Nine Rules to Break When Romancing a Rake (32 page)

He began to dress, noting when, after several long moments of watching him, Callie moved to do the same. He tried not to look at her, but found himself unable to resist when she turned to face away from him and pull on her breeches. His palms itched to touch her, to gather her against him and, once more, feel her softness cradling the hard angles of his body. Pulling himself from his reverie, he set to work on his cravat as she pulled on her shirt, forgoing her bindings.

She turned to search for her waistcoat and met his gaze briefly. He could not help but register the sadness in her eyes. She already regretted what they had done.

Leaning down, he lifted the length of linen that she had ignored, running it through his fingers. “Do you need this?”

“No,” she said softly. “Your greatcoat is large enough to hide me…” She paused before adding, “That, and I promised I wouldn’t bind them again.”

The words, along with the erotic power they had carried earlier that evening, echoed between them, reminding him of his unforgivable behavior. She turned away from him as he said, “So you did.”

He wrapped the linen into a small bundle and tucked it inside his waistcoat before leaning to retrieve his topcoat from the floor. As he did, he noted the square of paper that lay beneath it—the list that had set them on this wild course.

He straightened, opening his mouth to offer her the paper, but stopping just short of sound when he realized that she remained resolutely faced away from him, her back straight, shoulders squared as though she were about to do battle as she calmly inserted pins into her hair, restoring it to its original state.

For some reason, he did not want to mention her silly list. Instead, he tucked the wrinkled square into his pocket and waited for her to face him again.

Several minutes later, she did, and he was struck by the emotion in her eyes, liquid with unshed tears. In the face of her sadness, he felt like an utter ass. Swallowing, he searched for the right thing to say. He could see that she was waiting for him to speak, to say the words that would redeem him…the words that would stop the tears that threatened to spill over.

He wanted to say the right thing. He might not have been able to repair the damage he had done with his unthinking, callous behavior, but he certainly could behave the gentleman going forward. And so, he said the thing that he imagined gentlemen said in such a situation. The thing that he was certain women wanted to hear in such a situation. The thing that was sure to stop her tears.

“Please, forgive me for my behavior. Of course, we shall marry.”

He waited out the long moment during which the words hung between them, while Callie’s eyes widened in shock, then narrowed upon him as though his mind were thoroughly addled. He waited for her to realize that he’d done the gentlemanly thing. Waited for her to be pleased by—grateful for, even—his offer of marriage. Waited for her to say something—anything. He waited as she wrapped herself in his greatcoat, pulled on her gloves, and set her hat upon her head.

And, when she was done, and she had faced him and finally spoke, it was as though he’d said nothing at all. “Thank you for the supremely edifying evening, my lord. Would you mind very much taking me home?”

Well. At least she hadn’t cried.

Of all the arrogant—pompous—horrid—men!” Callie wrenched books from the shelves of the Allendale House library and tossed them onto the growing piles at her feet as she muttered aloud to herself. “‘Of course, we shall marry’? I wouldn’t—marry him—if he were the last—man—in—London!”

She blew a stray lock of hair from her eyes and wiped her dusty hands on the gray woolen dress she was wearing before surveying the damage she had caused over the last hour. The library had been torn asunder. There were books everywhere—on tables and chairs and in progressively less neat piles on the floor.

After a stony-silent ride home with Ralston mere hours ago, Callie had crept back into the house and found her bed, torn between a longing to crawl under the covers never to reemerge and an equally strong desire to march straight to Ralston House, wake up its master, and tell him precisely what she thought he should do with his generous, gentlemanly offer.

For several hours, she’d attempted the former…playing the events of the evening over and over in her head—alternating between tears and anger at how thoroughly he’d ruined such a remarkable evening. He’d shown her precisely how amazing passion could be, she’d seen her first glimpse of ecstasy, and then he’d gone and destroyed it. And she’d been reminded, mere moments after her discovery, that she was not destined for passion of any kind.

No, instead of Ralston saying any number of wonderful things that could have been appropriate for the precise situation in which they had found themselves—from You are the most unparalleled female I have ever known, to How can I ever live without you now that I’ve found heaven in your arms, to I love you, Callie, more than I had ever dreamed to even Shall we have another go?—he’d gone and mucked it up by apologizing.

And, even worse, mentioning marriage.

Not that marriage would have been the entirely wrong thing for him to mention. Indeed, she would have welcomed it, somewhere between You are the most unparalleled female I have ever known and How can I ever live without you now that I’ve found heaven in your arms. It would have been lovely if he’d looked into her eyes with absolute devotion, and said, Make me the happiest, luckiest, most satisfied man in the world, Callie. Marry me.

Certainly, if he’d said that—or, she allowed magnanimously, any variation on the theme—she would have collapsed, elated, into his arms and allowed him to kiss her senseless all the way home. And she would still be abed, dreaming of a long, happy life as the Marchioness of Ralston.

Instead, it was half past nine, the morning after what should have been the most marvelous evening of her entire life—including all those still left to come—and she was rearranging the library.

Hands on her hips, she gave a curt nod at the scene before her. “It seems as good a time as any.”

Well, at least she hadn’t cried.

She sneezed. First, she would have to dust.

She marched to the door and yanked it open to have footman fetch her a duster, only to discover Mariana and Anne, heads bowed, deep in whispered conversation with a maid across the hallway.

All three heads snapped up at the sound of the library door opening, and Callie noted that the maid’s jaw dropped at the sight of her. Callie spoke evenly to the servant. “I am in need of a duster.” The girl looked entirely dumbfounded, as though she failed to understand the statement. Callie tried again. “To dust. The books. In the library.” The girl appeared to be rooted to the floor of the foyer. Callie sighed. “I should like to dust the library today… do you think that will be possible?”

The question spurred the girl into motion, and she scurried off down the hall to do her mistress’s bidding. Callie leveled Mariana and Anne with a stern look. At least they had the good sense not to comment.

“Oh, my,” Mariana said, “it appears that it is worse than we thought.”

Callie’s gaze narrowed on her sister, speaking volumes, before she spun on one heel and returned to the library to begin the long process of alphabetizing the books that were now thoroughly out of order. From her spot on the floor, Callie noted that Mariana and Anne had followed her into the room. Anne stood resolutely by the closed door as Mariana perched cautiously on the arm of one chair.

They watched Callie carefully, remaining quiet for several minutes as Callie collected titles from nearby piles. Mariana broke the silence finally, asking, “What letter are you on?”

Callie looked up at her sister from amidst the towering books and said, obviously, “A.”

Mari leaned over to consider a pile of books by her feet. Deftly removing one from the stack, she flashed a self-satisfied smile, and said, “Alighieri. Inferno.”

Callie turned back to her piles. “That’s Dante. It should be shelved under D.”

“Really?” Mariana wrinkled her nose at the book in her hand. “That seems odd. His surname begins with an A.”

“Michelangelo’s surname begins with a B and we still file him under M.”

“Hmm,” Mariana said, feigning interest in the conversation. “It must be the Italians.” She paused briefly as the maid knocked and entered with a duster for Callie. When the girl had come and gone, closing the door behind her, Mari continued absently, “I wonder if Juliana would be filed under J or F?”

Callie’s back stiffened briefly at the mention of Ralston’s sister before she resumed her dusting. “I haven’t any idea. Probably J.”

Anne piped up. “’Tis a pity she’s not an official St. John. I’ve always liked S.”

Mariana nodded. “I do so agree.”

Callie snapped her head around to look at Mariana. “What are you two trying to get at?”

“What happened last night?”

Callie looked back at the shelf she was filling. “Nothing happened.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Then why are you reorganizing the library?” Mariana asked.

Callie gave a little shrug of her shoulders. “Why not? I haven’t anything else to do today.”

“Nothing better to do than rearrange the library.”

Callie wondered how difficult it would be to strangle her sister.

“A thing you only ever do when you are in search of distraction?”

And her lady’s maid.

Mariana stood and leaned against the shelf where Callie was working. “You promised you would tell me everything, you know.”

Callie shrugged again. “There’s nothing to tell.”

The words were punctuated by a knock on the door of the room. All three women turned their attention to the butler, who was making a valiant attempt to ignore the mess that had taken over the normally impeccably organized library.

He entered, closing the door firmly behind him, as though attempting to shield them from the hallway. “My lady, Lord Ralston is here. He is requesting an audience with you.”

Mariana and Anne exchanged a wide-eyed look before Mariana turned to give Callie a smug look. “Is he?”

Callie rolled her eyes at her sister and addressed the butler, “Thank you, Davis. You may tell the marquess that I am not in. He may return later in the day should he like to take a chance on my being able to receive him then.”

“Indeed, my lady.” The butler gave a short bow and exited the room.

Callie closed her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath, attempting to calm herself. When she opened them again, Mariana and Anne were standing shoulder to shoulder, watching her closely. Anne said, “Nothing to tell, hmm?”

“No.” Callie willed her voice to remain steady.

“You’re a wretched liar,” Mariana said casually. “One can only hope that Davis is slightly better than you are.”

As the words hung in the air between them, the door opened once again, revealing the aging butler. “My ladies.” He bowed.

“Has he gone?” Callie asked.

“Erm. No, my lady. He says he will wait for you to return.”

Mariana’s jaw dropped slightly at the words. “Really?”

Davis nodded once in the direction of the youngest Hartwell sister. “Quite, my lady.”

Mari smiled brightly at Callie. “Well, this appears to be shaping into something of an adventure.”

“Oh, do shut up.” Callie turned to Davis. “Davis, you shall have to make it clear that I am not receiving. It is far too early for callers.”

“I made that point already, my lady. Unfortunately, the marquess appears to be rather…persistent.”

Callie gave a little, frustrated huff. “Yes. He does trend in that direction. You shall have to persevere.”

“My lady…” the butler hedged.

Callie lost her patience. “Davis. You are considered to be one of the best butlers in London.”

Davis preened. Well, as much as a butler could do so and retain an appropriate level of gravity. “In England, my lady.”

“Yes. Well. Do you think you could…buttle…this morning?”

Anne snorted her amusement as Davis’s face fell.

Mariana turned kind eyes on the butler, and said, “She doesn’t mean to insult, Davis.”

The butler was stone-faced when he replied with a sniff, “Indeed, not.” He then bowed, more deeply than Callie thought he’d ever bowed to them before and took his leave once more.

Callie sighed, returning to her task, deep within a row of shelves. “I shall be punished for my behavior, shan’t I?”

“Most definitely. You’ll be served overcooked beef for the next month,” Anne said, her amusement barely controlled.

Mari inspected a pile of books there before asking casually, “Do you think Lord Ralston will be deterred?”

“I wouldn’t place a wager on it.”

Callie’s heart leapt into her throat at the dry words, spoken from inside the room. She snapped her head toward the sound, but the surrounding shelving blocked her view. At the end of the passageway where she stood, Callie could see her maid frozen in place, eyes wide as saucers, staring in the direction of the door.

In the silence that ensued, Mariana turned her gaze on Callie. Ignoring her sister’s pleading look, the younger woman offered a smile befitting The Allendale Angel, and said, sweetly, “Callie, it appears that you have a visitor.”

Callie’s gaze narrowed. There was truly nothing worse in the wide world than a sister.

She watched as Mari hopped up from her place and smoothed out her skirts, turning to face the door—and Ralston. “It’s a lovely day,” she said.

“Indeed, it is, Lady Mariana,” came Ralston’s disembodied voice. Callie stomped her slippered foot in irritation. Did he have to be so very calm?

“I think I shall walk in the gardens,” Mariana said, conversationally.

“That sounds like a capital idea.”

“Yes. I rather thought so myself. If you’ll pardon me. Anne?” Callie watched as her sister dropped a quick curtsy and left the room, the traitorous Anne fast on her heels. Callie, instead, stayed precisely where she was, hoping that she could simply wait Ralston out. A gentleman wouldn’t corner her in the narrow space between bookshelves. And he’d certainly gone out of his way the night before to prove that he was a gentleman.

Silence fell, and Callie kept arranging books, willing herself to ignore Ralston’s arrival. Adams, Aeschylus, Aesop.

She noted his footsteps coming closer; saw him out of the corner of her eye standing at the end of the shelf, watching her. Ambrose, Aristotle, Arnold.

Yes, she would simply pretend he wasn’t there. How could he remain so silent? It was enough to try the patience of a saint. Augustine.

She couldn’t stand it anymore. Without taking her eyes from the shelf where she was aligning the spines of the books into a perfectly straight row, she said, churlishly, “I am not receiving.”

“Interesting,” he drawled. “Because, it appears you have received me.”

“No. You barged into my library without invitation.”

“Is that what this is?” he said, wryly. “I was not sure, what, with all the shelves being empty of books.”

She gave him an exasperated look. “I am rearranging.”

“Yes, I gathered.”

“Which is why I am not receiving.” She emphasized the words in the hope that he would realize his rudeness and leave.

“I think we’re rather past that, don’t you?”

Apparently he did not mind being rude. Fine, then. She would not mind, either. “Was there something you wanted, Lord Ralston?” she said, coolly.

She turned to face him. A mistake. He was just as perfectly put together as he always was—all smooth hair and golden skin and impeccable cravat and eyebrow arched with just enough grace to make her feel like she’d been born and raised in a stable. She was immediately and acutely aware that she was wearing her grayest, drabbest, and now, no doubt, dirtiest gown, and that she likely appeared in dire need of both a nap and a bath.

He was an infuriating man. Truly.

“I should like to continue our conversation from last night.”

She did not respond, instead stooping to pick up several books from the floor.

He watched her, unmoving, as though considering his next words carefully. She waited, slowly placing the books on their shelf, willing him not to say anything. Hoping he’d simply give up and leave.