A Beginner's Guide to Rakes (22 page)

“I’m aware. I’m going to the theater tonight, but Jenny will assist you. Agreed?”

Sophia grinned, dipping in another neat curtsy. “Oh, yes. Agreed.”

While she would rather have been walking the floor of The Tantalus Club and seeing with her own eyes how everything was progressing, Diane spent most of the day going through applications. She supposed it would be more dramatic to limit the number of founding members to twenty or thirty or so, but whoever bore the label of “founder” would have more loyalty to the club—which meant the more there were, the better it would be for her. Or so she hoped.

But she didn’t care to rely on hope. Hope had never served her well. Which left her with questions: Was two hundred too many? Would having too many founders reduce the impact of being named one? Diane scowled as she looked at the list she’d created. Oliver would know the answer, and ostensibly she was keeping him about for his knowledge about wagering and clubs, but she didn’t like approaching him for help. Or rather, she didn’t dislike it as much as she’d expected to and
that
troubled her.

She tapped her pencil against the wood-grain surface of the desk. He made her furious on a regular basis and annoyed her at every other moment. It was those seconds in between the fury and annoyance, however, that concerned her.

What she’d begun to realize in between balloon rides and lemon ices was that she’d hadn’t really known him in Vienna. And that the man with whom she was becoming acquainted now was witty and interesting and perceptive. Had he changed? Or had she not been well enough acquainted with him to know?

She had no intention of falling for him again. That didn’t stop her from being curious over whether he’d changed—and whether she might be the cause. If he’d changed, then she could at least justify her looking at him a bit more kindly. If he hadn’t changed, then she was on the verge of being an idiot all over again.

“Damnation,” she muttered, and called for Sally, one of Adam House’s upstairs maids. “See if Lord Haybury is available for a meeting, will you?”

“Yes, my lady.”

A handful of minutes later Oliver knocked on her half-open office door. “You called for me, my lady?”

“Don’t you have Parliament to attend or something?”

“You are not in charge of my duties to Britain, if that’s what you’re implying, but for your information there is no session today.”

“I’m not interested in influencing your voting,” she returned, unsurprised that he would be annoyed. She had dismissed him from her presence a scant three hours ago when he’d come looking for her. “I was only wondering why you’re always here.”

He leaned against the doorframe and folded his arms across his chest. “Well, I live above a gentlemen’s club, which provides breakfast, luncheon, and dinner as well as supplying me with a place to wager and the competition I require. You’ve requested that I forego seeing any of my intimate female acquaintances, so I actually have little reason to go anywhere.”

He was leaving some things out, but she understood his argument. Diane set down her pencil. “That was rather long-winded of you.”

“You asked the question,” he returned. “What do you want? Or did you just want me here so you could dismiss me again?”

Oh, bother.
“I need your advice.”

Oliver straightened. “Beg pardon?”

“You heard me. Come here and sit down so I can get this over with.”

He must have been surprised, because he dropped into one of the seats facing her desk without a word. Gray eyes took in the various stacks of applications, the list of names in front of her, even the cooling half-empty cup of tea at her elbow. She’d known before that he seemed to be aware of everything, but seeing him in the act of assessing a situation was … interesting.

“All right,” he said after a moment, “I’m seated. What do you want me to advise you about?”

“We’ve been considering naming a number of the first applicants as founding members of The Tantalus Club.”

Nodding, Oliver sank back. “They didn’t precisely found the club, but it’s a fair idea. It’ll give them a reason to attend more often, and to bring guests—especially if you reserve tables or a sitting room or some such thing for their exclusive use.”

Reserving tables. That was actually a good idea. “I thought a plaque of names would be flattering to them, as well.” She grimaced. “How many founding members do you think The Tantalus Club should have?”

“Is that your prospective list?” he asked, gesturing.

“Yes.”

Oliver lifted an eyebrow. “Did you actually leave anyone
off
the list?”

“All of these men applied the first night.”

“So you’re being fair.”

“Yes. I don’t want to offend anyone who has the funds to wager here.”

“Then charge for a founding membership. Make it some exorbitant amount—five hundred pounds, say.”

“Men would pay that?”

“Not all of them. Accept everyone who’s applied, and send them all a letter stating that you’d like to create a founding membership to admit future club members and see to enforcing the bylaws. Tell them they’ll have reserved dining tables and that you’ll … waive the entrance fees for the first year, or something.”

Diane gazed at him for a moment. “As much as I hate to say it, I actually like that idea. But I insist on having a say about who belongs to my club.”

“Set down your membership guidelines as part of the club bylaws.”

Bylaws. She had her own set of rules, of course. Setting them down on paper for current and future members and even owners, however, had never occurred to her. And she knew why. Everyone else was to do as she commanded. Especially men. Explaining herself … felt odd. But now at least she could see why it would be necessary.

“Once everyone else knows the rules,” he continued, apparently reading her mind, “enforcing them becomes a much simpler matter. Founding members or voting members or whatever you wish to call them actually do much of the policing at most clubs. If someone breaks the rules you may not even have to step in, because they will.”

“How many should I accept?”

“Twenty-five or thirty seems a good number. You need to be able to have a majority in Town at any given time during the Season for voting in new members, et cetera.”

Well, she’d never considered that, either. It was more than a bit unsettling to realize that there were some things she hadn’t known—not about the opening of a club, but in the longer-term running of the establishment. “I’ll take your advice under consideration.”

“I’m glad.” He sat forward. “Was there anything else?”

She sighed. “Yes. I’d like to know your opinion of these men.” Diane picked up the fourteen applications she’d separated from the others and handed them over.

“My opinion in regard to what?” he asked, their fingers brushing as he took the pages from her.

Warmth slid up her arm. “I keep waiting for you to say something cynical or biting, you know.”

He flashed her a grin. “After we’re finished here, perhaps. I’m becoming quite the conundrum, aren’t I?”

“That’s one way of putting it.” She gestured at the applications. “I won’t have anyone here who has no money to wager. Especially if they’re married.”

For several moments he sat silently as he looked through the papers. Whatever she thought of him and his character, with his lean face, long eyelashes, and high cheekbones he was an exceedingly handsome man. He knew it, though. And he knew how to use his attractiveness to his benefit.

Finally he looked up at her. “Not everyone has as little self-control or as poor judgment as Frederick Benchley.”

“I refuse to be responsible for seeing another woman, another wife, left penniless because of her husband’s idiocy.”

“Men—even ones who can afford to wager—win and lose fortunes every day at gaming tables. Ruination will happen at The Tantalus Club, Diane, and short of placing absurd limits on the wagers, as long as you keep the doors open there is nothing you can do to prevent it.”

“I can prevent men with no incomes from walking through my doors in the first place,” she retorted. “Frederick was in debt everywhere, and not one club turned him away. They sent dunners after us, but they still allowed him to gamble. This club will not do so.”

It made sense to her, and it was one thing about which she didn’t care to be advised. Even so, the muscles across her shoulders eased when he nodded. Perhaps he’d simply realized that arguing with her wouldn’t do any good, but it meant … something that he’d accepted her explanation.

“I wouldn’t admit any of these men, then,” he said, setting the applications back on the desk. “I would say you have a good eye for detecting men who have more balls than brains, but then you’d be even more impossible to live with than you are now.”

She chuckled. “I’ll take the compliment, since you don’t live with me.” Diane took a sip of her tea, then made a face at the cold liquid and set it down again. “Blech. Thank you.”

“And now I’m dismissed?”

It would likely be a nice gesture for her to ask what he’d wanted to talk about when he’d invaded her home earlier. “Yes, I’m finished with you,” she said aloud. She wasn’t prepared to make nice gestures yet. Not for him.

Oliver stood. Then before she could react, he leaned across the desk and gave her a swift kiss. “No, you’re not,” he returned, and headed for the door. “Seven o’clock. And I insist that you wear black.”

Aggravating man.
“Is that supposed to drive me to do otherwise?”

“I suppose we’ll find out this evening,” he returned, amusement in his voice.

*   *   *

Oliver descended to the foyer his apartment shared with both Adam House and The Tantalus Club. At two minutes before seven the entryway was busy, with small groups of peers entering for dinner or leaving to attend the theater or one of the trio of soirees scheduled for the evening.

“Your coach is waiting,” Langtree said as she spotted him.

“Thank you.” He stopped to one side of her. “Your duties have expanded of late, haven’t they?”

“I knew they would when I accepted employment with Lady Cameron,” she returned, sending a footwoman to the coatroom for Lord Avery’s greatcoat and hat, and without pause directing Mr. Walter Jorie to the Hera Room for the best selection of wines.

“So you have no regrets over leaving your father’s shop?”

Langtree smiled. “I earn five times what my father could afford to pay me,” she said in a low voice, nodding to greet another group of gentlemen. “I’m not expected to wed Bertram Marks and move from being a shopkeeper’s daughter to a baker’s wife. So, no. I have no regrets.”

Another chit Diane had apparently saved. Oliver wondered if she was doing it consciously or if the women she hired simply filled empty positions and she didn’t care beyond that. From the way she spoke to him about her determination to reclaim a life that wagering had taken from her, she wanted him to believe that everything was simply the means to an end. But he was beginning to think that she was lying.

“Generally a gentleman escorting a lady to the theater brings her flowers, does he not?” Diane’s smooth voice came from behind him, followed by a loud chorus of “my lady” from the men around them.

“Who’s to say I didn’t?” he returned, facing her. The next suave thing he’d been about to say, however, lodged in his throat and stayed there.

Diane Benchley, the Countess of Cameron, wasn’t wearing black. Deep emerald silk clung to the curves up top and draped down around her legs like liquid. A single emerald glinted on her neck, drawing his eyes to the low, sweeping bodice that barely seemed to contain her charms. More emeralds dripped from her ears, and an emerald bracelet hung about her left wrist, circling one elbow-length black glove.

She lifted an eyebrow. “Are you well, or should I slap you on the back?”

He felt like he was leaning toward her. It took a great deal of effort to draw himself back both mentally and physically. “Save the slapping for a better occasion.” Gesturing her toward the door, he intentionally moved between her and the three gentlemen who stood gaping at her from the entrance to The Tantalus Club. “Your coach awaits, my lady.”

Outside he handed her into his large, black coach and then stepped up behind her. His control, his decision not to claim her later tonight, felt frayed already, and he nearly asked her if she wished a chaperone. Him. As soon as he pulled the door closed the coach lurched into motion, and he sat back in the forward-facing seat, opposite her.

“Did you select that material simply because it becomes you, or because it precisely matches the color of your eyes?” he asked after a moment.

“Both, of course.” She glanced about the coach. “Where are my flowers?”

“The horses must have eaten them.”

“Mm-hm.” She tilted her head at him, eyeing him from beneath long lowered eyelashes. His cock twitched in response. “You might have just said you didn’t think to purchase any,” she continued.

“In my defense, I don’t actually have to leave my house to come calling on you.” He shifted, trying to find a comfortable position in his usually comfortable coach. “Since we both know you didn’t decide to alter your wardrobe because of anything I said, what prompted the emerald?”

Diane smoothed her palms down her thighs. If he didn’t know any better, he could almost think she was attempting to seduce him. “The emerald is unexpected. And it’s dark, which I believe still qualifies as mysterious.” She flicked a finger at her dangling ear bob, making it wink in the lantern light. “These are faux, by the way. I don’t want you thinking I’ve misspent the money you loaned me.”

“The thought never crossed my mind.”

He shifted again—anything to keep him from falling into that bottomless green gaze. If he fell, he would drown. And she’d probably aid the process by holding his head under. Thank God he was a worldly, jaded cynic wise to the folly of following his heart, or he would have been in very real danger of losing it.

“You do realize that when we arrive at the theater unescorted,” he offered, “the rumors that we’re lovers will be confirmed.”

“Nothing is confirmed unless one of the two of us confirms it. Which we won’t.”