A Beginner's Guide to Rakes (6 page)

The rear wing of the house remained hers, and the dozen rooms would be her sanctuary from what would, she hoped, become a very busy life. The irony that this small portion of the house was larger than her lodgings in Vienna didn’t escape her, either. Wagering was already beginning to pay her back. As long as she wasn’t the one doing the wagering, it would continue to do so.

If Lord Blalock hadn’t broken his neck and his solicitors hadn’t taken the liberty of countering his instruction to lease the old Monarch Club for her use, she would have been much closer to opening her own establishment. Even with the added expense and the … annoyance of recruiting Oliver Warren into her plans, however, she couldn’t deny a certain sense of satisfaction at turning Adam House into something that would no doubt have horrified the Benchley ancestors who’d gone to the bother of acquiring it.

*   *   *

“A gaming club?”

Diane looked down into the foyer from her vantage point up against the balcony railing to see her former brother-in-law gawping up at her.
Damnation.
“Anthony. I’m afraid I’m not seeing visitors today.”

“You can’t turn Adam House into this … thing,” he pressed, heading for the stairs leading up to her. “It’s been in the family for fifty years.”

“And now it’s mine. Your brother did one good thing before he expired, and that was to see that I had a place to live. What I choose to do with it is my own affair.” She took a half step backward. “And be cautious of the stairs; they haven’t been repaired yet.”

He stopped his ascent and gingerly returned to the foyer floor. “My brother signed over every unentailed bit of property in the family to you. Why do you need this one?”

“I used the others to pay off his debts—which I believe saved you from having to do so. And while we might once have been siblings-in-law, we are no longer any relation whatsoever. I must ask you to leave. When the club’s doors open, you may apply for membership.”

“Diane, this is ridiculous. What would your parents think?”

The same parents who’d bartered her off in order to have a countess in the family? She drew a breath, shaking herself. Anger led to mistakes, and she could afford to make none. “Ask them. I certainly don’t care to do so. Good day, Anthony.”

She left the balcony, stopping just out of sight to be certain he wouldn’t attempt the stairs again. Once she heard Juliet bid him good day, Diane resumed her way toward the back of the house.

“He doesn’t worry you, then?” came from just below her.

Turning around, she stopped to wait for Jenny to top the stairs. “The man climbed those stairs a week ago, and now he thinks they’re perilous simply because I said so. I’m not terribly concerned.”

A workman tipped his hat at her with his free hand as he carried one end of a rolled carpet past her. When she’d told Oliver—damnation, she needed to become accustomed to thinking of him as the Marquis of Haybury now, rather than as the marquis’ nephew—that men were fit at best to run her stables, she’d neglected to include their worth in toting and hammering things.

“Then I shan’t be, either.” Genevieve shifted her ever-present notebook from one arm to the other.

“What do you think, then? One large gaming room on the ground floor, taking up the entire front of the house, with a larger dining room behind it on the left, and a smaller gaming room and a breakfast room on the right, a library and billiards room behind that. Though I’m beginning to wonder whether a narrow corridor running up either side might be more beneficial for the hostesses’ and the servants’ use.”

“Ah. To keep the ladies out of sight until the last moment? I do like that.”

“I do, as well. Have Mr. Dunlevy see me again, will you?”

“Of course. Do you wish me to interview the applicants, then?”

The discreet advertisement had appeared in the London
Times
this morning, where it would remain for precisely one week. Any longer would make her seem desperate and already fighting to sustain a failing scheme. If she hadn’t filled all the necessary positions by then, well, there were several governess schools about where she might find a capable, attractive young lady or two who didn’t wish to follow children about.

“After I see Mr. Dunlevy I’ll be free until luncheon. If anyone appears, have Juliet or Margaret inform me.”

“Diane, there are two dozen young ladies presently waiting in the rear sitting room.”

“Two dozen?” She stopped. “It’s barely nine o’clock.”

“Yes, I know.”

At Jenny’s tone, Diane lifted an eyebrow. “You find this amusing, do you?”

“Not amusing. Encouraging. After all, if two dozen well-bred young women apply for employment at a gentlemen’s gaming club, that implies a certain … acceptance of the idea, does it not?”

“Women are generally more difficult to convince than men where sin is concerned,” Diane agreed. “What remains to be known is their quality. Would you and Margaret chat with each of them? With two dozen this morning, we shall hopefully be able to be a bit more … particular than I’d anticipated.”

Jenny nodded. “
Mais oui.
I’ll bring you the results after your meeting.”

Though Mr. Dunlevy clearly didn’t understand the importance of adding a factor of teasing and mystery to the club, he
did
understand the additional hundred pounds Diane had added to the agreement for two more walls and strategically placed doors.

Once he returned to his work, Diane sat back and sipped at her cooled tea. When he’d first arrived, her foreman of construction had been less than comfortable first with the idea of taking orders from a woman, and second with meetings where she disdained the use of a chaperone. It seemed to have finally occurred to him that her money spent as well as any man’s and that she knew her business.

Of course not everyone would be so easily convinced of her sanity or her reasoning. All she had to do, however, was make them want to visit The Tantalus Club. And then, if she’d managed to lay the path correctly, everything else would take care of itself.

Genevieve knocked at the half-open office door and then slipped into the room. “Do we have corridors for mystery?” she asked, holding onto the
r
’s and giving a deeper French lilt to her accent.

“We do. Do we have any possible employees?”

“I’ll leave that to you. Margaret and I gave brief interviews and made notes on all forty women, and I sent them home. The rooms were becoming very crowded.”

“Forty now? Good heavens.” Diane gestured at the stack of papers her companion held. “I hope you took addresses.”

“
Oui,
for the ones willing to give out such information. I instructed the others to return tomorrow for possible interviews with you.”

Diane frowned. “I don’t want whores working here, Jenny. If they can’t give an address, then I—”

“Read the notes. Your order of sconces and table lamps arrived, so if you need me I shall be downstairs polishing and adding lamp oil.”

Well, that was less helpful than Genevieve generally was. Frowning, Diane read through the first neat paragraph of notes. Then she read the next one, and the next.

“I’d ask if I’m disturbing you, but as we both know the answer to that, I’ll just come in anyway.”

Jumping at the low drawl, Diane nearly ripped the corner off the paper she held. “You aren’t required yet, Haybury. Go away until I summon you.”

Light gray eyes beneath a mass of unruly mahogany hair met hers. It wasn’t that he looked untidy; in fact, Oliver Warren was always impeccably dressed and groomed. Rather, the too-long windswept hair and the simple knot in his snow-white cravat gave the impression that he was more relaxed than he was, that his mind wasn’t running swift circles around everyone else in the room. With a few exceptions, of course. She knew his game, how he played it, and the moves that he preferred.

“From the destruction going on below, I assume you received the money,” he said, strolling to the window behind her.

Diane turned her chair, unwilling to have him at her back. “You’re not fooling me.”

“That’s … good, since I’m not attempting to do so.”

“Yes, you are. You mean to ask an innocuous question here and there about renovations, floor plans, et cetera, until you’ve maneuvered yourself into giving advice, making suggestions, and then attempting to alter my plans to suit yourself.”

“Am I? God’s blood, I’m devious.”

“No, you
think
you’re devious. And I’m not interested in anything you offer unsolicited. As I said, when I require your presence, I’ll send for you. At the moment, you’re interrupting.”

“You know,” he returned slowly, reaching around her for one of the interview sheets she hadn’t yet read, “as much as you don’t want my opinion, I’d like to point out that in your general disdain for men you might have neglected a thing or two. For instance, ordering me to leave would be more effective if you had a large footman or two, say, to encourage my exit.”

Her heart drumming in an annoying combination of anger and alarm, she twisted to dig into the drawer where she kept her pistol. Even as she moved, she realized that he’d turned her away from it deliberately, damn it all.

One booted foot jammed the drawer closed before she could do more than touch it. “Be nice,” he cautioned. “It was only a suggestion. Not a threat.”

“Get your boot off my desk.”

“Certainly.” He straightened. Before she could dive for the weapon again, however, he nudged her chair aside with his hip, opened the drawer, removed the pistol, and tossed it out the window. “There.”

She glared at him as he sank back against the sill again, cleverly placing himself so she couldn’t push him out the window after the weapon. “If you’ve killed any of my flowers I’ll expect you to replace them,” she finally said, and deliberately lowered her head to resume reading.

Though she couldn’t ignore him, she could at least pretend to do so. She would, however, consider hiring a large footman or two. But only because aristocrats who’d lost all their money and had too much to drink might become unruly, and she hadn’t considered that.

“‘Blond hair, blue eyes, approximately twenty years of age,’” he read aloud. “What’s this?”

“None of your business,” she snapped, drawing a pencil line through a description of a young lady Jenny had noted as being illiterate.

“‘A pleasant voice, claims to have a passing talent for the pianoforte, and speaks French.’” Oliver rattled the paper. “You know what I think?”

“I have no interest at all in knowing what you think. Haven’t I made that clear enough to you?”

“I think this is one of the chits answering your advertisement in the newspaper.” Handing the page back to her, he reached into his pocket and removed a folded newspaper clipping. “‘Seeking for the purpose of legitimate employment: ladies aged between eighteen and twenty-six, educated and pleasant of manner and appearance. Room, board, and salary will be provided.’” He dropped it onto the desk in front of her. “This is your address.”

“I told you I mean to hire young ladies. Don’t act as though you’ve discovered something nefarious. I’m hardly impressed that you know how to read, either. I believe I already knew that.”

“It occurs to me that I should be present for these interviews. After all, being pretty and literate does not make anyone a good faro dealer.”

Diane stood. With him leaning into the sill they were very nearly the same height, and she glared straight at him. “I will hire whomever I choose, for whichever reasons I deem appropriate for my needs. After I’ve hired them, I shall summon you to give instruction. At that point—”

“And if they can’t manage wagering?”

“At that point,” she repeated, ignoring his interruption, “I shall … permit you to voice an opinion as to which of them might be more suited than others for the various positions available at The Tantalus Club.”

Slowly he straightened, and she found herself craning her neck to keep her gaze on his face. “You may have a damning letter,” he said, “but you’d be better served to keep in mind that I have a great deal of money and influence, Diane. If you turn this into a battle, I will crush you.”

She sniffed. “Color me unimpressed. I’ve been penniless and friendless already, Haybury. You may grind me into the ground again, but I’ll see that you find yourself in that same patch of mud. Now go away until I send for you.”

For a long moment he held her gaze, and she scarcely breathed. She was serious, and once he accepted that, perhaps dealing with him would be at least a little easier. Or so she hoped. Finally he nodded. “I’ve been invited to the Dashton soiree tonight. Dashton’s an inveterate gambler, and so are most of his friends. What time shall I send my carriage for you?”

“I’m not accompanying you anywhere.”

“If we’re going to make our so-called mysterious connection believable, Lady Cameron, you will need to be seen with me. Eight o’clock.” He headed for her office door. “And consider widening your front drive. Hopefully you’ll need to accommodate traffic in the evenings.”

And he still couldn’t resist giving her advice. Which she would have tolerated better, except for the fact that thus far it had been good advice. “Eight o’clock,” she said aloud, sitting behind her desk again. “Don’t be late.”

“Don’t change your mind.”

Chapter Five

Oliver had his driver take the coach to Adam House by the most indirect route possible, ensuring he would arrive on Lady Cameron’s doorstep precisely twenty minutes after he’d said he would be there. This was a game of wits and nerves he’d entered into, and every move counted.

Piles of wood and plaster lay to both sides of the drive as one of Diane’s liveried footwomen emerged from the house to pull open Oliver’s carriage door. If not for the fact that he’d shared a bed with Diane on several occasions, he would almost have been willing to think her one of those ladies who preferred the intimate company of other women.

Was he the reason she’d developed such a dislike and mistrust of men?
Hm.
More likely it was the three years of marriage to a man who’d left her penniless and abandoned in the middle of Europe. And apparently she meant for the rest of mankind to pay forever after.