A Beginner's Guide to Rakes (37 page)

“I am sorry,” he said, trying to keep his voice low and measured. “You were looking for hope, and I was looking for a bit of fun, and when I realized I’d began to care for you far more than I was willing to acknowledge, I ran. Like a scalded dog, I believe you said. I apologize. It’s not nearly enough to say the words, or to confess that leaving you in Vienna stands as the greatest regret of my life, but there you have it.”

For a moment she sat silently. Then she leaned forward over his hands and slapped him. Hard.

“Your greatest regret?” she repeated, shoving him onto his backside. “That’s ridiculous!”

Throwing herself forward, she landed on him, punching at his face and chest. Oliver tried to hold her away from him but couldn’t shield himself completely from the blows without hurting her. “Diane!”

“For two years I thought you left because I was some weak, weeping chit, so helpless I could barely stand myself.”

“You were not helpless. You’ve never been helpless.” He grunted, wincing as her knee dug into his groin. “You were lost and angry, but by God, you were never weak. And that part of you I could see, that was the part that drew me to you. And frightened the devil out of me. The part that told me I’d met my match.”

“If you regretted leaving so very much, did it never occur to you to, oh, return to Vienna? You knew I was penniless, but once you inherited your fortune you didn’t consider sending me ten pounds? I suppose you regret that, too. Regret does me no good, you stupid man.”

“When I saw you again here,” he retorted, attempting to ignore her very apt barbs, “I knew. That strong, defiant spark in you was so … You were on fire. So yes, I regret my stupidity, but I’m … proud that you did all this yourself. You don’t owe anyone anything.”

“Ha. Certainly not you.”

“No, you don’t. I don’t want to tell you what to do, order you about, make you stop what you’re doing. I only want to be a part of it. I … I love you, Diane. I always have.”

“You broke my heart!” she yelled, slapping at him again.

“I know. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I hurt you. I was only thinking of myself. I thought you would forget about me. My not being able to forget you—that was my own trouble to bear. Or so I thought.”

Abruptly she collapsed against his chest, her breath hard and broken against his neck. Cautiously he released his grip on her wrists, and she curled her hands into his jacket.

“Are you crying?” he whispered, ready to begin defending himself again.

“No!” she said, her voice muffled and damp against him.

Slowly he put his arms around her, holding her close against him. “We are two bullheaded, wicked people who have lived very unconventional lives,” he murmured into her hair. “Personally I think we belong together.”

“You’re a very aggravating man,” she whispered.

“Yes, my love. I know.” He blew out his breath. “I’m going to ask you a question. I don’t want you to answer it until we’re finished with Cameron and until you don’t have to worry about losing the club. And after I ask this question I’m going to take you into your bedchamber, where I will be a perfect gentleman and stay with you until you fall asleep.”

“What question?” she demanded, her face still buried against him.

“Diane Benchley, will you marry me?”

Chapter Twenty-one

Diane opened one bleary eye. “Shh. I’m asleep,” she muttered, and closed her eye again.

“My lady, please. You said I should wake you at seven o’clock,” Mary whispered, shaking Diane’s shoulder again.

“Why are you whispering?” she whispered back at the maid, forcing both eyes open this time.

“Because of him, my lady.” The maid pointed behind Diane at the opposite side of the bed.

Diane turned her head, abruptly remembering why her eyes felt so dry and crusty. She’d been crying. Close enough to touch, eyes shuttered beneath long lashes and a day’s growth of beard stubbling the lower half of his face, lay Oliver Warren. The man who’d last night said he loved her. Who’d proposed to her.

She sat up, rubbing at her face. Beneath the blankets she still wore her shift, and while Oliver had shed his boots, jacket, and waistcoat, he was nowhere near naked, either. He’d said he would be a gentleman, and he’d behaved as one.

“Thank you, Mary. Fetch us some tea, will you? And if Lord Cameron should appear downstairs, please let me know immediately.”

“I’ll see to it at once, my lady.” The maid hurried from the room and closed the door softly behind her.

“Is she gone?” Oliver muttered, otherwise unmoving.

“Yes.”

Gray eyes opened, meeting hers. “Good. I was worried she would try to smother me with a pillow if I moved.”

“Mm-hm.” Diane had the oddest desire to simply sit there and gaze at him, so instead she slipped from under the covers and pulled on the dressing robe draped across the foot of the bed. “Do you think we’ll be able to coax Anthony into wagering his next two thousand pounds this morning?”

“All business, eh? Very well.” Oliver sat up, stretching. “I suggested to several friends that they might wish to gamble after breakfast this morning, so he won’t be alone in the gaming rooms.”

“It might work. I just don’t want him to be overly suspicious.”

Oliver stood up in his bare feet and walked around to her side of the bed. “If he balks I’ll turn him away until tonight. Or conceivably he could lose the blunt at any other club in London. I just prefer to see him do it here.”

They’d planned this as best they could, but she hated that so much had to be left to chance. To hope—for their good fortune, and for Anthony’s ill fortune. “What if he wins today?”

“Then I imagine some street thugs will attempt to rob him on his way home.”

She squinted one eye. “You know street thugs?”

He grinned. “You’d be surprised.”

“Not as much as you might think.”

Whatever he’d said about not wishing an answer to his question until they’d dealt with Anthony, the words still seemed to hang in the air between them. Not heavy or dark but soft and pleasant, like lace curtains or laughter. It terrified and enticed her all at the same time.

Oliver brushed a finger along her cheek. “Penny for your thoughts.”

“I’m worried about Anthony’s new friends,” she improvised. “Larden may not return, but the Duke of Greaves seems to be nearly everyone’s welcome guest.”

“If he appears, I’ll deal with him.”

“I doubt a brawl would aid our plan.”

Oliver put a hand to his chest. “Please. A brawl? Me? I have a great many cards in my deck, my dear.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

Mary knocked and came back into the room, her arms filled with a tea tray. “Lord Cameron hasn’t yet arrived, my lady,” she said, sending glances in Oliver’s direction as she set the tray on the dressing table. “Shall I stay and help you dress?”

“Give me fifteen minutes, Mary.”

The maid curtsied. “Very good, my lady.”

Once she left, Oliver poured two cups of tea. “Fifteen minutes is hardly enough time for anything worth doing,” he commented, indicating the sugar and lifting an eyebrow.

“One, if you please. No cream.”

He handed her the cup of tea, then leaned back against the dressing table to sip at his own. “You know,” he said conversationally, gazing at her over the rim of his cup, “with most people I can tell what they’re thinking, or even what they’re about to say. With you, most of the time I haven’t a clue. It’s fascinating. You’re fascinating.”

“Yes, well, stop looking at me like I’m some insect you’re about to stick with a pin.”

“It’s not a pin I want to stick you with, my dear.” He glanced at the clock squatting on her deep mantel. “I should go make myself handsome,” he said. “I think I’ll breakfast here at the club. How close do you want me sitting to Cameron’s table?”

“Nowhere near. But be ready to leave for the gaming rooms when he does.”

He set aside his tea, then swept a deep, elegant bow. “He won’t harm you; I won’t allow it.” Before she could reply to that, Oliver stepped up and softly kissed her.

She took a breath as he stepped away. “Don’t distract m—”

“No, that won’t do,” he interrupted.

Sliding one arm around her shoulders and the other across her hip, he dipped her. To keep from falling, Diane flung her arms around his neck. Bending his head, he covered her mouth with his in a deep, hot kiss that left her breathless.

“Much better.” With a last, swift kiss he set her back on her feet, strode over to collect his jacket, waistcoat, and boots, and left the room.

For a long moment she looked at the closed door. “Impossible man,” she muttered, shaking her head and pushing away the urge to smile. That would have to wait until she knew her Tantalus Club was safe. Only then would she worry about her heart.

Mary was just putting the last pins in Diane’s hair when Sarah, one of the footwomen, knocked at her bedchamber door. “My lady, Lord Cameron is here. Camille has seated him.”

“Thank you, Sarah. I’ll be down in a moment. Please inform Lord Haybury that Lord Cameron is here.”

“Lord Haybury is already in the Aphrodite Room, my lady. I believe he’s dining with Lord Manderlin and Mr. Appleton.”

He’d said he’d asked friends to come by and add to the morning gaming crowd. Oliver had been keeping his word with alarming regularity lately. In fact, since she’d blackmailed him into assisting her. And while he was very vocal with his opinions, he’d never attempted to force her into anything. Of course she would have shot him if he had, but he’d certainly been less an unwilling slave or even a dictator, and more a … a partner.

Her legs wobbled, and she took a hurried seat at the dressing table.

“My lady, are you well?” Mary asked, her voice concerned.

No.
“Yes, I just need a moment. That will be all, Mary.”

Looking distressed, Mary left the bedchamber and closed the door behind her. Diane scarcely noticed; all her thoughts centered around the realization she’d just made. A partner. Him. Oliver Warren.

Was that what she wanted? She’d acquired an unexpected family in the young ladies who flocked to The Tantalus Club as a last chance for a semirespectable life. All of this had been
her
plan, her hard work, her responsibility, and her failure if she couldn’t manage everything. After Frederick had died, she’d sworn that she would never rely on anyone else for anything. She hadn’t counted on people beginning to rely on her.

She lowered her face into her hands. It was too much to consider. For heaven’s sake, she’d approached Oliver for help because she reckoned he owed her, she could control him, and she would certainly know better than to ever trust him again. What she’d never considered was that he would be trustworthy, that he would be a better man than the one she’d known before.

Diane straightened and took a deep breath.
Later.
The number of things she would have to decipher later was certainly stacking up, but so be it. First she needed to save The Tantalus Club—with help that, two months ago, she never would have expected.

The book in which she chose to secret Anthony’s payment was Dante’s
Inferno,
though she was certain he would never understand the threat or irony of it. She did, however. And Oliver certainly would.

Shaking thoughts of the Marquis of Haybury out of her mind yet again, she went downstairs to the club and entered the Aphrodite Room. Oliver had outdone himself; the room was twice as busy as it generally was on a Thursday morning. Apparently every titled member had stopped by for breakfast on his way to Parliament.

Anthony sat alone, his expression that of a cat who’d found a bowl of cream as he looked about the breakfast room. He clearly already considered this his own private bank and believed the more money coming in, the more would go out to him. She hoped he enjoyed the feeling; it wouldn’t last much longer.

“Good morning, Diane,” he said, not bothering to stand as he gestured for her to sit down opposite him.

“I hope you enjoy the book, Anthony,” she said, handing it over to him. “This one will have to last you for a month.”

“Yes, we’ll see about that.” He opened the book to the title page, saw the money, and with a smile closed it again. “Is the club always so busy in the morning?”

“A great many members enjoy breakfast and then an hour or so of cards before they leave for the House of Lords,” she replied, stopping herself from glancing in Oliver’s direction.

“An excellent idea.”

“Anthony, you need—”

“Do not tell me what I
need
to do, Diane,” he snapped, then smiled once more. “Frederick had no idea, did he? If he’d allowed you freer rein, he could have been living on Park Lane. It’s a damned shame I can’t marry you. I’d certainly allow you to continue managing The Tantalus Club.”

“Yes, a damned shame,” she echoed, clenching her jaw.

*   *   *

Oliver watched the exchange from across the room. As before, every time Cameron gave his smirking smile, he had to clench his fist against his thigh to keep from stalking over and punching the man unconscious.

“How much blunt do you want him to lose?” James Appleton asked in a low voice, following Oliver’s gaze.

“Two thousand pounds.”

“This morning? That’s a bit ambitious.”

“It’d be easier if he played whist or something where the other players could take his money,” Manderlin put in. “Losing to the club takes longer.”

Considering that it was his money to begin with, Oliver actually preferred that Cameron lose to the club, but Manderlin made a good point. “See what you can do to influence him, but for Lucifer’s sake, don’t make him suspicious.”

“You’re going to a great deal of trouble to help a chit,” Manderlin said in a low voice.

“
My
chit,” Oliver corrected.

Appleton blinked. “Beg pardon?”

“You heard me.”

His friends glanced at each other. “Very well, then. We’ll do our damnedest. You…” Jonathan trailed off as his gaze lifted. “Bloody hell.”

Oliver didn’t turn to look. “It’s Greaves, isn’t it?”

“Yes. That damned fool Trainor has brought him again. How did you know?”