A Beginner's Guide to Rakes (8 page)

He’d tried to embarrass her. Tried to gain ground in what was already turning out to be quite the chess game. And the most annoying part of it all was that until she’d threatened him with blackmail she hadn’t done anything wrong. Not where Oliver Warren was concerned, anyway. He’d found her in Vienna. He’d seduced her—though she’d certainly been a willing enough participant. He’d fled without a word. And now he, what, threw a tantrum because she wanted things her way?

She needed to make it perfectly clear that this was business and nothing more. Private personal feelings of wounded pride, animosity, revenge—well, they would both simply have to put such things aside.

And just to be safe she would ask Juliet’s former employer if he could equip her with a less visible pistol or two. She didn’t want to have to come up with a third plan to see The Tantalus opened, but she would do so if necessary. Lord Haybury needed to realize that what he wanted and what he thought didn’t matter. And the sooner he did realize that, the better for both of them.

“I thought I saw you come in here.”

The hard responding thump in her chest eased immediately. Oliver did not have a high-pitched voice or a Cornwall accent that even the very finest finishing school hadn’t quite been able to erase. “Lady Dashton,” she said, turning around. “I hope you don’t mind. I saw the Gainsborough painting as I passed down the hallway, and I had to stop and admire it.”

The viscountess’s gaze shifted to the large family portrait hanging above the mantel. “It is fine, isn’t it? Of course my sons are much older now, as are Stuart and I, I’m afraid.”

“It’s lovely,” Diane commented, without looking at it again. Lady Dashton’s fists were clenched; hardly what Diane would generally expect to see from a hostess chatting with an admiring guest. “And you all look very happy. I’ve never understood why so many painters settle such dour glares on their subjects.”

“My husband is quite interested to learn more about your … club,” the viscountess said abruptly, ignoring Diane’s conversation.

“He won’t have long to wait, then. I mean to open the doors of The Tantalus within a month.”

“You know, Harriette Wilson became famous because of her impropriety with some quite distinguished gentlemen. But she’s still never been invited to a proper Society event, and we still call her a whore.”

Now Diane knew what the conversation was about. She clucked her tongue. “Such language, Lady Dashton. And yes, you’re utterly correct about Harriette Wilson. But in her favor, she’s never claimed to be anything but what she is.” Curving her lips, Diane took a half step forward. “Allow me the same credit. Some of the gentlemen’s clubs in Vienna and elsewhere on the Continent were magnificent. I am bringing that refinement to London.”

“The idea th—”

“And who knows?” she pressed, shrugging. “If other ladies are as interested in The Tantalus Club as you are, I may institute a ladies’ evening. A bit of genteel wagering and some Madeira and biscuits, perhaps. Served by handsome young men.”

“Is that meant to sway me toward approval? Because I do not approve.”

Deepening her smile, Diane inclined her head. “Then you needn’t attend. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a coach waiting.”

“I wonder how much longer
you’ll
be invited to proper Society events,” Lady Dashton returned, stepping out of the doorway to let her past.

“We shall see. It will be interesting, won’t it?”

As she turned down the hallway she caught sight of Oliver leaving the ballroom at the far end. If she had to fence with him again this evening her head—and her temper—would explode. Hurrying without appearing to do so was something of an art, but one she’d mastered shortly after her marriage. In a moment she was outside and climbing into the waiting hack.

“I know you did your research, but are you certain there isn’t anyone else from whom we could secure financing?” Jenny asked from beside her.

“I imagine we might,” Diane said slowly. “But I don’t want word of my cash difficulties getting out. More than anything else, that could ruin me. Gentlemen attend clubs for prestige and amusement and to risk. If I appear to be desperate for money, they will all assume I mean to cheat them.”

“But Haybury isn’t proving to be at all amenable.”

She sighed. “He’s a stubborn blackguard. I’ll give him that. At the same time, he’s more likely to keep certain of my secrets safe than anyone else I can imagine. After all, I hold one of his secrets. It’s a balance, and one I simply don’t have with anyone else.”

“Until he throws you out a window.”

“It would still be a balance. I would be dead, but his reputation as a man would be destroyed.”

Jenny sank back into the corner of the small coach. “I did not anticipate that this task would be a simple one. But neither did I expect that we would be having this much difficulty less than a week after we received our funds.”

Disquiet stirred in Diane’s chest. “I know how much I’m asking of you, Jenny. If you don’t wish to continue, well, I’ll figure out something el—”

“Nonsense, Diane. You found me again at a very … difficult time. If for no other reason than that, I would remain. But to have rediscovered a friend, as well—I will travel down any road you choose.”

Diane grabbed her friend’s hand and squeezed it in hers. “Thank you. But because we
are
friends, you must tell me if I’m driving us off that road and into the hedgerow.”

With an uncharacteristic chuckle Genevieve squeezed back and then retrieved her fingers. “In some ways I hope this ride will continue to be as exciting as it’s begun, as long as we reach our destination.”

“And
I
hope I don’t have to shoot the horse.” The very troublesome stallion was going to have to be convinced to follow her rules before he ruined everything. And no man was going to ruin things for her ever again. Not even the Marquis of Haybury. No,
especially
not him.

Chapter Six

“My lord, a message just arrived for you.”

Oliver wiped butter from his fingers and gestured at the silver tray his footman held. “Let’s see it, Myles.”

The moment Oliver saw the elegant swirl of his name on the outside of the note, he knew who’d sent it. Three days, just as she’d informed him. Despite the constant and almost palpable urge to stride through the front door of Adam House and inform her that he’d been the one delivering the lesson and that no one left him standing on the dance floor, he’d resisted. He’d gone about his usual activities—or most of them, anyway—and waited for her to make the next move.

“That’ll be all,” he informed the footman, and rose to head for his office. As he walked the short distance down the hallway he passed the familiar painting of Aphrodite rising from the sea. When he closed the house, that would be joining him at The Tantalus Club, mostly because the depiction of a naked and openly seductive female would likely annoy Diane no end.

He walked to the window that overlooked the carriage path and Lord Penbridge’s underused billiards room next door and took a seat. Manderlin and others had asked why he didn’t purchase a house in Town now that he’d inherited the wealth of the Marquisdom of Haybury, but he didn’t see the point. The only entertaining he did was of the very intimate variety, and he spent very little time at home, anyway. Outside the walls was much more interesting.

“Speaking of which,” he muttered, and unfolded Diane’s note.

“‘Haybury,’” he read aloud, “‘you are to sit down at noon today with a group of potential employees. I expect you to arrive at half eleven so I may go over your instructions with you. C. of Cameron.’”

The damned chit excelled at giving orders. And of course he would have to arrive on time, or he would look like a petulant schoolboy. Pushing at her control would take more sophistication than being tardy—and he hated repeating himself, anyway.

Swiftly he scribbled out a note to Amelia Lawson canceling their luncheon engagement, setting aside the realization that he’d meant to do that regardless of his orders. Playing about with pretty chits was a pleasant enough diversion, but he was waging a battle. And he would unfortunately have to discuss with Diane what he was supposed to tell the various females of his intimate acquaintance. He refused to let them believe he’d suddenly become either smitten or impotent.

He rang for Myles, one of only four servants he employed at his small residence. Haybury Park in Surrey was where the bulk of his employees worked and resided, but in the two years since he’d inherited his uncle’s title, Oliver hadn’t spent that much time there, either. For most of his life he’d been transient—boarding schools, university, London, Madrid, Rome, Vienna—and settling into one home, or even one country, still felt uncomfortable.

“Yes, my lord?”

“Send someone for my horse, will you?”

“Right away, my lord. Mrs. Hobbes inquired whether you would be in for dinner tonight, as she’s just purchased a suckling pig.”

“I don’t know what my plans are. Have her roast the pig; the lot of you might as well enjoy it.”

Myles gave a rare smile. “That is very generous of you, my lord. Thank you.”

“If anyone should call, inform them that I’m out paying a visit to an old … friend.”

“An old friend, my lord. Very good.”

“No. An old … friend. With the implication that ‘friend’ isn’t the correct word, but merely the most proper one.”

“An old … friend. I understand, my lord.” Myles turned for the hallway door, then hesitated. “I hope you know, my lord, that I would never promote gossip in such a manner without your express instruction to do so.”

“If I thought otherwise, Myles, you wouldn’t still be in my employ.”

Oliver headed out the front door as a groom from the stable where he lodged the five horses he kept in London arrived with Brash in tow. He flipped the lad a shilling and set off at a trot toward Regent Street.

Had Diane given him such short notice of their meeting to keep him off balance? Or to prevent him from planning a rebellion? If either was the case, however, she’d badly underestimated him. He’d been conjuring scenarios and possible responses to her theoretical demands for three days. That still left her ahead at plotting, but he reckoned he was catching up.

The butler chit opened the Adam House front door as he topped the worn granite steps. Diane would need to have them and the door replaced before her club opened. He could point that out, he supposed, but it would likely cost him more money.

“Lord Haybury, Lady Cameron is expecting you. You’ll find her upstairs in her office. I believe you’ve been there before.”

“Aren’t you supposed to deliver me there, Langtree?”

“Not today, my lord.”

If he asked why she was unable to leave her post at the door she would only tell him it was none of his business. He was not going to lose ground to a damned female butler.

For the same reason he refrained from asking about the curtain of sheets that ringed most of the foyer. While the material hid the sight of the ongoing construction from any callers, it did nothing to muffle the sounds of hammering and sawing and the low buzz of men’s voices.

The office door stood open, and Oliver stepped into the room without bothering to knock. “It’s half eleven, though you likely know that because you’ve been looking at the clock for the past twenty minutes, haven’t you?”

For God’s sake, she was wearing black again—this time a straightforward muslin that would have looked fetching and fresh in any number of colors but that she managed to make … alluring. Quite a feat, really.

She indicated the chair opposite her desk. “Gentlemen’s games. Faro, vingt-et-un, whist, hazard, and what?”

Oliver took a seat. “No. I demand a bit of social chatting before we get to business.”

Diane cocked her head at him. “Very well. Have you bedded anyone interesting lately?”

Despite the sharpness of the conversation, he had to admire her skill at stabbing at him. But he had those same skills himself. “Interesting. Hm. Compliant, accommodating, yes. Now that I consider it, however, I have to concede that you were a more interesting lover than the chits I’ve run across lately.” He deliberately lowered his gaze to her pretty bosom. “In fact, parts of me missed parts of you quite a bit, I think.”

“How sad, considering that I forgot you the moment you walked out of the room.”

Leaning forward, he set his elbows on the desk and his chin in his hands. “Did you now? Is that truly the tack you wish to take? Because I could always remind you.”

“Yes, I imagine one of us would enjoy that quite a bit. Not me, however.” She tapped her fingers against the paper in front of her. “Now. Tell me about games of chance.”

Evidently he’d pushed her far enough this morning. “Very well. Men will wager over anything. How many times a friend says ‘ain’t’ in the course of an hour. Whether a chit will step out of a carriage right foot or left foot first.”

“Yes, that’s all very well, but not terribly organized. Do I need to be more specific? I require a list of games and amusements they may play
here,
and preferably ones where the bank has the best chance of profit.”

“Why don’t you just rob them when they come through the front door?”

Diane didn’t even blink. “Because then I would only gain what they had in their pockets on that particular evening. I imagine only a very few of them would return to be robbed again.”

“True enough. It’s all about subtlety, I suppose.”

“Precisely.”

He eyed her for a moment. “Two years ago you detested both wagering and the weak-minded men who failed to recognize their own lack of skill. And while I have to applaud the way you’ve moved beyond your contempt to see where wagering can be used to your advantage, I have to wonder at something.”

She gestured at him. “Pray continue. I know I won’t be able to get any use out of you until your girlish curiosity is satisfied.”

The insult was rather blatant. To him that signaled that she wasn’t comfortable with the path of the conversation.
Good.
“My girlish curiosity wants to know whether you’ve considered that you’re planning on doing to other women what was done to you.”