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Crestwood slapped the table, his attitude completely changing. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
Craven continued to grimace; his face a complete mask. “What sort of party?”
“The sort men of your kind would like.” He winked. Raithe had a particular sort of reputation for having parties filled with women and liquor. That wasn’t what this was going to be and so he wouldn’t outwardly promise such delights. It would give him plausible deniability later.
Rathmore dropped his arms to his sides. “Next week? I couldn’t possibly.”
Raithe tried not to frown. The duke, once a notorious rake, had hardly been seen at the gaming hells or at parties of ill repute. Coupled with his comments to Crestwood, that made him the most important candidate of them all.
Hartwell stepped forward. “We’re headed to the coast to check in on some of our properties.”
Excellent. He tightened his grip around his glass. “Then you’ll be close to my home. Surely, you can spend a few days with us.”
Hartwell shook his head. “My sister will be travelling with me. I seriously doubt she is suited to one of your parties.”
Raithe didn’t respond. This gathering would be perfectly appropriate for such a lady but he wasn’t about to tell them all of that. Besides, Charlie was the last woman he wanted in his house, under his roof, near his bed. “That doesn’t mean Rathmore can’t attend. For a few days at least.” He leaned forward. “Tell me you’re not craving something different.”
He saw the flicker of indecision in the other man’s eyes.
Victory roared in his blood.
“Count me in,” Crestwood crowed. “What about you, Dashlane?”
Dashlane took a sip of his drink. “Why not? I could use a change of pace. Craven?”
The third man frowned. “I suppose.”
Raith
e didn’t care if Craven attended or not. In fact, he’d prefer he didn’t but the three were often together making Craven a necessary evil. “Rathmore?”
“I’ll think on it,” Rathmore shrugged, staring at the far wall.
“I’ll attend,” another voice called from the corner. Raithe turned, his jaw clenching when he’d seen who spoke. His Grace, the Duke of Danesbury sat, partially obscured by shadow. The man was rarely seen out, his face having been scarred on one side from some accident or another. Raithe’s eyes widened to see the man here on such a busy night. “Your Grace?” he asked. Strictly speaking the man was not invited but as a duke, he’d be difficult to refuse.
“I’ve heard of your parties, Balstead. I’ll come if you’ll have me.”
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.”
