A Wicked Reputation (Once Wicked)

by Liana Lefey

  Facing forward, she pretended utter indifference, as if this entire conversation hadn’t bothered her in the least. Inside, she was an absolute disaster. But she mustn’t let him, or anyone else, see it.

  The annoyance at her side flashed her a wry grin. “I do indeed. Not everyone is easily discerned regarding their most intimate preferences. I, for instance, would not have suspected a man like Harrow of having a foot on either side of the fence.”

  What have I done? Fear spiked in her belly as she mentally castigated herself for being a fool. Exposing Harrow had been an incredibly dangerous move on her part, even though she knew it would be impossible to find any evidence to support a criminal conviction. Still, the scandal of such an accusation would at best be damaging. People might whisper about them now, but as long as she and Harrow maintained that she was the focus of their third’s attentions, the law called it “immorality” rather than a “criminal perversion” deserving of the noose.

  As they rejoined the other picnickers, she forced her features into a pleasant smile that gave away nothing of her inner turmoil. Spying Westing, she practically dragged Blackthorn over to him, hoping to rid herself of the millstone ’round her neck. “You abandoned me,” she accused, giving the man her prettiest pout.

  She didn’t miss the wary glance he shot at her escort before answering. “My apologies, madam. It’s said two is company, and I had no wish to overburden the conversation with a third voice. I hope he did not bore you too much.”

  Beside her, Blackthorn chuckled. “I believe our exchange was lively enough to stave off ennui,” he said, lading the words with intimate overtones. “Would you not agree?”

  Diana wanted to fling her parasol at his head. Instead, she pasted on a sweet smile. “Oh, indeed, yes. I found your advice on cultivating roses fascinating, though I hardly do more than reap the benefits of my gardener’s hard work. He manages the thorns and the manure, you see—and the pruning. He’s absolutely merciless when it comes to pruning. I merely enjoy the results of his tender care.”

  His eyes lit with merriment rather than ire. “Manure and pruning are indeed necessary evils if one wants the best blooms. But one must wield the watering can as well as the shears, for beautiful roses require constant, devoted attention. As for the thorns, I’ve found that most beautiful things often have them.”

  Damn him. The speculative look on Westing’s face told her their not-so-subtle verbal swordplay hadn’t gone unnoticed.

  Thankfully, Harrow chose that moment to come and save her. But before she could greet him, Blackthorn moved between them, leaving her standing rather awkwardly behind him while he began to talk to Harrow.

  Westing stepped in at once. “It seems our friends have things to discuss. Why don’t we find those strawberries?”

  Grateful for having been rescued from any further embarrassment, she took his arm and let him lead her away. Harrow would find her when he was ready. She’d love to have given him some warning concerning what was about to happen, but he was a grown man and could handle himself. In fact, it would likely give them a great deal to laugh about later tonight.

  A chuckle escaped her as she imagined his reaction when Blackthorn began flirting with him.

  “You have a lovely smile, but I suppose you hear that on an all-too-frequent basis.”

  Indeed, she did, and always from men who wanted something. She looked at Westing, not bothering to suppress her mirth. “It never hurts a lady’s vanity to hear it said.”

  “May I inquire as to what amuses you so? Was it what Blackthorn said about gardening?”

  “It was indeed,” she said with another laugh. Peering at him sidelong, she made a snap decision. “Roses were, in fact, not at all a topic of our discussion.”

  The man’s eyes lit with quiet humor. “I thought that sounded a bit far-fetched. The analogies you exchanged were rather obvious. You know, of course, he means to seduce you?”

  “I know he means to try. He made that abundantly clear,” she told him with a long-suffering sigh.

  “And does our friend have any chance at all of succeeding?”

  “I won’t entirely rule out the possibility,” she answered lightly, earning a look of patent disbelief. “But it’s doubtful. I’m no green girl to be swayed by a handsome rogue or a lot of empty promises.” Pausing their progress, she pinned him with a hard stare and watched his eyes widen. “If you truly are his friend, you’ll tell him I’m no easy conquest. Since becoming Harrow’s mistress, I’ve had all manner of men try to tempt me away, from penniless painters to peers. The man who persuades me to leave my lover will have to offer me something he cannot.”

  “And what is that?” breathed Westing, looking as if he were about to be told where the Holy Grail lay hidden.

  She let a wry smile tilt her lips and tried to ignore the empty ache in her heart. “When I discover it, I’ll be happy to tell you.”

  He released the breath he’d apparently been holding. So dejected was his demeanor that she could hardly stand it. Threading their arms, she patted the top of his sleeve, hoping to buoy his spirits. It worked, for his smile returned, but it was a bit less bright than before. “But what of you?” she asked him. “You’ll pardon my saying it, but you don’t seem the sort to befriend someone like Blackthorn. You’re far too wholesome for his company.”

  Now Westing laughed outright. “Don’t let my splendid, angelic appearance deceive you. I’m quite equally as bad in my own way, and I flout Society’s rules on an almost daily basis.”

  “Oh? Do tell, for I delight in rule-breaking.”

  What followed was quite likely the most unexpectedly pleasant conversation thus far that day. Westing wasn’t the rotter he claimed to be by a long shot. He was, in fact, truly far too nice a gentleman for Blackthorn’s circle. Yet she could tell by the way he talked of him that the two were like brothers. She vowed not to ruin his good name if she could help it.

  Blackthorn, on the other hand, had stubbornly put himself on the board and was fair game. She watched him from the corner of her eye as he hovered near Harrow, and it took all her self-control not to let her smile turn smug. Given the way her protector currently looked as if he might asphyxiate, Blackthorn must be making an utter cake of himself. In a way, she supposed it was a good thing she hadn’t had time to warn him what was coming; his startled reaction to Blackthorn’s doubtless unsubtle approach was a genuine one.

  Oh, yes. The after-dinner conversation tonight was going to be simply grand! René must be warned that his beloved was now the object of a determined pursuit by a man who thought himself entirely too clever for his own good. She could hardly wait. Blackthorn had no idea the trouble he’d put himself in with this rash move.

  Although Harrow’s face appeared dangerously flushed, Diana was confident in his ability to handle whatever was thrown his way and had no qualms about setting Blackthorn on him. Her dear friend would know just how to manage the fellow. By the time Harrow was finished with him, the cocky roué would likely be questioning his own leanings.

  She almost regretted doing this to him. Almost.

  If only things had been different…

  No. She couldn’t afford to think about could-have-beens that would never be. Her plan was the right one. She’d let him think her amenable to his advances and allow him to chase his tail on that front while his attentions were divided trying to seduce Harrow.

  Her surprise at his reckless desire to throw what little reputation he had straight to the dogs just to sleep with her had been real enough, but she knew he wasn’t serious about Harrow. True, he’d called her bluff, but he wouldn’t actually follow through. He’d put on a show of trying to win Harrow’s affections for her sake, all the while truly intent only on cozening her into his bed.

  Harrow was right. By the time Blackthorn accepts that he’s playing an unwinnable game, even if he discovers the truth, his name will be so deeply entangled with ours that he won’t be able to reveal it without implicating himself.
>
  She felt no guilt. He’d been warned.

  When Harrow at last extricated himself to fetch her, she found herself reluctant to leave Westing’s easy company and distance herself. But such was necessary if she didn’t want to see his name smeared. She understood why Blackthorn liked him; he was congenial, kindhearted, and without pretension. The perfect friend. How Blackthorn had come to earn his confidence was a mystery.

  The back of her neck tingled as they were saying their goodbyes, and she knew he was staring at her again. Giving in to the impulse, she glanced over her shoulder and confirmed it. Blackthorn’s eyes conveyed the expected desire as he gazed at her, but they also held unconcealed irritation.

  He’s jealous! The blood in her veins surged with victory, but she quashed her excitement. She had no business being pleased to see him that way. When she turned back, she marked Westing’s gaze had followed hers. The benign gentleman’s smile had faltered, and she suddenly knew it wasn’t Harrow reclaiming her that had set Blackthorn on edge, but her easy acceptance of his friend.

  Perhaps distancing herself from Westing could wait a little while. It might be wise to hold that card in reserve in case things didn’t unfold as anticipated. If it all went pear-shaped, they might need his help later to make Blackthorn see reason. She gave Harrow’s side a surreptitious double nudge, silently telling him to invite the person in front of them to further socialize.

  He did so without question, again proving his trust in her. The look on Westing’s face was one of transparent pleasure as he accepted an invitation to join them next Tuesday for an evening of cards. He would round out their group by partnering her while Blackthorn, who’d already been invited, would partner with Harrow.

  She felt bad leaving Westing to bear the brunt of his friend’s imminent displeasure at having been made part of a larger group rather than the more intimate trio he’d wanted, but it couldn’t be helped.

  The look Blackthorn directed at her when Harrow revealed this news as they were taking their leave was accusatory. She met it without flinching. If he thought she was going to make this easy for him, he had another thing coming. Arching a brow at him, she gave him one last chance to withdraw. “We’ll see you Tuesday evening, then?”

  …

  The only thing required was a plausible excuse, and he’d be out of this fool’s game with nothing lost but a bit of dignity. He could say he’d forgotten about another obligation, but that would be letting her win. The gambler in him wouldn’t stand for that.

  Lucas acknowledged her challenge with a raised brow of his own. “I would not miss it for tea with Prinny.”

  Inwardly, he seethed as he bid them farewell and closed the gate between their gardens. After his impetuous decision to call her bluff, he’d gone straight to Harrow to prove he meant business. It had been…uncomfortable, to say the least. But he’d done it, and not without finesse. The man’s reaction to his attentions had been…well, in truth he didn’t know whether or not he’d succeeded in his ploy now that Westing had been invited along to join their Tuesday party.

  Westing. Of all the people Harrow could have invited, Westing was the last he’d have chosen. And he knew she’d had something to do with it.

  I should never have left her alone with him.

  Not only had he experienced an unpleasant twinge of envy at seeing how easily his closest friend had ingratiated himself with Diana, but he was worried for another reason. Westing had never been known for being particularly tight-lipped, and his temptress of a neighbor had doubtless spent the better part of an hour wheedling from him all sorts of information Lucas would rather she not know.

  A sinking sensation gathered in his gut. He could have initiated his plan to “pursue” Harrow another day, but he’d been impatient. And look where it had gotten him—now Westing would be there on Tuesday, making it all but impossible to achieve any progress.

  Unless…

  He could tell Westie, bring him in on the plan, and perhaps even obtain his assistance.

  Lucas trusted his best friend with his life, but he wasn’t certain he could trust him with this insanity.

  The jokes would be unending. Westie would give him absolute hell. For years to come.

  And what about keeping the secret? His best friend’s greatest fault was that he was a friendly, talkative drunk who loved to tell wild stories of friends’ exploits whenever there was plenty of alcohol and an enthusiastic audience. Whether or not Lucas succeeded in achieving his goal, this little escapade would provide infinite fodder for such storytelling.

  He’d make Westie swear on his beloved grandmother’s grave and threaten to reveal his humiliation at the hands of Miss Evangeline Worley if he spoke of it to anyone before all was said and done. Lucas hated using that intimate knowledge against his friend, but if he was going to enlist Westie’s help, it was necessary.

  Now that he’d made a decision, the tension within him eased. It would be good to have a friend on his side. But first, he needed at least a few days’ respite to finalize his hastily made plan of attack and then figure out how best to tell him and exactly how much to reveal.

  …

  “You’re going to what?”

  Lucas, having anticipated Westie’s outburst, maintained an expression of utter calm. “None of it will be real, you understand. I’ll only be pretending interest in him in order to appease her. They have this agreement never to bed anyone they don’t both desire.”

  Lucas had elected not to tell him about the music teacher. Westing need never know, as his sole purpose in this would be to help him keep her from sabotaging his efforts.

  “You’re completely out of your head,” murmured Westie, his eyes like saucers. “You know what they do to people who—”

  “I can assure you I won’t be doing anything to earn myself a hemp cravat,” he drawled. “My end goal is her, not—”

  “And I warned you of Harrow’s views on poaching,” his friend cut in, his look changing from one of outrage to trepidation. “Going after her in itself is dangerous enough, but God forbid he should realize you’re cozening him only to get to her. You’ll get no quick bullet to the brain when he calls you out, but a slow, painful death. No woman is worth that.”

  But Lucas knew better. Harrow may have earned a deadly reputation, but he wouldn’t be foolish enough to actually risk his life challenging someone equally as skilled as himself. Because Harrow wasn’t actually in love with Diana. She was his societal shield—who happened to also be sharing his lover. And therein lay Lucas’s advantage. Harrow might consider her a friend, but surely he wouldn’t mind it if her affections were willingly transferred to someone else, leaving the music teacher solely to him?

  But Westing didn’t know any of this. “You’re asking for a bad end,” the man ranted. “If you truly wish to die, I can suggest a hundred less painful ways.”

  Lucas knew he wasn’t going to be convinced unless he told him the truth. Or part of it, anyway. “Harrow has another lover.” He didn’t have to reveal he knew who it was.

  Westing’s eyes bulged even more. “Of course he does, you blithering idiot! All of London knows they had an overnight ‘guest’ only a couple of nights ago.”

  “No, I mean there is an established third, and it’s not Lady Harrow. It’s another man.”

  Boggle-eyed silence greeted this statement for several heartbeats.

  “You’re even madder than I thought,” said Westing at last. “You propose to intrude where you well and truly ought not. If the pair of them are sharing a mutual longstanding lover, that’s a whole different game, my friend. A much more complex one.”

  “I know it, and there’s more. Harrow and Lady Diana both desire the same man, but not each other.”

  His friend’s gaze narrowed. “How can you know this?”

  “I just know,” Lucas replied, his face warming.

  “You’ve been spying on her.”

  The breath exploded from Lucas’s throat. “I could not help seeing wh
at I saw,” he lied. “My bedchamber windows face hers, Westie! It’s a clear view across our bloody gardens!”

  “You could have chosen to draw the curtains or look away.”

  “As I suppose you’d have done if put in my position?” Lucas drawled. As expected, it elicited a look of chagrin. “I’ve never seen her show carnal interest in Harrow or vice versa. Not once. Her affection is restricted to the other man, as is Harrow’s. They appear to…share him,” he said with a nervous swallow.

  “And you propose to replace this fellow, is that it?”

  “With regards to Diana, yes. If I’m right, Harrow will be happily rid of her when he has his lover all to himself. He can always find another faux mistress—one who won’t be a distraction to his amour.”

  “What if you’re wrong about their arrangement? What if your spying has only partially revealed the relationship between the three of them?”

  Lucas shook his head. “She’s Harrow’s protection from persecution, his employee. They’ve become friends, but they are nothing more to each other. I’ve been observing them, Westie. Her relationship with Harrow is purely platonic.”

  “As platonic as can be when they both love the same man, you mean?” scoffed Westing. He all but squirmed before continuing on to ask, “Do they…interact…with him separately, or together?”

  “I don’t know,” Lucas answered truthfully, his insides twisting. “Every instinct tells me separately.”

  “Instinct? George’s bollocks, man, but you put a lot of faith in your gut! You need to know for certain, not guess at answers.”

  “How can I find out anything more without actually joining their circle?” But his spirits were already lifting. His friend had moved from “abso-bloody-lutely not!” to telling him he needed to know more, which meant there was hope.

  Westing’s face showed all the signs of a fierce internal debate being waged behind it before he answered, “I’ll help you—but only insofar as to learn the truth of it. I’ve my own life to consider, and Charlotte’s family won’t tolerate her suitor being associated with a scandal. Certainly not one of this nature. If you mean to cozen the man into thinking you’re falling in love with him, you’ll have to do it when I’m not around. And that is certainly something I never imagined saying to you.”