A Beginner's Guide to Rakes (34 page)

“What do you say to that?” he prompted.

Diane stood, moving closer to the fireplace so she could stare down into the flames. She did like Oliver, very much. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t have been there, and she wouldn’t have been contemplating what she very much wanted to tell him. If she didn’t say anything, though, the two of them would be stuck precisely where they were. And in her heart, she knew she wanted either more of him or none of him at all.

“When I was a young girl,” she began, hearing him rise and move up behind her, “I thought that being promised to someone was terribly romantic. Even on my wedding day I was so excited I could barely contain myself.”

“How well did you know Frederick before you married him?”

“Barely at all. I thought he was shy and sensitive, and even knowing the Benchleys didn’t have a great deal of money, I was certain I was embarking on a fairy tale.” She took a breath. “Frederick wasn’t evil. He never struck me; he never had an affair; he barely spoke a cross word until we were literally penniless. I just … I wasn’t important to him. He wanted to be one of the suave, charming, wealthy aristocrats he saw at his clubs. He wanted to be you, I suppose.”

“Diane, you don’t have to—”

“Stop interrupting me. I’m nearly at my point.”

“I thought you’d have one.”

“Aggravating man.” She mentally shook herself. “By the time Frederick sickened and died, I’d had nearly four years to consider how ridiculous I’d been. That’s when I finally acknowledged what I’d slowly begun to realize: there was no such thing as love and true, deep passion. And then I met you, and I thought perhaps that stupidly naïve little girl had been correct, after all.” She turned around, looking up to meet his serious gaze. “Until you left, of course.”

For a long moment he simply looked into her eyes. “What can I do?” he finally murmured.

“You can’t do anything.” Moving around him, she headed for his front door. The very last thing she wanted to do was begin crying in front of him.

“Diane. What I did to you is the greatest regret of my life. But by God, I would have made you an awful husband back then.”

One hand on the door handle, she faced him again. “I know that. And I am treading upon every instinct I possess by trusting you now.” She retreated into the hallway. “I will see you tomorrow. And you will not take an axe to any part of my house tonight.”

“I’ll be thinking about it, though.”

“Good.”

When she returned to her own part of the house she intentionally removed her shoes, slipping past Jenny’s door to avoid waking her. There were only so many times Diane could be reminded that she might well be making the largest mistake of her life, particularly when she’d already made far more than her share of them.

Why Oliver pulled at her soul even more strongly now, after he’d broken her heart and then returned to London to apparently take up with every woman he could manage, made no sense. Her logical mind certainly knew better than to let him close, yet her heart no longer listened.

That was the reason aside from Anthony that she needed this mess to be resolved quickly. With her club doing so well and her untouchable status well known, the logical, reasonable solution to her confusion was to distance herself from Oliver. Yes, she would still owe him money, but he didn’t need to live beneath the club’s roof in order for her to repay him. And the farther away he was, the less torn she would be about what she wanted and what she should never want again.

Wednesday morning meant her usual staff meeting; with Parliament in early session, Wednesday breakfast was the slowest part of the entire week for The Tantalus Club. The ladies informed her of the usual odd goings-on and reported any gentlemen who were gambling too desperately, drinking too much, or otherwise not behaving themselves.

“Emily has been entertaining a gentleman in her room,” Pansy Bridger said in the middle of another of their ongoing conversations about how to deflect unwanted advances.

Diane and Jenny glanced at each other. “As long as there is no money changing hands and any gentlemen are there at the lady’s request, you may all do as you will. We are not a bawdy house, but we are not a nunnery, either.”

“Thank goodness for that,” one of the other girls said feelingly.

“Some discretion is appreciated,” Diane added, noting that not all of her staff were amused. But then as far as she knew, at least one of them
had
fled a nunnery. “And for heaven’s sake, be respectful of those who may not feel the same way.”

As the meeting ended, Sylvie Hartford approached. A petite blond girl who looked barely eighteen followed close behind her. “My lady,” Sylvie said, “this is Mary Smythe. We met at finishing school. I told her you might have a place for her here.”

With a slight frown, Diane took the roulette dealer’s arm. “Sylvie, we don’t actually need any—”

“Please, my lady,” Sylvie whispered. “Her parents are dead, and now that she’s of age her aunt turned her out. She has no experience, and no letters she can present to claim a governess position. If she can’t work here, she’ll end up on the street.”

Diane looked over at the petite, frightened thing. Whether The Tantalus Club had begun as her bid for independence or not, it was so much more than that now. If Anthony Benchley took over the club he would have the girls … God knew what he’d have them doing, but they certainly wouldn’t be bringing by friends in desperate need of shelter.

Whatever Oliver chose to call it in jest, fighting for the club wasn’t a game. Someone needed to look after these ladies. And that someone was her. “Take her to see Emily and find her a bed. Jenny will speak with her after luncheon and we’ll figure out where to put her.”

Bobbing in a curtsy, Sylvie grinned. “Oh, thank you, my lady.” She hurried over to whisper to her friend.

“Thank you, my lady,” Mary Smythe echoed, tears running down her cheeks. “Thank you so much. You have no idea.”

“Thank you for joining us,” Diane said, and with a smile went to find Jenny at the other end of the room.

“I thought we weren’t a charity,” Genevieve muttered, her eyes dancing.

“We’re a very odd kind of charity.”

“An odder kind of family, I think.” Jenny handed over a cup of tea. “Have you spoken with Haybury?”

“Yes. He said Anthony seems to believe our tale and they would be by sometime today.”

“We should do this without the marquis. You couldn’t trust him before, and neither of us trusts him now.”

“I trust him in this,” Diane returned, surprised that she could say the words aloud in a steady voice. “He’ll see this through. And his assistance will make things much easier.”

“Unless you’re wrong about him.”

“I’m not.” If she was wrong about him, she would lose much more than The Tantalus Club.

*   *   *

It wasn’t that unusual for Oliver to see the dawn; the quiet hours surrounding sunrise frequently made the best time to leave a woman’s bedchamber or a flagging all-night card game. Much less usual were the times he simply sat and watched the night leave.

Rolling his stiff shoulders, he sat up straighter and nudged the half-empty glass of whiskey away from himself. The lamp at the corner of his desk had sputtered and gone out an hour or so previously, but he’d barely noted it.

He was supposed to be attending the House of Lords with all his fellows in two or so hours. It would be dull, almost intolerable, because he would be counting the minutes until they adjourned for the day at luncheon.

Before he’d become the Marquis of Haybury two years earlier, he’d been aware of Parliament’s schedule because it dictated when soirees would be held and when husbands would be away from home. Oddly enough, once he’d inherited he’d actually enjoyed Parliament and the game of politics.

Today, however, it was at best a distraction and at worst an impediment. He needed to meet with Cameron, and he couldn’t do it while the House was in session. He’d already scrawled out a note to be delivered to James Appleton’s residence, asking to reschedule their luncheon for tomorrow. A second letter to one of his own solicitors followed. Cameron might be set on taking money from Diane, but every cent she’d earned and borrowed was tied into the club. If payments needed to be made, Oliver would be seeing to it. And that had nothing to do with any blackmail or loan agreement. Cameron had no right, and he needed to be stopped.

But all of it, even the business with Cameron, wasn’t what occupied his thoughts. That honor went to Diane and what she’d told him last night.

Two years ago she’d been in love with him—or near enough to it that he’d been able to break her heart. He knew she’d been hurt and angry, but at the time it had been more important that he couldn’t breathe, that looking at her had meant looking at a wife, children, domesticity. He’d panicked, and he’d fled.

He’d wanted a more unconventional life than that. In all his imaginings, he would never have thought that two years later he would encounter her again and that she would be even more unconventional than he was. Perhaps that was why the idea of keeping her in his life no longer terrified him, or perhaps he’d realized that no one he’d met before or since could match her—or the way he felt about her.

His footman, Myles, walked into the office, a quartet of clean glasses in his hands. When he turned toward the desk, he jumped. “Oh, I beg your pardon, my lord. Your bedchamber was unused, and I thought you’d spent the night elsewhere.”

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d done that. Far from it. “I’ll be going out shortly. I’d appreciate a cup of tea and some eggs, if you can manage it.”

“Of course, my lord.” The footman set the glasses down on the liquor tray, then hurried from the room.

Taking a deep breath, Oliver rose to go and change clothes. He had time to go downstairs for breakfast, but at the moment his thoughts were still too raw and he didn’t want to encounter Diane when his armor was falling apart.

“Hubert,” he asked as his valet finished knotting his cravat, “do you like it here?”

“In your employment, my lord? You’re a generous master and rarely yell. Of course I like my employment.”

“Thank you, but I actually meant living here. At Adam House. There are a great many chits.”

“Yes, there are, my lord. It’s certainly unusual, but also quite … nice, actually. Myles and I share a room, I’m welcomed in the kitchen and the common room, and several of the ladies, well, they’re quite friendly.”

Oh, good God.
“That’s good to know.”

“If I may be so bold, my lord, do you like it here?”

“Yes. I think I do.”

Two minutes after he took his seat in the House of Lords, he spotted Lord Cameron arriving, and then Oliver spent the next five hours running through his mind the various ways someone like him could possibly prove himself to someone like Diane. He alternated that with berating himself for acting like a henpecked husband around her.

“I forgot to ask,” Manderlin muttered from beside him. “Am I still uneasy in your company?”

“Why should we alter things now?”

“Very funny. What the devil are you playing at with Cameron?”

“It’s complicated. I wouldn’t make friends with him if I were you, however.”

“I wouldn’t anyway. The man puts me in mind of a leech, waiting about in the mud to attach himself to someone and bleed them dry.”

Oliver knew there was a reason he considered Jonathan a friend. He grinned. “You may be more astute than I give you credit for. Suffice it to say that Cameron is after something that doesn’t belong to him and I mean to prevent him from succeeding.”

“The Tantalus Club, I presume?” Manderlin glanced in the earl’s direction. “Just keep in mind that he’s been known to travel in lofty company.”

“I’m not concerned about Greaves or Larden.”

“I hope you remember who
your
friends are. Let me know if you need my assistance for anything other than looking frightened.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. And thank you.”

The moment the session adjourned, Cameron appeared beside him. “I’ve been thinking,” the earl said chummily. “Whatever your scheme is, I want proof that you aren’t overstating things simply to put me off. I want my first two thousand pounds today.”

“Today? That’s—”

“I have to insist. See to it, Haybury, or I’ll be contacting my solicitors.”

If Cameron had been a fish, he would already be choking on the worm and hook. “Very well. Care to accompany me to The Tantalus for luncheon? I’ll arrange it while I’m there.”

“Excellent.”

Inside the crowded Demeter Room, Sophia White showed them directly to one of the tables reserved for the club’s founding members. As he took his seat, Cameron looked more puffed up than a peacock. For the moment, Oliver took that as a good sign; if the earl had any inkling of what lay in store for him, he wouldn’t have been nearly as pleased with himself—or anyone else.

A few minutes after they ordered their luncheon, Diane strolled into the room. Oliver pretended to be occupied with taking a drink of Madeira, but in reality all of his attention was on her. The tilt of her head as she greeted other club members, her smile as one of her chits approached to tell her something. Desire stirred through him, hot and heady. He would be allowed to get that close to her again, because he couldn’t imagine not doing so.

Finally she appeared to notice them and strolled over. “Lord Haybury, Anthony,” she said.

“Don’t frown at me, Diane,” Cameron returned, “simply because I’ve deciphered your little game.”

“Yes, Lord Haybury told me that he decided to include you. Don’t expect me to like your being here, however.”

“Like me or not. I don’t give a damn. Today I want two thousand pounds. In cash. I have several debts to pay.”

Diane glanced at Oliver. “Surely Haybury told you the process is more complicated than simply handing over a purse.”

“I did tell him, but he’s very insistent.”

The French twist walked by, sending Oliver an unfriendly glance as she crossed the room. “Diane, I need to speak with you when you’re finished here,” she said.

“Of course, Genevieve.” Diane blew out her breath. “I can get you one thousand pounds today,” she continued in a low voice, facing Cameron once more.