie’s eyes, the younger woman’s expression was filled with doubt. “I am rather a lot of trouble for him, do you not think? The orphan daughter of a woman who deserted them appears one day, looking for a new family.”

Callie knew she should end this inappropriate conversation. After all, the intricacies of the Ralston family matters were just that—Ralston family matters—but Callie couldn’t help herself. “Not a new family. An old one,” she corrected. “One you were always a part of…you simply had to claim your place in it.”

Juliana shook her head. “No. They know nothing of me. I do little more than remind them of our mother. She is our only connection. I am certain that Ralston sees only her when he looks at me. I think he will be happy to see me go in two months.”

Despite her immense curiosity about their mother, Callie refrained from probing more deeply about the woman who had so callously abandoned three such remarkable children, instead saying, “Your brothers may not know you, Juliana, but they will. And they will love you. I would guess they have already begun. I predict that they will not let you leave in two months. And even if they would allow it, I hope that you will change your mind and stay.”

Juliana’s brilliant blue eyes filled with tears. “Seven weeks and six days.”

Callie’s heart clenched with sympathy for the young woman. She smiled softly, “Honestly, after spending an afternoon with you, I find that I am rather committed to your future as well. I think we shall be very good friends.”

Juliana offered Callie a watery smile. Taking a deep breath, the young woman straightened and brushed her tears away, choosing to put her insecurities aside. “Have you been a friend to my brother for a very long time?”

Callie froze at the question. “A friend?”

“Si. It is clear that Ralston holds you in high regard and considers you a friend. He was quite eager to inform me this morning that he had secured your agreement to sponsor me in society. If you were not friends, why would you be here, risking your own status to guide me through my every misstep?”

Callie knew she couldn’t tell the truth. You see, Juliana, there comes a point in a woman’s life when she’s willing to do anything to be kissed. She paused, searching for the appropriate words; Juliana misread the meaning of the silence.

“Ah,” she said, a knowing tone seeping into the single syllable, “I understand. You are more than a friend, si?”

Callie’s eyes widened at the words, “Whatever do you mean?”

“You are his…” Juliana thought for a moment, seeking the correct phrase. “His inamorata?”

“I beg your pardon?” The question ended in a strangled squeak.

“His lover, yes?”

“Juliana!” Outrage took over, and Callie pulled herself up into her most regal of poses, adopting her very best governess tone. “One does not refer to lovers or paramours or…any other personal matters with guests!”

“But you are not simply a guest!” Juliana looked confused. “You are my friend, are you not?”

“Of course I am. However, one does not refer to such personal matters with friends either!”

“I apologize. I did not know. I thought that if you and Ralston were—”

“We are not!” The words came pouring out as Callie’s voice trembled. “Not lovers. Not even friends! I am here to help you because I like you. I enjoy your company. The Marquess of Ralston has nothing to do with it.”

Juliana looked Callie directly in the eye, waiting several moments before responding. “I enjoy your company, as well, Lady Calpurnia, and I am happy to have you with me on this journey.” She then leaned forward, one side of her mouth up in an impish smile. “However, I believe there is more to your being here than goodwill. Else, why should you so passionately deny it?”

Callie’s eyes widened, her mouth opening in surprise, then closing without sound.

“Do not worry. Your segreto is safe with me.”

Shaking her head, Callie said, “But, there is no secret! Nothing to be kept safe!”

Juliana smiled more broadly. “As you say.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “I shall keep it safe nonetheless.”

Callie leaned back in her chair, eyes narrowing on her pupil, who was grinning as though she were a cat with a bowlful of cream.

And to think, just yesterday she had considered the marquess the most cunning resident of Ralston House.

To a casual observer, the Marquess of Ralston, lounging in an oversized armchair in an elegantly styled room at Brooks’s men’s club, appeared every inch the spoiled aristocrat—legs extended carelessly, boots gleaming, in the direction of the room’s great marble fireplace; cravat loosened, but not undone; hair artfully disheveled; eyes half-lidded, watching the flames flicker and dance. From one hand, a crystal tumbler of scotch dangled, but the two fingers of amber liquid in the glass had been neglected, hovering on the brink of spilling upon the thick blue carpet.

Here, the untrained eye would note, was the portrait of a lazy dandy.

Such an observation, however, would be a gross untruth, as Ralston’s casual sprawl belied his true state—mind racing, pent-up frustration making his stillness a battle of will.

“I had a feeling I would find you here.”

Gabriel turned from the fire to meet his brother’s gaze. “If you are here to announce the existence of another St. John sibling, now is not the best of times.”

“Alas, we remain a meager trio. As hard as it is to believe.” Nick took the chair next to Gabriel with a sigh. “Have you spoken with Nastasia?”

Ralston took a deep drink. “Yes.”

“Ah. That would explain your mood. Attempting to rectify years of profligacy in mere hours is no easy task.”

“I did not agree to changing my ways—only to an increase in discretion.”

“Fair enough.” Nick tilted his head in amusement. “That is something of a beginning, I should think, with your legacy.”

Ralston’s scowl deepened. For years after his father’s death, he had cut a wide, indecorous, and rather legendary swath across London, building a reputation as a rake and a libertine, which currently stood as significantly more scandalous than was actually deserved.

“She looks so much like our mother.”

Gabriel turned his head at the words. “For all of our sakes, I hope that is the only similarity between the two of them. Else we would do well to send her back to Italy now. As it is, I expect our mother’s reputation will be difficult enough to overcome.”

“It’s lucky that you are rich and titled. Juliana will not lack for invitations to the most-anticipated events of the season. Of course, you’ll be required to attend those events with her.”

Gabriel took a drink of scotch, refusing to rise to his brother’s bait. “And how do you intend to escape a similar fate, brother?”

Nick flashed a quick smile. “No one will notice the absence of the second, lesser son of St. John.”

“They shan’t have an opportunity to, Nicholas, as you will be at every one of those events.”

“Actually, I have been asked to journey north, into Yorkshire. Leighton believes my skills are vital in finding and retrieving a statue he has misplaced. I am toying with honoring the request.”

“No. You will not rush off to play with your marbles and leave me to keep the wolves at bay.”

Nick raised an eyebrow. “I shall attempt not to take offense at your assessment of my work…how long before you will allow me my freedom?”

Gabriel took a pull of scotch. “How quickly do you think we can get her married?”

“That will depend on how quickly we can disabuse her of the notion that she should not marry. She’s terrified of our mother’s influence, Gabriel. And can you blame her? The woman has left her mark on each of us. And this is Juliana’s cross to bear.”

“She is nothing like our mother. Her fear proves it.”

“Nevertheless. It is not we who must be convinced. It’s she. And the rest of London.” The brothers fell silent for several long moments before Nick added, “Do you think Juliana is the type to hold out for a love match?”

Ralston gave a little grunt of irritation. “I certainly hope the girl has more sense than that.”

“Women do tend to believe that love is their due. Particularly younger women.”

“I cannot imagine Juliana would ascribe to such fairy tales. You forget, we were raised by the same woman…it simply isn’t possible that Juliana yearns for love. Not after seeing the damage it can do.”

The twins were quiet for a long moment, before Nick said, “For all our sakes, I hope you are correct.” When Ralston remained quiet, Nick added, “Lady Calpurnia was an excellent choice of shepherd.”

Ralston offered a noncommittal grunt.

“How did you secure her participation?”

“Is it relevant?”

One of Nick’s brows shot up. “Now, I sense that it is extremely relevant.” When Ralston did not respond, Nick stood from his chair, straightening his cravat. “Marbury is hosting a card game in the next room. Care to join me?”

Ralston shook his head, instead taking a long sip of scotch.

Nick nodded and took his leave. Ralston watched under hooded lids, cursing his twin’s uncanny ability to strike at the heart of any delicate situation.

Lady Calpurnia.

He had thought her a boon—a woman with an unparalleled reputation who had simply appeared. She was the perfect solution to the problem of preparing Juliana for her first season—or so he had thought. But then he had kissed her.

And the kiss had been rather extraordinary.

He scoffed at the thought. He had been frustrated and taken aback by the arrival of his sister. Any kiss would have been a welcome distraction.

Especially one so freely given by such an enthusiastic, enjoyable partner.

Ralston hardened almost instantly, remembering the way Callie felt in his arms, her soft sighs, the way she had so willingly given herself up to the kiss. He wondered if her excitement for kissing would translate into eagerness for other, more passionate, acts. For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine her in his bed, all enormous brown eyes and full, welcoming lips, wearing nothing but a willing smile.

A burst of laughter came from across the room, yanking him from his reverie. He shifted in his chair to ease the uncomfortable tightness of his breeches, shaking his head to clear it of the vision he’d conjured and making a mental note to find himself a willing female. Quickly.

He took another drink of scotch, watching the warm liquid swirl in the glass as he considered the strange events of the night before. He could not deny the fact that Lady Calpurnia Hartwell, a plain little wallfower with a strange name—to whom he could honestly say he’d never given much thought—was rather intriguing. She certainly was not the type of female who would ordinarily interest him. In fact, she was quite the opposite of his standard preference—ideally exquisite, confident, and experienced.

Then why did she so intrigue him?

Ralston was saved from having to consider the question further by another eruption of raucous noise from across the room. Eager for some distraction from his disconcerting thoughts, he turned his attention to a group of men eagerly calling out wagers. Finney, the bookmaker, was scribbling the bets in the Brooks’s betting book as quickly as he could.

Leaning forward in his chair for a better view, Ralston quickly deduced the focus of the men’s interest, Baron Oxford. With Oxford at the center of the betting, there was little question as to what the topic must be—the baron’s seemingly endless search for a wife. For several months, Oxford, deep in debt largely because of his penchant for gambling, had publicly announced to the membership of Brooks’s that he was looking to marry—the richer the bride, the better.

Typically, Ralston found the boisterous Oxford—more often than not deep in his cups—to be insufferable, but considering the marquess’s need for diversion, he made an exception. He stood and approached the group.

“Ten guineas on Prudence Marworthy.”

“She’s got the face of a horse!” This, from Oxford himself.

“Her dowry is worth keeping the lights out!” came a voice from the back of the crowd. Ralston was the only man in the room who did not laugh at the joke.

“I’ve got twenty guineas that says none but Berwick’s daughter will have you!” The Earl of Chilton threw his bet into the pool, garnering a round of groans at the insensitive wager, interspersed with surprise for the size of Chilton’s wager.

“She may be simple,” Oxford said with a laugh, “but her father is the richest man in England!”

Uninterested in the base conversation, Ralston turned to leave the room. He had almost reached the door when a voice called out, above the rest.

“I’ve got it! The Allendale chit!”

He stilled, then turned back to hear the response. The woman was haunting him.

“No good. She’s just been betrothed to Rivington,” someone said. “And you’re touched if you think The Allendale Angel would settle for Oxford.”

“Not the pretty one…the other.”

“The fleshy one?”

“With the ridiculous name?”

Oxford held court with a swagger that was likely the result of too much drink, enjoying every minute of the immature attention. “That said, Rivington did make a smart move marrying into the Allendale fortune…Lady Cassiopeia wouldn’t be the worst ending to my story.”

“Calpurnia.” Ralston said the name softly, too softly to be heard, at the same time one of the other men corrected Oxford.

The baron continued, waving his glass in the air dismissively. “Well, whatever her name, I’d be wealthy again—wealthy enough to keep a stellar mistress and never bother with the wife. Except to get her with the heir and the spare. And I imagine that, at her age”—he paused for bawdy emphasis—“she’ll be grateful for whatever I give her.”

Oxford’s statement brought a round of cacophonous laughter.

A visceral distaste coursed through Ralston. There was no way Calpurnia Hartwell would marry Oxford. No woman with that kind of passion would settle for such an ass. Ralston had never been so certain of anything in his life.

“Who is willing to match a wager that she’s mine by June?”

Several of Oxford’s friends entered the pool, with others wagering that the Earl of Allendale would step in and refuse the match, and at least one man betting that Oxford would have to elope with Lady Calpurnia in order to achieve his gains.

“I’ll take all the wagers.” Ralston’s words, despite their being spoken quietly from across the room, silenced the other men who, to a man, turned to look at him.

Oxford offered him a broad smile. “Ah, Ralston. I hadn’t noticed you. You’d like to place a bet on my future bride?”

Ralston couldn’t imagine a single situation in which the woman who had marched herself into his home last evening would consider Oxford anything more than an irritation. He’d never seen a wager so easily won as this one. Like taking sweets from a babe. “Indeed, Oxford. I’ll take every one of the bets on Lady Calpurnia. There is not a chance in hell that she’ll marry you.” He turned to the bookmaker. “Finney, mark my words. If Oxford even has an opportunity to offer for Lady Calpurnia, she’ll most certainly refuse.”

A rustle of surprise went through the crowd as Finney asked, “How much, my lord?”

Ralston met Oxford’s eyes as he spoke. “One thousand pounds will keep it interesting, I would imagine,” he said, turning and exiting the room, leaving the group of men utterly dumbfounded.

The gauntlet had been thrown.