A Beginner's Guide to Rakes (26 page)

Beside her Oliver snorted faintly. The red of Anthony’s face deepened, though in his defense the new Lord Cameron had never heard her speak up for herself before. This Diane very little resembled the one he’d known four years ago before Frederick dragged her to Vienna.

Greaves pulled Anthony back a step. “The tables,” he said. “I’d like to do some wagering. Not argue with a chit in her own domain.”

Settling for a graceless nod, Anthony backed away and turned around. Once they’d disappeared into the Persephone Room, Diane faced Oliver again. “How much of a threat to my club are Greaves and Larden?”

Of course she didn’t care that Greaves and Anthony had called her names; her life was tied into the club so deeply that only the club mattered. Briefly Oliver wondered if there could ever be room for him in her heart. “Larden’s likely to attempt to wager so deeply he’ll break the bank and force you to give the club over to him. Greaves is more devious. He’ll look for a crack and dig into it until it breaks wide open.” He put a hand on the back of her chair, half-encircling her. “You made Cameron go scrambling for reinforcements. Have I mentioned that you’re fairly formidable?”

Forcing her shoulders to relax, Diane managed a grin. “Nice of you to notice.”

“That’s not all I’ve noticed about you, but we’ll save that conversation for another time. Shall we finish dinner?”

As they sat down once more to eat, she realized that something exceedingly odd had just happened. Sometime over the past few minutes she and Oliver Warren had become allies. Even odder, lightning hadn’t struck either one of them dead.

*   *   *

A pack of wolves had entered The Tantalus Club. Well, two wolves and a hyena. Oliver kept watch on the door as he and Diane finished their dinner. He needed to give more credit to Cameron. Evidently the man had seen that he was being viewed as nothing more than a nuisance and as a result he’d brought in allies who absolutely needed to be taken seriously. The question became whether Larden and especially Greaves were playing the same game as their new friend. Regardless, this all meant trouble.

“Tell me,” Diane said unexpectedly, “is Greaves here because of you?”

“It’s possible. He likely knows I live upstairs and that I spend most evenings here.”

“And if
he
cheated
you,
what is he after?”

“I don’t know.” Oliver frowned at his nearly empty glass. “If Cameron approached him for a particular purpose, Greaves agreed to it knowing of the earl’s connection to you, and yours to me.” He glanced up at her to find her intense green gaze on his face. “I have a suspicion he’s been promised a part ownership of The Tantalus Club.”

“Well, he can’t have it,” she retorted. “And neither can Anthony or that Larden person. It’s mine.”

“You don’t need to convince me of that, my dear.”

With a deep breath she jabbed her knife into her roast pork. “When did this trouble between you happen?”

“Three years ago.”

“About the time you left London for the Continent. Not a coincidence, I presume.”

Fascinating as he found her, from time to time he wished she were a little less acute. “Not a coincidence.”

“And Larden?”

“I’ve never liked him. He simply enjoys winning the property and lives of others.”

“I won’t tolerate that here.” Diane pushed back from the table and stood. “I believe I’ll visit the Persephone Room.”

Rising as well, Oliver reached across the table to grip her hand. He liked touching her, and she didn’t seem to be objecting. “Let me see what they’re up to.”

“This is my club. Whatever they’re doing here affects me. Not you.” She made a face. “I thought the trouble you’d bring me would be from some woman attempting to gain employment here and then slipping into your rooms at night. I should have realized that you’ve made enemies of both sexes.”

He refrained from pointing out that the trouble had begun when she’d forged her late husband’s signature on the deed to Adam House. If there was one thing upon which they agreed, it was that she deserved the opportunity to be happy. “Diane, I’ll see to it.”

“No, you won’t. Thank you for dinner. Now excuse me.”

Damnation.
Every time he took two steps closer to earning her trust, someone—generally Diane—came along to push him back one step. Oliver left the dining room to circle around through the smaller Ariadne gaming room and to the rear door of Persephone. When he, albeit rarely, reflected on his life, it seemed as though he’d spent most of his adult years in the mud for one reason or another. He was tired of it—but he also knew how to navigate through the muck. In fact, he was quite good at it.

Interestingly enough, while all three of the club’s new visitors stood around the roulette wheel, only Greaves and Larden were placing wagers. Cameron stood beside them, his attention clearly on the room at large, its layout and décor, and its occupants. He was likely taking mental notes about its value. He’d worn that look before, but no doubt this time he thought he had a chance to actually take the club from her. And whether by the strictest interpretation of the law it should have gone to Cameron or not, Oliver wasn’t about to let that happen. Diane had earned this, for God’s sake.

Halfway across the room she was playing the charming hostess, admiring John Welling’s new watch fob and smiling as another of the club’s membership flirted with her.

Oliver didn’t mind the flirting overly much, because he was quite aware that she was merely playing a role, providing a bit of charm to earn The Tantalus Club a few more shillings by distracting the wagerers. It was the way some of the other men looked at her, generally while she wasn’t looking at them, that he didn’t like.

Greaves had his gaze on her in just that way, a wolf sizing up its next meal. Oliver’s lip curled in a snarl. This club might be her business, but looking after her had become his. That wouldn’t make her very happy, but he would accept the consequences. It was about time he began doing that, anyway.

With a last look around the busy room he left the shelter of the doorway and made his way toward the roulette table. As Miss Sylvie Hartford acknowledged him, he placed his wager—twenty pounds on number eleven.

“Only twenty?” Larden commented. “That’s rather light for you, isn’t it, Mr. Warren? Or Lord Haybury, rather. My apologies.”

“Was that an insult, or is your mind failing you, Larden?” he returned. “I warned you about your fondness for pox-ridden chits.”

The earl paled, a vein pulsing in his forehead. Greaves, though, cleared his throat, elbowing his companion at the same time. “You should know better than to begin a verbal battle with Oliver,” Greaves commented. “Make your argument on the table.”

“True,” Larden put in. “We all know he’s far from invulnerable there.”

Before that night at the tables in Vienna, Oliver would have been able to claim the moral high ground on the subject of game play. In a sense, he could blame Greaves for his behavior—but that would mean he owed the duke just as much for what was happening now. Oliver preferred to leave Greaves out of it altogether and accept responsibility for his relationship, such as it was, with Diane.

“Were you chattering, or wagering? Or should we all wait while you decide?” he asked, placing a second twenty pounds on black. He nearly always bet on black. It had served him well thus far.

“Gentlemen, hold your wagers,” Sylvie instructed, and sent the ball around the wheel. “Seventeen black,” she declared after a moment, then paid off the winners and cleared the table.

“I can see why The Tantalus Club is becoming so popular,” Larden commented. “Even losing has its charms.” He tossed a shilling onto the table. “Pick that up, will you, my dear?”

Without hesitation Sylvie leaned across the table and retrieved the coin. “This one’s mine,” she said, setting it at her elbow. “The next dropped coin will go to him.” With a charming smile she gestured at the gargantuan Mr. Smith, who’d seemingly appeared from nowhere. “Mr. Smith, though, will thank you outside.”

Oliver realized he was smiling, and he belatedly pulled the expression back in. Of all the things he thought would come of this experience, feeling paternal pride was not one of them. For God’s sake, he was nine-and-twenty, ten years Sylvie’s senior—but he’d taught her how to manage the table and the wagerers and how to respond to general male idiocy. And she’d done it well.

“Well, where’s the fun in that?” Larden protested. “If you’re not for touching, and not for looking at, what good are you?”

Before Oliver could do more than curl his fist, Diane glided up to the table. “If that is your opinion, my lord, perhaps you would prefer to wager at a different club.”

“Do you lead all your members about by the nose then, my lady? Or is it a lower body part you prefer to grasp?”

“Some gentlemen prefer an ordered, elegant setting where they can eat and wager and chat with friends, and not be disturbed by gauche displays of vulgarity, Lord Larden.”

A chorus of “hear, hear” rang out behind her. Larden had made enough enemies during his reign at the Mayfair gaming tables that while not many would be willing to stand up to him, they were certainly willing to whisper their dislike from the safety of the shadows. Oliver took a half step closer to Diane.

“I believe I more than qualify for membership in your little embroidery circle,” the earl commented, his expression cooling to the point of blankness.

“No, I don’t believe you do,” Diane returned. “Your friends are welcome to stay, but as I recall, you have an engagement elsewhere, anyway.”

And she even invented a way for the fiend to save his pride. Unless Larden was a fool, which he wasn’t, he would take the opportunity to avoid being thrown out of The Tantalus Club on his arse. If he hadn’t thought it would make matters worse, Oliver would have applauded.

Larden, though, turned his pale blue eyes in Oliver’s direction. “Do you actually allow this cow to speak to her betters like that?”

As if he would say anything now to ruin this fragile new alliance he and Diane seemed to have forged. “I don’t believe Lady Cameron requires anyone’s permission to conduct business in her own establishment,” he returned. “As for you being her better, well, we’ll have to agree to disagree. And if you insult Lady Cameron to her face or to her back ever again, I’ll be calling on you. With a pair of pistols, if you were wondering.”

“You’ll regret this,” the earl snapped. “And so will you, harlot.” He turned on his heel and strode out of the room, the hulking Mr. Smith close behind him.

Diane sent a pointed glance at Greaves and her former brother-in-law. “Enjoy yourselves, gentlemen,” she said coolly, and with a nod strolled toward the nearest of the faro tables. Halfway there, she paused and turned around. “Lord Haybury, do you have a moment?”

Oliver collected his blunt and left the table. “For you, of course.”

She led the way into the Demeter Room and then through the nearest of the mystery doors into the narrow hallway beyond. “Lord Larden has nothing in particular against you?” she asked, facing him.

“I’ve beaten him several times at the tables, but not for any significant amount. So, no. I think he was tempted to come here by Anthony Benchley.”

Green eyes studied his, though he wasn’t certain this time what she might be looking for. “Yes, I do, as well.”

Then she stepped forward, slid her arms up around his shoulders, and kissed him. He put his own hands up to her face, drawing her in closer as she sank into him, moaning against his mouth.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” she murmured, nibbling at his lower lip.

His eyes wanted to roll back into his head. “Of course not,” he agreed, tangling his tongue with hers.

“I still don’t like you.”

“I don’t blame you.” Arousal tugged through him, heady and exciting.

“And I don’t need your help.”

“Only a madman would think so.” With her fingers kneading convulsively into his shoulders, her breasts pressed against his chest, and one ankle wrapped around the back of his boot, she seemed fairly amenable to having him. And he was beginning to lose the ability to think. “Unless you move away from me immediately,” he muttered against her mouth, “then I am going to collect on my eight hours. I want you.”

He felt her hesitate, felt the jump of her muscles. Clearly she’d been swept up in the moment, her blood rushing after standing her ground in a confrontation with a pair of dangerous men. And he’d overplayed his hand. She didn’t want
him;
she simply … wanted.
Damnation.
If there was one thing he’d been attempting to avoid, it was making a mistake that would set them—him—back to the beginning again.

Then Diane tangled her fingers into his hair and pulled his head down. “I do hate leaving debts unpaid,” she whispered into his ear. “I’ll go tell Jenny I’m leaving, and then I’ll meet you upstairs.”

If he gave her any time to think, she would change her mind. “No. You come with me, and we’ll tell Langtree on the way upstairs.” He kissed her again, hot and openmouthed, for emphasis. Now that he’d shown his hand, there was nothing to do but pretend he’d meant to do so.

“Oh, very well,” she breathed, licking his earlobe.

Good God.
If he could have locked the mystery doors, he and Diane wouldn’t be leaving the hallway. As it was, another minute of this would render his … interest visible to everyone at the club. Taking a hard breath, he grabbed her hand and towed her up the hallway. At the last door he released her, ran a hand through his hair, and looked sideways at her.

What an idiot he’d been two years ago. He’d abandoned this woman because he’d fallen for her, and that made him a complete fool and a coward.
W
hether he could make amends for that or not, if she would allow it he would spend the remainder of his life trying to do so.

Instead of speaking, he reached over to brush a stray strand of her midnight hair back behind her ear. “Shall we?”

Nodding, Diane opened the door and stepped into the ordered chaos at the front of the Demeter Room. As soon as she appeared, men noticed. She drew them to her like a magnet. Oliver didn’t like it, but he understood it. However brilliant her plan and even the design of The Tantalus Club, she was the reason anyone wanted to be there, to be seen there, to be a part of this very unusual venture. The face she showed them was … magical, for want of a better word.