A Beginner's Guide to Rakes (24 page)

She didn’t want to ask what the second mistake was. If it was either leaving her or, worse, meeting her in the first place, she would be angry. If it was something else, she would be … angrier. “Yes. We’ve given the audience something else to speculate about, anyway.”

And he’d given her something to speculate about as well. She wasn’t the only one who seemed to be confused by the pull that remained between them.

*   *   *

By the middle of the next month The Tantalus Club boasted 23 founding members and an overall and still swiftly growing membership of 412. The first ladies’ night was so successful that male staff from other clubs arranged to have Tuesdays off and signed up weeks in advance to work at Diane Benchley’s club on two Tuesday nights per month.

“You know, Haybury,” Jonathan Sutcliffe, Lord Manderlin, commented over the remains of a pheasant at White’s Club, “people are beginning to speculate over whether you mean to make an honest woman of Lady Cameron.”

Oliver finished his bite, a mix of amusement and annoyance running through him. “Diane’s honesty has nothing to do with me,” he returned.

“Yes, but Lady Kate Falston says you’ve fallen.”

“She has to invent something, I suppose, to explain why she’s now spending her nights with Whiting, of all people.”

Manderlin snorted. “Why
is
she spending her nights with the duke now, my friend? Are you finished with her?”

Shrugging, Oliver gestured for a footman to refill his glass of wine. “I like Kate. I wish her well. But I hate trotting in place. It’s dull.”

“Which returns me to my previous question. Are you after Diane Benchley? Of course most of Mayfair thinks you’ve already got her. And since you haven’t moved on after better than six weeks, of course they’re wondering what you mean to do with her.”

He hadn’t had Diane for nearly a month. His cock likely thought he was dead, except for the blood rushing through him every time he set eyes on the confounding chit. Considering that she still owed him a night, he could only conclude that he’d gone mad. But the right bit of circumstance, the perfect moment, hadn’t yet presented itself. And apparently he was willing to wait until he found it.

Manderlin continued to gaze at him, clearly still waiting for an answer. “As far as Mayfair is concerned,” he said slowly, “they can spin any tale they choose.”

“And me? Am I to be left to tale-spin as well?”

A few months ago Oliver would have told Jonathan to mind his own damned business. His first instinct was still to keep his own counsel. But lately the idea of having someone else with whom to speak had become much more appealing. Particularly when he seemed to be walking a path he’d never traveled before. He took a drink of wine, using the moment to survey the diners around them.

White’s dining room actually seemed a bit less crowded these days, and he had to wonder whether that was because The Tantalus Club served a fine luncheon along with some pretty chits for decoration. Diane was doing well; much better than even he had expected. “I don’t know what to tell you, Jonathan,” he finally said. “I’ve had a taste, and I continue to crave more.”

“Then you
are
in pursuit,” Manderlin whispered, lifting both eyebrows and leaning forward on his elbows.

Oliver looked down at his hands. “I caught her once, in Vienna. And I let her get away. I’m attempting to be more cautious this time. I … want to be certain what I want. Because I won’t get a third chance.”

It wasn’t until he said the words aloud that he realized he’d already decided his course of action. The fact that he had someone else to convince—well, that would be the most difficult part of all this. But antagonistic as they were—or perhaps even partly
because
she kept him constantly on his toes—he liked having her in his life again. He preferred that she remain there.

She was not some malleable chit looking for her first love or for a wealthy protector, however. Not her. And like him, Diane Benchley wasn’t much for standing still. At the moment he could only hope they were moving forward in the same direction. Even if that was so, the odds of him succeeding were so poor he wasn’t certain he’d be willing to bet on himself.

“You’re paying her rent and you’re a founding member of her club. That has to count in your favor, does it not?”

He’d practically been kidnapped and he
was
being blackmailed, but he could hardly tell the viscount about that. Nor did Oliver wish to discuss the … oddness that had penetrated him when he’d finally realized just how much he’d hurt her in Vienna. Until that moment he’d only considered his own feelings and how tightly he’d felt the ropes wrapping around him and threatening to drag him down.

The panic still touched him when he gazed into her emerald eyes, but it wasn’t the dominant feeling any longer. He wasn’t certain what was going on, but pursuing Diane Benchley was definitely the only way to figure it out.

“Well, isn’t that interesting,” Manderlin murmured, nodding his chin toward the doorway.

Oliver lifted his silver case knife and angled it so he could see the reflection of the trio of men entering the dining room. The Duke of Greaves caught his eye first, and he clenched his jaw. That was one complication he could have done without this Season. At least the duke had been wise enough to avoid visiting The Tantalus Club thus far.

The second man, however, made seeing the first considerably more troubling. Oliver immediately recognized the fellow’s darting, snakelike gaze and the pompous way he held himself. Spying the third man, the Earl of Larden, didn’t leave him feeling any better at all. “Lord Cameron?” he muttered at Manderlin, and lowered his knife again. “‘Interesting’ isn’t the word I would use.” “Trouble,” yes.
That
word he would use.

“I was actually referring to the combination of him and his companions,” Jonathan returned. “I didn’t think they traveled in the same circles.”

“Neither did I.”

One obvious reason for the odd trio did spring to mind, however. The Tantalus Club. The strength of the urge to leave White’s and hurry off to find Diane stunned him; generally he had a much stronger sense of self-preservation than he did of philanthropy. “Diane won’t allow Cameron a membership in The Tantalus. Perhaps he’s looking for financial backing to make another go at it.”

“That sounds humiliating.”

“It would be, if he had to go crawling to his former sister-in-law, hat in hand, to beg to be let into the club.”

“You truly think it’s that? Neither Larden nor Greaves has much tolerance for paupers.”

“No, they don’t.” And while previously Cameron had been a minor irritation, every instinct Oliver possessed was now yelling at him that things had just become more serious. And the abrupt strength of the … need to see that no harm came to Diane stunned him. But if there had ever been a time to be cautious over his approach, it was now. Greaves, and to a lesser degree Larden, was not to be taken lightly.

“Oliver? You have a very calculating look about you. It’s rather off-putting.”

He shook himself. “Apologies. I was calculating. Now. Are you going to continue gossiping, or shall we leave for Gentleman Jackson’s?”

“By all means. I still owe you a dismemberment.”

Oliver forced a grin. “Today is not that day, my friend.”

Despite Oliver’s boasting, he nearly did get his head taken off by a rather lucky flail from the viscount. Distraction was a damned nuisance. The two men who accompanied Anthony Benchley were keen-witted and deadly. And Oliver had never known either of them to be anything other than self-serving. The three of them together couldn’t signify anything good.

Clearly whatever they wanted had little or nothing to do with him, and so as a rule he would have noted their appearance and with whom they spoke, and soon enough he would have deciphered their plan and then gone on with his own fun.

This, however, was different. This was more than a passing interest about what business a former friend and his cronies might be engaged in. No, today he was worried. Over someone else.

When he returned to Adam House late in the afternoon, two bouquets of roses sat on the table in the spacious foyer. “For Lady Cameron, I presume?” he queried as he handed over his hat and riding gloves. “Let me guess: Oberley and Henning.”

Langtree inclined her head. “If I may be so bold, how do you always know, my lord?”

Because he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off Diane from the time she entered the club until she left it again. “Oberley followed her about like a fat puppy all last evening, and Henning insisted on reading her a poem he’d written in her honor.” He paused. “Is she in?”

“Lady Cameron is meeting with her captains. Shall I inform my lady that you wish to speak with her?”

He debated informing her about her former brother-in-law’s new allies in London versus staying out of her business as she kept ordering him to do. “No,” he said aloud. “I’ll make do.”

After all, it could be a coincidence. Perhaps Anthony Benchley had attended university with Larden and they’d decided to have luncheon at White’s to chat about old times. Diane legally owned Adam House, at least as far as the world at large knew, so Cameron couldn’t still be disputing that. He could be whining about it, which would be annoying but harmless.

Yes, and pigs flew. If he had any remaining sense of self-preservation he would note that any coming trouble wasn’t his and he would have gone up to dress for dinner. That was by far the most sensible and logical course of action. Diane constantly flung the philosophy of logic and self-interest at him. Scowling, he descended the stairs to the foyer again. “Which room is this meeting in?”

Langtree faced him. “If you’re out to make trouble, my lord, I’m obligated to stop you.”

So the mistress of the house hadn’t rescinded the order to have him shot if he misbehaved. “No trouble. Not of my making, anyway.”

The butleress eyed him, then nodded. “The Aphrodite Room.”

“Thank you, Langtree.”

He walked through the nearly empty main dining room and through one of the two doors at its rear, then stopped just inside. Diane, Miss Martine, and five of her young ladies sat at one of the breakfast tables reviewing schedules, menus, and the merits of taking dinner reservations versus utilizing first-come, first-served seating.

“If you begin taking reservations,” he broke in and seven pairs of pretty eyes turned in his direction, “they’ll all begin competing for tables. First you’ll have servants running you notes an hour beforehand, then two, then all day, then the day before, then—”

“Yes, I believe we comprehend your meaning,” Diane interrupted. “What is your point?”

At least she hadn’t thrown a candlestick at him and ordered him out of the room. “They won’t all appear. You’ll end up with half your tables reserved and no one sitting at them.”

“Perhaps we should charge a shilling per reservation,” the red-haired chit, Sophia White, suggested. “Or even more.”

Diane shook her head. “We already charge them a membership fee and an entrance fee.” She sighed. “I hate to say it, but Lord Haybury makes a good point. We’re already holding five tables for founding members. No reservations.”

He waited another few minutes until she finished the meeting and sent the chits who worked in the evening out to their places. Once it was just her and Miss Martine in the room, he came forward. “Do you have a moment, Diane?”

“What do you want?”

The French twist looked rooted to the floor. He wasn’t surprised; since their outing to the theater, since that kiss that had stopped his heart, Diane had made it all but impossible for him to speak to her in private.

“I had luncheon at White’s today,” he said, unable to stop himself from sending Miss Martine an annoyed glance. “As I was leaving, I happened to notice—” He stopped. “The prologue doesn’t matter, does it? Anthony Benchley has two new companions—the Earl of Larden and the Duke of Greaves. I’ve been attempting to conjure a reason they would all be together, and I can’t conclude that anything positive is afoot.”

Diane knew she should have been surprised. After all, she’d already decided that Anthony was nothing more than an annoying reminder of a past that no longer held any power over her. But the club’s membership continued to increase, and they’d begun to make a profit. And so the part of her that still doubted whether she could accomplish all this wasn’t surprised at all.

“Thank you for telling me,” she said aloud, knowing some response was expected. “Was there anything else?”

“Diane, we need t—”

“This is my venture, Oliver. Not yours. Now. Was there anything else you wanted to discuss?”

“No. Not at the moment.”

From the look in his eyes he clearly wanted to give her some advice or his opinion or to make himself available to commiserate with her. She supposed if she still entirely disliked him, a conversation would have been perfectly acceptable. But now everything felt much more complicated. And if he kissed her again the way he had that night at the theater, she might begin remembering the heat and life and … hope that had surrounded her in Vienna for that fortnight.

“Then I’ll see you this evening,” she returned, hoping he would take the hint and leave her be.

He nodded. “Come sit at my table. I’ll purchase you dinner.”

“We’ll see.”

“If you mean ‘no,’ darling, then say no.”

“I meant precisely what I said. Now. Why don’t you go away and test out my new roulette wheel?”

“I won’t tell you this could be serious, because you already know that. I’m not trying to take the reins from you. I wouldn’t even attempt it.”

“Leave.”

“Coward.” With that he left the room.

Diane counted to five and then took a seat. Jenny hurriedly took the chair beside her and grasped her left hand. “Anthony Benchley can’t make any trouble, can he?”

“From what I recall of him, being the earl should make him perfectly happy. He always seemed dissatisfied with being the second son.”

“So the question is whether he is perfectly happy and going about town with his friends or whether Haybury has the right of it.”