Nine Rules to Break When Romancing a Rake (13 page)

She expected a number of things from him at that moment—another request relating to Juliana’s lessons, an entrée to Almack’s, a dinner invitation from her mother, from Rivington’s mother, even. She was prepared for those things. At this moment, they seemed an even trade for the name of a tavern where she could continue her adventures.

She was not expecting him to smile. And so, when he did—a wicked, wolfish grin that shook her to her toes—she was completely unprepared. A burst of heat spread through her, and her heart began to pound. She couldn’t stop staring at his white teeth, his wide, soft lips, the single dimple that appeared in one cheek.

He was more handsome than he had ever been.

Ralston took advantage of her unguarded state, closing in on her until her back was pressed against the wall. She noticed belatedly that the small alcove was remarkably quiet, considering the mass of humanity that was just out of sight. He had selected a space that was almost entirely blocked by a massive column and a cluster of large ferns, affording them a measure of privacy.

He did not seem to care that the entire ton was mere inches away.

She grew nervous.

He reached out and ran a finger down the length of her arm, leaving a trail of fire where he touched her. Taking her gloved hand in his, he turned it over, baring her wrist to his gaze. He brushed his thumb over the delicate skin there, sending her pulse racing. Callie’s entire world had been reduced to this single moment, this single caress. She could not tear her eyes from the point where they touched. The warmth of his hand, the even stroke of his thumb, consumed her as it threatened her sanity.

She did not know how long he stood caressing her before he lifted her hand to his lips and pressed his mouth to the bare skin of her wrist. Her eyes closed against the flood of sensation that came with the touch—the softness of his lips, parted just enough to breathe a hot, moist kiss upon her before he scraped his teeth against the sensitive spot. She heard her own gasp and opened her eyes just in time to feel his tongue soothing the skin. He boldly met her gaze as he wreaked havoc on her senses, and she couldn’t help but watch him, knowing that he knew exactly what he was doing to her.

With one final kiss, Ralston let go of her hand, holding her gaze as he leaned toward her. When he spoke, his words were more air than sound as they brushed softly over the skin of her temple. “The Dog and Dove.”

At first, she was confused. While she hadn’t been certain of precisely what he would say, she had not been expecting that. And then, from deep within the haze of sensuality that he had created around them, understanding dawned. Her eyes widened. Before she could say anything, he was gone, leaving her to regain her sanity in private.

When she exited the alcove, flushed with anticipation, she was not surprised to discover that the marquess had taken his leave entirely.

He had, however, given her the name of a tavern.

Anne, you must help me.” Callie’s tone was pleading as she watched her outraged maid unravel the long strands of hair that she had carefully arranged prior to the betrothal ball.

“I must do no such thing,” the older woman scoffed. “You do realize that, if it were discovered, I could lose my position!”

“You know that I would never allow that to happen,” Callie said. “But I cannot do this without you!”

Anne met Callie’s eyes in the looking glass. “Well then, you shall have a very difficult time of it, Callie-mine. If you were caught…think of your reputation!”

“I shan’t be caught!” Callie spun to face Anne, her half-unraveled hair flying out behind her. “First, everyone is so distracted by the ball that no one would even notice that I have gone. With your help in securing a disguise, the odds of my being caught would be virtually nil! Just one night, Anne. I will be back in no time, with none the wiser.” Callie paused, her hands coming together, as she added, “Please. Don’t I deserve an evening of excitement, as well?”

The older woman paused to consider Callie’s quiet words, then heaved a resigned sigh. “This list shall be the death of both of us.”

Callie grinned broadly. She had won. “Excellent! Oh, Anne, thank you!”

“You shall have to do more than thank me when the earl comes for my head.”

“Done.” Callie couldn’t stop smiling as she turned to provide the maid with better access to the row of buttons down the back of her gown.

As Anne began to unhook the fastenings, she shook her head again, muttering to herself. “A tavern. In the dead of night. I must be mad to help you.”

“Nonsense,” Callie said vehemently. “You are merely a very good friend. A very good friend who should have Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday free.”

The maid offered a noncommittal grunt at the obvious bribe. “Have you ever even seen the inside of a tavern?”

“Of course not,” Callie said. “I’ve never had the opportunity to do so.”

“One might think there was a reason for that,” Anne said dryly.

“Have you ever been inside a tavern?”

The maid nodded brusquely. “I’ve had reason to visit a public house a time or two. I simply hope that the Marquess of Ralston has recommended one with a respectable clientele. I do not like that he was so willing to help you tarnish your reputation, Callie.”

“Do not blame Ralston, Anne. I’m sure that he would not have made the recommendation had he thought I might be the one to patronize the Dog and Dove.”

Anne snorted in disbelief. “The man must be something of a dunderhead then, Callie, because anyone with a brain can see through your fibs.”

Callie resolutely ignored her. “Either way, I’m in for an adventure, don’t you think? Do you imagine there will be a ruddy-cheeked barkeep with a missing tooth or two? Or a tired, winsome barmaid, working to keep her children fed and clothed? Or a group of young workmen eager for a pint of ale to chase away their tiring day?”

Anne spoke dryly. “The only thing I imagine there will be in that tavern is an overly romantic lady doomed to be disappointed by reality.”

“Oh, Anne. Where is your sense of adventure?”

“I think you have more than enough of that for both of us.” When Callie ignored her, she pressed on. “Promise me one thing?”

“Yes?”

“If you become uncomfortable in any way, you will leave immediately. Perhaps I should send Michael with you,” she said, referring to her son, one of the Allendale coachmen. “He would make certain that you were safe.”

The idea set Callie on edge. She whirled around to face the maid, clutching the loosened gown to her breast, urgency on her face. “Anne, no one aside from you must ever know that I’ve done this. Not even Michael. I cannot risk discovery. Surely, you understand that.”

Anne paused, considering her next move. With a firm nod, the maid spoke matter-of-factly, “A plain brown wool should do. And you’ll need a cloak to hide your face.”

Callie smiled broadly. “I defer to your superior understanding of disguise.”

“Well, I don’t know about disguise, but I should think I’d be rather an expert on dressing you as a commoner.” Anne pointed to the dressing screen nearby before continuing. “I shall go to fetch you a frock and cloak. You remove that gown while I am gone.”

“And I’ll need a cap.”

Anne sighed. “I thought we were rid of lace caps.”

“We are. But tonight, I need as much disguise as possible.”

With a huff, Anne left, muttering to herself, likely about the challenges that long-suffering maids must endure.

Once Anne was gone, Callie removed the dress she had worn for the ball earlier that evening. As she slipped out of the blue satin gown, she swayed gently to the faint music that drifted up from the floor below, where revelers continued to dance and celebrate Mariana and Rivington.

There was little question that this was the greatest ball of her life. It wasn’t just the waltz with Ralston—although that certainly was a factor—or the decadent, rather scandalous interaction with the marquess in the midst of the festivities, where anyone could have found them. It was that, for the first time in her life, she had been filled with an undeniable strength—as though she could do anything.

As though the adventure she craved was hers for the taking.

The powerful feeling had been almost too much to bear, and Callie had escaped above stairs soon after Ralston had left the ball. Her secret encounter, paired with the thrill that came with the tavern recommendation Ralston had provided, had rendered her unable to continue her sedate interactions with the ton. How could she discuss the season when there was scotch to be tried? A tavern to visit? A new Callie to encourage?

She couldn’t, of course.

It was not the first ball she had left early; she doubted that anyone would notice or care that she had disappeared—a truth that made for an easy escape to adventure. At long last, some good comes of being a wallflower.

She smiled at the thought as a sharp rap announced Anne’s return. The maid bustled back into the room, arms laden with brown wool.

Consumed with excitement, Callie couldn’t stop herself from clapping her hands, eliciting a scowl from her companion.

“I should think you’re one of the first people to ever applaud brown wool.”

“Perhaps I am the first person to recognize brown wool for what it really is.”

“Which is?”

“Freedom.”

The Dog and Dove was, evidently, a popular haunt.

Callie peered out the window of the hansom cab she had hired to take her to the tavern, curiosity bringing her to the edge of her seat, nose nearly pressed against the glass window. She had ridden down Jermyn Street countless times by day, never realizing that it was an entirely different place at night. The transformation was really quite fascinating.

There were dozens of people on the street in front of the tavern, bathed in the yellow light that poured from its windows. She was surprised to see aristocrats in their starched cravats mingling with gentlemen and members of the merchant class, the “cits” who were so publicly criticized in ballrooms across London for working.

Interspersed among the men was a handful of women, some clearly the companions of the men upon whom they hung, others who seemed to be without an escort. The last filled Callie with apprehension; there had been a small part of her that had hoped to arrive at the tavern and, finding no unchaperoned women, to be required to ask the hack to return her home immediately.

Frankly, she wasn’t sure if she was miserable or thrilled that she had been provided with no viable excuse to turn back.

Callie sighed, the exhaled breath clouding the window, turning the light beyond into a hazy yellow fog. She could just go home and drink scotch in Benedick’s study. With Benedick. After all, he’d offered before. At Allendale House, where she would not risk her reputation.

At Allendale House, there would be no adventure. Callie winced at the thought, clutching the square sheet in her gloved hand, feeling the rich, thick paper crinkle in her palm as doubt assailed her.

She should have let Anne come with her. Solitary adventure was fast becoming overrated.

She couldn’t go home now, however. Not after she’d gone through the trouble of asking Ralston for the name of a tavern and securing an appropriate disguise. She fidgeted under the rough wool of the gown, which irritated her skin despite the linen chemise she wore. With the hood of her cloak up, no one would even look twice at the plain young woman who entered, ordered a tumbler of whiskey and sat quietly at a table at the back of the taproom. She’d begged Anne for information about the inside of taverns as well. She was fully prepared. All she had to do was exit the hack.

Unfortunately, her legs did not seem to be willing to cooperate.

To list? Or not to list?

The door opened. And she no longer had a choice. The driver spoke, exasperation filling his tone. “Miss? Ye did say The Dog and Dove, did ye not?”

Callie crushed the list in her hand. “I did.”

“Well, here y’are.”

She nodded. “Quite.” And, stepping down onto the block he had set on the ground for her to exit, she thanked him.

She could do this. Shoring up her courage, Callie took the last step down to the street and planted her kidskin boot right into a puddle of murky water. With a little, involuntary cry of distress, she hopped to dry land and looked back at the now-amused driver. He offered her a cocky grin. “Ye should be watchin’ where ye step, miss.”

Callie scowled. “Thank you for the advice, sir.”

He tilted his head at her as he added, “Are ye certain ye want to be here?”

She squared her shoulders. “Quite certain, sir.”

“Right, then.” He tipped his cap, leapt up to the driver’s seat, and, with a click to his horses, was off to find his next fare.

Adjusting her hood, she faced the tavern. To list, it seems. Carefully checking the cobblestones in front of her for additional pitfalls, she made her way through the crowd of uninterested people outside, toward the door.

He saw her the moment she entered the tavern.

There had been no question that she’d been lying earlier in the evening about her brother’s looking for a tavern in town. There was little chance that the Earl of Allendale needed his sister’s interference to find his way to a pub.

Which begged the question, why on earth was Lady Calpurnia Hartwell looking for a tavern?

And what on earth was she doing inside a tavern in the middle of the night? Had she no concern for her reputation? For that of her family? For that of his sister, for God’s sake? He’d placed Juliana’s reputation in her care, and here she was prancing into a public house, bold as brass. She was certain to get herself into trouble.

Ralston leaned back in his chair, whiskey in hand, his attention focused entirely on Callie, who was frozen just inside the doorway of the tavern, looking equal parts fascinated and terrified. The room was packed with people, most in various stages of drunkenness. He’d selected one of the more reputable establishments in St. James. While he could have sent her to Haymarket or Cheapside to teach her a lesson, he had predicted—correctly—that this place would be enough to set her back on her heels.

She pulled her cloak tight around her, eyes darting around the room, not sure where to direct her gaze to retain the calm demeanor that her upbringing required. A burst of masculine laughter startled her into turning toward a large group of men seated at a long table to her left. The men were eyeing a barmaid as she set tankards of ale on the scarred oak tabletop, revealing her ample bosom to the appreciative patrons. Callie’s eyes widened as one particularly forward man grabbed the buxom server and pulled her, squealing, onto his lap for a rude grope. Callie snapped her eyes away from the scene before she could see the next, certainly more scandalous, scene in the tableau.

Unfortunately, she turned toward another, more mutually accommodating couple. To her immediate right, a young woman showing an indecent amount of skin was running a long, feminine finger along the jaw of a gentleman clearly in search of companionship. The two were whispering to each other, lips scant inches apart, eyes locked in a passionate gaze that could only result in one thing…something even the innocent Lady Calpurnia Hartwell could understand. The couple did not notice Callie’s quick intake of breath before she catapulted herself farther inside, heading for the back of the tavern, straight to an empty table in a dimly lit corner—and to him.

If he weren’t so angry with the ridiculous woman, he would be amused.

As she made her way through the crowded room, she tried desperately to avoid touching or even brushing accidentally against the other patrons—an impossible task in the crush of humanity that stood between her and the sanctuary of the empty table within her sights. She seated herself without looking at the people nearby, in an obviously desperate attempt to regain some semblance of calm. She sat with her back to him, but the hood of her plain woolen cloak had fallen back, and he watched as she collected herself and waited for a barmaid to approach. Her hair was up, tucked into a horrid lace cap, but a few auburn curls had escaped and were brushing against the nape of her neck, drawing his attention to the lovely, straight column, flushed with excitement.