Where to Woo a Bawdy Baron: Romancing the Rake Book 3

by Andresen, Tammy

  Women like that didn’t fancy men like him. They preferred Dane Dashwood with his striking blue eyes and his windswept hair.

  He grimaced as she placed a foot on one of the lower branches. First because he caught a generous glimpse of a slender ankle and shapely calf but mostly because he couldn’t believe she was actually going to climb. “Miss Moorish,” he bit out, ducking under the branch that separated them.

  Bianca waved, not looking at him. She’d hardly looked at him the entire morning they’d been searching for that damnable cat. Which was infuriating considering he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her.

  He watched her slender hand wrap around a branch. “Y-you’ll dirty your glove.” Damn. Had he stuttered? He hadn’t done that in at least a decade. His fingers clenched around the branch as he snapped his jaw closed. Had she noticed?

  She stopped, dropping her foot again. “You’re right.”

  She pulled the gloves from her hands, first deftly undoing the row of tiny buttons. It was like watching the intricate inner workings of a clock the way her fingers undid those little pearls with such ease. Then, she pulled the cloths off, exposing her long, tapered, creamy fingers. He gulped. They were as beautiful as the rest of her.

  “Don’t tell my family I did this,” she said, dropping the gloves until they fell into his waiting hand. When had he stuck the damn thing out to catch them? Not that she noticed. She still looked up into the branches again.

  He drew in a steadying breath, not daring to answer. As a child, he’d stuttered constantly. Of course, his father beat him every time he did, which only seemed to make the stutter worse. So he’d just stopped talking. Eventually, he’d mastered the damn impediment but not before he’d learned the art of silence. And how to glare. What he’d never quite learned was how to make small talk.

  She looked over at him, as though expecting an answer and then looked away again with a small frown.

  He clenched a fist and tried again. “Why shouldn’t I tell your family? They don’t approve of tree climbing?” His words came out slowly, which made him sound like an imbecile, but at least he hadn’t stuttered. And why did this woman make him nervous enough to do so? Yes, she was beautiful, but he’d met beautiful women before. And certainly she didn’t approve of him, but so few ladies of quality did, he wasn’t certain why she’d unsettled him so.

  “We did grow up in the country. Most of my sisters are quite adept at climbing cliffs, trees, hillsides, and even the occasional trellis.” She wrinkled her nose. “But I’m not particularly good at those pursuits so they often tell me I shouldn’t do them.”

  He frowned, looking up into the tree. He should climb up to get the cat instead of her. But he rehearsed the words in his head before saying them and by the time he tried to utter them, she’d already started up the branches. He caught sight of her ankle again as she hoisted herself and moved hand over hand into the canopy of the tree. She gathered her skirts, exposing her stockings and those lovely little ankles.

  “I should climb up instead of you,” he called after her.

  She waved, causing the chiffon of her gown to flutter about. “No need. It’s easy climbing.” Then she started making cute little kissing noises again. “Mittens.”

  He tried to relax the tight knot that had formed in his chest. As a baron he’d spent some time in the company of virtuous ladies. Mostly he just glared and they gave up attempting to speak with him.

  It wasn’t that he disliked them, he just preferred the company of women who didn’t need to talk. He did his best work when no words were required. Which was probably why he was dreaming of kissing a trail up that shapely little calf and then climbing higher under her skirts.

  “Oh. I’ve found the cat,” she called down. Then almost immediately, “Drat.”

  “Drat?” he repeated, grabbing the branch next to him. “What’s wrong?”

  “It isn’t Mittens.” Not two seconds later, a cat came streaking from the tree, landing lightly on the ground, and sprinted across the square.

  “Drat,” she said again.

  “Drat?” he repeated because he didn’t know what else to say.

  “Yes. Drat.” He heard her sigh, a high sweet sound that vibrated across his ears. “I seem to be stuck.”

  Chapter Two

  Bianca tugged at her skirt again, wishing she were a man. She didn’t mean it truly. Men just seemed to have an easier time with this sort of thing. Well, lots of women too. But, if she was male right now, she wouldn’t be wearing a dress and she’d be able to curse with utter abandon at her situation. She’d like to say “bloody hell” right about now and not even feel bad about uttering such blasphemies.

  But the man below her made her feel uncomfortable and awkward. She’d been trying to ignore him for the better part of an hour, but she’d mostly just succeeded in saying foolish things, and now she’d gotten herself stuck.

  The tree creaked and she realized he was climbing toward her. She gripped the tree tighter, letting out a squeak. How could she ignore him in the close confines of the branches? “Lord Craven, there is no need to climb up here. I can surely get myself out of this tree. I’m sure if I just tug my skirt…” She did so, hearing the fabric tear. Well, double drat.

  He stopped looking up at her, his brow heavier than ever. There was a pause in which he was most assuredly deciding how stupid she actually was before he finally mumbled, “You said you were stuck.”

  “I am,” she replied, heat flooding her cheeks. “But I’m usually able to save myself. If you’ll just step out from under the tree, I’m sure I can do it.” Unfortunately, she couldn’t untangle herself without lifting her skirts clear to her waist before climbing back down. And she certainly couldn’t disrobe with this man looking on.

  He made that growly sound again, then finished scaling the tree. Positioned just below her, he reached up to the sharp twig on which her skirts had snagged. Within a second he had her dress unhooked from the branch it had tangled in and the tension in the fabric disappeared. She sighed with relief, ready to get down from the tree. “Thank you,” she said, grabbing onto a branch as she expected him to do the same thing.

  He didn’t. Instead, he continued up. His head reached her knees and she pressed her back to the trunk of the tree, attempting to give him room but his body was so close, she could feel the heat of him radiating through her clothing.

  She gasped in a breath, doing what she always did when she was nervous. She started talking. “Lord Craven, really, I can get down myself. I just wasn’t watching my skirts and then that cat tried to claw me, and I dropped all the fabric and—”

  She gasped in a breath as his head reached her stomach, his hands now resting on the same branch as hers, their bare fingers just inches apart. Her pulse fluttered and her breath came out in short gasps as she assessed just how very large his hands were. So much bigger than hers. And his arms were so muscled and his skin dangerously dark along with his hair and—

  “Really, Lord Craven. I am absolutely fine to get down. I know what I said about my family, but sincerely, I was joking. I can climb back to the ground without incident and—” She stopped again as he paused, his face level with her breasts. She looked at his hands, her cheeks aflame with heat. Was he clenching the branch even tighter so that his knuckles were turning white?

  “I’ll see you back home in one piece,” he muttered before stepping up one more branch to bring his face level with hers.

  Finally looking from his hand, she gazed into the warm chocolate brown of his irises and she gasped in surprise. “Your eyes are…stunning.”

  His chin tucked back and mouth tightened as though she’d hit him rather than complimented him. Then he frowned. “I think it best that I carry you.” Apparently he was going to ignore her compliment.

  She only had a moment to be irritated that he hadn’t even said thank you when the weight of his words hit her like a head wind. Carry her? Hold her close? Press her body to his? The heat that had filled her
cheeks flushed down her neck and chest. “Please. No, my lord.” She heard the tremble in her voice as she squeezed the branch so hard, she was sure she’d wear the bark right off.

  He shuddered. “I can’t see any other way.”

  “But I can climb myself. You stay just below me so that you can untangle my skirts again should they get caught.”

  His frown deepened. “Or I could just carry you down.” And with that, he slid an arm about her waist and pulled her body to his.

  Warm prickly tingles erupted all over her flesh every place her body pressed to his and she gasped, as she stubbornly held the branches even as he shifted her weight further out onto the branch. “My lord,” she cried, fear lacing her voice.

  He made that low rumble deep in his throat. “For feck’s sake, I’m not going to hurt you, nor are you going to catch some disease from touching me the tiny amount of time it takes to get down this tree.”

  A shot of awareness surged through her. She wasn’t worried about disease. She scrunched up her brow. What did that mean? But she was deathly afraid that in touching him, she might completely lose her senses. The man’s body was hard and strong and powerful pressed against hers.

  * * *

  Chris blew out a breath as she stared at him, her eyebrows knitted together.

  “You curse a great deal,” she finally said, her eyes roving over his entire face.

  He clenched his jaw. “I’m not usually in such delicate company.”

  Delicate didn’t even begin to describe her company. As he’d climbed, he’d gotten to inspect every detail of her sultry curves. From the flare of her hips to her tiny waist to her ample… He stopped, growing aroused just thinking about all her feminine attributes. And then there was her scent, like fresh strawberries on a summer day, she was sweet and he’d guess delicious.

  “You’re a titled gentleman. Whose company are you in?” Her head cocked to the side as she waited for his answer.

  Bloody hell, he thought but didn’t say out loud, as his cursing clearly offended her. Instead he stared back at those lovely clear blue eyes. If she was a different sort of woman, he would kiss those lips silent. This was why he didn’t spend time with ladies. All the talking. “Other men.”

  She nodded, her teeth worrying her lip. Her body was pressed to his, every enticing curve of her, as she’d begun to relax into him. “What did you mean you wouldn’t give me a disease?”

  He closed his eyes for a split second, resisting the urge to pin her to the trunk just to make her cease talking. “Can we discuss this when we’re not in a tree?”

  He watched that lovely shade of pink climb back into her cheeks. “Of course. I’m so sorry. Everyone says I talk too much. And about nothing too. I’m flighty and I trip and I—”

  “Miss Moorish,” he cut her off. Briefly he considered letting her continue. He liked her body pressed to his, and honestly, he didn’t mind a woman who chattered. He’d had a mistress who’d always filled the silence with chatter and he found he quite liked it. The difference was, when a man paid a woman, he could choose not to respond and she’d learned not to ask him to reply. Then, he never risked stuttering. Though, stuttering rarely occurred since those times, save for today of course. He also never risked saying the wrong thing. That was more his struggle now. Everyone else had learned the art of conversation at a time when he’d applied himself to silence.

  “Apologies,” she whispered. She stopped talking but she didn’t do anything else either, staring up at him with wide eyes.

  “Put your arms about my neck,” he finally directed. She did so, lifting one at a time and lacing them behind his head. It pushed her bosom even closer to his chest. His body pulsed and he gritted his teeth together. “Good,” he said after a brief pause to gain his wits again. “Now let me lift you off the branches. I won’t drop you.”

  “But you’ll only be holding me with one arm.”

  Her heart raced against his, the rushing beat penetrating through his jacket. “You’re a light little thing and I am rather strong. There’s no need to worry.”

  She lowered her gaze, then nodded. “I’ll just close my eyes.” She did and her long sweep of lashes rested on her pink cheeks.

  Blood was pooling in his nether region. He’d like to kiss those lids one at a time as he held her against his body. “Tuck your head into my neck,” he said quietly.

  She did as he commanded, then he easily lifted her off the branches and slowly made his way down to the ground. Chris could have gone faster but he didn’t want to frighten her and he liked holding her like this. It was exquisite torture. He leaned his head down, just to draw in a whiff of her scent. Her soft curls tickled his nose and caught in the scruff of his beard. He had the distinct feeling that he held something precious, lovely and sweet, not tainted and made ugly. Oh, how he wished to savor that sensation.

  He placed a boot on the ground, still holding her to his chest. She looked up at him, her lips parted. If he’d liked her tucked under his chin, the view of her open to him as though waiting for a kiss made every muscle in his body tense and he wrapped his other arm about her waist.

  “We still haven’t found Mittens,” she said, though she didn’t loosen her arms from about his neck either.

  The cat? That’s what they were going to talk about? Not that he wanted to discuss anything, but if he were to talk about something, it might be how well they fit together, or how soft her lips appeared, or he might wish to consider her taste. “Cats usually come home on their own.”

  She nodded, nibbling at the inside of her lip again. “Oh but I do worry about those little babies. You should see them. They are so tiny and their fur is terribly soft and—”

  From out of nowhere a young male voice interrupted their conversation. “Did Bumbling Bianca get stuck in a tree?”

  Two other young men laughed. And they pushed one another as they cackled. Bianca tensed in his arms, her pliable body going rigid as her mouth snapped closed.

  Irritation coursed through him as he glanced at the three men. Having a stutter as a child meant he’d endured merciless teasing in his youth; as he watched her jaw tense, felt her fists clench behind his head, he wanted to protect her from the same abuse. Verbal sparring was not his strength so he couldn’t outwit the men, but he set Bianca down on her feet, understanding now why she hadn’t wanted him to rescue her.

  But he did have another strength. Brute strength. Stepping out from the branches he drew up to his full height and glared fiercely at the young men, challenging them with his sheer physical presence.

  They took off at a run, still laughing. He moved to go after them, but behind him, he heard Bianca sigh.

  “Don’t trouble yourself,” she said in a small voice that hinted at her sadness. “I’m quite used to it.”

  And those forlorn words nearly undid him, making him feel even closer to her, making him at once uncomfortable and yet, strangely feeling a kindred spirit.

  Chapter Three

  Bianca winced as she stared at Lord Craven’s broad back. Never in her life had she experienced anything like that climb down the tree. She’d felt his muscles working underneath her body even as his sandalwood scent had wrapped about her. The scruff of his chin had rubbed against the top of her hair and his large, strong hand had held her waist in the most intimate way.

  Butterflies danced in her stomach just thinking about it. Every moment had been breathlessly wonderful until she’d done what she always did and filled the silence with incessant prattle. Surely her constant chatter would scare away any man she wished for her own. Hadn’t that very thing happened once already?

  He turned back to look at her, his gaze narrowed once again. She tucked her chin into her neck. He’d realized how annoying she actually was to other people too. “Do boys often tease you so?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “Sometimes.” The better word would have been often. They called her Bumbling Bianca, Babbling Bianca, and Boring Bianca to name a few. In her younger days, the
y’d pulled her hair and poked her with sticks and even ripped one of her dresses at the age of twelve.

  He rumbled low and deep in his throat. The sound she didn’t much care for. “Do you want me to go beat some sense into them?”

  Did she not like that sound? When he was using it to threaten violence against those bully boys she found she didn’t mind it so much. “That isn’t necessary, but thank you.”

  “Those boys need to learn respect.” He crossed his arms again, his jaw flexing.

  Despite her embarrassment, a small smile touched her lips. “Thank you. Usually the only one who threatens violence on my behalf is my sister, Adrianna.”

  “Adrianna?” he asked. “How many sisters do you have?”

  She giggled. “Four. Adrianna is the youngest, and the thinnest too, but somehow, she is the fiercest. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t have a big heart because she does.” She glanced up at his furrowed brow. Did he have a big heart too despite his gruff exterior? He’d rescued her from the tree and he never admonished her once.

  “I’ve met Ophelia. And Juliet, of course. And you. So there is Adrianna and…?”

  She twisted her hands together. “Cordelia.”

  “And what is Cordelia like? Does she defend you against troublesome youth as well?”

  Bianca shook her head. Somehow, she didn’t want to tell him about her quiet, thoughtful sister. The two might have a great deal in common and Bianca had the urge to keep Lord Craven to herself. “She’s very smart, talented, and thoughtful. Basically, she’s the exact opposite of me.”

  His brows lifted and she caught a glimpse of his chocolate brown irises again. “I see.”

  Did he? Did he see how she was the most annoying, least talented sister of the Moorish clan? She opened her mouth, set to launch into an explanation of what people found so awful about her but for once, she snapped it shut again and didn’t say a word. They stood there silently, their bodies only a few inches apart.