A Beginner's Guide to Rakes (31 page)

His face quirked in a dark half smile. “Well,” he said slowly, “there is still my original plan. I doubt anyone would miss a minor earl if he should happen to vanish.”

Good heavens.
“You’re suggesting that I kill him, then?”

“No, I’m suggesting that
I
kill him.”

“Even if it were something I was willing to consider, you don’t owe me that much, Oliver.”

He loosened his grip, shifting to run a finger lightly across the back of her hand. “It’s not about what I owe you, Diane. It’s about what you’re worth to me now.”

Oh, my.
“That’s very nice, Oliver, but—”

“But it doesn’t solve our problem. I know.”

Just when Anthony had gone from being her problem to one she and Oliver shared, she had no idea. And pride, independence, and oaths to the contrary, she was actually pleased to have an ally in this. To have
him
in this with her. She’d felt alone for so long, even with Jenny in whom to confide. “What is your idea, then?” Diane asked. “Other than killing him. Not that I object on principle, but I am attempting to live the life I want. And that doesn’t include murder. So far.”

Oliver gazed out her window for a long minute before his gray eyes met hers again. “Neither of us has the best of reputations; taking the high road, as it were, doesn’t seem a likely option.” Oliver moved to sit in the chair beside hers. “Regardless of anything else, I never meant that you would be expected to pay that rat anything. You needn’t worry about that.”

“I don’t even like the idea of him thinking I’ve given in to his demands,” she returned. “I mean, yes, legally Adam House should have been his. But I deserved something out of that wreck of a marriage. And I took it. I’m not giving it back.”

“I don’t expect you to. Just think a moment, and tell me what it is you want, Diane,” he said quietly.

She had the distinct feeling that he was inquiring about more than the situation with Anthony. One peril at a time, however. “I want Anthony Benchley and his threats to go away and leave me be forevermore.” She sighed. “You know, until he began threatening me and what I’ve done here, I didn’t dislike him. Until Frederick died and left me with less than nothing, he never overly troubled me, either. They were both just … there.”

“Like a dog is there?”

“No. Like a plant is there. You keep it pruned, you water it, and perhaps it provides you with a bit of shade now and then. But it doesn’t provide any sustenance, and no affection.”

Silence. Then Oliver half-stood and dragged her chair closer to kiss her. Sinking down to kneel in front of her, he pulled her face down, touching his mouth to hers in gentle kisses that made her ache inside. Diane ran her fingers into his hair, pressing him harder, closer against her. She didn’t want delicate or gentle. Not now. She wanted real and solid and arousing.

Finally he sank back onto his haunches. “I can say with some authority,” he murmured, running a finger down her cheek, “that
you,
my dear, are
not
a plant. Not by any stretch of my imagination.”

Her mouth quirked in a smile. “Likewise. But I still won’t agree to killing Anthony.”

Giving a deep sigh, he returned to his chair. “Fine. If you insist. I do hope you won’t object to something devious.”

“Oh, I prefer devious.” Diane cleared her throat. “And I assume you have something in mind.”

“As a matter of fact, I do. But I won’t—can’t—proceed without your permission.”

“Then perhaps you would join Jenny and myself for dinner at Adam House tonight and we could discuss strategy.”

He inclined his head. “Certainly. But may I ask why you want Miss Martine present? I know you’re not worried about being alone with me.”

Actually, this new aspect of him, this man who encouraged and supported her, upended her more than the one who’d only wanted her body. “Jenny will have a unique perspective to offer,” she said aloud. “And I trust her.”

“Very well, then. At what time should I call?”

“Seven.”

“I shall be there.” Standing, he unlocked the morning room door and pulled it open. “Miss Martine, I believe Lady Cameron wishes a word with you,” he said, standing aside as Jenny slipped into the room. “And I shall see you at seven o’clock,” he continued, glancing at Diane before he walked to the hallway door and let himself out of the office.

Despite the nonsense with Anthony Benchley, she found herself smiling. Whatever the outcome of this, it would affect not just The Tantalus Club but also her heart.

*   *   *

A few weeks ago Oliver would never have believed that Anthony Benchley would be the catalyst that gave him the opportunity finally to prove himself to Diane. Previously he’d thought Frederick expiring had been the best thing a Benchley would ever do for him. And yet it was because of the latest Lord Cameron that he stood in the drawing room of Adam House as an ally. Hell, he hadn’t even had to break in to get there.

He’d been through the house’s doors a handful of times previously, mostly when the premises had been under reconstruction. And of course he’d snuck in through the servants’ entrance on several more occasions than even Diane likely knew about—and he’d searched thoroughly enough to know that the damned letter she held over him wasn’t there.

Wandering over to the table beside the window, he poured himself a glass of whiskey from the well-stocked tantalus there. Lately he’d thought about that letter only rarely, and it concerned him even less. He wasn’t inside Adam House because of blackmail—and he hadn’t been for some time.

Through the window he could see the corner of the stable and a number of the carriages and horses awaiting the return of their masters. Perhaps it was too early to claim success, particularly with Cameron breathing down her neck, but Diane had managed something of a miracle. New gentlemen’s clubs opened nearly every Season in London, and most of them didn’t last the summer. But she’d created a haven where the wealthiest and most sophisticated gentlemen could go and gamble, and spend the evening eating fine food and being flattered by pretty, intelligent young women.

“What are you looking at?” Diane’s voice came from the doorway.

Warmth spread through him, as though her presence brought him to life. “You’ve quite a crowd tonight, from the look of the stable yard.”

“Our attendance keeps increasing. I hate to be overly optimistic, but it is encouraging.”

He heard the hesitation at the end of her words. Interpreting what troubled her didn’t take a soothsayer. The more successful The Tantalus Club was, the more determined Cameron would be to wrest it away from her, either wholesale through the courts or piece by piece through backmail. Oliver turned around—and stopped dead.

Instead of her usual sophisticated black, Diane wore a silk gown of deep, rich red. Red ribbons wound through her black hair, and red slippers peeked from beneath the lace hem of her skirt. He wanted to pull her into his arms and took a hard, deep breath to quell the impulse.

It didn’t work, but it did give him a moment to recover himself. “I know that complimenting a woman on her attire is rather pedestrian,” he commented, his gaze lingering for a long moment on her bosom before he lifted his gaze to her face again, “but you made my knees weak just then.”

She smiled, the warmth in the expression touching her green eyes. “Tomorrow night is a ladies’ night. I want the gentlemen in attendance tonight to remember to return on Wednesday.”

Of course she hadn’t worn it for him, but that certainly didn’t stop him from appreciating it. “I don’t think you’ll have any trouble with that.”

“Diane, dinner is served,” the French twist said from the dining room doorway. With a glance at him, she retreated again. With the way Diane seemed to rely on her friend, clearly he had two women to win over now.

“After you, Diane,” he said, leaning in to smell her lavender-scented hair as she passed him.

Platters of baked fish, potatoes, and a blood pudding lined the center of the table alongside a basket of bread and a large bowl of what smelled like pea soup. The footwomen who seated them immediately left the room and shut the doors behind them, so apparently the three of them were to serve themselves.
Good.
He didn’t care to have anyone else overhear some of the things he wanted to discuss.

Deliberately he took the seat opposite Genevieve Martine, while Diane sat to his left at the head of the table. He approached nearly everything like a game to be won, assessing opponents and strategy with every breath. As he gazed at Diane spooning potatoes onto her plate, however, he knew this wasn’t just another game—
she
wasn’t just another game. He’d somehow found himself with a second chance to win her. This time he wasn’t leaving the table until the game was over. Not until he’d won.

Realization hit him like a punch to the gut. Initially blackmailed into being there or not, he wanted Diane in his life. He wanted to be a part of her life. She was the one woman he’d ever met who didn’t acquiesce to him, who wasn’t afraid to stand toe-to-toe with him. And the changes he saw in her now made her even more attractive to him. These days he enjoyed her company as much out of bed as he had in bed two years ago. And it terrified and thrilled him all at the same time.

“Why are you staring at me?” the object of his affection and desire asked.

Thinking fast, he rolled his shoulders. “You said we couldn’t kill Cameron,” he returned. “How far are you willing to go?”

“The shorter answer would come from you asking me what I’m
not
willing to do.”

He smiled. “That’s what I hoped you’d say.”

Chapter Eighteen

“I think you need to be more specific,” Oliver said, nudging the edge of her parasol so it would stop poking him in the head.

Diane stifled a grin. “About what?”

“What did you mean last night when you said, ‘Jenny can convince him; she once fooled Bonaparte’?”

“I’m surprised you waited until this afternoon to ask me that.” She was also surprised that she was enjoying the walk through St. James’s Park in his company. It had seemed too mundane and domestic, and yet it was also something she’d never done with Frederick. He’d never asked her.

She had the sneaking suspicion that this was what was supposed to have happened five years ago—when she’d been eighteen and naïve and ready to fall in love. A simple walk in the park. Oliver had had to bargain her into it today because she’d ceased to believe in things such as romance, but in a sense the effort he’d gone through to get her here made the afternoon more … meaningful.

“I would have asked over the fish,” he returned, “but I thought she might come across the table at me.”

“She doesn’t like you much. Of course, I don’t, either.”

He stopped, putting a hand on hers where it draped over his arm. “At the risk of leaving my innards exposed to a jab in the heart, how
do
you feel about me? Not overall, of course; that’s asking too much. But now, at this moment?” he asked quietly, his expression surprisingly serious.

Goodness.
It
was
very unlike him to leave such a large part of himself so unguarded. She met his gaze, then looked away again, abruptly uncomfortable. “At this moment, I like you. Will that suffice?”

“Yes, quite well. And likewise, if I may say so. Now. Bonaparte. Miss Martine. Explain.”

“I met Jenny when we were children. Her father was a diplomat serving in France, but her mother spent the summers here, at a cottage just across the valley from Fenhall, where I lived. She has an amazing grasp of languages, and even though she’s always considered herself to be English, she’s at least as fluent in French, German, Italian, Spanish, and I don’t know what else.”

“And Bonaparte?” he prompted.

“Five years ago, when she turned eighteen, she was approached by the foreign minister. And she spent the three years after that as … well, she spent them aiding England during the war.”

He eyed Diane. “She was a spy, you mean.”

“We don’t generally tell anyone that. So don’t tell anyone else.”

A grin touched his mouth. “You do trust me a little, then.”

“A little,” she conceded, barely recognizing herself in the company of this man who had, after all, once broken her heart. Diane took a hard breath. “And she’s very good with both pistols and knives. Don’t forget that.”

“I shan’t.”

They continued on their way. A barouche passed them, the trio of ladies inside staring openly at her, then looking away and whispering behind their hands. Considering that one of them had appeared at The Tantalus Club a fortnight ago and lost forty pounds at whist, aside from noting that they were hypocrites, Diane could not have cared less for their opinion.

“May I ask you a question?”

Even with her attention on the departing carriage, she could feel his gaze on her. It was the oddest thing; this was a simple walk, and on an afternoon when she should have been at The Tantalus Club making certain the temporary male staff were arriving and all positions were covered. And yet the sensation running through her was the same one she’d felt when he’d taken her up in the balloon—excited and electric and very aware of the handsome devil of a man standing beside her.

“What sort of question is this, if you need my permission to ask it?” she finally said.

“I’m attempting to be gentlemanly.” Amusement touched his gray eyes.

“Just ask me, for heaven’s sake.”

“Very well. Have you seen your parents since you returned to England?”

Diane frowned. “What does that have to do with ridding myself of Anthony Benchley?”

“Nothing whatsoever. You left England nearly three years ago, when you were barely twenty. I’m curious.” He paused. “My father died when I was twelve, and my mother seven years later. I say that to forestall any protests you may have about me sticking my nose into your personal affairs when I haven’t told you anything of mine.”

Simple, cordial conversation. With Oliver Warren. A few weeks ago, she never would have been able to even imagine it. Yet now it seemed … natural. Comfortable, even. “No, I haven’t seen them. They have three other daughters and a son. I turned eighteen, married, and left home as I was supposed to. And that is that.” Intentionally she bounced the parasol off the side of his head again. “It was a very efficient and proper household. They wouldn’t approve of what I’m doing now, and I don’t see the point of encouraging their interest or censure.”