Callie watched the hackney cab drive off down the darkened street, leaving her utterly stranded.
She gave a little sigh of dismay as the clatter of horses’ hooves faded into the distance, replaced by the pounding of her heart and the rushing of blood in her ears. She should have begun with the scotch. And she certainly should not have had so much sherry.
Had she remained abstemious, she would most definitely not be standing here, alone, in front of the home of one of London’s most notorious rakes, in the middle of the night. What had she been thinking?
Clearly, she hadn’t been thinking—at all.
For a fleeting moment, she considered turning back to the street and hailing the next hackney that passed, but fast on the heels of that thought came the realization that her reputation would be thoroughly destroyed should she be discovered.
“I shall have Benedick’s head for this,” she muttered to herself, pulling the hood of her dark cloak lower over her face. “Mariana’s as well.” Of course, it was neither Benedick nor Mariana who had forced her into a hack, risking her safety and good name. She’d done that all on her own.
With a deep breath, she accepted the truth…that she had landed herself squarely in the midst of this mess, that her reputation was mere minutes from being in tatters, and that her best chance of surviving this situation intact lay inside Ralston House. She winced at the thought.
Ralston House. Dear Lord. What had she done?
She had to go inside. She had no choice. Standing on the street for the rest of the night was not an option. Once indoors, she would beg the butler to ferry her from the house to a hack, and, if all went well, she could be in her bed within the hour. He would certainly feel obligated to protect her. She was a lady, after all. Even if her actions that evening were not precisely bearing that out.
And what if Ralston were to open the door?
Callie shook her head at the thought. First, marquesses did not go around opening their own doors. And secondly, the odds of this particular marquess being home at this particular hour were slim to none. He was likely off with a paramour somewhere. An image flashed through her mind, pulled from a decade-old memory of him locked in a heated embrace with a breathtakingly beautiful woman.
Yes. She had made a horrid mistake. She would just have to escape as quickly as possible.
She squared her shoulders and approached the imposing entrance of Ralston House. She had barely let the knocker fall when the large oak door swung open, revealing an aged servant who seemed not at all surprised to find a young woman standing outside his master’s home. Stepping aside, he allowed her to enter, closing the door behind her as she took in the warm, inviting entryway to the long-established London home of the Marquesses of Ralston.
Instinctively, she began to push the hood of her cloak back from her face only to realize that the events to follow would be easier if she were shielded from recognition. Resisting the impulse, she turned to the servant, and said, “Thank you, good sir.”
“Indeed, milady.” The butler offered a short, respectful bow and began to shuffle toward the wide staircase leading to the upper floors of the house. “If you will follow me?”
Follow you where? Callie recovered quickly from her surprise, “Oh, I do not mean to—” she paused, not sure of the end of the sentence.
He stopped at the foot of the staircase. “Certainly not, milady. It is no trouble. I shall simply provide you escort to your destination.”
“My—My destination?” Callie stopped abruptly, her question laced with confusion.
The butler cleared his throat. “Above stairs, milady.”
“Above stairs.” She was beginning to sound like a ninny even to herself.
“That is where his lordship is at the moment.” The butler gave her a curious look, as though questioning her mental faculties, before turning back to the staircase and beginning the climb to the second floor.
“His lordship.” Callie watched the servant mount the stairs as understanding dawned and her eyes went wide as saucers. Good lord. He thought her a lightskirt! The shocking realization was quickly followed by another—the butler thought her Ralston’s lightskirt. Which meant that Ralston was here. In the house.
“I’m not…” her words trailed off.
“Of course not, milady.” He spoke the words with perfect decorum, but she had the distinct sense that he had heard the same, meek protest from countless other women, countless times before. Women who had feigned innocence for propriety’s sake.
She had to escape.
Unless…
No. She quashed the little voice. No unless. Her reputation was hanging by a thread. She’d be safer hailing a hackney by herself on the dark London streets than following this ancient butler to Lord knew where.
To Ralston’s rooms.
Callie nearly choked at the thought. She would never drink sherry again.
“Milady?” The word, delivered with all decorum, held an unspoken query. Was Callie going to follow?
This was her chance. Misguided or not, this was what she had hoped for when she’d sneaked from the house and hailed a hack. She’d wanted to see Ralston—to prove that she had the courage for adventure. And here she was, her objective squarely within reach.
This is your chance to prove yourself more than passive.
She swallowed, staring mutely up at the old man. Fine. She would follow him. And she would ask Ralston to help get her home. It would be embarrassing, but he would come to her aid. He had to. She was the sister of a peer of the realm, and he was a gentleman.
She hoped.
Maybe not, though. A thrill coursed through her at the thought.
She pushed it aside, giving a silent prayer of thanks that she had thought to change into her most flattering gown before making the trip. Not that Ralston would see the lavender silk beneath her plain black traveling cloak—she had absolutely no intention of revealing her identity to the marquess except as a last resort—but knowing that she wore her prettiest dress gave her an extra ounce of confidence as she lifted her skirts and began to climb.
As she moved up the staircase, Callie detected the sound of faraway, muffled music that became louder as the butler led her sedately down a long, dimly lit corridor. He stopped in front of a large mahogany door that did nothing to contain the music that spilled from the room. Callie couldn’t help the flash of curiosity that, for a brief moment, overpowered her nervousness.
The butler rapped twice, and a strong, clear “Enter” sounded above the music. He opened the door, but did not cross the threshold. Instead, he moved aside to let Callie enter alone, which she did, tentatively.
The door closed behind her. She was in the lion’s den, wrapped in a cloak of shadow and sound.
The large room was barely lit, a hint of light from a few spare candles illuminating the space in a quiet, intimate glow. Even without its enveloping darkness, it was the most masculine room she had ever seen—decorated in rich, dark wood and deep, earthen colors. The walls were covered in a wine-colored silk; the floor boasted an enormous woven carpet that could only have come from the Orient. The furniture was large and imposing—bookshelves lined two walls, each one full to bursting. On the third wall was a large mahogany bed draped in midnight blue fabrics. As her gaze fell to it, her mind flashed to her earlier fantasy of Odysseus and Penelope and a very different but equally alluring bed.
Callie swallowed nervously, averting her gaze from the scandalous furnishing, her eyes alighting on the master of the house, seated on the far end of the room, his back to the door, at a pianoforte. She had never imagined a piano outside of a conservatory or a ballroom—certainly never as an addition to a bedchamber. He had not turned away from the instrument at her intrusion, instead raising a hand to stay any words that might have interrupted his playing.
The piece he played was dark and melodic, and Callie was immediately captivated by its blend of talent and emotion. She watched, riveted by his tanned and corded arms, bare to the elbows, where his white-linen shirtsleeves had been haphazardly rolled; by his strong hands dancing deliberately, instinctively across the keys; by the curve of his neck as his head dipped low in concentration.
When he finished the piece, the last of the notes lingered in the heavy air as he lifted his head and turned toward the door, revealing long, muscled legs in tight breeches and knee-high riding boots; his shirt, open at the collar, without cravat or waistcoat to hide the sliver of skin there; the rippling muscles of his shoulders as he straightened on the stool.
When he noticed her, the only sign of his surprise was a slight narrowing of his gaze, barely perceptible as he searched for her identity in the dim light of the room. She was never more thankful for her hooded cloak than at that moment. He stood calmly and folded his arms.
An untrained eye would have thought that his position was one of carelessness, but Callie’s years of watching rather than participating in London society had given her a keen sense of awareness. He appeared all at once angular…more tense, the muscles in his arms taut with coiled strength. He was not happy to have a visitor. At least, not a female one.
She opened her mouth to speak, to apologize for her intrusion, to escape, but before she could say anything, his words cut across the room. “I should have guessed that you wouldn’t accept my ending our acquaintance. Though, I confess I am surprised that you would be so bold as to visit me here.”
Callie’s mouth closed in surprise as he continued, his tone firm, his words cold. “I had not wanted to make this more difficult than it had to be, Nastasia, but I see you will not accept my decision. It is over.”
Dear Lord. He thought her a tossed-over paramour! Granted, she wasn’t exactly presenting herself as a gentlewoman, arriving as she had—unbidden—on the doorstep, in the dead of night, but this was really too much! She should correct him.
“Nothing to say, Nastasia? That’s rather out of character, is it not?”
Then again, remaining silent required far less courage than revealing herself to this imposing man.
He gave an irritated sigh, clearly through with the one-sided conversation. “I think I was more than generous with the end of our agreement, Nastasia. You retain the house, the jewels, the clothes—I’ve given you more than enough rein with which to bridle your next patron, have I not?”
Callie gasped, outraged at the way he was so callously and cavalierly ending a romance.
Her response garnered a humorless laugh from the marquess. “There is no need to play the shocked miss. We both know that naïveté escaped you long ago.” His tone was cool and emotionless as he dismissed her, “You may find your own way out.” He resumed his seat, turning his back to her and beginning to play once more.
Callie had never thought she would feel for one of the courtesans who lurked on the edges of the ton as mistresses of the aristocracy, but she couldn’t help but take offense on this particular woman’s behalf. And to think, she had thought Ralston a pillar among men!
She stood, fists clenched in womanly outrage, wondering just what she should do. No…she knew what she should do. She should leave this room immediately and flee this house. She should return to her quiet, calm life and forget her silly list. But that was not what she wanted to do.
What she wanted to do was teach this man a lesson. And her anger made her brave enough to stay.
He did not look back as he said, “I beg you not to make this situation any more awkward than you have, Nastasia.”
“I’m afraid this situation can only become more awkward, my lord.”
His head whipped toward her as he shot from his seat. If she were not so irritated, she would have been vastly entertained. “You see, I am not who you quite obviously believe me to be.”
She had to give him credit. His surprise was almost immediately replaced by shuttered calm. “Indeed you are not, Miss…” He paused, waiting for her to identify herself. He continued after a long silence, “It appears that you have the advantage of me.”
“Indeed, it does seem that way.” Callie was shocked by her own boldness.
“May I assist you in some way?”
“I had thought so. However, after witnessing the manner in which you address the women in your life, I find I would rather not join their ranks.”
One of his dark eyebrows kicked up at her words. Callie took that as her cue to escape. Without another word, she turned abruptly and grasped the door handle. She had opened the door not a quarter of an inch when a large, strong hand shot over her shoulder and closed it again. Dear Lord…he was fast. She tugged at the handle with both hands, but her strength was no match for his; that single, strong arm kept the door firmly shut.
“Please,” she spoke, her words barely above a whisper, “let me go.”
“You speak as though I brought you here, my lady. On the contrary. ’Tis you who entered my domain. Don’t you think you owe me the courtesy of an introduction?” His reply was quiet, spoken just at the edge of her hood, sending a shiver of panic through her. His body was scant inches away from hers—any closer, and they would be touching. They might as well have been for the way the heat of him was overwhelming her senses. Callie stared at the doorjamb, wondering just how she was going to escape her fate.
She had started this evening as Calpurnia. She couldn’t give up now. “We’ve—” She cleared her throat and started again. “We’ve met before, my lord.”
“I cannot be expected to know that with you shrouded in cloth.” He tweaked the edge of her sleeve, his fingertips carelessly brushing the back of her hand. She sucked in a breath at the touch. His tone turned cajoling. “Come now, do you really think that I will allow you to leave without learning your identity? You have come too far now.”
He was right, of course, and Callie was nothing if not pragmatic. Taking a deep breath, she let go of the handle and began to turn toward him. He took a step back, letting go of the door as she lowered her hood, revealing herself. He tilted his head just slightly at the sight of her, as though trying to place her. After a brief moment, recognition dawned, and he stepped back again, unable to keep the surprised confusion from his face and his voice. “Lady Calpurnia?”
“The very same.” She closed her eyes, cheeks burning, feeling sick with regret. She would never leave the house again.
His breath expelled on a humorless half laugh. “I confess, had I been given a thousand guesses, I would never have imagined that you would be my midnight visitor. Are you quite well?”
“I assure you that, contrary to how it might appear, I am not at all mad, my lord. At least, I don’t believe I am.”
“Forgive me for asking, then, but, what on earth are you doing here?” He seemed all at once to realize where they were. “This is not at all the appropriate place for a lady. I recommend we remove this conversation to a more…acceptable…location.” He waved an arm to indicate the room at large before making a move to reach around her to open the door.
Not interested in dragging out this disastrous meeting any longer, Callie stepped to the side, avoiding his arm and putting more distance between them as she spoke. “Nonsense, my lord. I do not think it necessary to continue this conversation at all. I found myself here at Ralston House under rather…peculiar…circumstances, and I think it would be best for us to forget this ever happened. It shouldn’t be so difficult, I should think.” She pasted a bright smile on her face and fiddled with a tassel on her cloak.
Ralston took in her words, allowing a silence to fall around them. In the long moments of quiet, Callie looked anywhere but at him, and he took note of her nervousness. It wasn’t long before his surprise and confusion turned to intrigue, and he assumed a less threatening pose, casually leaning against the wall by the door. “I am not so certain of that, my lady. Contrary to what you may believe, I do not so easily forget women who visit me in my bedchamber.” Heat flared high on her cheeks again as he continued, “What brings Lady Calpurnia Hartwell to my doorstep in the middle of the night? Frankly, you do not seem the type.”
Callie scrambled for a response. “I was…nearby.”
“In the middle of the night.”
“Yes. I found myself…outside…and…in need of transport home.”
“Outside of my home.” The words were dry with his obvious disbelief.
“Indeed.” Perhaps if she held her own, he would not press her for further explanation.
“How did you come to be outside my home in need of transport?” The sound of his casual curiosity set her on edge.
“I would prefer not to discuss it,” she said, averting her eyes and willing him to leave that particular subject alone. Silence descended and, for a brief moment, she thought he was satisfied by her evasive response.
She was wrong.
He crossed his arms arrogantly as he let amused disbelief seep into his words. “And so, you naturally decided that knocking on my door was a safer course of action than hailing the nearest hackney.”
In for a shilling, in for a pound. “Indeed, my lord. You are a peer of the realm, after all.”
He snorted. She snapped an indignant gaze to meet his mocking one, and blurted out, “You do not believe me?”
“Not a word of it.” He leveled her with a piercing, blue look. “Why not tell me the truth this time?”
She dropped her eyes to the floor once more, desperate for another fib to tell, something, anything that would get her out of this situation.
He seemed to read her mind. “Lady Calpurnia.”
“I’d rather you call me Callie,” she said hurriedly.
“You don’t like Calpurnia?” The words were lazily curious.
She shook her head, refusing to meet his eyes.
“Callie…” He coaxed, the words spoken in a deep, liquid tone that she was certain he used whenever he wanted something from a woman. She would not be surprised to discover that it always worked. “Why are you here?”
And then, whether from courage or cowardice or too much sherry she would never know, she decided to answer him. After all, the evening couldn’t possibly become any worse.
In a whisper, she announced, “I came to ask you to kiss me.”
It wasn’t the answer he’d been expecting. He was surprised by the timid words, barely audible in the silent room. For a moment, he thought he had misheard her, but the crimson flush that raged across her face was enough to convince him that, yes, he had just received an entirely indecent proposition from Lady Calpurnia Hartwell.
The evening had begun innocuously. Having refused all invitations, Ralston had dined with his siblings, still fresh from the discovery of Juliana, then retired to his chamber, hoping that the privacy of his sanctuary and his piano would offer welcome distraction. Eventually, it had worked, and he had lost himself in his music.
Until the knock at the door, announcing Lady Calpurnia’s arrival. He gave her a frank perusal. She was not unattractive—slightly plump and a touch plain, but he imagined that was more a result of her simple black cloak than anything else. She had full lips and flawless skin and wide, lovely eyes that flashed with emotion. He wondered at their color briefly before he forced himself to return to the matter at hand.
This was obviously the first time she’d ever done something so forward—so adventurous; if he hadn’t already been aware of her pristine reputation, he would have sensed it from her obvious discomfort. Little Calpurnia Hartwell, whom he knew only tangentially from her years of blending into the edges of balls and drawing rooms, was a wallflower of the first water.
Of course, she wasn’t much of a wallflower this evening.
He watched her calmly, years of practice hiding his thoughts. She refused to meet his eyes, instead focusing her gaze on her tightly clasped hands while darting quick glances at the door as if to measure the potential success of an attempt to flee the room. He couldn’t help the burst of sympathy he felt for her, this little mouse who had obviously found herself in a situation far beyond her experience.
He could be a gentleman about the whole thing—take pity on her, provide her an exit, and offer to forget that this evening had ever happened. But he sensed that, despite her obvious nervousness, there was a part of her that wanted to play this out. He wondered how far she would go.
“Why?”
Her eyes went wide at the question, meeting his for the briefest of moments before she looked away again. “My—my lord?” she stammered.
“Why such a request? Not that I am not flattered, of course, but you’ll admit it’s rather odd.”
“I—I don’t know.”
He shook his head slowly, a predator on the hunt. “That, my darling, is the wrong answer.”
“You shouldn’t call me that. It is too familiar.”
One side of his mouth lifted in a hint of a smile. “You are in my bedchamber asking me to kiss you. I should think we are rather past the bounds of propriety. Now, I ask again, why?”
She closed her eyes against a wave of embarrassment. For a moment, he thought she wouldn’t reply. And then her shoulders rose and fell on a deep breath, and she said, “I’ve never been kissed. I thought it was time.”
The words shocked him—they were not filled with self-pity, nor did they plead. Instead, they were so honest, so matter-of-fact, that he couldn’t help but admire her courage. Such a statement could not be an easy one to make.
He did not reveal his surprise. “Why me?”
Her confession seemed to bolster her confidence, and she replied without pause, as though stating the obvious. “You’re a notorious rake. I have heard the gossip.”
“Oh? What gossip?”
Heat flooded Callie’s cheeks.
He pressed on, “Lady Calpurnia. To which gossip do you refer?”
She cleared her throat. “I—may have heard—that you left a certain viscountess half-naked in her husband’s conservatory as you climbed out the window to escape his wrath.”
“That’s an exaggeration.”
“They say you left your shirt. And he burned it in effigy.”
“A gross exaggeration.”
She met his eyes. “What about the vicar’s daughter who followed you across Devonshire in the hopes of ruining herself?”
“Where did you hear that?”
“It is amazing what one hears on the edges of ballrooms, my lord. Is it true?”
“Let’s just say that I am quite lucky that she did not catch up to me. However, I hear she is happily married in Budleigh Salterton these days.” She chuckled at his words, the laugh catching in her throat when he added, “Well, considering the gossip, who is to say I would stop at kissing you?”
“No one. But you would stop.”
“How do you know?”
“I know.”
He recognized the self-deprecation in her tone, but ignored it. “Why now? Why not wait for a man to come along and…sweep you off your feet?”
She gave a short laugh. “If the man you speak of had ever planned on coming, my lord, I’m afraid he has obviously lost his way. And, at twenty-eight, I find I have grown tired of waiting.”
“Perhaps you should exhibit some of the character you are showing this evening in a more public forum,” he said. “I’ll admit you seem far more intriguing than I have ever given you credit for, my lady, and intrigue is the spark of desire.”
His words hit their mark, and she flushed again. Ralston was unable to deny the enjoyment he felt at this unexpected turn of events. Indeed, this was just the diversion he needed in the face of Juliana’s introduction into society.
Quickly on the heels of that thought came another.
Lady Calpurnia Hartwell was the answer to his problems. And she had been delivered to his doorstep—well…rather farther than his doorstep—on the same day as his long-lost sister. He felt a wave of satisfaction.
He would kiss her. For a price.
“I wonder if you would be willing to consider a trade?”
Callie turned skeptical. “A trade?” She stepped backward, putting more distance between them. “What kind of trade?”
“Nothing so awful as what you are clearly thinking. You see, it appears I have a sister.”
Her eyes widened. “A sister, my lord?”
“Yes, I was rather surprised by the fact myself.” He gave her a brief description of the day’s events—Juliana’s arrival, his decision to claim her as a sibling instead of a distant relative, his commitment to finding her a proper sponsor with an impeccable reputation to ease her entry into society.
“So, as you can see, it’s rather lucky that you are here tonight. You are the perfect solution. Assuming, that is, that you do not make it a habit to visit unmarried gentlemen in the dead of night.”
She gave a slight, self-conscious laugh. “No, my lord. You are the first.”
He’d known that was the case and made a mental note to discover at a later date what exactly had prompted her nocturnal visit. “And the last, I would hope, at least until Juliana is successfully introduced.”
“I haven’t agreed to your request, yet.”
“But you will.” His tone was arrogant. “And, as payment, you’ll get your kiss.”
“Forgive me,” she said with humor in her voice, “but you must place a rather high value on your kisses.”
He tipped his head, conceding the point. “Very well. Name your price.”
Callie looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully before replying. “The kiss will do for now, but I reserve the right to a favor in the future.”
“I’m to be indebted to you, then?”
She smiled. “Think of it as a business transaction.”
An eyebrow rose. “A business transaction that begins with a kiss.”
“A unique business transaction.” She blushed again.
“You seem shocked by your boldness,” he said.
She nodded. “I’m not quite sure what has come over me.”
Once more, her honesty surprised him. “Very well, my lady, you are a formidable negotiator. I accept your terms.” He approached her, his voice taking on a seductive tenor. “Shall we seal it with a kiss, then?”
Callie caught her breath and stiffened at the question. Ralston smiled at her obvious nerves. He ran a finger along the edge of her hairline, tucking a rogue lock of hair behind her ear gently. She looked up at him with her wide brown eyes, and he felt a burst of tenderness in his chest. He leaned close, moving slowly, as though she might scare at any moment, and his firm mouth brushed across hers, settling briefly, barely touching before she jumped back, one hand flying to her lips.
He leveled her with a frank gaze and waited for her to speak. When she didn’t, he asked, “Is there a problem?”
“N—No!” she said, a touch too loudly. “Not at all, my lord. That is—Thank you.”
His breath exhaled on a half laugh. “I’m afraid that you have mistaken the experience.” He paused, watching the confusion cross her face. “You see, when I agree to something, I do it wholeheartedly. That was not the kiss for which you came, little mouse.”
Callie wrinkled her nose at his words, and at the nickname he had used for her. “It wasn’t?”
“No.”
Her nervousness flared, and she resumed toying with her cloak tassel. “Oh, well. It was quite nice. I find I am quite satisfied that you have held up your end of our bargain.”
“Quite nice isn’t what you should be aiming for,” he said, taking her restless hands into his own and allowing his voice to deepen. “Neither should the kiss leave you satisfied.”
She tugged briefly, giving up when he would not free her and instead pulled her closer, setting her hands upon his shoulders. He trailed his fingers down her neck, leaving her breathless, her voice a mere squeak when she replied, “How should it leave me?”
He kissed her then. Really kissed her.
He pulled her against him and pressed his mouth to hers, possessing, owning in a way she could never have imagined. His lips, firm and warm, played across her own, tempting her until she was gasping for breath. He captured the sound in his mouth, taking advantage of her open lips to run his tongue along them, tasting her lightly until she couldn’t bear the teasing. He seemed to read her thoughts, and just when she couldn’t stand another moment, he gathered her closer and deepened the kiss, changing the pressure. He delved deeper, stroked more firmly.
And she was lost.
Callie was consumed, finding herself desperate to match his movements. Her hands seemed to move of their own volition, running along his broad shoulders and wrapping around his neck. Tentatively, she met Ralston’s tongue with her own and was rewarded with a satisfied sound from deep in his throat as he tightened his grip, sending another wave of heat through her. He retreated, and she followed, matching his movements until his lips closed scandalously around her tongue and he sucked gently—the sensation rocked her to her core. All at once she was aflame.
He was right. This was the kiss for which she had come.
He broke off the kiss then, running his lips across her cheek and setting them to her ear, taking the soft lobe between his teeth and biting gently, sending waves of pleasure coursing through her body as he laved the sensitive skin there. From far away, Callie heard a whimper…and belatedly realized that it was her own.
His lips curved at her ear as he spoke, his harsh breathing making the words more a caress than a sound, “Kisses should not leave you satisfied.”
He returned his lips to hers, claiming her mouth again, robbing her of all thought with a rich, heady caress. All she wanted was to be closer to him, to be held more firmly. And, as though he could read her thoughts, he gathered her closer, deepening the kiss. His heat consumed her; his soft, teasing lips seemed to know all of her secrets.
When he lifted his mouth from hers, she had lost all strength. His next words pierced through her sensual haze.
“They should leave you wanting.”