Page 1 of Just About a Rake (Ladies Who Dare #5)

“I ’m in a crisis,” Lady Leonora Heart declared to one of her good friends, Harriet Hillstow, now the Marchioness of Leeds, amidst the crowded ballroom of Lord and Lady Haversham’s event.

“You’re in a what?” Harriet asked, concern on her face as she glanced over at Leonora.

“A crisis,” she repeated. A big one.

“Here? Right now? A crisis of what sort?” Her friend lowered her voice. “ That sort?”

Leonora waved her hand dismissively. “No, not that sort. A moment sort.”

Harriet blinked, confusion crossing her face. “Then I’m not sure I am following...”

“I need a moment, Harriet. A. Moment.”

Harriet arched a prompting brow.

Leonora fought for a way to explain, for she herself couldn’t quite pin down the specifics of the moment she sought. Only the magnitude. Presently, her life felt unmoored. Something essential felt missing . Every smile she gave, every laugh she laughed, every dance she shared seemed almost hollow, as though she were an actor playing the part of herself, rather than living as herself. It was disheartening, this vague sense of lack.

“A moment to rule all moments,” Leonora declared.

“Well, that doesn’t sound ominous at all.” Her friend cocked her head to the side, studying her. “Why do you need a moment to rule all moments?”

Leonora stared at her empty—by choice—dance card with a small frown. “Because I’m tired of waltzing to the same tune. I’ve been swaying to the same melody for a whole season. I need something else. Something more.”

“So choose another song.”

“But it should be the song.”

Harriet leaned over to peek at the card. “I can hardly believe your card is not full of all London’s rakes and rogues tonight. I believe you—you are in a crisis.”

Leonora pursed her lips. “Tonight is different.”

“Did something happen to bring on this sentiment?” Harriet asked.

Yes. Something had happened, yes. Nothing happened. Well, not nothing nothing. She supposed it had actually started with her brother reading the paper and him doing nothing. Just reading the paper. But it was a hard sentiment to convey to someone whose nothings were still full of the person they loved.

“You are married,” she said to Harriet, “so you will not understand.”

“Perhaps you are right. I cannot understand your thinking. But don’t you usually revel in dancing? Especially when you are dancing with rakes? You once said it’s delightfully exhilarating.”

“Yes, but even that has lost its appeal.” With one notable exception. Her gaze tracked the crowd for a certain, tall, blue-eyed rogue. He remained the only breath of fresh air in an otherwise stifling landscape.

“Really?” Harriet murmured with blatant curiosity. “And this is why you want a moment to rule all moments?”

Leonora gave a single nod. “Exactly.”

“Interesting.” Harriet slowly fanned her face in thought. “What if what you need is not a moment to rule all moments but a dream to rule all dreams?”

“A dream? I believe they belong in my sleep.” And moments belonged to waking life.

Harriet scoffed. “No, a dream . Like love.” Her eyes narrowed on Leonora. “You want a love match, do you not?”

Love? “I haven’t given too much thought to the future, to be honest. As you know, I’m more of a woman who revels in the present.”

“Well, you should consider it. Perhaps you can try your hand at reforming a rake.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Her eyes tracked the crowd again, searching. “I have no intention of reforming any rake. If anything, my future husband shall have to reform me.”

“Goodness. Very well then, but you can still make love your dream.”

Leonora shrugged. “I don’t know. Love is a consequence not a dream.”

“A consequence of what, exactly?”

“Finding your soulmate.” Leonora grinned at her friend. “You should know better than I do about that.”

Harriet matched her smile. “So find your soulmate.”

Leonora wanted to scoff. “If only it were that easy.”

“Perhaps you make it harder by flirting with rogues. What if you worked your wiles on a different sort of gentleman? You know, like a gentleman .”

“Rakes are gentlemen,” Leonora defended. They were more fun, and in a way, safe. “They’re just wild gentlemen.”

“I cannot understand your fascination with them.”

“What can I say? There is just something about teasing a man who so clearly wants something you know he could never have.”

“How diabolical,” Harriet said dryly. “In any event,” she continued, “if you won’t change the tune, you could change the dance floor. You can always try dancing in different settings. Such as the garden. A dirt road. Places like that.”

Leonora nodded thoughtfully. Not a bad idea . But... “Whether on a dance floor, dirt road, or a garden, it’s still a dance. It’s still a tune.” The same dance. The same tune. “Unless I find myself a dreamlike man like you found in Leeds.”

Harriet’s gaze flicked fondly to her husband in conversation with the Duke of Calstone and back again. “Perhaps you shall when you stop flirting with rakes you have no intention to reform.”

“But I can’t help myself,” Leonora said, then laughed. “I’m drawn to them like a bird to the sky.”

Harriet rolled her eyes heavenward.

“Go on and say it,” Leonora murmured. “I am hopeless, I know.”

“You are hopeless. But at least you are aware of the fact.” Harriet tapped a finger on her chin. “What you need is a new sort of wild man who can help you experience dancing or whatnot in a refreshed way.”

A new sort of wild man? Other than rakes? What sort of wild would that be? “You mean like a country man?”

Harriet pointed to the Duke of Calstone. “Like him.”

Leonora followed her friend’s gaze to the man next to Leeds. “The duke? What’s so wild about him other than his wildly coveted title?”

“He is the good sort of wild,” Harriet pointed out. “Not rakish at all.”

“Good sort of wild?” Whatever sort of wild he may be, it didn’t call to her in the slightest. Nothing about him seemed destined to result in a moment to rule all moments. Nor did he appear to be the sort that might lead to the stirring of a dream—not in her, at least. “Anyway, he is not my type.”

“ Rakes are your type, then?”

Leonora grinned at her friend. “Hopeless, I tell you.”

Harriet snorted. “This is not about what your type is and what it is not. This is about a new experience. He might be the tune you are looking for.”

“Fine, shall I just dance with him, then?” Leonora offered, then teased, “It seems awfully lackluster, though, just dancing with a duke. How about I steal a kiss from him?”

Harriet laughed. “I’m sure you shall shock the trousers from his body.”

“Why? Is he a prude?” That would be a rather intriguing prospect.

“Your tone is terrifying, you know.” Her friend shook her head. “You are aware that you are going from one extreme to another. From chasing after rakes to being fascinated by the thought of a prude.”

“The middle is exceedingly boring, don’t you agree?”

“No, I don’t. Boring is beguiling, my friend.”

Leonora laughed. “If you say so. I, on the other hand, prefer the thrill. The thrill of making the most of every moment.” For you never know when the privilege of those moments might be taken from you. And perhaps that was the crux of her crisis. Even the thrills were becoming less and less thrilling.

“I daresay you should have been born a man.”

“Now wouldn’t that have been wonderful! Though I can still accomplish all I want being a woman.”

Things certainly would have been different if she had been a man, though. And it wasn’t that Leonora didn’t have dreams. After all, when one thought about it, dreams were just moments that had been properly seized, weren’t they? And she had many, many moments she wanted to pursue. At the end of her life, she wanted no regrets, no matter how regretful certain circumstances may be.

Otherwise . . .

The face of her older brother flashed into her mind, a reminder of the scandalous secret regarding her family circumstances she’d discovered on her fourteenth birthday. Which was why she had vowed from that young age to savor the pleasures of the moment and, where there were no delights, create them herself.

Nothing in this world of hers was guaranteed. Only the present moment and how she chose to claim it.

“Speaking of chasing rakes, what happened to your Lord Dare?”

Leonora scoffed. “He is not my lord anything.”

They’d been flirting for the whole season, true, skirting on the edges of crossing the proverbial line. However, it was just a spot of fun. She delighted in teasing him. He enjoyed teasing her.

But he was a rake. Moments—lots of moments—of fun, but not her dreamlike man. Her lips curved upward as her eyes darted past Calstone, sweeping the crowd, hunting for that fun.

Ah, Leonora! Did the root of her crisis lie there?

She hadn’t lied. She had no plans to civilize a scoundrel—not even that one—though she loved flirting with him. In any event, if it were that easy to tame a rogue, wouldn’t there be reformed rakes prancing all about London? No, Leonora wanted those moments of fun. She wanted to collect tons of marvelous memories, but that was all. She didn’t want to bleed from her wrists in an effort to refashion a man who was resistant to change. What sort of amusement was that?

Harriet’s soft laughter rang in Leonora’s ear. “Ah, Calstone,” she called for the men’s attention. “You have been formally introduced to my friend, Lady Leonora, correct? Doesn’t she look lovely tonight?”

Harriet! What was her friend up to now?

“Yes of course,” Calstone answered, directing a grin her way. “You are a true vision.”

Leonora resisted the urge to shoot a glare Harriet’s way and returned the man’s smile. Might as well seize this moment, even if she hadn’t exactly chosen it. “You look quite handsome yourself, Your Grace. A star amongst this tedious crowd.”

He opened and closed his mouth, blinking a few times. Her smile brightened. Admittedly, the man could be considered no less handsome than Leeds. But he lacked the calm charm the marquess possessed. But then he surprised her, just a bit, by leaning in conspiringly and saying in a lowered voice, “What a terrifying prospect for our host. Don’t ever let word of their lackluster guest list get out to them, I beg you.”

Leonora laughed. She was all for men who did not raise their brows at a spot of playfulness. Add a dash of flirtation, and she had her man—at least for a little while. Calstone might be closer to matching this recipe than she’d thought, though still not a perfect match, to be sure.

“Ah, well, perhaps the night holds a bit more promise now.”

“I have no words,” Harriet muttered from the side. “Now that I think about it, do not let Leonora set her claws in you, Calstone,” she said in a louder tone. “Dukes are not her usual type of gentleman.”

Leeds arched a brow.

“Do not fret, my lovely Lady Leeds—”

“She’s not your lovely lady anything,” Leeds interjected flatly.

Leonora bit back a smile and she could see Calstone do the same.

“I have skin as thick as an elephant. Claws cannot penetrate me.” He turned to Leonora. “Try your best, my lady.”

“Well, I cannot claim I have claws to try with, so do not get too excited, Duke. Besides is that term even the appropriate one?”

“Then what would you call it?” Harriet asked, cocking her head to the side.

“Sights.” Leonora grinned. “Isn’t that what everyone is doing these days—setting their sights?”

“Dear God, please don’t do that,” Calstone lamented. “Please don’t set any sights on me. The prospect is most horrifying. Most horrifying.”

The tension Leonora had borne this past week eased a degree. She cast a mock-offended glance at Harriet. “I heard right, didn’t I? He did call me horrifying? I’ve never been called horrifying before.”

Harriet laughed, placing her hands over her lips.

“That is certainly not what I meant,” Calstone said, unflustered. “I, Duke of Calstone, will never call a lady horrifying. The idea that one has set her sights on me, however...”

“Ah, so it’s my sights you find horrifying.” What a refreshing change of pace !

“Perhaps I should have phrased that differently,” Calstone said.

Leeds nodded in agreement. “Agreed.”

“Leeds,” Calstone pleaded. “Help me, old chap.”

“My apologies,” the marquess said without a beat of hesitation. “But now my level of intrigue is so much greater than it was before.”

Leonora laughed, and her head lifted to lock with a pair of eyes that burned into the very soul of her. A ripple of tingles spun from the palms of her hand to the tips of her fingers.

There he was.

A spark of heat bloomed from the depth of her chest, lifting her mouth into a grin that mirrored the unfolding sensation. Ah, yes, only one man made her come this alive.

Unfortunately, his name was Dare.

Harriet grinned at them. “I can see you and Calstone will get along just fine. I had hoped so.”

“Hope,” Calstone murmured, “is but mere disappointment one has yet to discover.”

Leonora blinked, then cast a glance at her friend. “I’m not sure what to make of that .”

“Oh, pay half of his words no mind,” Harriet said with a shake of her head. “The duke is prone to exaggeration and dramatics.”

Leonora tilted her head ever so slightly and regarded the man. “I suppose rather than spending one’s time hoping this and hoping that, it’s best to just act.”

Harriet dipped her head in agreement. “I second that. Action is good. Great.”

Leonora nodded thoughtfully. Quite right. She never did like that word. Hope . Especially not when it came to the grand scheme of a person’s life. Which was why she preferred to actively seize her moments rather than just hope they seized her.

“I say,” Calstone said abruptly, his air of teasing replaced by a pensive glance. “I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before, but you’ve always looked oddly familiar to me, and I suddenly remember who you remind me of, Lady Leonora.”

Leonora arched a brow, curiosity piqued. “Oh? And who might that be?”

“The Widowed Duchess of Crane.”

Leonora gave a light shrug. “I can’t say I’ve ever met her.”

“Me neither,” Harriet supplied.

“Oh, she hasn’t frequented London in years,” Calstone said. “Uncanny resemblance, really, though.”

An uncanny resemblance? If it were any other resemblance, Leonora wouldn’t have paused. But uncanny? Her heart stuttered. The phrase echoed back and forth across her mind, startling her into speculation. Could the Duchess of Crane be...

Could she be . . .

Her real mother?

*

Something was wrong with that little temptress.

Rake Sloane, the Earl of Dare, tracked Lady Leonora’s movements from across the ballroom. The saucy flirt hadn’t danced once this evening. She had also barely conversed with anyone but her friend. Yet most unsettlingly—a realization which was unsettling in itself—she’d neither sought him out.

He narrowed his eyes on her and pursed his lips in thought.

Yes, something was very, very wrong.

It shouldn’t bother him.

And it didn’t.

Not a lot.

Though he could admit he adored her teasing. If brandy were made from her charm, every man in London would be drunk on her. A night without a daily dose of her laughter seemed a loss.

He couldn’t look away from her.

That bothered him, too.

But not a lot.

He knew better than to let it. Just like he knew, more than anyone else in the world, who he was and who he was not. Well, perhaps his father had known, too. Why else would he have named him something so fitting, something that bound them together in reputation and reality? The irony was not lost on him. But that didn’t mean he’d follow in the man’s exact footsteps.

Dare pulled a face.

His father had created difficulties Dare did not intend to repeat.

Period.

Like naming his children.

The beguiling temptress, on the other hand, was a bright spark, though she was one that didn’t dare linger long with a jaded rake. Not that he allowed his own thoughts to linger in her direction, either, but even he, drunk on the brandy that was Lady Leonora, couldn’t help but be drawn to her light, evening by evening.

And she was keeping her distance from him. Or so it seemed.

His brow furrowed.

A throat cleared from beside him. Loudly. “You’ve got that look.”

Dare gritted his teeth and glanced at Knox, his longtime friend, as he approached. More formally known as Brent Madden, the Marquess of Knoxley, he was also arguably Dare’s only friend. “What look?” His view returned to Lady Leonora.

Knox followed his line of sight. “The look you get when you’re about to stir a pot full of trouble.”

Dare scoffed. “That’s just my face.”

“True. But there is something else in this look. Something worrying.”

Dare’s fingers twitched. Knox could read him like the latest issue of the London Times , flipping through each of the pages as though he had damn well written the content himself.

So yes, this look of his probably conveyed how his fingers wanted to grab hold of something—anything—like the sandy swirls of Lady Leonora’s curls outlining the soft profile of her heart-shaped face.

He clenched his hand.

Or just her.

But he could never reach that far. He could only dig his nails into the palms of his hands and draw sense from the sting.

“Don’t be absurd. It’s nothing.”

Knox arched a brow. “Doesn’t look like nothing. Looks like an awful lot of something.”

A woman , Dare heard what his friend hadn’t uttered. That woman.

But whatever conclusion Knox had come to, he had it wrong. Their teasing and flirtatious remarks could never amount to whatever the tone his friend’s voice implied. That was outlandish. Blasphemous, even.

His brows knit together when he spotted Lady Leonora laughing at something the Duke of Calstone said. Calstone... a duke. A proper gentleman. A perfect match.

The exact opposite of him.

“She’s just innocent fun,” Dare murmured offhandedly even though those two words had certainly never been used by anyone else to describe anything he did.

Knox’s brow line spoke volumes, but he said nothing. He supposed he should be thankful his friend hadn’t laughed outright, and yet, even those two words could be considered laughable coming from his mouth, it was the simplest, and oddly truest way to describe his interactions with Lady Leonora.

“Your cousin is in town,” Knox suddenly said.

Dare looked at Knox. “Drake is in London?” He was the only cousin worth mentioning.

Knox nodded.

The furrow in Dare’s brow deepened. Drake loathed London and hardly ever left Brighton. For him to be here, something big must have lured him. “You’ve seen him?”

A nod. “He requires your help with something.”

“Oh? This is going to be interesting. Why send you? Why not come to me himself?”

Knox shrugged. “You’ll have to ask him that.”

Dare shook his head. No point. Drake wouldn’t set foot in Mayfair or any part of town he considered belonged to the pompous and wealthy. But was a note too damn much to ask? “What’s this help he requires?”

“The Duchess of Crane has returned to London. She has something he wants.”

Dare gave his friend an astonished look. “What do you want me to do about it?”

“ I don’t want you to do anything. I’m just telling you what Drake told me. He didn’t say anything about the what or the how.”

How very Drake. “Damn lunatic.” His gaze returned to search for the one face that never failed to lift his mood. “What exactly does he want from the duchess?”

“A deed of land.”

Interesting. “Then he can get it himself.”

Knox chuckled. “You know he won’t set foot anywhere near nobility. He’ll erupt in welts.”

Dare’s smile turned sly. “Then let him break out in gushing sores. I don’t care. I’m not doing God knows what he wants me to do to get his hands on that deed. I’m not one of his boys.”

“In any event,” Knox continued, “even if you were to help him, I’ve heard she has yet to shed her black, so your... methods of persuasion will likely be wasted on her.”

As if he would seduce her anyway. He wasn’t some dog in heat. Most of the time. “Hasn’t the late duke been dead for two years?”

Knox spread his hands, palms up. “What can I say? The widow apparently refuses to come out of mourning.”

“Then what does that devil Drake want me to do?” Dare muttered more to himself than Knox.

“Not sure, but aren’t you a master at slipping in and out of houses undetected?”

Not entirely true, though Dare had mastered the art of slipping in and out of the bedchambers of ladies. They did, however, generally leave a door open for him.

“You are a better master than I,” Dare pointed out.

A scoff. “I’m not family.”

Dare sneered. “Count yourself lucky.” And just what land did the Duchess of Crane have in her possession that Drake wanted, anyway? What property would have him even step foot in London of all places?

Though in reality it could be any one of the Crane properties. It was no secret that Drake was one of the late duke’s bastard sons. His mother was sister to Dare’s own mother, and yet Dare was the only one in his family who recognized his cousin and aunt as family. So ostracized, Drake may well feel entitled to a bit of inheritance now the old duke was dead.

“You can tell Drake to seek me out himself to tell me what he wants. And I won’t be his burglar, if that’s what he thinks. Besides, if the woman is still in black, it’s best to let her be.”

“It’s my impression that he has been waiting until she steps out of mourning, and he is growing impatient.”

Sweet laughter spilled into his ears from across the room, causing his shoulders to tense up. His gaze found Lady Leonora again. He couldn’t help but scowl. Just what did she find so funny in the Duke of Calstone’s conversation? “Damnation, this night is all but ruined.”

Knox let out a low laugh. “I suppose your cousin believes you have the charm or some tricks to lure a woman out of her mourning drab.”

“What utter nonsense,” Dare snapped. “I don’t have techniques for these sorts of situations.” If that were true, what a horrifying thought it would be. It would involve some form of comfort, would it not? And that would mean tears might be shed. The thought of a weeping female gave him chills.

“I’m sure he will be disappointed.”

Good. “I’m sure he will get over it.”

Knox arched a brow. “Has it ever occurred to you that he might merely want you to mediate since you and she are of the same world?”

“No. It didn’t.” Not even the slightest. “Let’s change the subject, shall we?”

“As you wish,” Knox said. “You still have a rather troubling look about you. Why don’t you ask some chit to dance?”

“Not in the mood.” The only chit he enjoyed dancing with stood across the floor flirting with another man.

Little temptress.

And too breathtaking for her own good. Everything about her radiated beauty. Even her gown, a soft, silky green, reminded him of a misty morning in the garden before the sun broke through the haze. Her eyes were probably sparkling like twin drops of water as she smiled at Calstone.

Christ, Dare. You sound like a poet.

But if this gut feeling was right and she was keeping her distance tonight, just what had he done to deserve being sidestepped by her?

“You’ve changed,” Knox remarked quite unexpectedly.

Dare flicked an incredulous look at his friend “Me? Impossible. Birds can’t change their feathers.”

Knox lifted his shoulders in a small, careless shrug. “They can pluck them out and grow new ones.”

“They will still return as the same color.”

“Nothing returns as the same color. It’s always a bit more dull or a bit more vibrant.”

“How wise of you,” Dare remarked dryly. “I wonder if my color will return uglier or prettier.” Probably uglier.

“You haven’t plucked out all your feathers, so I really can’t say.”

Dare snorted. Well, no matter. He didn’t mind the way he was anyway. Though he wouldn’t deny his path was a rather lonely one. His house at night, for one, had the feel of a silent graveyard. Who the hell could sleep in a graveyard? He certainly struggled. Which was why he attended these events and sought out a bit of light.

Her light, if he was honest. It drove away the shadows of exhaustion. At least for a little while.

It was a damn miracle she hadn’t been infected just by cavorting with him. But then, she was such a presence that no one could ever doubt her glow. She was a woman so bright he could never taint her with his darkness.

And she came to him openly. Publicly. That was even more tempting to him. She didn’t want to hide her teasing. Her flirting. She didn’t want to hide him .

That was dangerous.

Dare sighed, his eyes hunting her down again.

It was for the best then if she were to finally get smart and stay away from him. Best that she kept her distance. Best that she captured herself a duke.