Nine Rules to Break When Romancing a Rake (28 page)

Callie blinked up at him, the sunlight pooling around her, turning her flushed skin the perfect shade of pink. When she did not speak, he said, “I should like to make it all up to you. I think taking you to Brooks’s would be a start.”

A shadow crossed Callie’s face fleetingly—as though she were disappointed—and then it was gone.

Ralston pressed on. “I shall take you tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“Unless you have plans to spend the evening with Oxford as well?” he said, coolly.

“No…I was to attend the Cavendish Ball, however. I shall have to beg off.” She avoided his gaze.

“That would be ideal. If we go while the ball is in full cry, it will make the whole procedure much easier.”

“What shall I wear?” she asked quietly.

A memory flashed of Callie dressed in men’s clothing, wearing only tight-fitting fencing breeches, her breasts unbound and pressed against him, her skin flushed with pleasure. Feeling his own breeches tighten, he shifted uncomfortably before saying, “I suppose you’re going to have to dress in men’s clothing. Do you have something appropriate for a club? Or will you be wearing your fencing suit?”

She blushed at his teasing before shaking her head. “No. I have something more appropriate.”

Of course she did. He refrained from asking her when she’d had cause to wear something more appropriate. This was a terrible idea.

Nonetheless, he’d given her his word. It was better that he escort her than someone else. Better him than Oxford. The thought of her clambering about in men’s clothing with Oxford was enough to make him want to put his fist into the baron’s face.

Eager to be rid of the vision of Callie and Oxford, Ralston moved to the edge of the screen, where he darted a quick glance into the room beyond to ensure they would not be seen returning from their hiding place. When he was certain they would remain unnoticed, he deftly guided her around the screen and into the main room, his pace indicating that she should attempt to appear casual as they walked through toward the main gallery. “Shall I meet you at Allendale House at half twelve?” he said, looking away from her but keeping his voice low enough that only she could hear.

She nodded. “That is an ideal time. Late enough that everyone will be at the ball, early enough not to run into them coming home.” She looked up in surprise. “You’re rather good at this.”

He dipped his head as though accepting a compliment. “This isn’t the first time I’ve planned a clandestine outing.”

Her gaze skidded away. “No, I don’t imagine it would be,” she said quietly before she stopped in front of a large painting of a King Charles spaniel. She took a deep breath and continued, “The back entrance.”

He gave a hint of a nod. “I made peace with Juliana.” He did not know why he felt that he had to tell her, but he did.

Surprise flashed across her face, there and gone so quickly, he wasn’t entirely certain it had been there at all. “I am happy to hear it. She is a good girl. And I believe she is coming to care for you deeply.”

The words made him uncomfortable though he could not understand why.

Callie seemed to notice. “I am happy to hear it,” she repeated.

He nodded once. “What do you think of this?” he asked, indicating the painting nearby.

She gave him an odd look. “I think it’s an enormous painting of a dog.”

He made a show of considering the picture and nodded seriously. “An astute observation.” She gave a short laugh before he continued. “The visual arts have never been my specialty. I prefer to consider myself a connoisseur of music. As you know.” The last words were spoken softly near her ear. They were meant to fluster her, to remind her of the evening in his bedchamber…of their first kiss. The strategy worked, and Ralston couldn’t help the pleasure that shot through him at the sound of her breath catching.

“I think it best if I return to my sister,” Callie said, her voice wavering slightly.

“I shall take you.”

“No!” she said, a touch louder than she had planned. She paused, then continued. “I think I should go alone.”

For a moment, he considered pressing the issue—forcing her to accept his escort. But he recognized a battle won when he saw one. “Indeed,” he said, bowing low over her hand, before adding quietly, “Tonight, then?”

She met his gaze and held it for a long moment before she gave a small nod. “Tonight.”

And then she was gone, swallowed up by the crowd.

By nine o’clock that evening, Callie was pacing her bedchamber and counting the hours until she could creep down the back stairs and begin her next adventure. Her nerves had been on edge since she’d escaped Ralston that afternoon. Between Oxford’s constant talk of himself and odd advances toward her and Mariana and Rivington’s doting upon each other, the rest of the exhibition had been interminable, not even seeing Jerusalem had made it enjoyable.

Of course, being at home was even less diverting than being at the Royal Academy. Callie had cloistered herself in her bedchamber immediately upon her return, crying headache to ensure that her mother would allow her to forgo the plans to attend the Cavendish Ball. Now she paced the little room, going quietly mad in captivity.

She turned to the clock in the corner of the room, checking the time once more. Ten past nine. She sighed, throwing herself onto the bench under the bay window that overlooked the back gardens of Allendale House.

If only Ralston hadn’t made it abundantly clear that the interludes they had shared—the moments that had made her feel so alive and exhilarated—were a mistake.

She’d wanted the floor to open and swallow her whole when he’d ended their kiss and promptly apologized. While it might have been the gentlemanly thing to do, it certainly wasn’t in Ralston’s character to apologize unless he truly regretted his behavior.

Callie could only assume that he regretted ever getting involved with her—after all, a naïve spinster wasn’t exactly the ideal companion for a first-rate rake.

But he’d called her lovely. She sighed again, pulling her legs up underneath her and playing the moment over in her mind. It had been exactly as wonderful as she’d imagined it would be—wonderful, handsome Ralston, the man she’d pined over for a decade, had finally noticed her. Not simply noticed her—said she was lovely.

And then he’d hauled off and apologized. For everything. She’d rather he’d never given her any attention at all than regret their time together.

Callie stood and went to the looking glass that stood in the corner of the room. Facing her reflection, she took herself in—Too-brown hair, too-brown eyes, too-short stature, too full a mouth, altogether unfashionably endowed with too-ample breasts and too-wide hips.

No wonder he’d apologized.

She sighed, wishing she could banish the memory of Ralston’s earnest words, so forthright and gentlemanly that they made her want to spit.

Or cry.

She took a deep breath, willing away the stinging tears that hovered just behind her eyes. She would not cry on what was to become, she hoped, the most exciting night of her life. Exciting not because of Ralston…but because of her.

And a little because of Ralston.

Fine. And a very little because of Ralston. But mainly because of her.

She thought for a moment, attempting to divine whether gambling or Brooks’s was more of a draw. It was impossible to decide. She would simply have to wait until she had first-hand experience. Which she would have in…she looked at the clock again. Twelve past nine. Was it possible that the timepiece was somehow broken? It couldn’t possibly have been only two minutes since the last time she checked. She watched the hands on the clock face, waiting for the minute hand to move to thirteen minutes past. The wait was interminable. Yes. It was most definitely broken.

Callie spun on her heel and headed toward the door to the room, intending to sneak into the hallway beyond and check the actual time. Surely it was closer to eleven. She was going to have to get dressed quickly if she was going to be on time for Ralston. She had to call for Anne.

She’d barely taken a step toward the door when it flew open and Mariana burst in, closing it immediately behind her. The younger woman stood, arms akimbo, breathless—as though she had run for miles to be there.

With a quick glance to the pristine, unused bed, Mari speared Callie with a triumphant look, and said, “I knew it!” The words were spoken as though she had just invented the wheel. Or something equally world-changing.

Callie’s eyes widened. “Knew what?”

Mariana pointed at her sister, her eyes flashing with excited accusation. “I knew you weren’t ill!” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “You’re going to complete another item on the list!”

Callie stood frozen for several long minutes before turning away and putting a hand to her head. She headed for bed. “Whyever would you think that? I was just getting up to call for one of Cook’s remedies.”

She spared a quick glance at Mariana, who was having none of it. “Cook’s remedies?” she said, disbelief in her tone. “You could be on your deathbed and you wouldn’t take one of Cook’s remedies.” Mari rushed to the bed and leapt upon it as though she were wearing a night rail and not a stunning silk ball gown. “What’s tonight? Horse racing? Boxing? Snuff?”

Callie lay down on the bed and pulled a pillow over her face.

“I know! A brothel!”

Shocked, Callie thrust the pillow away from her face. “Mari! You are letting your imagination run wild. Of course I am not going to a brothel.”

Mari’s face fell. “Oh. That’s a pity.”

Callie leveled her sister with a wry look. “Yes. I’m sure it is. Nevertheless, I shan’t be visiting any houses of ill repute tonight.”

“But maybe another night?”

Callie shook her head. “It’s quite extraordinary that you are mere months away from being a duchess.”

Mari grinned and shrugged her shoulders in a supremely unladylike fashion. “Exactly! I shall be a duchess! Who will criticize me? Besides Mother, that is.”

Callie met her sister’s smile. “Aren’t you going to be late for the ball?”

“I don’t want to go. I want to go with you.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“You know it’s a sin to lie,” Mariana said, all seriousness.

“Fine. I am going somewhere, but you cannot come. If we both cry sick, Mother will know there is something amiss.”

Mariana clapped her hands eagerly. “Where are you going?”

“What time is it?”

Mari’s eyes narrowed. “Callie. Do not change the subject.”

“I am not changing the subject! I just don’t want to be late.”

“It’s twenty past nine.”

Callie sighed and flopped back onto the bed. “This evening is interminable!”

“Callie!” Mariana said sharply, “Where are you going?”

Callie met her sister’s eager gaze. “If half past twelve ever comes, I am going gambling.”

Mari gasped. “No!”

Callie grinned. “Yes!”

“Are you going to a hell?”

“No…I thought it might be too easy to be caught there. I’m going to Brooks’s.”

Mariana froze. “Brooks’s…as in, the men’s club?”

Callie nodded, color flooding her cheeks.

“You think it will be more difficult to get caught at Brooks’s than at a gaming hell?” Mariana shook her head in amazement. “You’re mad.”

“I’m not!”

“How are you ever going to…My God! Callie! Women aren’t allowed at Brooks’s! If you were caught…”

“I shan’t be.”

“How do you know?”

Callie paused, unsure of what to say. Mariana pressed on. “Callie.”

“Ralston is taking me.”

Mariana blinked twice. Callie waited for her sister to wrap her head around the announcement.

“The Marquess of Ralston?”

“The very same.”

“You’re going with Ralston?” If the words hadn’t been so nerve-racking, Callie would have laughed at Mariana’s squeaking voice. Instead, she worried the stitching on the blanket and nodded. “I knew it!” Mari crowed, triumphantly. “I knew it from the first time you waltzed! At my betrothal ball!”

“Mari! Hush! The whole house will hear you!” Callie whispered frantically.

“You’ll be ruined if you’re caught,” Mariana announced, as though the idea had never crossed Callie’s mind.

Callie nodded again in the silence that fell.

“Well, then. We shall have to be very careful to ensure that you are not caught.” Callie took heart in Mariana’s use of the word “we” as she pressed on. “It appears that you are excellently prepared for sneaking out of the house…but how are you planning to sneak back in?”

“I had thought to come back the same way—through the back door and up the servants’ stairs.”

Mariana shook her head. “It won’t do. The upper doorway of those stairs squeaks horribly, and Mother will hear.”

Callie considered her options. “I shall have to oil the hinges.”

Mari nodded. “And watch the third step from the top. It creaks.”

Callie narrowed her gaze on her sister. “How do you know that?”

“Let’s simply say that Rivington and I have had need of those stairs once or twice.”

Callie gave her sister a wide-eyed look. “Mariana!”

“It’s a little late for you to be outraged. At least I’m engaged to Rivington!” Mariana teased. “You’re meeting Ralston for a late-night rendezvous! My God! Promise me you’ll tell me everything!”

“It’s not a rendezvous,” Callie protested. “He’s merely helping me. We are…friends.”

“Friends do not risk friends’ reputations, Calpurnia.” Mariana lowered her voice. “Have you and he…” She waved one hand as the question trailed off.

“Have we?” Callie pretended to misunderstand.

Mariana narrowed her gaze on her elder sister. “Callie. You know very well what I am asking.”

Callie looked away. “I assure you I do not.”

Mariana squealed with delight. “Yes! You do! And you have!” She clapped her hands. “How delicious!”

“It’s not delicious.”

Mariana’s face fell. “Oh. What a pity. He looks as though he would be—”

“Mari!” Callie cut her off. “That’s not what I meant.”

“So it is delicious!”

Callie sighed. “It rather is.”

Mari’s grin was wide and wicked. “I would like to hear all about that.”

“Well, you shan’t. And this conversation is entirely inappropriate.”

Mari waved one hand to dismiss Callie’s prim statement. “You know that if you’re caught together, you shall have to marry. Imagine the scandal!”

Callie closed her eyes tightly—it was only too easy to imagine the scandal. “I shan’t be getting caught.”

“MARIANA!!!!” Callie was saved from the embarrassing conversation by the Dowager Countess of Allendale’s shrill call from belowstairs. Mariana rolled her eyes, and said, “My word that woman can screech. You should see what she’s wearing, Callie. It’s velvet. Canary yellow velvet. Turban to match. She looks like a furry banana.”

Callie winced at the vivid image. “It’s part of her charm.”

“It’s a miracle Rivington offered for me.”

Callie smiled broadly at the dry comment. “Have fun.”

Mari reached forward to give Callie a quick hug. “You are the one who will have fun! I shall be thinking of you all night long! Tomorrow, I want to hear everything! Promise me!”

“I promise.”

Mariana stood, smoothed out her wrinkled skirts, and gave a little hop of excitement in Callie’s direction before she took her leave. Callie followed her to the door, pressing her ear against the wood to listen for the sound of the family exiting the house before rushing to the window to listen for the clatter of hooves and wheels indicating their official departure for the ball. When she could no longer hear the carriage, she spun away from the window and called for Anne.

She had much to do before Ralston arrived.

Ten minutes before she was to meet her escort, Callie stole across the darkened Allendale gardens to the gate in the far wall. Opening the latch, she pulled the gate open, noting its screaming hinges. “Damn,” she said, irritation in her voice. Was every hinge on the property in need of oiling?

Thanks to Mariana, however, Callie had expected that she might need the oil can Michael had fetched for her earlier that evening—without a single question as to her motives, bless him—and she had come prepared. Lifting the can in her hand, she soaked the hinge with the dark liquid, working the gate to spread the lubricant and silence the jarring noise. When she had completed her work with the top hinge, she turned her attention to the lower one.

She was so engrossed in her work that she did not hear Ralston approach.

“Now here is a gentleman of many talents,” he said dryly, and she jumped in surprise at the words. Looking up at him from her crouch, she smiled before carefully adding drops of oil to the hinge and working the gate. He removed his gloves and crouched next to her, taking the oil can as he continued, “Of all the clandestine outings I’ve taken in my life, I will say that this is the first one that included oiling squeaky hinges.”

She smiled at his casual tone. “I could not take the risk that I could be caught by my family should I return home after them.”

He nodded, the movement barely perceptible in the darkness. “A clever precaution.” Finishing his task, he set the oil can aside and removed a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping his hands on it and handing it to her to do the same. Rising, he reached down to help her into a standing position. He took a step back to survey her disguise. It wasn’t easy to see, but this time she was wearing black and white eveningwear, entirely appropriate for the inside of Brooks’s. Her boots shone in the moonlight, black breeches and black topcoat highlighting a crisp white shirt and waistcoat and a perfectly starched cravat. Anne was becoming quite adept at dressing her mistress in men’s clothing. To complete the look, Callie’s hair was tucked into a black top hat. Lifting her cane with a flourish, she asked in a low tone, “Well, my lord? What do you think?”