Nine Rules to Break When Romancing a Rake by Sarah MacLean

head. But men like Ralston were not for women like Callie. If anything, she’d learned that last night. Ralston was all darkness and excitement and adventure…and despite what sherry-laden Callie might have seemed to be the night before…
    Well, by the light of day, Callie was none of those things.
    But, for one evening, for a fleeting moment, she had been. And what a lovely moment it had been. She’d been bold and forward and decidedly unpassive—reaching for what she knew she might never otherwise have. And, while the previous evening might have taught her that Ralston was not for her, there was certainly no reason why the rest of the things she longed to do couldn’t be entirely attainable.
    I could have the list.
    The thought emboldened her. She turned instinctively to look at the dainty bedside table upon which she had set the scandalous sheet of paper before climbing into bed. Reaching for the list, she scanned it, a ghost of a smile crossing her lips as she reviewed the words scrawled across it. If the events of last night were any indication, she would enjoy every minute of completing the other items. These nine items were all that stood between Callie and living. All she had to do was take the risk.
    And why not do so?
    Energized, Callie pushed back the coverlet and emerged from the bed. Squaring her shoulders, she moved across the room to the little writing desk in the corner. Setting down the list, she smoothed out the wrinkled paper and considered the words one more time before reaching for a pen and dipping it in a nearby inkpot. She had kissed someone. And passionately.
    In a single fluid motion, she drew a thick, black line through the first item, unable to keep the wide grin from her face. What next?
    A quick knock sounded, and Callie watched in her looking glass as the door swung open to reveal her maid. Registering the stern look on the older woman’s face, Callie felt her grin fade as the door clicked shut.
    “Good morning, Anne.” She quickly slid the list under a book of Byron’s poetry.
    “Calpurnia Hartwell,” Anne said, slowly, “what have you done?”
    Callie’s eyes slid away from the older woman, settling on a large mahogany wardrobe. “I should like to get dressed,” she said, brightly, “I have an appointment this morning.”
    “With the Marquess of Ralston?”
    Callie’s eyes widened. “How did you—What?—No!”
    “Really? I find that difficult to believe, considering there is a man from Ralston House downstairs waiting for a response to the missive that just arrived for you.”
    Callie’s breath caught as she noticed the piece of paper in the older woman’s hands. She stood, moving across the room. “Let me see.”
    Anne crossed her arms across her ample bosom, hiding the missive under one arm. “Why is the Marquess of Ralston sending you messages, Callie?”
    Callie flushed. “I—I don’t know.”
    “You are a terrible liar. Have been since you were in swaddling clothes.” Anne was like a dog with a bone. “You’ve been pining for Ralston for years, Callie-girl. Why has he suddenly taken an interest?”
    “I—he hasn’t!” She attempted a firm tone, extending her hand. “I should like my correspondence, Anne.”
    Anne smiled before asking casually, “Were you with Ralston last night?”
    Callie froze, heat flooding her cheeks, before blurting out, “Of course not!”
    Anne gave her a knowing look. “Well, you were somewhere. I heard you sneak through the servants’ entrance just before sunrise.”
    Callie headed for the wardrobe, throwing open the doors to distract herself from the conversation at hand. “You know, Anne, just because you’ve cared for me since birth does not give you leave to speak to me so freely.”
    Anne gave a little laugh. “Of course it does.” The maid took advantage of Callie’s movement away from her dressing table, removing the list from its hiding place and reading it.
    Callie turned back at Anne’s scandalized gasp.