“Because I was wrong yesterday.”
“Wrong about what?” Did his lips brush her cheek?
“It turns out that music may not be the most important thing in my life after all.” She stopped before she said more. It was too soon to admit her true feelings.
Then again, if they were ever going to move forward, one of them had to start sharing.
“You’ll give up your music career?” he whispered, his hand tightening at her back. “You can’t, Cordelia. You’re too good.”
“Thank you,” she breathed. “But I find that I want both music and romance.”
He slid his hand to her cheek. “But you said that you didn’t think another man would allow you to play like I would.”
She drew in a breath. “No. You might be the only one.”
Silence met her words. Her heart beat several times before he finally answered. “I can’t give you both.”
Disappointment rained down on her. She knew the answer was coming, of course, but the answer still hurt. “I understand.” Then she lifted up on her tiptoes and gently placed her lips on his. It was a light touch that filled her with a longing that stole her breath.
He kissed her back, his lips strong and so tender they made her ache. His hands slid up and down her back even as he slid her mouth open and touched his tongue to hers. The kiss deepened, lengthened, as she tested her response, touching him the same way he’d touched her.
He groaned against her. Pulling back. “I didn’t expect that response.”
She shook her head. “If there is no agreement, there are no rules.”
“There are rules,” he answered. “There are always rules and you should follow them, Cordelia. It’s important. To play with this sort of passion without even a promise of marriage is dangerous.”
What did that mean? Of course, she knew what he referred to socially. But there was a pain in his voice hinting of something far more personal. “You’re right, of course. But if I’m not to be your wife, perhaps you can tell me why you need to marry a friend.”
He let out a long breath. “That’s not something I can reveal to you ever.”
She gave a tentative nod even as he slipped away into the darkness. Cordelia wrapped her arms about her body. He was leaving, they’d dissolved their arrangement and she had no more answers. What had she just done?
Chapter Eleven
Two days later, Ash stood outside a merry little shop overlooking the waterfront. He’d been summoned. There was no other word for it.
His host, Thomas Moorish, had pulled him aside at Juliet’s wedding and requested his presence at the shop bright and early this morning.
He’d briefly considered returning to London. He could come back in a month’s time when Craven and Crestwood had their actual weddings, but his father’s lessons were too deeply ingrained. He couldn’t be that openly rude.
So here he was.
Mr. Moorish came down the street, whistling a merry tune and smiling as he stuck out his hand to shake with Ash. “Good to see you, Lord Dashlane. Thanks for coming.”
Ash pumped the man’s hand, relaxing. In truth, he admired and liked this man. More than he’d ever believed possible. He could picture what life might have been like with a man like Mr. Moorish as a father.
He was a good man and he saw that kindness and caring reflected in his children. Would it carry through to his grandchildren? Ash suspected that it would. The entire family radiated a warmth that made him ache with a longing he’d long ago thought impossible.
Then a new thought flashed through his mind. Cordelia on the bench of her pianoforte teaching her own daughter to play. The image nearly stole his breath.
“Glad you came, Ash.” Mr. Moorish smiled, shaking his hand. “If you’re free today, I’ve a mind to show you my operation.”
Confusion knit his brow. Was that what this was about? Showing him the business? But why? “I’d be honored.”
Mr. Moorish gave him a wide grin. “Excellent. Let’s head inside for just a few. There’s always a bit of paperwork to do in the morning before we head out to the boats.”
“The boats?” Ash had to confess, that did sound interesting. “What do we do on the boats?”
Mr. Moorish opened the door, leading the way inside. “Check cargo. Talk with the captains, assign times for each of the boats to leave the harbor. It’s a busy job and I’ve always liked it.” Mr. Moorish took off his spectacles. “I’ve built a nice, wholesome life here for me and my family. It’s a good place to get ahead in this world, away from the trappings of the city and all its sins.”
Ash looked over at Mr. Moorish’s kind eyes. Could a man really rebuild himself here? “You were raised here? Or did you make it your home later?”
Mr. Moorish took off his spectacles, carefully cleaning them. “I was raised here and then went to London to make my own fortune. It didn’t work out.”
Ash grimaced. “You’re fortunate you had family to fall back on.”
They moved into a back room and Mr. Moorish opened several logs, spreading them out on the desk. As he worked, he didn’t look at Ash as he softly spoke. “I know you don’t have anyone to rely on. Likely never did.”
Ash’s brow crinkled. “What do you mean?”
The other man stopped, his hands spreading out on the desk. “We only need ever talk about this once. But I knew your father back from my days in London.”
Ash stilled, his body growing cold. “I’m sure. You’re the son of an earl. He was the son of a viscount.”
Mr. Moorish nodded. “There wasn’t a kind bone in that man’s body.”
Ash rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze carefully trained on the floor. He didn’t want to show any emotion now. It was too late to do a thing about his lost childhood. No one knew his past. Granted, he preferred for others not to know the shame, but it also made him lonely. “No. There wasn’t.”
“And he was a terrible gambler. Womanizer. Left you in ruin.”
Ash’s shoulders sagged. Was this relief he was feeling? It was actually nice to open up about his life and the problems he faced with someone. “I don’t care about inheritance. I wouldn’t have wanted his money.”
Mr. Moorish took a seat and gestured for Ash to do the same. “Good for you. The question is what to do with yourself now.”
Ash shrugged. How much did he tell Mr. Moorish? He liked this man and for the first time ever, he’d like to open up. Share his feelings, his past. He drew in a shaky breath. This was so new to him. “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought beyond not continuing my father’s legacy.”
Mr. Moorish cocked his head to the side. “That shouldn’t be hard.”
Ash nearly laughed. Very true. “May I ask what my father has to do with me touring your shipping company?”
Mr. Moorish sat back in his chair. “You may, indeed. I’d like to offer you a job, if you’re interested.”
Ash squared his shoulders. “A job?”
Mr. Moorish shrugged. “I know that viscounts don’t usually work for shipping companies, but you’re in a unique position. Well-educated, connected, and in need of money. I could use a man who can be groomed to take over for me at some point. I’m not getting any younger.”
“Take over?” He’d seen the way the Moorish family lived. Lavish might describe their home. Far more so than many titled lords.
Mr. Moorish leaned forward, steepling his hands in front of his face. “I’ve seen your interest in Cordelia.”
Bloody Christ. He was being offered the most tempting woman in the world and a thriving business in one conversation. “Mr. Moorish.” He spread his hands out on the other side of the desk. “Your daughter is lovely…”
The other man’s eyebrows rose up. “But?”
He shook his head, his gut absolutely rioting with nerves. “Because you knew my father, I will be more candid with you than I have ever been. I have no intention of continuing his legacy. I plan to allow the Viscountcy to die with me.”
Mr. Moorish sat back in his chair again. He tossed his glasses on the desk and rubbed his face. “I see.” He cleared his throat again and he shifted in his chair. “My father was not as mean as yours, but he wasn’t kind either. I met with his fist on a rather frequently and the wrong end of a riding crop with a decent amount of regularity.”
Ash stilled, his hands gripping the arms of his chair.
“When I was old enough, I ran away to London, and I spent my time drinking, whoring, and laughing away the hurt I felt deep inside.”
“I…” Ash started, swallowing a lump. He could hear the pain in the other man’s voice, and it mirrored his own.
Mr. Moorish waved away the futile attempt at conversation. “My father called me back on his deathbed. He gifted me the part of the earldom my older brother didn’t want. Now the current earl bears a striking resemblance to my father and his wife is awful. I’m surprised Cordelia believed I would send her to live with Mildred for even a second.” He took a deep breath. “But I decided on that day to be the man I wanted to be. The father I knew I should be. I’ve stuck by that. Even after my wife’s death. And I hope that love, the love I’ve taught my daughters, will carry through the generations.”
“Mr. Moorish,” Ash started, shifting in his chair. “That is a moving story.”
“Call me Tom,” he answered. “Listen, son. You have a choice.”
Ash swallowed. “I do?”
“Yes. You can allow your title to die. That’s one way to hurt your father’s memory. Or…” He held up a single finger. “You can live your best life. Bring beautiful children into the world, that have all the love, happiness, and an enduring kindness that trickles through generations of Dashlanes. Kill the man your father was with love and kindness. It’s your choice.”
Ash’s heart pounded in his chest. He thought of Cordelia again. The vision of her on the bench with the little girl at her side. “Take me to your boats. I’ve got a business to learn.”
* * *
Cordelia sat on the beach as the last rays of sun began to set. She needed to return home for dinner or her family would wonder where she’d disappeared.
If only she were doing what they suspected. Meeting with a rake.
Twice she’d sat at the bench of her pianoforte and attempted to play. She’d failed both times. She leaned an elbow back in the sand not caring about her dress.
She suspected that she wanted Ash even more than she wanted music. It was a strange and wonderful feeling if not for the fact that he’d rejected her offer for a real marriage.
Her insides twisted. Even now, the memory of him pushing her away lanced through her and brought renewed pain.
She wished she knew why he was adamant to have a relationship without a physical component. What had happened to him to make him so adamant? She knew he didn’t want to have an heir, but he’d not shared why. Had his mother been uncaring like her aunt? His father cold and cruel like her uncle?
On the one hand, she knew why she’d been tempted to accept his offer. It allowed her a career. And to have children would make her professional life more difficult but as she only planned to be a composer, not impossible. But why would a viscount want a wife that he never touched?
She sighed. She might not ever discover the answer. For all she knew, Dashlane had already left the area to return to his fake, rakish way of life.
She’d seen him at Juliet’s wedding the day before. He’d not spoken a word to her. Drat.
Cordelia lay back in the sand, her hands behind her head to protect her hair. She did not regret her choice. He wasn’t a man she could be so close to and never touch. But she had the impression that her future had just slipped through her fingers.
“You look beautiful like that,” a deep voice called behind her.
She didn’t glance his way. Her ears were finely tuned to sound and she’d recognize that rumble anywhere. “Thank you,” she answered. “I’d thought you’d be halfway to London by now.”
He stopped. “How did you know I was thinking about returning?”
She shrugged, keeping her eyes closed. “What would keep you here?”
“Your father, for starters,” he said.
The ground next to her vibrated as he settled down next to her. Awareness vibrated through her. “My father?” she asked, opening her eyes and turning her head toward Ash.
He’d stretched out on his side next to her, his gaze locked on hers. “Yes. We’ve had an interesting discussion.”
Her eyes widened. “You can’t trust him,” she said. “He wants to see me married.”
He quirked a one-sided smile at that. “Thank you for the warning. It’s most appreciated.” Then he reached out and gently took her hand in his, threading their fingers together. “You’re right, of course. He was fishing for a son-in-law today. Threw lots of pretty things on his hook to try and catch me.”
Cordelia’s lips parted in surprise. “Oh dear. If he did a better job than me, I’m going to be sorely disappointed.”
That made him laugh. Not just a chuckle but a real honest-to-goodness laugh as his fingers tightened on hers. “You shouldn’t worry. He knows you’re the main attraction. He was just attempting to sweeten the pot.”
She crinkled her brow. “Are we mixing metaphors now? I’m afraid you lost me.”
He brought the back of her hand to his lips and brushed a soft kiss along her skin. Tingling started deep inside her. “My father, unlike yours, was a cruel man who used the rod to make certain I learned his lessons.”
Her breath caught and she rolled up on her side, toward him, their bodies nearly touching. “How awful,” she answered. Without thought, she pressed her forehead to his, rubbing her nose to his. “No child deserves that sort of treatment.”
He closed his eyes, as he pulled her tighter against him. “Do you really mean that?”
“I do,” she said, her brow furrowing. Why would he think he would deserve cruelty from the very man who was supposed to protect him? She drew in a breath to ask when his mouth descended over hers. The kiss was hard and strong, full of passion and hurt, and she wrapped both her arms about his neck. She wanted to take that pain from him.
He rolled onto his back, pulling her onto his chest as he continued kissing her, slanting her mouth open, their tongues dancing together.
When he shifted back, she opened her eyes to see that his were crinkled in pain. “When I am with you, I want to forget my past. Be a new man.”
She ran a finger from his forehead, to his cheek, and down to his chin. “I like the man you are right now.”
He shuddered. “What does that mean?”
Cordelia drew in a deep breath. This was important. “Let’s just say for argument’s sake that we married, a real marriage. Would you object to my career?”
He widened his eyes as he held both her cheeks in his hands. “No.”
She shook her head in his hands. “Do you understand how rare that is? A man who is comfortable enough to allow me to have my own path? Not to mention that you are fun and kind, handsome, and you like my father, and…” She stopped, looking down into his eyes. “I could search the whole of England and not find another you.”
Chapter Twelve
God as his witness, Ash loved this woman. Not just because Cordelia was stunning and talented. And not just because she saw the good in him. Though he had to confess, her tender insight and acceptance made his heart melt. So few people found value in him.
But she made him want to be a better man. The sort of man that could raise happy children alongside a loving wife.
Perhaps she never needed to know he was a bastard. It was a secret that only his dearest friends now knew. It made him ache to think of keeping something like that from her, but how could he tell her that he’d spent his childhood in the ashes of a whorehouse? She’d been so understanding up to this point, but would their budding relationship survive that knowledge? He’d spent his entire life hiding it for fear of what people might think.
> He kissed her again. To quiet his thoughts but also to remind himself that this might just be worth it. He’d protect her from his past. Give her the future she deserved. Because he wanted to believe that Mr. Moorish was right and that he could build a life with family and children, and not recreate his past but forge a new future.
The heat of her seeped into his chest and he rolled them both over, tucking her underneath him to keep her warm.
One of her legs wrapped around his, his pelvis settling between her legs. Even through her skirts, he could feel her heat, her softness, and he groaned as he kissed a trail down her neck, one of his hands sliding down the front of her dress.
One of her breasts filled his palm and he groaned to feel her nipple strain against the fabric. He brushed the peak with his thumb, and she gasped, arching into the touch.
White-hot need coursed through his body, settling into his manhood. He’d never wanted a woman more. The need to touch her prodded his hand lower until he reached the bottom of her skirts and then underneath and up her leg. Which was completely bare.
He reared up, looking down at her even as a flush climbed her cheeks. “It’s hot,” she said in a strangled whisper.
He grinned down at her, her silky-smooth flesh sliding against the much rougher skin of his hand. “It is. Very hot.”
“When I play…” Her words died off.
He let out a strangled groan. “If you tell me that you rarely wear pantaloons, I shall have to marry you immediately.”
She stilled underneath him, her gaze holding his. “You’re teasing.”
“I am not,” he said back, kissing her again. Slowly and sweetly until she was sighing, nothing but clay in his hands. “But we’ll have to come up with new terms. The old ones won’t do.”
Her quiet moan pulsed through him even as he slid his hand higher, up her thigh, just brushing the tantalizing curls at the juncture of her legs.
She was already wet, and he pressed his forehead to hers feeling her body shake as he ran his hand lightly over the sensitive flesh as she cried out, her fingers digging into his shoulders.
What a Vulgar Viscount Needs: Romancing the Rake Book 5 Page 7
