A Beginner's Guide to Rakes (12 page)

Oliver snapped a curse. “I don’t like bargaining.”

“Yes, but you like not knowing things even less.”

For a long moment Oliver glared at the viscount. “Remind me why we’re friends?” he suggested finally.

“Because no one else tells you the truth about yourself,” Jonathan said easily. “And because I don’t pay attention to what other people say about you.”

Oliver took a breath. “Yes, well, likewise. We were acquainted in Vienna. It didn’t end well.”

Manderlin nodded. “So I surmised. Camille, Lady Camille Pryce, that is, was engaged to marry the Marquis of Fenton. She fled the church on their wedding day. No one’s seen her for weeks.”

“Apparently this is becoming a home for wayward chits.” It was all interesting, but something that he needed more time to contemplate. “Now let’s go see Lady Cameron’s gaming room, shall we?”

“I may trample you on the stairs to get there first.”

Oliver refrained from confessing that he’d already seen The Tantalus’s rooms, and on numerous occasions. Diane had managed to purchase his silence by threatening blackmail, but even more troubling was the way she’d managed to get him both to comply and even to willingly cooperate with her subterfuge.

It was past time he begin taking steps to see that if this little battle of wits ever became a full-out war, he would win. What he needed to do now was see how far he could raise the stakes before she felt compelled to risk her one hold card. Anything short of that, well—that left a very large field in which he could play. And he knew just the game.

What better way to prove to himself that Vienna had been nonsense, a moment of weakness, than to repeat the experiment? And to be sure that this time
she
would be the one fleeing like a so-called scalded dog. Because he didn’t leave a table until the game was finished. Not any longer. And not until he’d won.

Chapter Eight

“He recognized me,” Camille Pryce said, her hands gripped together over her chest. “I told you that would happen, my lady.”

Diane stopped halfway through the main gaming room. “It takes too long to say ‘main gaming room,’ doesn’t it? I should name it. Something that flows off the tongue. Every room, in fact. What do you think?”

The Earl of Montshire’s daughter wiped at her face. “I … Are you certain you know what ruin could fall upon you by employing me, Lady Cameron?”

“What I know, Camille, is that men will wish to see you here. They’ll likely make comments, and one or two of them may sneer or scowl. If they wish to pay twenty pounds a year to scowl, however, they are welcome to do so.”

“It’s not you they’ll be scowling at.”

“Oh? You think not?”

Camille’s too-pale cheeks darkened. “Well, perhaps they’ll frown at you as well, but only behind your back.”

“Where I shan’t see it, and where I shall care even less. The worst they can do is not come here. Once they’ve paid to walk through my doors, well, let them do what they will, as long as they spend their money. Which I shall use to pay you and the other ladies in my employ. What do you think of ‘the Persephone Room’? We’ll have to paint the names in all the doorways, but … oh, yes. I think that would be splendid.”

When Camille began to calm a little and join in with suggestions to call the other rooms after goddesses and mythological females as well, Diane shifted position. She wanted to know when Haybury and Manderlin entered the room.

She’d never expected to be reassuring young ladies or providing shelter for others of dubious background, but now that she’d begun it with Emily Portsman and Camille Pryce, it seemed … fitting. And even a little satisfying.

At three-and-twenty Diane was hardly of an age to feel motherly toward them, but a sister—yes, she could do that. They weren’t her confidantes, because that was Jenny’s role. But some of them had been placed in the position of
needing
to work for her, and they’d been put there not through any true stupidity of their own devising. No, men were much better at being stupid and arrogant. In that she had no difficulty agreeing that they were superior.

“Good glory!”

Diane stifled a smile at Lord Manderlin’s exclamation. “Welcome to the Persephone Room,” she said, trying out the name and liking it. She would have to meet with Mr. Dunlevy again, to have him do a bit of scrollwork for the lettering, but he’d managed an additional staircase with fewer than a dozen curses. Painting a few words above doors should be simple in comparison.

“It doesn’t have enough tables,” Oliver stated.

He’d said that before, and she’d ignored him. This time, however, he’d brought along a witness. Oh, and then she’d invited the two of them into her parlor, damn it all. She cleared her throat. “We have additional tables. They can easily be brought in and set within minutes, if necessary.”

“I like it,” Manderlin commented before Oliver could say something disparaging. “I always hate squeezing past empty tables at the Navy. Far too cluttered.”

“Thank you for saying so, my lord.” This time she did smile. “I think I’ve found the balance between intimacy and practicality.”

“I’d love to see the rest of the rooms, if you’d indulge me, Lady Cameron.”

She dipped her head a little, to look at Manderlin from beneath her eyelashes. “Your friend is quite charming, Oliver.” Ah, men were so … transparent.

“Leave my f—”

“A lady must keep some mystery, however,” she interrupted. “I will send you an invitation for opening night. Will that suffice, Lord Manderlin?”

“I suppose it will have to. You’ve definitely whetted my curiosity.”

“Mm. Good.” She drew a quick breath as if shaking herself free of the viscount’s spell. He was a handsome man, after all, if not as devastating as the devil beside him. “If you gentlemen will excuse me, I have some things to see to.” She walked to a bell rope hanging against one of the mystery doors, as she and Jenny had taken to calling them, and pulled it. Less than a dozen seconds later the door opened. “Mr. Jacobs will see you out,” she said, keeping her gaze on Oliver.

One of the very large men she’d hired earlier sauntered into the room. She would have to thank Gentleman Jackson for his recommendations. She’d had no idea that there were so many former boxers willing to work for a lady in search of strong, intimidating help. If Mr. Jacobs and Mr. Smith were as effective as they looked to be at keeping order, she might even hire a few more of the fellows.

Once Lord Manderlin and Satan left the room, she sent Camille to find Emily. The supposed Miss Portsman had shown herself to be quite proficient at organizing both the ladies’ private quarters and their work and training schedules. And whatever her past, Diane liked the way Emily had stepped in to see to the employees who’d survived Oliver’s lessons.

Diane looked around the large room with its generously spaced tables, low-hanging chandeliers, and burgundy carpet with pale gold walls. The Benchley family wouldn’t recognize Adam House any longer. Of course they likely wouldn’t recognize her, either—and both realizations suited her just fine.

“The Persephone Room?” Oliver’s low drawl came from the doorway.

She continued jotting down the names of Greek goddesses and muses. “I believe Juliet informed you that I’m not entertaining today. And your … services aren’t required, either, as the ladies are learning the menu schedule and how to go about asking noblemen for money. To pay for their food and drink, to answer your next question.”

“Are you going to offer lines of credit, then?” He strolled closer, his expression cool and otherwise indecipherable. “With my money?”

“It’s
my
money until your repayment comes due. And no, I won’t offer credit.”

“Then you’ll be seeing less wagering and fewer dinners and drinks purchased.”

“Do you always pay off your bills at your various clubs?”

He pulled out the chair opposite her and sat. “Yes.”

“Frederick didn’t. At the time we left London, he owed something near four hundred pounds just at the Society. I can’t tie up that amount of funds for the pleasure of men who gamble more than they can afford to lose.” She set down her pencil and sat forward. “Convince me that Frederick was an exception, that everyone else pays their debts in a timely manner, and I’ll reconsider. Otherwise I prefer to learn from my mistakes and to avoid repeating them. Or having them repeated against me.”

“Hm.” Oliver pulled the paper on which she’d been scribbling around to face him. “In that case and at the risk of being shot again, I suggest that you place a notice in plain view in the foyer, then. Something akin to: ‘Play only with the cash you have to hand; you’ll receive no credit here.’ Otherwise you’ll run into gentlemen who just assume they can make good later.”

It was actually a very good suggestion, little as she wanted to admit it. “That’s somewhat long-winded, but I’ll consider it.”

He fiddled with the paper for a moment, then picked it up. “‘Persephone,’ ‘Psyche,’ ‘Aphrodite,’ ‘Demeter,’ ‘Hera,’ ‘Ariadne,’ and ‘Athena.’ Ariadne’s not a goddess, you know.”

“I’m not creating a thesaurus listing. And it fits for my purposes.”

“Why not Artemis? Or Diana?”

“Diana is Roman, and either one sounds too self-congratulatory.”

“And they are the goddesses of the hunt. Perhaps too aggressive for a wagering club owned by a female?”

She glanced up at him. “We defend ourselves when attacked, if that’s what you mean.”

“I think you know it isn’t, but I clearly won’t win this argument.” He looked at the paper again. “Room names is a fairly clever notion, I have to say.”

“They go with the name of the club. And saying ‘the Demeter Room’ is easier than saying ‘the billiards room in the northeast corner on the first floor,’ don’t you think?”

“I can’t argue with that.”

“For once,” she muttered.

“Beg pardon?”

“I said, ‘for once,’” she repeated in a louder voice.

“Ah. That’s what I thought you said. So are you going to paint the names above the doors?”

Diane scowled. “That is my intention, yes. The easier the club is to navigate, the more inebriated the guests can be. And simply because I said I would consider your placard doesn’t mean I want to hear any more of your suggestions.”

He slammed the paper back down with the flat of his hand. “We are in a unique position, you and I,” he said in a low, intimate voice. “I am at your disposal until I either decide that no man’s reputation is worth this insanity, or I steal that letter from you. However, I think it’s only fair that I share one or two facts with you in the meantime.”

Her small pistol lay beneath her pillow upstairs. Haybury hadn’t been expected today, and she’d yet to encounter anyone or anything else she couldn’t conquer with her wits. She tightened her fingers around the pencil. It wasn’t much of a weapon, but stabbed into a sensitive area it would at least give her time to summon assistance. “Enlighten me,” she said in her most disinterested tone.

“Two years ago I may have had no money and no home to return to,” he commented even more quietly. “But those two things were not all I left behind in London. Most women, for instance, learned quite some time ago to not attempt to order me about or dictate to me the terms of my life. The one
man
who attempted it—well, I now hold his title, his property, and his rather substantial fortune.”

“If you’re attempting to convince me that you murdered your uncle, I’m afraid you’re wasting your time. Unless you employed a witch who cast a spell to have him drop dead in the middle of the House of Lords. Because darling, poison just doesn’t suit you.”

Gray eyes held hers in a steady, even gaze. “I wasn’t implying anything. I’m telling you—people don’t cross me. They don’t toy with me. They don’t blackmail me. I believe some of them are actually frightened of me.”

“You’re not a nice man.” She forced a sigh, relieved that it sounded just a touch bored, rather than edged with wariness. This was a game of chance, just as every encounter with him had ever been. She’d merely been a fortnight too late in realizing that fact. “I do know that, Oliver.” She took the paper back from beneath his hand. “I only hope you’ve realized by now that I am simply not afraid of you.”

To her surprise, he smiled. “‘Afraid’ is not a word I have ever used to describe you, Diane.”

That almost felt like a compliment. “Then may I assume you’re finished with wasting my time today?” she said aloud.

“Not quite. How many invitations are you sending out?” He lifted a finger. “And before you tell me to mind my own affairs, I’d like to mention that you wanted me about because of my expertise. Most clubs have a membership committee to decide who may or may not be admitted. Once you send out an invitation, everyone who receives it will assume they’ve been admitted.”

“The invitations state very clearly that they are welcome to come and view The Tantalus Club for one evening. Membership applications will be handed out then.”

“How many?” he repeated.

“Fifty, you annoying man.”

“Fifty invitations, or fifty applications?”

“Applications. Three hundred invitations.”

For a moment he sat silently. “You need more than fifty members. White’s has hundreds, as well as a four- or five-year waiting list.”

Clearly he wasn’t going to go away until she’d discussed club membership with him. “I’ve a budget to follow, as you know. Five thousand pounds with which to open a club, hire employees, fund the club’s bank, purchase food and liquor, renovations, furnishings, invitations, enlarge the stable and the front drive, feed the ho—”

“Then ask for more money,” he interrupted. “Fifty members who are also members of other clubs won’t appear here every night. Nor will they fill seven grand rooms. The place will look deserted, not exclusive.”

“You would loan me more?” she asked, reluctance making the words catch in her throat. All her plans had been made with Lord Blalock’s budget in mind; when Oliver had been dragged in she hadn’t actually taken the time to consider that he might be able to afford to lend her more. A stupid, behindhand mistake that could now put her in a defensive position. “You made it very clear you were only willing to risk five thousand.”