Craving the Rake's Touch (Rakes of the Caribbean) by Bronwyn Scott Page B

to be caught alone with Benedict DeBreed, a man known for his long line of mistresses and longer line of indiscretions.

Chapter Two
    “I risk everything by being alone with you. Whatever you have to say, make it fast,” Sarah snapped, the door to the estate office barely closing behind her in time to choke off the hot words from public display. “I have two earls’ heirs and a viscount on the string out there, none of whom have fathers who will want to hear of this little interlude.”
    Benedict rested a hip on the polished mahogany desk and chuckled. “I’d forgotten how magnificent you are in full temper, Sarah. Those lovesick swains in your drawing room have no idea, do they?” It was a lie, though. He’d not forgotten, no matter how much he’d tried. She was lovely, with her Dryden-blue eyes, her honey-colored hair, so rich and thick it begged a man’s hand to sink into it, to pull it loose from its pins, to let it fall through his fingers as the color in her cheeks reddened from temper or passion aroused.
    “They’re not lovesick swains.” Sarah scoffed at his belittling reference. He merely grinned. He liked needling her, liked getting a rise out of the oh-so-perfect Sarah Dryden. Once, he’d had more than anger from her, but those days were in the past, relegated to a time when he’d dared to dream a man like him could have a woman like her. Earls’ daughters weren’t for the faint of heart.
    “No, they’re not, are they?” He’d not come here to fight but he couldn’t seem to help himself. The line between passion and anger had never been so thinly delineated. “They’re heirs to titles and fortunes whose only job in life is to make themselves agreeable enough to catch a well-born virgin with wealth to match theirs. How would they feel if they knew you have neither virginity or wealth to give them?” Benedict paused, studying the defiant line of her jaw, the tilt of her chin. She would not like what he’d come to say. “You might be able to hide the lack of the one, but not the other.” He left it ambiguous as to which one he referred. The truth was she might not be able to hide either much longer.
    Her face colored as she took in his remark. “I do not have to answer to the likes of you. You led me to believe you had something of merit to say.”
    “I do, Sarah. Disaster is on its way, maybe three days behind me, maybe less. London knows you’re broke.” He’d ridden hell-bent for leather to tell her the news, to get to her first. He could tell himself he’d done it out of loyalty to Ren, but his conscience knew better.
    Sarah went pale beneath the heat of her blush. He hated being the one to put such fear there. He could see her mind calculating behind her blue eyes. Three days until disaster but the house party would be over in two. “How? Who?” She stammered her disbelief in incomplete questions. “Ren was so careful to give no sign.” He could see her weighing the risk. Maybe she could get away with it, maybe time would be on her side. His Sarah had become a shrewd analyst of the odds over the years, a very practical woman.
    Benedict shook his head, dispelling her calculations. “Rhys Camry was spreading it around the clubs. He said it was why you had left London during the Season.” He’d learned of it over a game of cards and he hadn’t been the first to hear it.
    “Plenty of people host small parties. This is no different,” Sarah argued defensively.
    “Well, true as that may be, Rhys’s rumor spiraled after that. Someone speculated it was the real reason Ren left for Barbados. Someone else recalled how the artwork in the town house had been rearranged, perhaps to cover up for a piece of artwork that had been sold. You know how it is.”
    “Rhys Camry didn’t like being refused,” Sarah said, fuming. “He can’t abide the fact that Ren rejected his suit on my recommendation, so he has to prove to everyone he didn’t want me in the first place.”
    Benedict