What a Vulgar Viscount Needs: Romancing the Rake Book 5

by Andresen, Tammy

  He’d seen her slip from the ballroom with champagne in hand and a sudden fit of jealousy had propelled him to follow, thinking she’d gone to meet another man. He wasn’t certain why he indulged that particular urge. She’d never be his. Why couldn’t she sneak off to meet someone else? Ash would never give her a future. He had no intention of marrying ever.

  And not just because he was a rake. Well more precisely, he was a rake because he had no intention of marrying. The order of those two circumstances mattered. But either way, he intended to stay away from the beautifully tempting Cordelia Moorish.

  “Did you intend to be the last man standing?” she asked, fiddling with the stem of her drink.

  He nearly started. That was the thing he’d learned about this woman already. She was quiet but her silence hid an intelligent and intuitive woman. Had she just read his thoughts?

  “I did. And you?” He found himself stepping closer. For some reason, he was intensely curious about her answer. What did she want? Did she wish to marry and have a family?

  She lifted the glass then, taking a delicate swallow. Her dark hair had been styled with an intricate coif at the back of her head, which glistened in the candlelight. Her pert little nose turned up as those full lips gently cupped the rim of the glass. He swallowed, tightening his fingers on his own stem.

  “I did too,” she said as she lowered the beverage.

  He closed his eyes for just a moment processing those words. What? She’d intended to be the last of her sisters to marry. He couldn’t seem to help the next words that popped from his mouth. “But why?”

  Her tongue darted out to remove a single bead of champagne that had pooled on the glistening skin of her full bottom lip. A delicate shade of pink, it slid along her full, soft skin and nearly made him groan aloud.

  But everything about this woman seemed to appeal to him. He’d memorized the sweep of her jaw, her long slender neck, the lithe lines of her body.

  The way her dark brown eyes sparkled with flecks of gold and how she moved when she played her pianoforte, like a reed dancing in the breeze.

  One of her shoulders rose and fell. “I don’t want to be tied to a man. Once I am a wife, I am beholden to all of his wishes and wants rather than pursuing my own desires.”

  His mouth parted for an instant before he clamped his jaw shut to hide his surprise. He should have known she’d have a more sophisticated answer. Everything about her was more complex than any other woman he’d met before.

  For a boy who’d grown up in Cheapside, he dreamed of touching something so amazingly stunning. She was everything his life had never been. Perfect, beautiful, effortless in her grace. But that was exactly why he needed to stay away.

  Still, he was, talking with her…alone. With champagne no less. “You don’t want to marry ever?”

  She shook her head. “Never ever.” And then, her arm flew out and for no reason, she tipped to one side, a bit of her bubbly drink spilling out of her glass as she righted her feet under her.

  A new, lovely thought occurred to him as he abandoned his position on the other side of the settee and traversed the settee in a few steps to slide a hand under her elbow and steady her. She was tipsy. “Oh dear,” she whispered. “Champagne is deliciously evil.”

  He chuckled then, still holding her arm. Because now that he’d touched her, he wasn’t certain he wanted to let go. And she seemed to have lost her wariness and was allowing it and this might be the only time he got to touch something so magical. Who knew if he’d ever have this opportunity again? After tonight, he needed to stay away from Cordelia Moorish.

  Chapter Two

  Cordelia looked up into the face of the man currently holding her upright and smiled. The fog in her mind had only grown thicker, but several thoughts did manage to peek through the murkier layer. His hand felt marvelous, for example. Lean, large, and strong, he had the sort of fingers which would be excellent for playing the pianoforte. And he smelled amazing. Like evergreen with a touch of fresh sea air.

  She’d never been this close to a man and she might never be again. By slow ticks, Cordelia realized he was a rake. Well, she’d known that already. But rakes did all sorts of things a gentleman would not, and this might be her one opportunity to sample a bit of the delights she’d given up on in favor of a music career.

  He was the man tempting her after all.

  “Why do you never, ever wish to marry?” he asked, his lips dropping close to her ear, tickling the sensitive skin.

  She drew in a breath. “I already told you. I don’t want to be beholden to a man.”

  “And why not be…beholden? What else shall you do with yourself instead?”

  That struck her as funny and she giggled, her body bending forward and her cheek brushing his chest. She straightened and stopped giggling, suddenly wanting to run her hand along the very flesh she’d just touched with her face. “Do you want to be beholden to anyone?”

  He sucked in her breath, his fingers tightening on her elbow. “I do not.”

  Was it her imagination or had his face tightened, grown paler? “So you understand?”

  He looked down at her and she became aware of just how close they were. Her heart began to beat wildly, and she glanced at her glass, intent upon breaking the contact and using her drink to create some distance when she realized the glass was once again empty. “Oh dear, I’m out of champagne.”

  “Probably best,” he answered, plucking the empty flute from her fingers and setting it on the nearby table. “You’ll have a terrible headache tomorrow if you drink any more.”

  She squinted up at him again, forgetting her need to look away. “You’re a rake, my lord.”

  He paused and his mouth tightened. “How do you know that?”

  “Everyone knows it.” She waved her hand, knocking it into his chest. Dear Lord, why didn’t her body work?

  A muscle in his jaw ticked. “What does my reputation have to do with you not drinking any more champagne?”

  Cordelia swayed closer. She didn’t mean to. It just sort of happened and she placed her hands on his chest to steady herself. But his chest felt wonderful. So strong and…masculine. She lightly caressed the bulging muscles underneath his jacket. “Aren’t you supposed to give me drinks and then take advantage of me?”

  Her words made him pause and he drew in a sharp breath, his other hand coming to her waist. “Fortunately for you, I’m not that sort of rake.”

  “Not that sort of rake? What sort are you, then?” she asked, and to her complete dismay, a hiccup followed the question.

  “Miss Moorish,” he said, low and deep. “I’m the sort that doesn’t wish to marry, but that doesn’t mean I go around ruining perfectly innocent women.”

  He didn’t? “What a pity,” she murmured before she could stop herself. She’d always had very dexterous hands and her fingers had developed minds of their own as she began tracing the outline of several muscles along his chest and down his abdomen. Her breath grew shorter as her fingers danced lower until he finally grabbed her hand when it reached his waist.

  “Pity?” he asked as he laced his fingers into hers.

  She tilted up her chin to look at him again. “I’m glad to keep my freedom but lately I’ve been wondering about what I’ll miss. What I am giving up as a woman.” She tilted her head to the side again, the gold in her eyes dancing in the flickering candles. “It has occurred to me that you are in a unique position to show me some of the things I might otherwise never know.”

  * * *

  Every muscle seized as Ash’s trousers grew heavy with lust. Damn it all to bloody hell, Cordelia was propositioning him.

  He should say no. If anyone caught them, he’d be married for certain and she’d be stuck with not just a husband, but a filthy one, dirty from his past. But part of him longed to say yes. Taste her. Just this once.

  “So you want me to do what exactly?” This was so much better than toasting with champagne.

  Her tongue da
rted out again and he followed its movement, his mouth growing dry.

  She gave her head a soft shake. “Would you…would you kiss me? Just so that I might know. I see my sisters and they look so happy…”

  He growled deep in his throat. It was a slippery slope. “I shouldn’t. You’re a nice girl from a nice family and—”

  Her body pressed lightly to his. “I shan’t tell. One kiss, one time. That’s all I ask. Surely, it’s not too great a favor from a rake such as yourself?”

  The word rake made him wince. Oh, he played his part well. Happy go lucky, smiling, attending parties.

  But played was the exact right word for it was all an act. He almost never acted rakishly. In fact, he’d been on his way to attend a party at the Baron of Balstead’s. It was meant for lords to participate in the most indecent of behavior. He’d go, he’d choose a lady, he’d pay her, and then he’d give her the weekend off. In fact, he’d allow her to use his room. Most often, the poor women just slept for days. Being a lady of the evening was damned hard work that most usually ended with the lady’s death.

  They deserved that small respite. And he felt better for not having used them.

  “Cordelia.” He gave her his best smile. “I appreciate what you’re asking. And I even applaud your decision, but it’s a tangled web you ask me to enter in with you. If you truly wish for a kiss from me, I’ll ask you to make the request again when you’re not so…altered.”

  She frowned, her brow drawing together. “For a rake, you are decidedly unrakish.” Then she leaned back. “My sister, Juliet, was obviously interested in you for days and you never made a single move toward her either.”

  He stilled, his body growing cold. She was too smart. She’d figure out one of his secrets already. How soon until she untangled them all? “For the same reason I’ll not kiss you. I don’t want to be caught in the marriage noose.”

  He stepped back, finding the conversation to be too intimate. But she wobbled when he did, and he immediately reached for her again. “Miss Moorish, you’re so—”

  “Plain?” she asked as she let out a little noise of dissatisfaction. Then her head dropped. “Of course,” she murmured, and his heart stopped beating. “We’re not to your taste, are we? Too simple. Country girls that are too—”

  “Cordelia.” Why had he just used her given name? “That isn’t it.” Almost worse than her discovering his secret was her believing there was something wrong with herself.

  “What is it then?” Her body pressed to his again as her hand slipped up his arm to clasp his neck. “I only want one small taste so that I might know for certain. Have I asked too much?”

  “No,” he whispered and then nearly cursed himself. But he wanted to touch her. Perhaps she was right. This was their one chance at tasting desire. Lord knew he’d been dreaming about kissing her for days.

  Rationally, he understood what dire consequences this might have. He stayed away from eligible ladies for a reason and he cursed himself for making an exception tonight. He should never have gone to this party and then followed her to the music room. But now, she was so close and pressed against him.

  He looked over his shoulder. He hadn’t completely closed the door to the music room and sounds of the party filtered into their little cocoon. But no one was near enough to see inside.

  He glanced back down to find her chin tilted toward his again, exposing the soft column of her neck. He groaned, lifting his hand and using his fingertips to trace the achingly soft skin. “Lovely,” he murmured as he dropped his mouth closer. He didn’t kiss her yet. If this was only going to be one time, which it had to be, he would make the kiss count.

  He ran his hand back up her neck and then cupped her jaw, his fingers resting in the silky tresses of her hair.

  He breathed in her scent, fresh like summer rain, and used his other hand at the small of her back to press her closer. Her body fit to his in the most perfect way, every inch of her torso fitted against him.

  Would her lips taste of champagne? Something else? It had been a damned long time since he’d touched any woman this way, too long to remember when it had been, but he could never recall holding someone quite so stunning. He bent closer still as she wrapped an arm about his neck, her fingers threading into his hair.

  Had Cordelia really never done this before? Every slide of her fingers accelerated his heart rate until he could hardly think a rational thought.

  Her lips were a breath away from his, her nose touching his, the crush of her breasts making him weak as he tilted his chin to steal a taste. Just this one.

  “Cordelia?” another man called. “Where are you?”

  “Drat,” she murmured, still so close, he could catch hints of champagne on her breath. “That’s my father.”

  Father? This was not a drat moment. This was more of a damn it all to hell or perhaps even a fuck kind of situation. The very thing Ash had spent his entire adult life trying to avoid was about to happen.

  He’d have to marry her for sure.

  But she released his neck, then she whispered so low, he barely heard her. “You found me like this.” And then without another word, she dropped to the settee, arms limp, mouth open as though she’d been there, asleep, for hours.

  Was she a musician or actress? Because she looked for all the world as though she’d passed out cold on the settee.

  Chapter Three

  Cordelia heard the subtle creak of the door as her father entered the room. “Cordelia?” he called. “Why can’t I find a single one of my daughters?”

  “She’s here, Mr. Moorish,” Lord Dashlane said, seeming to understand the charade they were performing. “I found her like this. I was debating whether to leave her alone to find you or stay with her to make sure she was safe.”

  If not for the situation, she would have grinned. Cad. Making himself a hero when she was the one who’d done the quick thinking.

  Funny but their near kiss had woken her sleepy mind rather than making it duller. Almost as though his touch had breathed life into her. How odd.

  “Dear me,” her father murmured. “Is that her glass of champagne?”

  “I don’t know,” Dashlane rumbled. “I only came in to find her already asleep.”

  Her father clucked his tongue. “Likely drowning her sorrows.”

  “Sorrows?” Dashlane asked, his voice going up.

  “I think a match between Juliet and Hartwell is imminent.” She heard a soft thump of flesh on flesh as though her father were patting Dashlane on his back. “I hope you’re not too put out.”

  Dashlane cleared his throat and Cordelia tried again not to smile. One corner of her mouth twitched. He’d wished to celebrate being the final man left single. He wasn’t sad about Juliet choosing another husband. But he let out a small breath. “He is a marquess after all and I’m only a lowly viscount.”

  “Oh, you mustn’t think of your title like that,” her father said, still patting. “Any woman would be lucky to have you. Handsome, charming, titled. In fact, I’m sure Cordelia would—”

  She coughed, unable to keep silent. Was her father really attempting to marry her off?

  Suddenly Dashlane’s pine-fresh scent filled her nostrils and a hand pounded on her back. “We have to make sure she doesn’t vomit in her sleep,” he said.

  “Enough,” she muttered through clenched teeth. He gentled his slaps, but she felt the settee sink under his weight, his hip pressing into her stomach. She drew in a sharp breath. Was he sitting against her under the guise of care? Her insides melted again.

  Peeking through her lashes, she noted her father’s grimace. “I suppose vomiting would dull the chances of a match, now wouldn’t it?”

  She clenched her fist at her side, which Dashlane artfully hid from her father’s view. But was her father honestly concerned that she couldn’t find a husband of her own? How insulting. Then again, perhaps her father was right.

  “I wouldn’t worry, sir,” Dashlane said as his hand began to rub
tiny circles on her back. “She’s very attractive and extremely talented. I’m sure the right lord will—”

  “Indeed,” her father answered. “Perhaps he has already.”

  “Oh no, Mr. Moorish.” Dashlane’s hand stilled. “I am not in the market for a wife.”

  “Of course you are.” Her father turned and crossed the room and for a moment, she wondered where he might be going. But he stopped at the cord near the door and pulled for a servant. “All men need to marry. Who better than the sister to your best friends’ wives? Terribly convenient, if you ask me.”

  Her fist clenched against her side even as she sucked in a breath. They were back to her father attempting to auction her like cattle. Lovely.

  The word nearly made her smile. And then sigh. Because she’d almost gotten a kiss, but the opportunity was dreadfully out of reach again. Would she ever have another chance? Doubtful. If anything, her father had scared Dashlane off for good. He’d likely never come near her again for fear of being marched to the altar.

  “Most men do marry, but not me, sir.” She felt Dashlane stiffen against her.

  Her father’s footfalls stopped. “Not you? But surely—”

  Dashlane’s fingers squeezed her back. “I don’t know what I am saying? You’re right. Of course, I’ll marry someday, but not now. Not for a long time. You understand. Wild oats and all that.”

  “Oats,” her father repeated. “You want to be a farmer?”

  She snorted, unable to help herself and then realized perhaps she was still feeling the effects of the champagne. She bit the inside of her lips to keep from making any more noise even as Dashlane began patting her back again.

  “Not precisely,” he answered.

  Her father cleared his throat. “I know something of your current predicament. And farming would be an excellent solution, but you need seed money, so to speak. Actually, quite literally. And that’s where the right match would really benefit you.”