Nine Rules to Break When Romancing a Rake by Sarah MacLean

misstep?”
    Callie knew she couldn’t tell the truth. You see, Juliana, there comes a point in a woman’s life when she’s willing to do anything to be kissed. She paused, searching for the appropriate words; Juliana misread the meaning of the silence.
    “Ah,” she said, a knowing tone seeping into the single syllable, “I understand. You are more than a friend, si?”
    Callie’s eyes widened at the words, “Whatever do you mean?”
    “You are his…” Juliana thought for a moment, seeking the correct phrase. “His inamorata?”
    “I beg your pardon?” The question ended in a strangled squeak.
    “His lover, yes?”
    “Juliana!” Outrage took over, and Callie pulled herself up into her most regal of poses, adopting her very best governess tone. “One does not refer to lovers or paramours or…any other personal matters with guests!”
    “But you are not simply a guest!” Juliana looked confused. “You are my friend, are you not?”
    “Of course I am. However, one does not refer to such personal matters with friends either!”
    “I apologize. I did not know. I thought that if you and Ralston were—”
    “We are not!” The words came pouring out as Callie’s voice trembled. “Not lovers. Not even friends! I am here to help you because I like you. I enjoy your company. The Marquess of Ralston has nothing to do with it.”
    Juliana looked Callie directly in the eye, waiting several moments before responding. “I enjoy your company, as well, Lady Calpurnia, and I am happy to have you with me on this journey.” She then leaned forward, one side of her mouth up in an impish smile. “However, I believe there is more to your being here than goodwill. Else, why should you so passionately deny it?”
    Callie’s eyes widened, her mouth opening in surprise, then closing without sound.
    “Do not worry. Your segreto is safe with me.”
    Shaking her head, Callie said, “But, there is no secret! Nothing to be kept safe!”
    Juliana smiled more broadly. “As you say.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “I shall keep it safe nonetheless.”
    Callie leaned back in her chair, eyes narrowing on her pupil, who was grinning as though she were a cat with a bowlful of cream.
    And to think, just yesterday she had considered the marquess the most cunning resident of Ralston House.

    Five
    To a casual observer, the Marquess of Ralston, lounging in an oversized armchair in an elegantly styled room at Brooks’s men’s club, appeared every inch the spoiled aristocrat—legs extended carelessly, boots gleaming, in the direction of the room’s great marble fireplace; cravat loosened, but not undone; hair artfully disheveled; eyes half-lidded, watching the flames flicker and dance. From one hand, a crystal tumbler of scotch dangled, but the two fingers of amber liquid in the glass had been neglected, hovering on the brink of spilling upon the thick blue carpet.
    Here, the untrained eye would note, was the portrait of a lazy dandy.
    Such an observation, however, would be a gross untruth, as Ralston’s casual sprawl belied his true state—mind racing, pent-up frustration making his stillness a battle of will.
    “I had a feeling I would find you here.”
    Gabriel turned from the fire to meet his brother’s gaze. “If you are here to announce the existence of another St. John sibling, now is not the best of times.”
    “Alas, we remain a meager trio. As hard as it is to believe.” Nick took the chair next to Gabriel with a sigh. “Have you spoken with Nastasia?”
    Ralston took a deep drink. “Yes.”
    “Ah. That would explain your mood. Attempting to rectify years of profligacy in mere hours is no easy task.”
    “I did not agree to changing my ways—only to an increase in discretion.”
    “Fair enough.” Nick tilted his head in amusement. “That is something of a beginning, I should think, with your legacy.”
    Ralston’s scowl deepened. For years after his father’s death, he had cut a wide, indecorous,