A Beginner's Guide to Rakes (39 page)

“Shut up and leave.”

“Yes, my lady.” He slipped through the door and slammed it closed again.

In the ensuing silence, Oliver looked from one chit to the other. “Bonaparte’s niece?” he finally said.

Diane shrugged. “He does have seven siblings. It seemed reasonable.”

“Do you think he believed it?” the French twist asked, her accent back to its usual mix of European languages.

“We’ll know in a moment. I asked Juliet to stand at the front door this morning. She’s to inform me if anything unusual occurs.” A slight smile tugged at Diane’s mouth.

The sight mesmerized Oliver.
She
mesmerized him. “Diane, y—”

“What was Greaves doing?” she interrupted.

“Helping Cameron lose a great deal of money, actually,” he returned. “And before you ask, I have no idea why. He realized we had something planned. I suppose the idea of beating a toad like Cameron might have amused him.” Whether it truly was about making amends Oliver wasn’t willing to admit. Not without more proof than simply the shared bloodying of a snake.

“Even so, I think I may have to consider his membership request.”

“If you must. I’ll abstain from voting.”

A knock sounded at the door. “My lady? It’s Juliet.”

“And here we go. Come in, Juliet.”

The butleress entered the room. “My lady, you said you wanted to be notified of anything … odd. Lord Cameron just ran past me, saying that he was terribly sorry and he would never return. I assume this is what you were talking about.”

“Yes, it is. Thank you very much, Juliet.”

With a nod Langtree exited again. Finally Oliver let out the breath he’d been holding. “Congratulations, Diane. The Tantalus Club remains in your hands.”

She nodded, turning to gaze out the window. “Jenny, would you give us a moment?”

“Mais oui.”
Sending him an unreadable glance, the French twist left the room through the door through which she’d emerged.

“Do you think she’s still listening?” Oliver asked after a moment.

“I wouldn’t be surprised. She remembers what a sad wreck I was two years ago. It worries her.”

Uneasiness ran through him as well. Had he treated Diane too poorly to ever be forgiven? He couldn’t think of anything more he could do to prove himself to her. If what he’d done wasn’t enough … He didn’t even want to consider it. He would have to become some recluse, living at Haybury and never leaving, because seeing her again and knowing he could never have her would be too much to bear.

Slowly Diane faced him again. “Do you have anything to say?”

“What do you want me to say? I asked you a question last night. I’ll ask you again, if you wish. I’ll apologize again, if you wish. I’ll tell you again that I love you, because I do. The answers are all up to you.”

For a long, quiet moment she gazed at him. “Oliver, I d—”

“I will remind you,” he interrupted, his heart tearing loose in his chest and beating into his throat, “that we do work quite well together.”

“Y—”

“And that if you’re worried about your property going to me, I’ll happily sign anything you wish to make certain this house and this club remain in your hands.”

“Oli—”

“You said you’d stopped believing in such a thing as love and passion until you met me. What I didn’t say was that you made me believe in them, too. I thought love was a farce until you proved me wrong.” If he kept talking, then at least she couldn’t say no. She couldn’t tell him he’d been a mistake, and one that she truly meant never to repeat. “You don’t need to repay the loan. It’s yours. I can help you fund whatever you want for The Tanta—”

She strode forward and put a hand over his mouth. “Do be quiet,” she said. “I believe it’s my turn to talk.”

He still couldn’t read her expression, but he nodded. This was the moment when he paid for all his past misdeeds. He needed to face it, even if it meant he wouldn’t have the chance to be happy. Not like he’d been over the past two months. Not like he’d been when he’d seen her again.

Her fingers across his lips shook a little. “Two years ago, you shattered me,” she whispered. “You broke my heart into a thousand pieces, just when I’d realized I had a heart that could break.”

Oh, God
. “Diane, I—”

“Hush.”

He subsided again, trying not to shake.

“In the past two months you’ve annoyed me, aggravated me, challenged me, argued with me … and you put my heart back together again. I tried to tell myself that I had what I wanted, I had my independence, and that I didn’t need anything else.”

Slowly she lowered her hand, twining her fingers into his lapel. He scarcely dared to breathe. At the moment it sounded promising, but he’d ceased attempting to anticipate what she might be thinking.

“These girls need me, and I … I like looking after them. They’ll never have to be alone and lost like I was. And I’ve discovered that I like sharing things with you. I like chatting with you; I like sharing my life with you. I don’t want someone to tell me what to do, or what not to do. I am willing, however, to take on a partner. An equal.”

“May I speak now?”

“Yes.”

Oliver cleared his throat. “Does this mean you’ll marry me?” he murmured. “Or is this a professional partnership? Because I won’t take one without the other. Those are my conditions.”

“Are they now?” she asked softly. “You don’t mind helping me manage a gentlemen’s club, but you won’t do it unless I agree to marry you?”

“Yes. That’s it exactly.”

Her lovely emerald eyes filled with unshed tears. Silently Diane nodded. “Very well, then.”

Thank God.
“I would prefer that you say it.”

She drew a soft breath and, lifting on her toes, touched her lips to his. “Aggravating man. Yes, Oliver, I will marry you.”

He slid his arms around her, pulling her close against him. The club, the money—he didn’t care about any of that. All he wanted was this strong, fierce woman in his arms to care for him as he cared for her. “I love you,” he whispered, closing his mouth over hers again.

“I love you, Oliver,” she whispered back, smiling against his mouth. “I’ve only ever loved you.”

Oliver chuckled. “This is going to be a very scandalous life, you know.”

“I can’t wait.”

“Neither can I.”

Read on for an excerpt from Suzanne Enoch’s next book

Taming an Impossible Rogue

Coming soon from St. Martin’s Paperbacks

Camille lifted her left hand straight into the air, fingers spread. All the ladies knew the signal, though she, unfortunately, had used it more than any of the others. Even in the less-crowded, less-inebriated mornings at the club. The perils of a publicly ruined reputation, she supposed. Thankfully, while Lady Haybury might have preferred to have only female employees, it hadn’t taken much to convince her that a handful of very large former boxers might be helpful to have about.

However, as she faced the ogre again, a fist and a nicely jacketed arm crossed directly in front of her—and connected with Farness’s chin. The round fellow fell to the blue-carpeted floor on his arse.

“When I was last in London,” a low, cultured drawl came from beside her, “men did not insult women in such a manner. I can only assume, then, that either you were mistaken, or you’re not a man.”

Camille sidestepped as the tall, dark-haired man attached to the fist bent down to haul Farness to his feet.

“Which is it, then?” he murmured. “Were you mistaken, or are you simply not a man?”

The ogre raised shaking fingers to touch his cut lip. “Good God. You’re Blackwood. Bloody damned Blackwood.”

“I’m aware of that. Answer my question.”

“Mistaken,” Farness rasped. “I was mistaken.”

“Then I suggest you apologize,” Blackwood pursued, in the same tone he might ask for an additional card while playing
vingt-et-un.

Farness looked over at her. “I apologize.”

“For?” her supposed rescuer prompted.

“For … for insulting you, my lady.”

“Well done.” With a light but unmistakably serious shove, he deposited Farness into the grip of Mr. Jacobs. “Shall I leave as well?” he asked, looking over at her for the first time.

Light brown eyes, one of them circled by a faint, fading bruise, gazed levelly at her. Stifling the abrupt impulse to straighten her hair, she shook her head. “As long as there’s no more punching, I can’t fault you for defending my honor—unnecessary though it was.”

A slow smile touched his mouth. “Thank you. And I’ve never found defending a lady’s honor to be a frivolity.”

Just as she realized that she seemed to be staring at the man, the circle around them stirred and parted. Diane, Lady Haybury, emerged into the small clearing. “I will not have fisticuffs in my club,” she said, ignoring Mr. Farness being led away and instead focusing her attention on the punching man. “Whose guest are you, sir?”

“Mine.”

The Duke of Greaves moved into the circle, his expression as cool as if he were discussing the weather. “Lady Haybury, Keating Blackwood. Keating, the proprietor of this establishment, Lady Haybury.”

Oh, dear
. Camille resisted the urge to back away. She’d only wished to stop a man from pinching her hindquarters. Involving Diane and dukes and disrupting the running of the club … Perhaps she should have simply accepted the pinch for what it was; after all, of all the ladies employed by the club, her fall from grace was by far the most public. With some of the things said to her back—and even to her face—whenever she ventured out of doors, at the least she should have expected such discourtesy from time to time within her sanctuary’s walls.

Diane glanced in her direction. “Is any further action warranted, Camille?”

She shook her head. “I believe there’s been enough fuss, my lady.” More than enough.

Diane nodded, returning her attention to the rather tall Keating Blackwood. “If His Grace is willing to vouch for you, Mr. Blackwood, then I will allow you to remain. Your motives in this instance seem gentlemanly enough. Have a good day, sir.”

Keating Blackwood inclined his head. “Thank you, my lady.”

Feeling in need of a strong glass of spirits, Camille excused herself and returned to her station close to the front door of the dining room. Wasn’t she supposed to have become accustomed to such assaults by now? To being ridiculed and abused because she’d done what she still considered to be the most sensible thing she’d ever managed in her life? For the most part, the Tantalus Club had been her safe haven for the past year.

As Camille looked up again, faint uneasiness touched her. Keating Blackwood, his gaze on her face, approached her podium without even making a show of being interested in some possible thing or person in her vicinity. “Thank you again,” she said as he stopped before her, hoping to forestall his asking for a kiss or something as a reward of his so-called heroics. “How are you finding your breakfast?”

“Exceptional,” he replied, leaning an elbow on the lectern the hostesses had taken to using to keep their table charts and lists of names and menus and the preferences of individual gentlemen safe. “You’re Lady Camille Pryce.”

Hiding her flinch, Camille shuffled through her papers. “That’s hardly a secret. Now, is there something you need? A bottle of wine, perhaps? We have a fine bur—”

“I’m Keating Blackwood.”

“So I heard.” She looked at him for a moment, catching the expectant look on his lean face. “You have a black eye.”

“Nearly gone, now.” He brushed a negligent finger against his left cheek. “You don’t know who I am.”

“You’re Keating Blackwood. My memory extends past one minute, I assure you.”

A quick smile curved his mouth. It was a very attractive mouth, she noted peripherally. But it wasn’t the first attractive mouth to decide that as a fallen woman she must be in need of a lover or a benefactor, or worse, that she made a habit of engaging in self-destructive behavior.

“Stephen Pollard is my cousin.”

The ground beneath Camille’s feet seemed to turn to pudding because she swayed alarmingly. Gripping the podium hard, she forced a breath through her lungs. “I—”

“I’m only telling you so that you aren’t taken by surprise later,” he continued. “I’m making an attempt at honesty.”

Camille swallowed the lump of coal in her throat. “I … appreciate your candor,” she ventured, using every bit of her self-control to keep from backing away.

That faint smile touched his mouth again. “My cousin is a stiff-backed buffoon, my lady. That said, I don’t believe he’s ever been the sort to pluck the wings off flies or … hurt anyone intentionally. This makes me curious. Did he harm you? Is that why you didn’t wish to marry him?”

The question took her completely by surprise.

“If you aren’t going to answer the question, I wish you’d say so,” Blackwood prompted. “I have a fine plate of ham and cheeses and an annoyed duke waiting at the table for me.”

“Then you should return to them.” She picked up her seating chart and went to greet the next arrival.

“Do you ever go walking?” Blackwood’s voice came from directly behind her.

Oh, dear, now he was trailing her about the room. “No.”

“You should. At what time do you finish your hostess duties?”

“I—at—I don’t believe that’s any of your concern, Mr. Blackwood. Now please cease accosting me, or I shall be forced to have you removed.”

“I mean you no harm, my lady,” he returned in a low voice. “I’ve been away from London for six years, and you’ve made me curious. Few people stand against Fenton. I’d merely like to know your reasons.”

Her parents hadn’t even asked her that question. Camille took a stiff breath. “I will be free after one o’clock,” she said in a rush, before she could change her mind. “But I don’t leave the club’s premises. You may find me in the rose garden.”

He sketched a shallow bow. “I shall do so.”

She pretended to return her attention to the club’s late-arriving breakfast guests, and after a moment, the warmth shielding her back was gone. Of all the things she’d expected, it hadn’t been the cousin of the man she’d jilted a year earlier appearing and being nice to her. And she’d never expected anyone to ask what Lord Fenton might have done to cause her to flee rather than to question why she’d lost
her
senses. Because she hadn’t lost them. Not then, and not now.