TemptressofTime (18 page)

“Do you? Even when they speak as if you’re not in the room?”
Eager to hear his response, she leaned forward. Her dressing gown gaped,
exposing more of her breasts than she’d intended. Or perhaps that other Diane
was responsible for
her
blatant behavior now.

“Perhaps not as much as I do when we play billiards.” To his
credit his gaze merely darted to her bosom, returning almost immediately to her
heating face.
Sweet heaven
, what would he think of her—wanton or
mother-substitute—if she couldn’t decide either?

“Where hand and eye hold sway and all that matters is the
game.”

He nodded, adding, “And winning.”

So the lordling had something more on his mind than just an
invitation to the game. He wanted a prize as well.

“Put your cards on the table, Jason, so we each know what’s
at stake and on offer.”

“I assure you I’ll play the game for as long as you wish,”
he told her with all the
gravitas
his elders might display.

“But?”

“I prefer to be included as an equal. Meaning if I prove
myself the best man…”

“You win the prize. What do you think that is, Jason?”

He smiled that cocksure smile most men gave when certain
they knew the answer. “You. No matter how long or short a time you grant the
winner—a night, a week, a year—
you
are the prize, Diane.”

Blast her traitorous body! She might just bed him whether he
won or not.

* * * * *

The evening being mild, they dined on the terrace just
outside her small breakfast room. Candlelight and moon glow lent a festive cast
to the bantering of the rules the men tossed at her over cigars—which she
smoked—and brandy—which she declined.

At length they compromised on the
when
to
begin—Monday, since tomorrow was Sunday. “Even the Lord rested on Sunday,” she
muttered.

Where
seemed obvious, but Diane made them spell it
out. Anywhere in the house and on the grounds and in the nearby village of
Goldsborough.

What
she would tolerate in the way of touching came
down to kissing and nothing else. Their collective silence warned her to keep
up her guard lest they try to seduce her by going beyond the rules. They could
try, but she wouldn’t succumb. Not as easily as she had in the past, at any
rate.

Please, please, please
, she prayed to whatever god or
goddess could keep her lust at bay.

How long?
To begin the competition, each would have a
day. She would have one day of rest between each suitor, which amounted to men
on Monday, Wednesday and Friday with both Saturday and the Lord’s Day to
recover. What would the two men do while she spent time with one? Whatever they
wanted except intruding on what she was doing. Her hunters were the best in the
county. Her lakes and ponds well stocked with fish. The men would swim alone or
with each other, but she forbade them access to her servants. If they needed
more frequent servicing than what
she might
grant, they could withdraw
from the game right now and leave at first light.

Which led her back to the question left unanswered the
previous night. How had her husband afforded to keep a mistress? She hoped
discussing her immediate past would lead to their revealing what they knew
about
all
her pasts. And might even persuade them into telling her how
to get home.

“Bloody hell!” she exploded in the face of their stubborn
silence. Their reluctance to speak frayed her patience to the breaking point.
“I certainly didn’t give him any money.”

“‘Twas said,” Adrian began.

“His mistresses,” Walker continued.

“Kept him,” Jason finished, earning a glare from his elders.

“In a manner of speaking,” Walker said, his tone implying he
considered the subject closed.

“My house, my rules,” she reminded them. “Of course, if you
find my rules regarding accepting each other
un
acceptable, you may
leave. Now.”

Another round of raised brows and thinned lips and darting
eyes. Growling low in her throat, Diane surged to her feet. “Goodnight. Forgive
me if I don’t rise in time to bid you farewell in the morning.”

Springing to their feet, they corralled her, then herded her
back to her chair and forced her to sit. They stood over her until she expelled
a loud sigh and relaxed her shoulders.

“Sir David lived off women who already lived off wealthy
men,” Walker said, his face tilted skyward, ostensibly to send a perfect smoke
ring away from his tablemates’ faces.

“Wealthy, married men,” Adrian clarified with a scowl at
Jason. An unwarranted scowl, in Diane’s opinion. Or was the young lord married,
Adrian’s words a warning to her?

Jason shrugged. “Beyond repeating gossip, I have nothing to
contribute. I was still at Oxford at the time.”

“Good Lord!” she cried. “How young are you?”

“Four and twenty,” Jason replied with a cheeky grin.

“Twenty, at most,” Adrian countered, a sneer in his voice as
well as on his lips.

“Twenty-two.” Walker’s certainty laid the question to
rest—for now.

Diane ground her teeth. “That being the case—indirectly
living off wealthy men, why did he marry me?”

A brief exchange of glances occurred before Walker said,
“Even the most beautiful women age. Wealthy gentlemen seek younger mistresses
who in turn find poor and aging men less than attractive. His wedding you lent
credibility to his claims that you’d granted him a generous stipend.” He
shrugged and blew another smoke ring.

“When the truth came out that you’d given him nothing and
would continue in that vein, he had one last go at each of his mistresses.”
Adrian’s attempt to outdo Walker’s smoke ring failed. The ring dissolved as it
left his mouth.

“Those repercussions I did hear about,” Jason chimed, his
concerned gaze squarely focused on Diane. “I’ll stop if you wish.”

That kindness boosted him even farther up in her esteem. “He
may have harmed my reputation, but he never hurt me. If that makes any sense at
all.” In all likelihood her counterpart hadn’t liked the cad, let alone loved
him. No doubt she married him so she could do as she pleased. Bed whomever she
wanted.

All three men nodded. Jason continued. “Your vow not to give
him so much as a ha’penny of your money did not prevent his living in your
London house. Nor did it limit his access to your larder and wine cellar.”
Jason’s gaze shifted to Walker, who finished the tale.

“On the evening he died, he invited all his mistresses—”

“How many?” Diane demanded, then shrugged. “Not that it
matters anymore.”
If it had ever mattered to her at all.

“Three were in the house when your physician arrived, your
butler having summoned him,” Walker said, no emotion in his voice.

Good for him. She hadn’t asked for anything more than facts
and Walker had given them with neither sympathy nor condemnation. But his
answer suggested her husband had invited more than those who’d stayed with him
to the end. Did it also suggest those women felt connected to him? Or had they
simply waited until he died in order to loot her jewel cases, caught because
they lingered too long to avoid Bow Street?

“So,” she said into an interminable silence, “
Madame
Maintenant
was really
Mesdames
.” She laughed at her little joke. She
also let go of any bitterness his true wife might have felt when the
circumstances of her husband’s death became the grist for the gossipmongers’
mills. She had apparently given as good as she’d gotten in the matter of betrayal.

As one, the men nodded, inhaled a deep drag from their
cigars, then exhaled perfect smoke rings. Jason’s lingered the longest, causing
Walker and Adrian to grumble and earning her smiles.

“What shall we do tomorrow?” Jason asked. “Church in the
morning, sin after luncheon?”

“Church?” she echoed, startled by the suggestion. She hadn’t
set foot in any church since… She couldn’t remember the last time. Except for
Notre Dame in Paris and Westminster Cathedral in London, she avoided churches
as a matter of principle. Too crowded with tourists her first excuse, too
money-grubbing her second. Although there was that ceremony in medieval times
when Adrian stood as proxy for his twin… Nothing to worry about now, not when
so much more preyed on her mind.

She said, “I’d prefer breakfast on a tray in my rooms. If
the weather holds, luncheon here on the terrace. A quiet afternoon sketching or
bird-watching by the lake. Supper while playing cribbage in the billiard room.”

“Ah!” Jason crowed. “Gluttony and games. What more could we
ask for?”

Three pairs of eyes sharpened on her face. Ignoring the lust
that flash-flooded her body, she bade them goodnight, then hastily retreated to
her rooms.

* * * * *

Foul weather kept them inside.

Adrian sketched caricatures of her, Walker and Jason, then
added one of himself as a skeleton. He claimed he would waste away to
nothingness if she chose to bed anyone but him.

Jason played tunes on the grand pianoforte in the adjacent
music room. The piano, so she’d been told, had recently been tuned. His talent
proved sufficient to eliminate all sour notes from his extensive repertoire.

Diane cuddled under a soft down blanket in a chair by the
fireplace, alternately reading and watching the men while they pretended to
ignore each other.

Walker paced like the great cat she seemed always to compare
him to. Jason wandered back into the billiard room. Adrian set aside his
sketchbook, cracking his knuckles like an unvoiced protest at inactivity. He
and Jason joined Walker, the three of them circling the room like a carousel
atop a music box going slower and slower. When they stopped and stared at her,
she realized they each occupied a different corner of the room. A corner the
men might burst from like boxers at the beginning of a round. Or they might cower
where they were until, like Adrian’s self-portrait, they all turned to
skeletons. Or to piles of bones no one had bothered to bury.

“Enough!” she cried as if they’d all shouted to gain her
attention. They went on staring. “It seems the weather may continue to conspire
against any outdoor activities. Ergo, we must decide what to do with ourselves
when we are not together. Together when two of us are supposed to be together
while the other two are not…together. Are elsewhere, I mean.”

They glanced at each other, then back at her.

“One task remains,” she went on, “before we can begin our
game tomorrow.” Grunts acknowledged her statement. “If I can locate a deck of
cards, we can finalize our plan.”

“What remains undone?” Walker challenged, nonetheless joining
the search for cards.

“Determining who spends time with me tomorrow. And the other
days when we are—”

“Separately together,” Adrian suggested, then laughed.

Relieved at having the tension broken, she laughed along
with the men. “You may cut the cards, with high card winning his choice of
day.”

“I prefer we go by age.” One eyebrow cocked, Walker all but
dared anyone to contradict him.

Adrian and Jason guffawed.

“Of course, Methuselah, you’d prefer age,” Adrian chided, a
grin in his voice.

“Unless he means youngest first,” Jason said, making an
elegant leg to her.

“He does not mean youngest,” Walker said, a smile hovering
at the corners of his mouth.

Diane tallied an unexpected point on her mental slate for
Walker. Teasing the younger men lent depth to his otherwise humorless demeanor
and indicated an ability to laugh at himself. She liked that…perhaps more than
she should.

“I found the cards,” Adrian announced, displaying the deck
like a rare coin held between thumb and forefinger.

“Good. I’ll shuffle.” Pushing off her blanket, she went to
Adrian’s side, her hand outstretched to accept the deck. He held it above her
head, taunting her, daring her to take it away if she could. His longer arms
and greater height gave him an advantage she couldn’t overcome except by using
guile.

“Well then, I cannot teach you a new game,” she tossed over
her shoulder as she sauntered to a chair at the card table. It also served as a
chess table when needed. Or so she assumed, noting the faces of kings and
queens carved into the pedestal base and its checkerboard under the glass top.
Generously cushioned chairs in a
Directoire
style encouraged players to
consider their moves and plan several more in advance.
Linger
, the
chairs seemed to say.

“A new game?” Jason challenged as if someone had installed
electricity decades before technology provided the capability to do so. “In
what gaming hell did you learn a new game?”

The gaming hell called television.
Before she blurted
out the statement, she sniffed as if his doubtful attitude had wounded her. “My
late husband taught it to me before his death,” she lied, her gaze focused on
the tabletop with its black and gold squares.

The men made various noises, leading her to believe they
recognized a lie when they heard one. So how could she lie without lying for
real? Racking her brain, she tried to remember when Texas was first colonized.
Everything she thought of happened later than now. Whenever
now
was—sometime during the Regency period, she assumed based on the men’s and her
own clothing. Praying she could bluff her way through, she said, “The game is
called Texas,” she gave it a Spanish pronunciation,“
sosténgalos
. Texas
Hold ‘Em.”

All three men laughed so hard they doubled over.

“What, pray tell, is so damn funny?”

Shaking his head, Adrian relinquished the deck of cards to
Walker. Making two trips, Jason fetched the brandy, snifters, cheroots and
matches. Walker shuffled, then dealt the cards. Two down to each player, three
face up in the center of the table.