by Liana Lefey
It was there, on the tip of his tongue. All he had to do was say it, and this would be over.
Chapter Twelve
A strange calm blanketed Diana as she awaited his answer. It was almost as if she were floating somewhere outside herself, watching the scene play out as on a stage.
When he spoke, she heard it as if from far away. “One night of passion with you.”
Gasps broke all around them.
Blackthorn’s face had gone quite pale, but he held her with an unwavering gray gaze, awaiting her response.
Damn. She’d hoped he might ask for something innocuous, hoped that he’d know better than to claim a prize that might earn him a ten-pace walk on the field of honor. But in her heart of hearts, she’d known exactly what he would request. “I’m afraid that is not within my power alone to grant.”
In the silence that followed, Harrow’s warm hands again enveloped her shoulders, and she peered up at him expecting to see a look of grim resolve. But to her surprise, he appeared almost amused as he gave her a miniscule nod of agreement. Prickles broke out across her skin in a sweeping wave. He wants this to happen!
Numb, she turned back to again address Blackthorn in a serene voice that utterly belied the turmoil inside. “It appears my lover has no objection. Very well then. As you wish.” She raised her voice just enough to be heard above the crowd’s subsequent murmuring. “I would prefer that we discuss the exact terms of fulfilment in privacy.” She glanced up again at Harrow for confirmation, receiving it in the form of another small nod, before continuing. “As such, I invite you to call on us at my residence tomorrow at two o’clock to settle the details.”
Blackthorn’s glance darted between her and Harrow as he answered, “I look forward to it.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, betraying his nervousness.
Ramifications sinking in, are they? Afraid you’ve gone too far? Good. She had no sympathy to spare him. Too many other emotions were already crowded inside her, all in disarray as each fought for supremacy. Part of her dreaded the encounter, but the larger part of her was far more excited than afraid.
She was used to men lusting after her. What she wasn’t accustomed to was reciprocating their desire. Even now, though her insides shook with apprehension, she wanted Blackthorn. Briefly, she wondered if she would’ve been bold enough to request the same forfeit of him had she been the winner.
Those bearing witness to tonight’s battle certainly would’ve expected it of someone like her. Mistress. Harlot. Whore.
She was, in truth, none of those things, but these people couldn’t know it. Blackthorn will find out soon enough. Another wave of panic threatened, and she quashed it. Until that moment arrived, she had a job to do. Donning a mask of cool sophistication, she rose, forcing her erstwhile opponent to follow protocol and rise also. Harrow immediately offered his arm, which she took before again addressing Blackthorn. “Until tomorrow, my lord.”
When she turned around, it was all she could do not to falter on seeing a veritable sea of bodies between her and the door. The room had filled to capacity while they’d played, and now all eyes were on her as the crowd slowly opened a path before her and Harrow.
The silence was so thick it was practically palpable. She wondered how anyone in the room could even breathe for it. Harrow’s arm kept her steady, granting her a measure of security as they ran the gauntlet. It was less crowded out in the hallway, at least. As they entered the ballroom, faces swiveled around to regard their passage.
Gossip travels faster than dawn’s light. It had been one of her mother’s favorite sayings. Everyone here tonight would know of this before the ball ended. By mid-morning, all of London would know.
As they walked, her toes ached where Lord Burlington had bruised them. But she felt the pain as if from a great distance. It was a queer sense of detachment, this. As if someone else were experiencing these events, as if someone else were causing her legs to move her forward a step at a time. Even the music seemed weirdly muffled to her ears.
It was only belatedly that she realized Harrow was leading her once more to the back of the ballroom. Of course. They’d come in through the gardens, after all. Though she knew it would only add fuel to the fire for them to leave by the same path, she couldn’t find it in herself to be anything but grateful. She’d be home within just a few minutes.
Before they made it to the exit, however, Harrow stopped and turned.
As he swung about, Diana saw they’d been followed by their host. Blackthorn joined them at the door, his expression full of uncertainty as he extended a tentative hand.
At once, Harrow reached out and clasped it, granting him a broad smile as he pulled the other man close enough to murmur something at his ear. She didn’t catch his words, but whatever he’d said caused Blackthorn to shoot him a relieved smile as they parted. The message to all observing the exchange was clear: what had transpired tonight had caused no enmity between them.
Diana took her cue from this, so that when Blackthorn bowed over her hand, she forced her lips into a sultry smile. The look he cast up at her as he straightened was filled with a mixture of apprehension and naked longing. He’d won the prize he sought, and he’d managed to circumvent the obstacles she’d thrown in his path, but it was clear he had misgivings.
He’s not the only one. She stood and waited while their host summoned a servant with a lamp to light their path back across the gardens. The ache in the toes of her left foot had become a painful throbbing now, and all she wanted was to be home, soaking them in hot water. Just a little while longer…
As soon as they crossed the threshold, Harrow surprised her by swooping down and picking her up. Grateful to be off her feet, she laid her head on his shoulder and let him carry her without protest. The walk back through the gardens felt a mile long and seemed to take forever. So many words perched on the tip of her tongue, but she dared not speak until they were inside.
The moment the door to her house swung open, Harrow gave the gate key to the servant posted there to await their return, along with instructions to secure the gate and then give the key to the housekeeper.
A soft laugh broke from Diana’s throat, easing the tightness there as he climbed the stairs still carrying her. “I can only imagine what they must all be thinking.” Blackthorn would know it was her sore feet which had prompted her protector’s gallant act, but no one else would. They’d all think Harrow gone mad with jealousy, hauling her across the gardens and upstairs to doubtless ravish her the instant they arrived in her bedchamber.
Relief flooded her as Harrow deposited her on her bed and told Francine to have the kitchens ready water for a bath and bring it up in half an hour. She didn’t move until he came back, shut the door, and drew the curtains. Then, knowing it was safe, she finally addressed him. “You knew he’d win.”
His face was a study in serenity when he answered, “I thought he might, yes.”
“I’m still a virgin,” she reminded him, not bothering to mince words. “Or have you forgotten?”
“What difference does that make?”
Her temper flared, making it an effort to keep her voice down. “It will make a world of difference the moment he discovers it!”
“Then you do intend to go through with it,” he said, a faint smile curving his mouth.
“As if I have any other choice.” But her words lacked any real bite.
“Of course you have a choice, Diana,” he scolded, kneeling on the floor beside the bed to take one of her feet into his lap and gently remove one of her dancing slippers. “If you don’t truly want him, I’m happy to negotiate different compensation.” He looked up at her with sorrowful eyes. “I would have thought by now you’d know me better than to think I’d allow him to touch you without your enthusiastic consent. Had I thought you did not want his attentions, I would have called him out for his cheek. I still can.”
That he would risk his life to protect her—not for the sake of his own reputation, but to p
reserve her virtue, should she want to keep it… The backs of her eyelids stung, and she blinked back tears. No, she didn’t want Harrow to call Blackthorn out, and she told him so. “But the problem of my virginity remains. As soon as he discovers it, our ruse is ended.”
Harrow peeled off her stocking and examined her foot, cursing under his breath at the purple bruises already visible. “Burlington is a menace. There ought to be a law prohibiting the man from dancing,” he growled, making her laugh in spite of herself. “I won’t tell you to pretend otherwise because, as a man who once took a virgin bride, I know all too well it is not something that can be hidden. But our actions tonight guarantee his silence on the matter. He may discover the truth, but I can promise you he will never speak of it.”
“You’re as bad as he is, taking such risks,” she grumped, wincing as he liberated her other foot. It was even worse off. “This needlessly jeopardizes everything we’ve worked to build.”
“Love is never needless.”
She felt the blood leave her face at his words. “Love has nothing to do with it.”
“Does it not?”
Something in her chest tightened. But it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. “We hardly know each other.”
He pulled a wry face. “I’ve seen the way you look at each other. If you’re not in love, you soon will be. As for him? He’s already long gone over the edge of that cliff.”
Astonishment stole all her words for a moment. She ignored his assertions about her feelings, instead addressing those concerning Blackthorn’s. “Do you mean to say that you think…you think he’s in love with me?”
Her best friend chuckled as he grasped her legs by the ankles and swung them up onto the bed. “A blind man could tell, although he likely has no idea yet, himself. Men like him are often that way.”
Diana didn’t question it. Harrow was very good at reading others, and she trusted his opinion. But believing Blackthorn was in love with her changed nothing. “It makes no difference. As soon as he realizes he’s been lied to, he’ll figure out the rest of the truth, putting you and René in danger. No. I won’t do it.”
Harrow sat on the edge of the bed beside her. “If he had not already suggested raising the stakes tonight, I would have,” he confessed, again surprising her. “But I’m glad he did it without prompting. Allowing this to unfold the way it has means I won’t be forced to call him out—because the prize is being willingly granted rather than taken by force. Lean forward.”
She did as he bade, allowing him to unfasten the back of her gown as he continued talking.
“When he comes tomorrow, I’ll set the terms of your debt’s fulfilment. The first is that it will be carried out here. That will be non-negotiable. The second is that he will speak to no one concerning the details of what happens between you.”
The way his hands hesitated as he untied her sash told her there was more. “And the third?”
Harrow’s cheeks flushed as he leaned back to look her in the eyes. “Not to detract from the sentimentality of it all, but there are certain practicalities to be considered. He will discover you’re a virgin. He’ll guess why, and you’ll have to tell him the truth about René and I and your part in our lives. If a child should be born as the result of this wager, Blackthorn must claim responsibility for it. I will brook no dispute over Henry’s inheritance.”
The thought of bearing a child out of wedlock elicited all sorts of panicky sensations. “The herbs you spoke of to prevent conception, we must obtain some so I may begin taking them at once. But even they are no guarantee. Should it happen, there is no way to force him to acknowledge the babe as his own. You know this.”
“I beg to differ.” A grim smile thinned his lips. “If he should think to refuse, I’ll threaten to let slip that he was interested in more than just you when he made that wager.”
Alarm tightened her stomach. “But that would expose—”
“That was my foolish temper talking just now,” he said ruefully. “Pay it no heed, I beg you. I promise it won’t come to that. Blackthorn may have been willing to dance at the fire’s edge with regards to his reputation, but he won’t wish to leap into the flames direct. He would not survive the scandal of it. I would. I have. My reputed penchant for sharing your charms is widely accepted as debauched but within the law.”
“Because there are no witness accounts to say otherwise and because we’ve fed the assumption that your interest is in me and not our overnight guests,” she supplied as he eased the gown down off her shoulders.
He let out a dark chuckle. “They certainly won’t assume the same of Blackthorn after the way you had him chasing my coattails this month. Why do you think I was so friendly with him when we left tonight? Trust me—he’ll cooperate.”
Diana had to admit he’d tied it up rather neatly. “Your ability to manipulate others into doing your bidding is a little frightening at times, you know.”
“The man did this to himself,” replied Harrow, spreading his hands wide. “He was so eager for you that he was willing to take wild risks.”
Shifting the skirts of her gown out from beneath her, she settled back against the pillows in her chemise to await the arrival of her bath. “I should be flattered,” she said on a sigh. “Instead, I’m afraid. Afraid he’ll be wroth when he finds out I’m not really what he wants. I’m no courtesan—I have knowledge of love play, but no experience.”
Reaching out Harrow tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear. “My dear, I think he would want you no matter what your occupation or experience.”
“He did not want me when I was a debutante,” she retorted softly, fingering the fine linen of her chemise. “I was too boring for him then. I can only imagine his disappointment when he finds out I’m the same person I was when he first met me.”
“But you’re not,” he said, his voice gentling. “Not even close. You’ve learned more about yourself and the world in the last two years than most of your peers could even begin to imagine. If he is disappointed with you, then he’s a damned fool.”
A knock sounded at her door. Standing, he leaned over, planted a kiss atop her curled head, and whispered. “As soon as they’ve gone, I’m going to signal René to come through so we can fill him in on what’s happened.”
It meant bathing in her chemise behind a screen for decency’s sake, but she didn’t mind. The last thing she wanted right now was to be left alone with her thoughts and fears.
…
Watching Harrow carry Diana across the gardens made Lucas’s stomach do an odd little flip. He knows her feet are sore. That’s all it is. Still, it made all the appearance of a man determined to wipe out all thoughts of other men from his lover’s mind.
“I say,” said Westing, eyes bright with curiosity as he joined him. “You, my friend, have bollocks of solid granite. Congratulations. I cannot believe you managed it without getting called out.”
“Neither can I,” Lucas grated, snagging a glass of wine from a passing tray and downing it. “But don’t congratulate me quite yet. Nothing is final.”
“You think the lady may try to renege?”
“I don’t,” he replied, certain. “But the details must be worked out. With Harrow.”
“But you’re friends now, are you not?” murmured the other man with enthusiasm. “I saw the way you parted company—that was not an angry or jealous man. If anything, he looked pleased,” he added with a good-natured elbow nudge. “You’ve done it, my friend! O happy man, to have been welcomed into that elite circle.” Stopping, he faced Lucas and puffed out his chest. “I know you’ll make England proud.”
Laughing, Lucas brushed past him. Yes, he’d done it. But at what cost? Westing had known of his plan from the beginning, but he was the only one. Everyone else here must make assumptions based solely on observation—and what they’d seen painted him in a very questionable light.
His reputation as a gambler and lifter-of-skirts was one he’d built with great care and deliberation. Had he
just taken the first step in destroying the latter? He had won a night with Diana, but he’d also played the part of Harrow’s shadow now for weeks. He’d even gone to the man’s tailor with him, for heaven’s sake.
Then again, Harrow’s known vice was specific. Diana had told him her protector liked to watch. Well, he won’t be watching me. Of that much, Lucas was certain. He wanted her all to himself. No voyeurism would be permitted.
But what if it was one of Harrow’s requirements? Could he do it? He’d tupped a willing wench with other men in the same room before. It shouldn’t feel any different. But Lucas knew it would. Those had been his university mates, and as far as he knew none of them fancied other men. Harrow did. Even though they were on friendly terms, and even if the fellow never laid a finger on him, it would feel…awkward.
The very idea made his palms sweat. I’m beginning to regret making that wager.
But even as he thought it, her image rose in his mind’s eye. The memory of her smile, her laugh, the way the sun glinted in her hair, turning it into spun gold. Her soft voice, the way she looked at him as if seeing into his very soul. She was utterly captivating.
And he liked her. Her forthright manner held such appeal. He didn’t like people who dissembled. Especially women. She was different.
He liked her a great deal. Enough to admit to himself he wanted more than one night. The original plan, then. Persuade her to leave Harrow and their lover.
It still rankled that he didn’t really know who the fellow was. He’d seemingly come from nowhere. As skilled a pianist as he was, he ought to have had some patronage before becoming Harrow’s lover.
Lucas’s step faltered as another thought struck.