A Beginner's Guide to Rakes (13 page)

“I find that I’m willing to negotiate.”

And there it was. The sound of the second shoe dropping. She’d been waiting for it, but it still managed to make her heart stutter. Diane sat back. “I won’t pay you a larger percent in interest. That wouldn’t gain me anything.”

“That’s not what I want. I don’t need more money.”

“Then what, pray tell,
do
you want?”

“You.”

Her jaw dropped before she could stop it. A thousand thoughts spun through her mind. At least half of them involved her with a weapon and him lying dead. The other half, though … “But I hate you!” she exclaimed.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Diane pushed away from the table and stood, her mind working furiously. She could not afford to spend her time retreating from him. “You are a despicable man. Go away before I have you removed.”

He rose as well, moving around the table toward her. “You could do that. Or attempt it, anyway. But consider my offer. Another five thousand pounds, with the same terms as previously. And one night—no, twenty-four hours—with no one but you and me. At a time and place of my choosing.”

“I don’t need to consider anything.” Turning, she stalked toward the wall where the rope pull hung even as another avenue of attack occurred to her. “In fact,” she continued, “I’ve been thinking. Your friend, Lord Manderlin, is quite charming and handsome. And
you
certainly lead him about by the nose. It shouldn’t be difficult for me to do so. I imagine convincing him to lend me—”

“No.”

The single word was abrupt, guttural, and spoken directly behind her. Before Diane could process just how close he was, Oliver had her by the shoulder. He yanked her around to face him, and her spine thudded against the wall.

She lifted her chin, balling both her hands into fists. “You do not get to tell me what to do, Oliver,” she snapped, putting the tremble in her own voice to anger. “And be careful; you almost sounded jealous.”

“You may play your games with me, Diane,” he retorted, planting his hands against the wall on either side of her shoulders and trapping her there. “But you will leave my friends alone.”

“‘Friends’?” she retorted. “You have more than just the one? And here I was surprised to see
anyone
with you willingly.”

Oliver leaned in until only an inch or so separated his mouth from hers. “We both know you could have found some rich, naïve pup to fund your venture, darling. Over the past two years you’ve perfected the art of manipulation, after all. Or so you want everyone to think.”

If there was one thing she detested, it was being dissected and cataloged. Wife. Property. Powerless. Penniless. Well, now she was charting her own course, and no one else was allowed at the wheel. “You’re mistaken,” she forced out through her clenched jaw. “I don’t care what anyone thinks. I only care what they do.”

“Do you truly think you’re that invulnerable, Diane? Because you haven’t convinced me.”

“And I care what you think least of all.”

His gaze lowered to her mouth, and her breath wobbled. Did he mean to kiss her again? She tried to convince herself that it was revulsion roiling low in her gut, but it didn’t feel like revulsion. It felt like excitement. Anticipation.

But she would not give up her control. And certainly not to him. Diane took a breath and met his gaze. “Attempting to prove me wrong?” she prodded. “Do you expect me to melt into your arms and beg you to take over this little venture?”

His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. “Any begging from you to me won’t be about business.” Moving slowly, he leaned in closer and touched his lips to her forehead.

The gesture didn’t feel at all fatherly, which she would have disliked as much as anything else. And damn it all, he might as well have kissed her properly—improperly—and let her yell at him for it. Before she could punch him in the gut, he backed away and turned on his heel. “An additional five thousand would give you the opportunity to admit enough members to keep your club solvent, and allow you to purchase those additional tables I know you don’t have. Consider my offer, darling.”

Diane grabbed a candelabra off the side table and hurled it at him. If her aim had been as sharp as her anger, the brass tower would have slammed into the back of his head and sent him to the floor bloody and unconscious. Instead it brushed his jacket sleeve as he sidestepped but kept walking.

“You’re better with a pistol,” he commented without turning around and left the room.

Diane glared after him for a long moment, then strode over to retrieve the candelabra. How the devil he’d realized just how closely she’d had to trim her budget she had no idea, but his estimations were so near the target that arguing them even in her mind made no sense.

Blast it all.
Yes, she’d had to do some quick reestimations of expense when Lord Blalock and her plans to lease an already existing facility had both dropped dead. And yes, she knew she needed a larger club membership—but that meant more upfront purchases of liquor, tables, hay, employees, everything. And a larger amount of cash on hand for those evenings when the players had better luck than the house.

An additional five thousand pounds would see her precisely where she needed to be. The terms, however …

“Diane,” Genevieve’s voice came from the doorway behind her, “Juliet informed me that Haybury brought a visitor to see his apartments.”

“Yes, he did.”

“Why are you carrying a candelabra?”

“Because it landed on the floor after I threw it at his head.”

“I see.” Jenny continued to approach until she could carefully remove the brass fixture from Diane’s fingers and set it back in its place. “And was there a particular reason you wanted to kill the Marquis of Haybury again?”

“I didn’t want to kill him. Maim him, yes, but not kill him.
That
would have caused too many difficulties.”

“Well, I’m pleased to hear you haven’t lost your mind, then. Since I don’t see him on the floor may I assume you missed?”

“Yes, dash it all.”

“And why did all this happen?”

Diane clenched her jaw. Perhaps Jenny’s reputation wasn’t tied into this venture the way her own was, but Genevieve Martine was the one person in the entire world she trusted. She took a breath. “He offered to lend me an additional five thousand pounds.”

“That’s excellent news. Isn’t it?”

“One would think so.”

From Jenny’s expression, she clearly knew she was missing part of the equation. Rather than explain, though, Diane excused herself and retreated to the private part of the house—her sanctuary.

Once there, she closed the door to the solarium so she could pace undisturbed. Oliver Warren wanted her, and he was willing to pay five thousand pounds for the privilege. Interesting, considering he’d had her for free two years ago and then fled.

If she refused, of course she could still keep the club, because that was, after all, the reason she’d returned to England in the first place. There was more to the additional funds than easing the strain of beginning a new venture, however—or at least he would see it that way. It would mean he’d made a challenge and either gotten his way or made her back down. And damn it all, the man knew precisely how attractive he was and how … proficient he was in bed. But then, she knew that as well. Surely for five thousand pounds she could tolerate his touch for one night.

And if she accepted, what would that mean? For her, a night of very troubling reminders of how alone and angry and desperate she’d been and how very nice it had felt to be preferred over a deck of cards or a pair of dice. How hungry she’d been for affection and for someone who didn’t see returning to her side each night as merely holding on to the last remaining vestiges of a marriage that had long since failed in every other way possible.

That was her, however. What did
he
want? Oliver Warren could easily have a multitude of other women without offering up money. Diane made her way slowly to the nearest window and ran her finger along the bottom casement. In offering her precisely what she needed, he expected her to accept.

Did he wish another chance to earn her affections, then? Or was he attempting to prove something to himself?

She scowled. Or it could simply be that he was a man and that she’d made herself unobtainable and that running her thoughts around in circles was only going to give her a megrim. Pressing her fingers to her temple, she resisted the urge to go and see to some task or other and instead stayed where she was.

Because all speculation aside, he’d made her an offer for a substantial amount of money. And she needed to decide whether to accept it—not because of any plots on his part but because she’d literally staked her entire future on this venture. And those additional funds could make all the difference in the world.

What was that compared with a night of painful memories and the unabated company of a man with whom she’d once, and fleetingly, felt a connection? In fact, it should have been an easy decision. Why, then, was she being so … impractical?

Just at that moment the reason rode by on a fine gray thoroughbred, clearly heading from her stables to somewhere in the direction of Grosvenor Square. Perhaps he had other debts to collect on, or, more likely, other women to attempt to seduce.

If she agreed, would he claim victory? He could certainly attempt to do so, but if she viewed it merely as a business transaction, then what had she to lose? She’d survived him before, after all. And this time, at least, she knew the rules. Quite possibly better than he did.

With a slow smile she rapped her knuckles against the glass and then went to find Jenny. With additional funds coming in, she needed to make a plan. Or two.

Chapter Nine

Oliver stood back and watched as two large fellows carried his mahogany desk into Adam House. The matching bookcase had gone into storage, but in truth he spent so little time at home that he didn’t much care what ended up above The Tantalus Club—except for his bed, of course.

“Haybury!”

He managed to arrest all expression except for the twitch of one eye and turned to face the barouche parading down the street in his direction. “Lady Katherine,” he returned, inclining his head.

“It’s true, then!” she exclaimed, calling for her driver to stop beside him. “You’re actually going to reside above a gambling club.”

“A fitting address for me, don’t you think?”

Light blue eyes glanced toward the large building behind him. “A club employing only females and owned by a woman. Yes, I should think so. If I were the kind of female who became jealous, however, this would be a stab to my heart.”

“Lucky for you, then, that you aren’t that kind of female.”

She tapped her delicate blue ivory fan against her palm. “I think I would very much like a tour of the premises, when you’re available to guide me, of course.”

The idea that he’d been forbidden to dally hadn’t much amused him from the beginning, whether he’d particularly felt the desire to do so or not. A kept mistress was supposed to be faithful to her benefactor, of course, but here
he
was the benefactor and he was being blackmailed into keeping his breeches buttoned. It might have been amusing, if he’d discovered someone else being managed in such a way. “Perhaps when I’ve settled in,” he hedged.

Katherine Falston leaned over the side of the carriage. “You moved very quickly to take these rooms, Haybury. Especially for someone in no particular need of them.”

“Ah. Well, simply because I never discussed my plans for shifting my residence with you, Kat, doesn’t mean I never had any.”

“Be a beast then if you wish to,” she returned mildly. “It’s what I enjoy most about you.” At her order the barouche clattered off again, trailed by the half-dozen carriages forced to stop behind it.

With a silent curse, Oliver turned his back on them. In addition to his movers, Diane had most of her hired chits running about putting the final bits and bobs together for the evening’s soiree. He’d never received an invitation himself, but a brigade of the Coldstream Guards wouldn’t have been able to keep him out of The Tantalus Club tonight. He wondered, though, if Diane had realized that once he’d made it past Langtree and into his own quarters he was essentially inside the club and halfway into her private house, anyway.

He glanced through the open door, past the additional door at the rear of the foyer, and into the depths of the club. She hadn’t given him an answer yet about his offer of additional funds, which did not help his growing level of frustration any. Instead she’d spent the last few days not being in the same room as he, while her damned silent-moving shadow delivered her instructions.

When another laden wagon stopped behind him he ignored it. At least he did so until all four of the club’s hired bruisers clomped outside and began unloading gaming tables and chairs. Oliver turned around. Two more wagons carrying identical furniture turned onto the street behind the first.

“Hubert!” he yelled.

His valet scampered out of Adam House. “My lord, I don’t know why you leased rooms with an east-facing bedchamber window. Those draperies are
not
heavy enough to k—”

“Hubert,” Oliver cut in, “calm yourself. And keep an eye out here. I have business with Lady Cameron.”

Before the valet could reply, Oliver strode into the foyer. “Langtree, where is Diane?”

The butleress looked up from a list she had clutched in both hands. “She isn’t seeing visitors, my lord. The grand open—”

“This is business,” he interrupted, and pushed past one of the arriving tables to stride through the Persephone Room.

He had to concede that naming the rooms was a rather good idea, and the way Diane had managed to work the goddess’s myth into each room’s decor would make it possible for all but the most inebriated gentleman to at least know where in the club they were.

In the doorway to the Demeter Room he caught sight of Pansy Bridger, one of his more promising—and hostile—faro students. “Have you seen Lady Cameron?” he asked.