A Beginner's Guide to Rakes (7 page)

On the other hand, perhaps the ambiguity of her preferences was intentional; after all, she had even him speculating about her, and he knew better. He glanced at the butleress as she stood back from the front door. Hiring all females. It seemed very much like something he should have considered himself.

“My lord, if you’d care to wait here, Lady Cameron will be down momentarily. I apologize for not being able to offer you a seat; we haven’t any in this portion of the house at the moment.”

“As you told me this morning, I believe.”

“Yes, my lord. I’ve also been ordered to inform you that if you attempt to enter the depths of the house again without permission, I am to shoot you.”

“I see.” While he was tempted to inform her that she could certainly
try
to do so, he had other things on his agenda this evening. And apparently several minutes to kick his heels while he waited until Diane deigned to appear. “What is your name?” he asked the butler.

“Juliet, my lord. Juliet Langtree.”

“Well, Langtree, what was your employment before Lady Cameron hired you to buttle?”

“I was a shopkeeper’s assistant, my lord,” she answered without hesitation. “In an establishment that sold weapons.”

For a heartbeat he wondered whether she was having him on. Before he could decide, the air at the top of the stairs stirred. “Diane,” he said, turning to face her as she descended. “Black again?”

He’d nearly said something more complimentary, because whatever the sleek ebony material was, it clung like water to her slender frame and every soft curve. But she knew that. That was why she’d chosen to wear it.

“It suits my mood,” she returned. At her gesture Langtree pulled open the front door once more. “And cease pestering my employees. They’ve all been warned that … fraternizing with you is grounds for immediate dismissal.”

“Jealous?”

“Wise to your very transparent lack of character.” A second female, blond and whip-thin, appeared behind her to drape a black wrap across Diane’s shoulders. “Shall we?”

The blond chit followed them outside. “You’re to guard Lady Cameron’s reputation, then?” he asked, offering a hand to help her into the coach. “Considering her plan of action, you’re somewhat behindhand.”

“I’m to protect
you
, my lord,” she returned, her soft voice touched by a half-dozen accents but settling on none of them. “If Diane were to murder you, it would upset our schedule.”

Once the ladies were settled inside, he stepped up after them. “Interesting that you’ve so completely misread the situation,” he commented as the coach rolled back into the street. “If something were to happen to either of you, it wouldn’t upset
my
schedule at all. And you said
our
schedule. Are you partners?”

“Oliver, this is Genevieve,” Diane said into the following silence. “Jenny, Lord Haybury.”

“You’re new,” Oliver continued, dividing his attention between the two women. They were of an age, he estimated, both in their early twenties, but whether they addressed each other familiarly or spoke about
their
schedule or not, he knew precisely which one of them commanded this little performance. “You weren’t in Vienna when last I was there.”

“Suffice it to say that Jenny and I have known each other for a very long time. I sent for her shortly after you fled Vienna.”

Well, he’d brought it up; it served him right, he supposed, if she flung Vienna back in his face. “You know, I suppose I should thank you for driving me to flee,” he responded, keeping his jaw clenched tightly so he wouldn’t sneer. “After all, I arrived back in London just in time to reconcile with my uncle and inherit his wealth and title. All in all a very good summer, I think.”

“For me as well, considering that Frederick expired and then you left just as you were becoming annoying.” Diane straightened a finger of her black silk glove. “Now. We will remain at this soiree for two hours. Dance with whomever you please; the more the merrier, actually. Every waltz in that time, however, will be mine.”

He could have disagreed with all of that, of course, but his curiosity to discover her plan outweighed his annoyance at being dictated to. “And what will you be doing when you’re not in my arms?”

“I will
not
be dancing with anyone else. I did that at the Hennessy soiree. Tonight, let them wonder.”

“And when anyone asks me about our connection?”

She glanced at him, then turned her gaze out the coach’s window. “We are old … friends.”

“Ah. ‘Friends’ with a hesitation. Secrets and such.”

“I prefer to think of it as mystery.” She looked back at him again, her startlingly green eyes softened to nearly black in the lamplight. “And you know nothing about the club other than its name and that it will open in one month.”

“Shall I add my advertisement fee to the amount of the loan? I’m not your gossip column, Diane.”

“Then say nothing. That’s even better.”

They rounded the corner, and the lights of Dashton House came into view up the street. When she glanced toward them he caught it—the very slight tightening of her mouth. However confidently she’d learned to speak and behave, she was nervous. Of course, if he’d wagered the amount she had and placed it all on one house of cards, as it were, he might be nervous as well.

“If Blalock hadn’t expired,” he asked slowly, half-wishing he’d decided against voicing the question because first, he didn’t care, and second, it was a complication, “how would you be proceeding? Would you have demanded that fat old lecher take a room above your club? Would you have intimated that you and he were old … friends?”

“Now who sounds jealous?”

“I’m merely curious. I was a last-minute replacement, after all.”

She sighed. “If you must know, in return for leasing the old Monarch Club for my use, Blalock would have been able to entertain there when he wished, with the intimation that yes, we were lovers.”

“Well, you’ll just pretend to be lovers with anyone, won’t you?”

“Why not, if it serves my purpose?”

Oliver lifted an eyebrow. “Why do I have the distinct feeling that Blalock didn’t know you only wanted to appear to be his lover, rather than actually stooping to sharing his bed?”

“He would have discovered that, eventually.”

“You’ve lost every ounce of your heart, haven’t you?”

“Your kettle is blacker than mine. And I didn’t lose it. I disposed of it. It was only getting in my way, the useless thing.”

The coach stopped, and a footman flipped down the steps, then pulled open the door. Oliver stepped down first and caught Diane’s elbow as she descended. “You’re a liar,” he whispered.

“And you’re a coward.” She straightened her gown. “Offer me your arm properly.”

“Yes, my lady.” That last bit stung some, but he supposed he deserved that, too.

“And if you ruin this for me, I will destroy you.”

As much time as he spent deciphering his fellows across a gaming table, Oliver had no trouble at all reading Diane at the moment. She meant it. What she didn’t realize, however, was the deeper the play, the more he liked it.

*   *   *

The difficulty with threatening a man who spent as much time beyond the fringes of propriety as Oliver Warren did was that he simply didn’t frighten easily. Diane could see it in his eyes as he accompanied her into the crowded Dashton House ballroom. She’d very clearly threatened him with ruination, and all she received in response was mild, brief appreciation.

It didn’t give her much reason to believe that fear would compel him to behave as she required. Without that letter she’d carefully locked away, she would have gotten nothing at all from him. And even though she should—and did—know better, it greatly irritated her that the skills she’d worked so hard to master didn’t seem to affect him at all.

“Two waltzes,” Jenny murmured, appearing at her free elbow. “The first one as soon as this quadrille is finished, and the second one directly after refreshments.”

Damnation.
She would have preferred a bit of time to observe the guests and to decide whether to attack or defend before she stepped onto the dance floor with the devil. Diane took a slow breath. Then again, she reminded herself, she was no angel. Without much effort at all she’d managed to send him fleeing the Continent two years ago. Surely she could spar with him for four minutes and not resort to physical violence.

“Is that what she does?” Oliver asked as Genevieve slipped into the crowd again. “Flit hither and thither spying on people?”

“When I ask her to. And she’s quite good at it. So watch yourself.”

“I’ll be too occupied with watching you, and wondering when you’ll realize that threatening me with every other sentence is nothing but a waste of syllables.”

“It’s habit, I suppose. In our brief previous acquaintance you ended by disappointing me.” Whether that word was sufficient to describe her feelings after she realized he’d left Vienna she would contemplate another time. It was more important that he realize she was no longer the weak, panicked ninny she’d been two years ago when they’d met. She was as immune to him as he was to her.

“Haybury. Been wondering if you’d appear this evening.”

Oliver’s arm muscles tightened beneath her fingers, then relaxed again. “Manderlin,” he said. “Have you met Lady Cameron?”

A tall mop of light-colored hair half-obscuring one brown eye bowed at her. The figure beneath wasn’t bad at all and his features were quite pleasant, but that hair—
my goodness.
Someone badly needed to take a barber to that man.

“No, I haven’t had the pleasure,” the fellow drawled. “Introduce me, will you?”

“Jonathan Sutcliffe, Lord Manderlin,” Oliver said without preamble. “Diane Benchley, Lady Cameron.”

“I could have done that much,” Lord Manderlin returned, shaking his head. “I know her damned name. A good introduction includes details. How each of us met you. Whether we’re married or available. A favorite wine or sweet, perhaps.”

“Do your own research.” The music for the waltz began, and Oliver closed his fingers over her wrist. “After this dance.”

She wanted to pull away from his grip, but resisted doing so. The decision to actually take to the dance floor was supposed to have been hers, but then she hadn’t told him that. Thus far he’d tolerated her orders and demands, which gave her the superior position. If she pushed too hard and he balked, she would lose that measure of control—or the illusion of it, which was nearly the same thing.

Still holding her beside him, Oliver made his way to the middle of the dance floor. She approved the location—those not dancing would have only glimpses of her and Haybury, while the couples immediately around them would be able to see but not to hear any conversation. And it would look like they were conversing, whether they actually said anything to each other or not.

Then Oliver slid an arm around her waist, and she jumped before she could stop herself. The marquis cocked his head at her, his own steps unhesitating as he turned her into the dance. “If I were you,” he murmured, “I wouldn’t allow me to see that a simple touch unsettles you so.”

“I wasn’t unsettled,” she returned, favoring him with a cool smile for the benefit of any onlookers. “I was repulsed. I am tolerating you for the sake of The Tantalus, and nothing more.”

“Hm. You’ve generally been less direct with your jabs. You know, statements like that might injure my feelings.”

“It would take more than words to score that rhinoceros hide of yours.” Steeling herself, she looked directly at him—no small feat given the fact that he was at least eight inches taller than she was. “We can attempt to be civil, however, if you prefer.”

“You’re serious? I don’t know which part of me to guard now.”

It would help her cause if they looked friendly, so she smiled. “What is your opinion of current fashion?”

“I prefer black.”

“Very amusing.”

“What do you think of the London aristocracy, now that you’ve returned?”

“I don’t actually wish to tell you anything you might later use against me,” she said.

“You’re too suspicious, Diane.”

“Ah. Well, you taught me a great deal over a very short acquaintance, Oliver. Lessons I shan’t ever forget.”

“You’re welcome, then.” He drew her a breath closer to him as they turned. “Oh, that wasn’t meant to be a declaration of gratitude, was it? You were attempting to shame me or something.” Oliver grimaced briefly. “Hm. Care to give it another go? I can’t guarantee I will appear contrite, but I’m willing to make the effort.”

Resorting to physical violence had never crossed her mind—until that moment. If she attempted to slap him, however, two things were likely to happen: first, he would block the blow; and second, he would push her to the floor in front of everyone and ruin any mystery and dignity she’d managed to build since her arrival in London. “I don’t require contrition. I stated a fact. And here’s another fact: I don’t trust you. And because I don’t trust you, I can never like you. Ever again.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “You’ve decided to abandon civility already, then?”

“Yes. It clearly serves no purpose with you.”

Oliver stopped. In the middle of the Dashton ballroom, in the middle of a waltz. Lady Hubert and her escort nearly crashed into them, and Diane shifted a step to avoid the couple. For a heartbeat she noted that a few years ago such a move would have embarrassed—mortified—her, while now she was only concerned with how to turn the incident to her further advantage.

Offering him a soft smile, she kissed her palm and then placed her hand over his mouth. “You do say the most interesting things, Lord Haybury,” she commented, then whirled away through the tumble of disorientated dancers. Somehow Jenny met her at the edge of the floor and fell in silently beside her. “We’re leaving,” Diane murmured at her companion, keeping the faintly amused expression on her face. “Get us a hack.”

With a slight nod, Jenny vanished again. As soon as Diane passed out of the ballroom and through one of the hallway doors, she slowed, then ducked into the first empty room she glimpsed.
That … man. That arrogant, awful man.