Raithe swore softly under his breath. This was not one of the carefully chosen men. He didn’t know what sort of man Danesbury was and didn’t wish to find out. “Of course, Your Grace.”
Raithe sat back in his chair. He had five men after all. Not the five he’d originally set out to invite but still… that ought to give Cassandra some choices…
Chapter One
Chase, better known as the Duke of Rathmore, stared out the window of his carriage, watching the darkening sky with a narrow-eyed glare. The clouds suited his mood. One might argue that he should be happy. He was on his way to a summer house party that was likely to be the event of the season.
At least for lords with power, money, and a proclivity for fun. And by fun, he meant drinking, gambling, and sex, likely in that order.
The Baron of Balstead, was known among most men to be a deviant. He liked lavish parties with high-powered men and lowly women. Chase had been invited before. But somehow, Balstead had managed to convince him to attend this time. As an unmarried duke who regularly showed up in the clubs, gaming hells, and even a few high-end brothels, he was exactly the sort that Balstead would want to attend. This was just the first time that Chase had ever accepted.
He wasn’t sure why he’d decided to go this time. Perhaps it was the nagging feeling that had set in of late that something more meaningful was missing from his life. He’d become duke at the tender age of sixteen when his parents had died while crossing the English Channel during a storm. When he’d recovered from his grief, he’d set about enjoying all the benefits of being a young duke. But that had been ten years prior and the things he’d enjoyed had lost their shine.
And so, he’d decided the only answer was to search out even more ruckus fun in the form of Balstead’s party. If he were honest, however, he wasn’t certain the idea sat right in his mind. And so, he’d set out two days later than he’d planned. And he’d taken his time surveying several properties on the trip. And now, it looked as though he’d be delayed again as a fat plop of rain landed on the roof of his carriage.
Perhaps, he shouldn’t go at all. The road he travelled followed along the coast, giving him scenic views of the ocean beyond. At least that’s what some people would think of water. Right now, it was a dark, ominous grey that looked, to him, like a death trap.
He slapped his hand against his knee as more rain began to fall. He wasn’t going forward or turning back tonight. Rapping on the carriage wall, he called to his driver. “Is there somewhere we can stop for the night?”
“Aye, Yer Grace,” the driver called back. “We can keep travelling along this road and get to a little village called Seabridge Gate. It’s quaint and quiet but it’s our best bet for a night’s reprieve from the storm.”
“Sounds good,” he called back, settling into his seat, the knot in his chest unfurling a bit. At least for today, the decision had been made not to go on. But that feeling of relief only lasted for a bit as the rain pummeled the carriage, the wind driving the water near sideways.
Another five minutes passed as Chase watched the ocean, the waves growing large and furious as they beat against the shore but soon the rain dulled even the view of the ocean’s anger.
“Yer Grace,” his driver hollered over the beating wind. “I see a home up ahead. Should we stop and seek shelter?”
He grimaced. The notion of asking a complete stranger for help filled him with dread. Who knew what he would find? “How much longer until we reach the village?”
“I don’t rightly reckon,” the driver answered. “But we’re getting near soaked out here.”
Chase sighed. “You’re right. Let’s stop.” His valet and footman were also in attendance and while the footman was used to such conditions, his valet, Mr. Wendel, was not. Besides, no man should be out in a storm like this.
The carriage pulled up the drive, long and sweeping, rising up a hill. Not only would they be safe from the wrath of the ocean, they’d likely have excellent views. Soon, a stately manor house appeared and in moments, staff flooded out the doors to greet the unexpected guests.
Stepping down from the carriage, he followed a well-trained butler into a large entry. A portly but jovial fellow dressed in an immaculate evening coat swept down the stairs. “Welcome,” he called as if Chase were an expected guest. “Welcome to Highland Manor. I am the Honorable Thomas Moorish. Whom do I have the honor of addressing?”
Chase gave a slight bow of his head, putting on his best dukely façade. “The Duke of Rathmore, at your service.”
The man’s eyes widened. “Your Grace,” he breathed. “What brings you to my humble home?”
Chase’s eyebrows lifted, giving the grand entry a sweep of his gaze. “Your home is lovely and the storm has stopped my travels, at least for the night. I wondered if I might be able to weather its wrath here and impose upon your fine hospitality.”
The other man nodded. “We’d be most delighted to have such a guest.”
Chase nodded again as he noted the we in the sentence. Did the man have a wife? Children? Then something wonderful caught his gaze. At the top of the stairs, one, two, three, four, five ladies appeared. Dressed in a rainbow of pastels, two brunettes, two blondes, and one redhead gazed down at him. At least that’s how it appeared from his spot near the door. He couldn’t quite make out any of them individually but the effect of all five was staggering. Had he wanted to keep driving? Damn fool. This was the perfect spot to weather a storm.
Miss Ophelia Moorish stood at the top of the stairs and gazed down at the young duke. He was the stuff of fairy tales and romances and… She stopped, realizing she was getting carried away.
As a longtime lover of all books, she tended to cast herself as the heroine in the pages and make the people who surrounded her characters in her own story. It had gotten her in trouble on more than one occasion.
For example, last year she’d discovered a gelding that had gotten trapped in the sea grass that stretched for miles when the tide was out. She’d imagined herself the animal’s great rescuer. Instead, it had nearly trampled her in its fear. She had gotten the horse safely out, but she’d suffered a broken arm from the experience.
Drawing a deep breath, she looked at the duke again. He’d removed his hat and dark hair waved back from his forehead and down over his ears. She couldn’t see the color of his eyes, but his jaw was square and his shoulders broad. Her heart hammered in her chest again. He really was like a prince from a story.
And she could swear his gaze followed her every move. Was that her imagination again? She wasn’t certain but her pulse accelerated even more.
“Girls,” her father called from the bottom of the steps. “Come down and meet our guest.”
One of her sisters, likely Bianca, giggled hysterically while Juliet fluttered her hand in the air. Ophelia pursed her lips. Apparently, she wasn’t the only sister who had noticed the handsome duke.
As the eldest, however, she was most entitled to seek his attention. She was nearly two and twenty and still had yet to participate in a proper season. Without a mother and with five sisters, her father hadn’t been able to step away from his business and family in order to take her. Adrianna, her youngest sister, was about to turn eighteen. Her father threatened to unleash them all on London at once. Not conventional, but potentially necessary.