Nine Rules to Break When Romancing a Rake (9 page)

“Anne,” Callie said, unable to pull her gaze from the text, “we are going to Ralston House.”

The day after her first visit, Callie found herself on the steps of Ralston House again—this time, quite respectably, by light of day, lady’s maid in tow—to meet Miss Juliana Fiori, the mysterious younger sister of the marquess.

Callie took a deep breath, sending a silent prayer to the fates that Ralston be away from the house in the hopes that she could avoid the inevitable abject mortification. Of course, she knew that she could not avoid future interactions…she had, after all, agreed to shepherd his sister into society. She could at least hope that she would be able to avoid him today, however.

A footman opened the door, revealing a stone-faced Jenkins in the foyer beyond. Please, don’t recognize me, she pleaded silently as she looked up into the butler’s weathered, wrinkled face, attempting to appear cool and collected.

“Lady Calpurnia Hartwell, to see Miss Juliana.” Drawing herself up to her full height, Callie spoke, willing the words to come in the most even-mannered of tones. She offered an ecru calling card to the butler, who received it with a low bow.

“Certainly, my lady. Miss Juliana is expecting you. Please, follow me.”

Once Jenkins had turned his back, Callie let out a long, silent sigh of relief. She followed him to an open doorway off the main marble corridor and offered him the most regal of nods as he stepped aside to let her pass into a lovely green receiving room.

Callie took in the grassy green silk that lined the walls, the detailed chaise and chairs, all beautifully crafted from mahogany and upholstered in the finest of fabrics. The lightness of the room was complemented by a stunning marble statue that stood to one side—a tall, limber female figure, carved as though holding a wide swath of fabric above her head, billowing out behind her. Callie caught her breath at the beauty of the statue; she was unable to resist moving toward it, drawn in by the quiet, secret smile that graced the goddess’s lovely face, by the liquid movement of the marble. She was admiring the fall of the figure’s gown, reaching out to touch the drape of it, half-expecting to feel warm fabric rather than cool stone, when a voice sounded from the doorway.

“She is beautiful, is she not?”

Callie whirled toward the sound with a little gasp. In the doorway was Ralston, flashing a rakish grin, as though he was amused by her discomfort.

No—not Ralston.

The man in the doorway was Lord Nicholas St. John, tall and broad, with a chiseled jaw and glittering blue eyes, identical to Ralston in every way but one. St. John’s right cheek was marked with a wicked scar, a long, thin white line that tore across his bronzed skin in stark contrast with the rest of the man, an impeccable gentleman. Where the scar should have given St. John a dangerous countenance, instead it made him more alluring. Callie had seen respectable women of good ton turn into utter imbeciles when near St. John—something he seemed not to notice.

“Lord Nicholas,” she said with a smile, offering a short dip of the head as he crossed the room to take her hand and bow deeply.

“Lady Calpurnia”—he smiled warmly—“I see you have discovered my lady love.” Nicholas indicated the statue.

“Indeed, I have.” Callie turned her attention back to the marble. “She is stunning. Who is the artist?”

St. John shook his head, a gleam in his eye revealing his pride. “Unknown. I found her off the southern coast of Greece several years ago. I spent seven months collecting marbles there, came home with far too many and donated this beauty to the betterment of Ralston House, on the condition that my brother give her a proper home.” He paused, transfixed by the statue. “I believe she is Selene, goddess of the moon.”

“She looks so content.”

“You sound surprised.”

“Well,” Callie said tentatively, “Selene’s is not the happiest of stories. After all, she is doomed to love a mortal in eternal sleep.”

St. John turned at her words, obviously impressed. “Her own fault. She should have known better than to ask favors of Zeus. That particular course of action never ends well.”

“A truth of which Selene was likely acutely aware upon receiving her favor. I assume that this statue depicts a happy Selene before Zeus meddled.”

“You forget,” St. John said, a teasing gleam in his eye, “she and Endymion did have twenty children despite his somnolence, so she couldn’t have been so very unhappy with her situation.”

“With due respect, my lord,” Callie said, “bearing and raising twenty children alone does not sound like the happiest of circumstances. I hardly think she would appear so very rested were this a statue depicting her maternal bliss.”

St. John laughed loudly. “Exceptionally well put, Lady Calpurnia. If this conversation is any indication, Juliana’s debut should be tremendously entertaining…for me, at the very least.”

“And it is, of course, your entertainment that is of the utmost importance, Nicholas.”

Callie stiffened as the irritated words sailed across the room, dark and ominous, setting her heart to racing. She attempted to maintain the illusion of calm but knew before turning that Ralston had joined them.

Seeming to sense her nervousness, St. John winked at her before turning a wide, open smile toward the marquess, and saying, “Indeed, it is, brother.”

Ralston’s scowl deepened. He turned to Callie, spearing her with a piercing blue stare. A bright blush colored Callie’s cheeks, and she tore her gaze from his, looking anywhere else. Nick noticed her discomfort and came to her aid. “There is no need for you to be rude, Gabriel. I was simply keeping Lady Calpurnia occupied while we waited for Juliana to arrive. Where is the girl?”

“I stopped Jenkins from fetching her. I would like to speak to Lady Calpurnia before they meet.” He paused. “Alone, if you please, Nick.”

Callie’s heart began a rapid hammering. What could he possibly have to say to her that his brother could not hear?

Nick bowed low over her hand, and said, “I look forward to next time, my lady.” He straightened, offering Callie a bright smile and another reassuring wink.

She couldn’t help but smile back. “As do I, my lord.”

Ralston waited for the door to the room to close before waving Callie into one of the nearby chairs, seating himself across from her. Callie tried to ignore the way he dwarfed the furniture—and the room itself—as though the entirety of Ralston House was designed for a lesser creature. She dipped her head, pretending to be enthralled by the upholstery on the chair in which she sat—eager to appear as though he were outside her notice. It was a fool’s errand. He was not a man who went easily unnoticed.

“I want to discuss Juliana before you meet her.”

Callie quashed a pang of disappointment. Must he be so perfunctory? She did not look up, instead turning her attention to her gloved hands, clenched together in her lap, and desperately trying to forget that mere hours ago those hands had touched Ralston intimately. But, how could she forget? His warm skin, his soft hair, his strong, muscled arms—she had touched all those places. And he seemed entirely unmoved.

She cleared her throat delicately, and said, “Certainly, my lord.”

“I think it best you come to Ralston House to work with Juliana. She is in need of significant guidance, and I would not like for her to make a misstep in front of the Countess of Allendale.”

Her eyes widened as she lifted her head to meet his gaze. “My mother would never betray the confidence of your sister’s lessons.”

“Nevertheless, the walls have ears.”

“Not Allendale House walls.”

He leaned forward in his chair, close enough to touch her, his muscles bunched with tightly leashed power. “Let me make myself plain. I will not cede this point. Juliana is resistant to joining society and eager to return to Italy. She is likely to wreak a bit of havoc before she accepts that her new home is here. Your mother and her friends are pillars of the ton—women for whom ancestry and reputation are paramount and, while Juliana does not have a family line that can be traced back to William the Conqueror, and she is quite likely to be tarnished with the soiled reputation of our mother, she will meet London’s aristocracy. And she will make a smart match. I will not jeopardize that opportunity.”

He spoke with complete certainty, as though the one true path to Juliana’s success was the one he had planned. And, yet, there was no mistaking the urgency that laced his tone. He was right—Juliana Fiori would need far more than Callie’s support if she was to succeed in society. She was the daughter of a ruined marchioness and an Italian merchant—not aristocratic, barely legitimate in the eyes of the ton.

But Gabriel St. John, the Marquess of Ralston, would not allow the dark history of his family tree to tarnish his sister’s future. The fact that the brothers St. John had committed to bring Juliana into society’s fold showed their mettle and, as a proud and committed sister herself, Callie respected their decision. These were not men who failed.

“I am eager to meet your sister, my lord.” A simple enough sentence, but one that carried an unmistakable meaning. I am with you.

He paused, watching her with the piercing, knowing gaze and, for the first time in a decade, she did not look away. When he spoke moments later, it was with a softer tone. “I did not think that you would come today.”

A hint of a smile played across her lips. “I confess, my lord, I did consider avoiding the visit.”

“And yet, here you are.”

Her cheeks pinkened as she dipped her head, shyly. “We have a bargain.”

When he replied, his voice was quieter, more thoughtful. “Indeed. We do.”

The deepened tenor of his voice sent a flood of heat through Callie, and she cleared her throat nervously, making a show at looking to a clock on a nearby table. “It is getting late, my lord. I think it is time I meet Miss Juliana. Don’t you agree?”

He held her gaze for a long moment, as if reading her innermost thoughts. Eventually, he seemed satisfied by what he saw. Without speaking, he stood and went to send for his sister.

The first thing one noticed about Juliana Fiori was not her beauty, although she was most certainly beautiful—with arresting blue eyes, porcelain skin, and a mass of rich chestnut curls that most women would commit serious bodily harm to have for themselves. It was not her delicate features, or her lilting voice, accented with her native Italian. It was not her height, although she towered above Callie and would do so over many.

No, the first thing one noticed about Juliana Fiori was her frankness.

“What silliness that we must consider the proper order of milk and tea when pouring a cup.”

Callie swallowed back a laugh. “I suppose you do not place much stock in such ceremony in Venice?”

“No. It is liquid. It is warm. It is not coffee. Why worry?” Juliana’s smile flashed, showing a dimple in her cheek.

“Why indeed?” Callie said, wondering, fleetingly, if Juliana’s brothers had such an endearing trait.

“Do not be concerned.” Juliana held a hand up dramatically. “I shall endeavor to remember tea first, milk second. I should hate to cause another war between Britain and the Continent.”

Callie laughed, accepting a cup of perfectly poured tea from the younger woman. “I am certain that Parliament will thank you for your diplomacy.”

The two shared a smile before Juliana continued, “So, were I to meet a duke or a duchess—” Juliana said as she carefully placed a piece of cake on a small plate for Callie.

“Which you most certainly shall do,” Callie pointed out.

“Allora, when I meet a duke or a duchess, I shall refer to either as ‘Your Grace.’ With all others, it is safe for me to call them ‘my lord’ or ‘my lady.’”

“Correct. At least, all others who are either titled or who have courtesy titles because of their parentage.”

Juliana cocked her head, considering Callie’s words. “This is more complicated than tea.” She laughed. “I think it is a very good thing for my brothers that I am only here for a short time. Certainly, they can quickly repair any damage their scandalous Italian sister might do in a mere two months.”

Callie offered a reassuring smile. “Nonsense. You shall set the ton on its ear.”

Juliana looked confused. “Why would I impact society’s hearing?”

Callie’s smile broadened, shaking her head. “It is a figure of speech. It means you will be a great success in society.” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I predict that gentlemen will clamor to meet you.”

“Just as they did with my mother, no?” Juliana’s blue eyes flashed, and she slashed her hand through the air. “No. Please put the idea of a marriage for me out of your head. I shall never marry.”

“Whyever not?”

“What if I turn out to be just like her?” The quiet words gave Callie pause; before she could find the right response, Juliana continued. “I am sorry.”

“There is no need for you to apologize.” Callie reached out, setting one hand on Juliana’s arm. “I can imagine how difficult this must be.”

The younger woman paused, eyes on her lap. “For ten years, I have pretended that my mother did not exist. And now I discover that the only family I have left is because of her. And these men…my brothers…” Her voice trailed off.