Page 20 of Just About a Rake (Ladies Who Dare #5)

A stonishing moments had a way of springing out at a person when they were least expected. Sometimes, they might be curated, like when her friends would purposely do something scandalous to shock the ton , but more often, they were not. And these moments were the most astonishing.

Like Dare.

She’d seen a lot of faces on Dare before. Sly. Flirtatious. Furious. Exasperated. And most of them, each in their own way, had amused her. However, tonight, she didn’t know what was more comedic, the new expressions flashing across his face or the monkey that had attached itself to him. But the monkey and ensuing facial expressions were, arguably, not even the astonishing part of this situation, Leonora thought, as the tension in the air between Dare and Calstone fairly hummed. This moment was more astonishing than all other moments put together!

Her gaze flicked between the two men, settling for a moment on the veins running down Dare’s neck and disappearing beneath his cravat. It brought the moment of his bare chest in the warehouse to mind. As well as the night they’d shared. The sense of thrill she had started the night off with returned tenfold.

But she couldn’t very well have him take a tumble with the duke.

Leonora grabbed hold of his arm. “Dare.”

His eyes found hers, and she shook her head. His lips pulled up in a sneer, but he instantly stepped back, the polished—or rather unpolished, yet refined—rake once more. Even that usual roguish smile hung on his face.

“My apologies, Duke.”

Calstone dusted off his jacket. “For Lady Leonora’s sake, I accept your apology.”

Oh, Lord. While she appreciated the duke’s sentiment, she inwardly grimaced at it. It only drew more attention onto her. Whispers and titters already filled the air of the lobby, almost deafening in their simultaneous rise.

“Thank you,” Leonora said before Dare could reply. With that look on his face, it would probably be something infuriating. The duke’s acceptance was already more than she could hope for. To Dare, she said, “What are you doing here?”

“Am I not allowed to attend the theatre?” He sounded bitter.

She blinked. “Of course you are.” But when she had spotted him leaving his box at the interval, and she glimpsed his cousin as well, she’d understood his presence was perhaps not as simple as it might appear.

She even dared, for a second, to believe it might have been for her. And that second had been enough for her to rush from her own box, Calstone in tow, in the hope of intercepting him, which had led to the current moment.

His hot eyes settled on her. She felt them prickle on her skin like heated needle points. “And now you would fawn over the duke but not me? The monkey attacked me first.”

Hold on. Was he perhaps . . . jealous ?

Dare she believe?

No. Certainly not.

But his choice of words— fawn over ? Was this something a rake ought to say? A smile sprang to her face, followed by a chuckle that turned into a bubble of laughter. Ah, this was no good, but she couldn’t stop herself. This could not be considered a moment to rule all moments, but it certainly ranked near the top!

“Leonora? Why are you laughing?” A scowl formed between his brows. “Did the duke give you drink?”

Calston’s throat cleared. “I resent that. And also, her laughter is not the issue here.”

“Then what, by your account, is?” Dare demanded.

Leonora inhaled deeply and caught the duke’s subtle shift in attention, which had lowered to where she still gripped Dare’s arm, then down to where Dare still held onto her wrist. No. Her hand. Somewhere in all the chaos, his fingers had laced with hers.

They both froze.

Even the titters had suddenly stopped, waiting with bated breath for her and Dare’s next move. She looked up at him, and their eyes locked. Monkey aside, she could just imagine certain other gossip sheets tomorrow. A Lady and a Rake Hold Hands . Or maybe A Touch Too Far?

Fingers Intertwined, Reputations on the Line!

Heart was going to kill her.

“Hit me,” he whispered.

Leonora blinked at him, and not the flirtatious kind. “What?” she said through her own fading smile. Had she heard him correctly?

“Hit me,” he repeated with a hiss. “It’s the only way out of this for you.”

“What about you?” How could she slap that handsome face that had never been slapped by a woman before? She surely didn’t want to be the first. And she’d never slapped a man before, either. How hard a slap would be considered good enough to provide a way out? This was just too absurd!

“I don’t need a way out as you do.”

Right.

Only she would be tainted from this. But who was she if not a walking invisible scandal? Her family had done their best to shield her and give her the best life possible, but that did not take away the hidden truth that had been molding her for the past six years. Scandal didn’t scare her.

Her fingers, intertwined with his, tightened in a clasp.

He jerked.

Her smile brightened again in response.

“That is not how you slap a man,” his low voice came along with his fingers slowly unweaving from hers. She deliberated whether she should grip his hand harder.

“Dear God, the two of you are not just flirting, but flirting with scandal,” Calstone muttered.

As if his words could conjure catastrophe, Heart’s voice suddenly boomed “Leonora!” throughout the hall, causing everyone present to jolt on the spot.

Dare’s hands clamped firm again. Out of instinct, Leonora thought, as hers squeezed a bit tighter as well. And how could one’s heart take on such a speed so quickly? It almost defied reason.

Calstone suddenly blocked their view to the left—Heart’s view—to be exact. However, Leonora’s relief didn’t last long.

“I already saw everything, Calstone! Step aside.”

“It’s all right, Your Grace, thank you.” She quickly disengaged from Dare, a picture of poise as Calstone nodded and stepped off to the side. Her brother came into view in all his glorious fury.

Leonora lifted her chin, prepared for battle, but stilled—beside Heart walked the Duchess of Crane. She couldn’t tell where they’d come from, but it wasn’t the front entrance.

Heart had never left.

His personal business had been a certain duchess. She had been curious all this time, too hesitant to ask her family directly, circling around and around. Could tonight hold the answers she sought?

He marched to stop before them. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Meaning?” Leonora dragged her gaze away from the duchess, even though she wanted nothing but to stare. “What meaning would you attach to this rather public situation? It certainly cannot be a wicked one.”

“Leonora,” Heart bit out, stepping up to her, his figure looming like a hulking mountain. “Every single person here can interpret the poorly hidden meaning behind your little romantic display, or whatever you wish to call it. Is this your chaste friendship you told me about?”

Dare chuckled. “Chaste friendship. What a marvelous term.”

Leonora’s pulse surged. There was nothing chaste about them—not anymore. Perhaps there never had been. Mayhap that had only been her delusion. However, when she had rattled off that phrase—chaste friendship—she had believed herself and Dare to be nothing more than two people who enjoyed each other’s flirtations that could never be more.

“Well, the term—” she began.

“Is quite apt,” Dare interrupted. “In our previous lives, we must have been brother and sister, so chaste is our friendship.”

Low titters erupted once again.

Leonora glanced at Dare. This flat tone... yet his smile remained in place. The air of a rake never faltered. The only difference was that those stark, blue eyes refused to meet hers.

“Leonora,” a soft feminine voice came as the duchess stepped forward to place a hand on her arm. “Perhaps we should retire to a more private spot.”

Leonora stepped back, evading the touch. Clear as day, the woman supported Heart, and she didn’t feel like playing along at the moment. “I’m perfectly all right where I am.”

“I don’t think...” the duchess began again, but trailed off when Dare suddenly bowed.

Leonora blinked at him.

“I fear my friends require my immediate attention,” Dare said loudly, firmly. “I shall take my leave here. I apologize for any misunderstanding.”

Misunderstanding? Was he leaving her here alone at a time like this? A moment like this? Shouldn’t he be running off with her over his shoulder and a bellowing Heart chasing after them? She certainly wouldn’t mind realizing such a fantasy. But merely departing like this?

“Rake.” She reached out to him, and he evaded her touch, just like she had done with the duchess.

“Enjoy the rest of your evening, my lady.”

My lady?

“No, I—”

He stepped back. “You should enjoy the rest of your evening with your family.”

“But I—”

He didn’t listen. He cut her off by pivoting, giving her his back, which, for some inexplicable reason, overlapped with the memory of him walking into a boxing match shirtless, only this time...

It didn’t feel like he would return.

*

Dare descended the steps of Drury Lane with an urgency he last felt when he was escaping all the hands reaching for him at his father’s funeral. There were few days in his life that had been as bad as that one. And few days as good. On the one hand, he had lost his father, who had, for all his faults, been a passable father. On the other hand, a sense of finality, a sense of peace, had settled in his heart.

Both his parents were gone. Along with all their pain.

Damnation. His heart.

He clutched at his chest, dragging his hand up to his throat as his breathing became a graver concern than the pounding in his chest. Both nearly drew him to his knees.

Hell . . .

Damnation . . .

And . . .

The moment he reached his carriage, all elegance deserted him—did he even have any left?—and he launched onto the seat inside. “Home,” he barked in a single order. He couldn’t say more. He couldn’t say it softly.

The driver didn’t question him, and the carriage flew forward the moment the door shut. He could find comfort in at least this. He always had a means of retreat ready. That never failed him, and it didn’t fail him now.

Christ. Poets always waxed on about love and hope in tortured pieces of meter and rhyme. If his life were a poem, it would surely be a tortured masterpiece.

She told Heart they had a chaste friendship. Chaste friendship? Their bloody meanings of “chaste” were not the same! If hers was noon, the brightest part of the day, then his was decidedly—flatly—midnight. They couldn’t be more opposite.

He could just imagine how every single male ancestor of his was rolling in his grave while every single female was curling up in laughter.

What the hell did you expect, Dare? That she’d confessed to her ruin?

He suddenly burst out in laughter. Why ever would she do that? He had taken her innocence. Could he ever hope for more from her when he himself could never offer her more than what he already was? There was a reason she had chosen him to gift her innocence to. There was a reason she had never held any false hope about him.

He slammed a fist against the door.

Why the hell can’t I be more?

He pressed the palm of his hand against his forehead.

You know why.

Yes.

Darkness shrouded him, and no matter how much of her light pierced through the shadows, the shadows always returned the moment she left. If he were a good man, he’d have done the right thing. He’d have asked for her hand. Taken responsibility. But he was not good. To him, being the better man meant not repeating his father’s mistakes—ensuring he never put himself in a position where he could.

How comedic.

They spoke of marriage as being leg shackled, but if that were truly the case—his leg shackled with hers, in a literal sense—perhaps the threat of the past repeating itself would become null and void.

But he knew better. Marriage didn’t change a man. It only exposed what was already there. And what was inside him wasn’t fit to be bound to someone like her.

She was bright afternoons and warmth, and he was the cold creeping in at dusk, the kind that made people shut their windows and lock their doors. She was the kind of woman who made men believe they could be better—except Dare had spent a lifetime knowing exactly what he was. No amount of fool’s hope could rewrite that truth.

Still, those words echoed in his head. Chaste friendship.

His mouth twisted. No, there was nothing chaste about the way he wanted her. The way he thought of her, even now, with his pulse still hammering from the sheer want of her.

He dragged a hand through his hair and let his head fall back against the seat. The carriage jolted as it hit a rut, but he barely felt it. He had endured worse disruptions. He had survived worse. And yet, for the first time in his life, he wasn’t entirely certain he would survive this .

Her.

And the damnable burn clawing at his chest.

After some time, the carriage stopped and Dare sighed. He hated nights at home. Too damn silent.

“Dare, old fellow! What the devil!”

Dare almost slipped stepping from the carriage and glanced back to see Knox and Drake jumping from the driver’s seat of another carriage. A question mark formed on his brow. “Whose vehicle is that?” Had they chased after him?

“Not important,” Drake said.

Enemies, I tell you, enemies. What friends would do this at such a time?

“I’m not in the mood for whatever nonsense you bring with you,” Dare bit out.

“Then you wish to be alone?” Knox’s mocking tone jabbed his ears.

Enemy—and one that read him like a book. Dare sneered and strode to his home, not objecting to their shadows following in his trail. “I don’t want to talk about her.”

“Wouldn’t dream of mentioning her name,” Knox drawled.

“Yes, we are more interested in the monkey,” Drake added.

Dare clenched his fist and whirled on them “What do you want to say about that damn monkey? Say it now. Because the moment I enter that house,” he jabbed a finger at his door, “this night never happened.”

“You weren’t bitten were you?” Knox asked. “If you were, I shall have my physician summoned. Monkeys are vile creatures.”

“No.” He glanced down at his clothing and then at his hands. No imprints of bites anywhere. That monkey had merely given him a fright and flashed his teeth at him . Laughing at him. He had become the mockery of the animal world.

More irony. He had called himself a man of nothing but animal instinct so often over the years that it wouldn’t surprise him if real animals now saw through his shite and were deciding to reject his claim. Honestly.

However, that same instinct had cautioned him to retreat from the theatre. But that wasn’t saying much, since the same instinct had moments prior caused him to push the duke away from her before far too many people who now served as witnesses to what may be the strangest moment of his life.

“You flung a monkey in a duke’s face.”

Dare shot a nasty look at his cousin. “That’s not a question.”

Drake nodded. “Did it feel good?”

Did it? A sudden smile split his face. Bloody hell, he had felt so damn rotten a moment before but the mere memory of the monkey clinging to Calstone’s face... His mood lifted a bit. “I suppose it did.”

“If you are happy, we are happy, old fellow.” Knox peeked at the house. “Will you allow us in now?”

“Only if you vow no more questions about monkeys, dukes, and her .”

Two heads nodded.

“Good. Then you are welcome.” He would rather not be alone anyway, and even Drake had come along—a man who didn’t normally set foot in these parts.

Knox waved a hand. “Just to be sure, we are allowed to discuss your ruin?”

Ruin? His ruin or her ruin? Their ruin? What happened tonight was not enough to ruin her, was it? Certainly not him. They had been engaged in all sorts of public flirtations this past season, so tonight should hardly be more than a bit of scandal, a few headlines to stir up gossip. In the grand scheme of things, he should be nothing more than a hint of sour lemon on an otherwise sweet cake.

He could never be the sweetness.