Nine Rules to Break When Romancing a Rake (35 page)

Ralston began to prowl his way around the outside edge of the ballroom, unwilling to allow them to move completely out of sight. As he passed clusters of people, he nodded his acknowledgment halfheartedly, attempting to move slowly enough not to spark curiosity but quickly enough to keep up with the swirling dancers.

“Lord Ralston, it is such a pleasure to see you in attendance this evening,” purred the Countess of Marsden as he pushed past her.

He stopped, unable to be rude despite the woman’s predatory look. Ralston wouldn’t have been surprised to see her dart her tongue across her rouged lips salaciously. “Lady Marsden,” he said, affecting a bored tone that he knew would irritate the countess, “I am happy to have been able to oblige. I should very much like to pay my respects to your husband,” he said, pointedly. “Is he here?”

The countess’s gaze narrowed on him, and he knew his aim had struck true. “No. He isn’t.”

“Ah,” he said, already moving away, distracted. “A pity. Do give him my regards.”

He looked back at the dancers to find Juliana laughing up at Rivington as he whirled her across the ballroom, showing all of London that, half sister or no, foreign or no, Juliana Fiori was as fine a dance partner as any in the room. A burst of emotion flared in Ralston’s chest as he watched his new sister—who had so quickly found a way into his heart—smile up at the duke as though it were the most natural thing in the world for her to be dancing with one of the most revered members of the aristocracy. The ton would be hard-pressed to find fault with the girl, although it would try its very best to do so. Between him and Nick and the Rivington and Allendale families, however, Juliana would be protected—as much as she could be. Forming an alliance with Callie had been one of the best decisions he could have made to ensure Juliana’s acceptance into society.

Callie.

She was remarkable. Even as she had pushed and prodded and refused him, she had delivered on every one of her promises, turning Juliana into a debutante that would make any brother proud. Lord knew he couldn’t have done it on his own, not even with his newly honorable intentions. It was only because of Callie that Juliana was here tonight. She was a vital part of Juliana’s success. And, somehow, she had become a vital part of his life.

The thought spurred him on; all of a sudden, he knew he had to get Callie alone once more. It was no longer that he had to marry her out of respect for propriety and responsibility. It was that he wanted to marry her. Perversely, it seemed that the more she denied him, the more he wanted to marry her, infuriating though she was. Now he just had to convince her that she wanted it, also.

He scanned the crowd, frustrated, searching the writhing mass of bodies for her—eager for a glimpse of blue satin, eager for the dance to be over so that he could steal her away for a private conversation.

The music came to a swirling crescendo, and the couples whirled to a stop. Ralston watched as they began to promenade from the floor as the orchestra paused in its playing. He saw Juliana and Rivington find Mariana and Nick and resume their earlier conversation, but there was no sign of Oxford and Callie.

Where the hell had they gone?

After their waltz, Oxford guided Callie to a small, private antechamber off a long, dark corridor beyond the Salisbury House ballroom. The doors to the hallway had been left open to increase the flow of air into the stifling ballroom and Oxford led her into the secluded area after their waltz, insisting they enjoy a quiet moment together.

Eyeing the doorway, left barely open, Callie offered Oxford a wavering smile. “Thank you, my lord, for your escort,” she said, graciously. “I forget how very cloying balls can be.”

Oxford took a step closer. “Please, do not think of it.”

Callie inched away as he closed the distance between them. “I find I am rather parched, my lord. Perhaps we could return to the ball and find the refreshment room?”

“Or, perhaps, we could distract ourselves from thirst with…other pursuits?” He paused. “Darling.”

Callie’s brows rose at the endearment. “My lord,” she said in protest as he stepped closer, forcing her up against the wall next to the door to the hallway. Nervousness coursed through her. “Baron Oxford!” she exclaimed, uncertain of his motives.

He leaned in, closer. “Rupert,” he corrected, “I think it is time we dispense with formalities. Don’t you?”

“Baron Oxford,” she said firmly, “I should like to return. Now. This is highly inappropriate.”

“You won’t think so when you hear what I have to say,” he replied. “You see…” he stopped on a long, lingering pause. “I’m offering you the chance to be my baroness.”

Callie’s eyebrows shot up at his words.

He noted her surprise and tried again, this time speaking to her as though she were a child. “You have the opportunity to marry. Me.”

Dear Lord, was there not a single man in London in possession of an ounce of romance when it came to marriage proposals?

Callie swallowed back a nervous laugh, edging toward the door. “My lord. I am quite honored that you would think of me…” She paused, attempting to find the appropriate words to delicately refuse.

And then his arms had snaked around her and his lips were on hers, wet and soft and not at all pleasant. His tongue pushed into her mouth, and Callie recoiled from the touch, her hands flying up to his shoulders to stay his advances. He mistook the movement for a caress and pressed on, towering over her, crowding her into the wall until she felt the hard edge of the doorjamb pressing into the back of her as he pulled back briefly to whisper, “Do not be shy. We shan’t be caught. And if we are, we are betrothed.”

Callie leaned away from the baron, shaking her head at his unmatched arrogance. The idea that she would simply collapse into gratitude at the mere hint of a proposal would have stung if it weren’t so preposterous. Pushing against him with all her might, Callie said, “I am afraid you are severely misguided.” He stopped his advancement as she squeezed out from between him and the wall. “I have no intention of marrying you. I should like you to leave.”

Oxford blinked twice, as though unable to comprehend her decision. “You cannot be serious.”

The irony of the situation was not lost on Callie. After twenty-eight years of waiting for someone, anyone, to show interest in her, two men propose to her and she rejects both suits. Was she mad?

“Indeed, I am quite serious. It appears that you have mistaken my friendship.”

“Friendship!” Oxford sneered, sending a bolt of fear through Callie at the harsh change in his tone. “You think I’m looking for friendship? On the contrary. I’m looking for a wife.” He spat the words at her as though she were addle-pated.

Callie recoiled instinctively from him, surprised by this new Oxford—gone was the brightly smiling vapid dandy, replaced by an angry, unpleasant man. “Then it appears you have been laboring under a misapprehension that I am seeking a husband.”

Oxford’s lip curled, and he spoke, rudely. “Come now. You cannot expect me to believe that you haven’t been dreaming of this. Isn’t this the moment of which all aging spinsters dream?”

She pulled herself up to her full, proud height. “Certainly, Lord Oxford, we dream of proposals of marriage. We simply do not dream of them coming from you.”

She watched as rage passed over him, and he stiffened, his face turned a shocking shade of red. Ordinarily, she would have taken some pride in such a transformation, but instead, fleetingly, she thought he might strike her. He did not, instead pulling back and freeing her from his stifling closeness. She watched as rage turned to disgust, and she finally saw what he really felt for her—complete and utter disdain.

“You are making a terrible mistake,” he warned.

“I sincerely doubt that.” Callie’s words turned cold, her defenses raised. “This conversation is over.”

He stared at her, eyes glittering with anger, as she turned resolutely away, returning her attention to the dark gardens beyond. “I’m the best offer you’ll ever have. You think anyone would actually want a piglet like you?” The words were meant to sting, and they did. She kept her back straight as he exited the room, and she listened to his footsteps disappear, returning him to the ballroom, before she came back to her chair.

And then she let out a long sigh, feeling the strength leave her as Oxford’s horrible words repeated themselves over and over inside her head. Of course, he was right. She’d received two proposals in her lifetime, and neither of them had had anything to do with her. Oxford had needed the money he would receive from her dowry, and Ralston…Ralston was attempting to keep her reputation intact which, while honorable, was not exactly the most romantic of notions. Why couldn’t someone, somewhere, want her for her?

Tears sprang to her eyes at the thought. What a thorough mess. She bowed her head and slumped, her shoulders squeezing the back of a padded chair positioned near the door as hard as she could, her muscles protesting the movement. She took deep, cleansing breaths and wondered how long she could stay in this room without being missed.

“You should not be here by yourself.”

She stiffened at the firm words, but did not turn around, unwilling to show her tear-stained face to Ralston. “How did you know I was here?”

“I saw Oxford coming from this direction. Did something happen? Are you all right?”

Instead, she whispered into the darkness, “Please go away.”

There was a pause, followed by a shift in the air around them as he stepped closer, reaching out to her. “Callie?” he said, and the quiet concern in his voice tore at her heart. “Are you all right? My God. Did Oxford touch you? I’ll kill him.”

She took another deep breath. “No…No. He did nothing. I am fine. I should just appreciate your leaving before my…reputation…becomes an issue.”

He gave a little laugh. “I think we’re rather past that, don’t you think?” She didn’t respond, and he pressed on, speaking to the back of her head. “That’s part of why I came to find you.”

She kept her viselike grip on the chair. “Ralston, please. Just leave.”

“I cannot,” he stepped closer, setting his hands to her shoulders as he spoke, his tone at once pleading and enticing. “Callie, you must give me a chance to convince you that my offer is a good one. Please. Marry me.”

It was all too much. She couldn’t bear it. Tears came again, fast and uncontrollable and entirely embarrassing. She stayed quiet, willing herself not to make a sound to give away her sorrow. He whispered again, close to her ear, the words so tempting and lovely. “Marry me.”

She bowed her head again. “I cannot.”

A pause. “Why?”

“I—I don’t want to marry you.” The untruth was almost too much to bear.

Anger began to edge into his voice. “I don’t believe you.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Look at me and say it.”

There was a long pause as the words hung between them, and Callie considered her options. She had no choice. She turned and looked at him, thanking her Maker that her face remained in shadow as she did. Her voice trembling, she repeated, “I don’t want to marry you.”

He shook his head slowly. “I don’t believe you. You do want me. Do you think I haven’t noticed how compatible we are? Intellectually? Physically?” When she didn’t respond he said, “Shall I prove it to you again?” His lips were so close to hers, and she was so aware of him. The breath of his words caressed her in a way that made her want nothing more than to close the scant distance between them and take the kiss she yearned for. “You know I shall give you everything.”

She closed her eyes against the words and their dark promise. “Not everything,” she said, sadness in her tone.

“Everything I can give you,” he vowed, reaching up to touch her face and pulling back when she flinched, almost violently.

“And what shall happen when that is not enough?” The question fell between them.

He brought a hand down hard on the chair behind her, and Callie flinched at the sound that his palm made on the wood. “What more do you want, Callie? I’m rich. I’m handsome…”

She cut him off with a pained, frustrated laugh. “Do you think I care about any of that?” she said, angry and sad and hurt all at the same time, “I’d have you poor and ugly—I don’t care—as long as you—”

His gaze narrowed on her as she stopped the flow of words. “As long as I, what?”

As long as you loved me.

She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.

He let out a harsh breath and tried again, confusion making him frustrated and angry. “What do you want from me? Name it, and I’ll give it to you! I’m a marquess, for God’s sake!”

That was it. She’d had enough. “I don’t care if you’re the bloody king. I’m not marrying you!”

“Why the hell not?”

“Any number of reasons!”

“Give me one decent reason!” He was so close to her, so angry, and she said the first thing that came into her head.

“Because I love you!”

They were both surprised by the words. He recovered first. “What?”

She shook her head, tears spilling over. When she spoke, her voice was laced with self-deprecating humor, her only defense against this awful, awkward moment. “Please, don’t make me say it again.”