by Liana Lefey
“And how long do you think that will last before people start presuming you and he are also…involved? You’re already known to be good friends, and he’s ‘sharing’ me with you tonight. You must consider how it would look.”
“As long as we are discreet, stick to our story, and no one can prove otherwise, people can speculate all they like.”
“That’s a reckless way of thinking, and it leaves too much to chance.”
“You were the one who suggested it as a possible solution.”
“Only because I thought you would never actually consider it,” she confessed, frowning.
A smug grin spread across his face. “I guess I’m more open-minded than some people assume. Why would it be any more reckless than what you currently have in place?”
Sighing, she rose from the bath. It was growing tepid anyway. “To date, there has been no one person people can point to and say, ‘there he is, the man who shares their bed.’ As of now, it’s just something people whisper of and snicker over in dark corners at balls. As I said, a titillating bit of gossip. But if you become that man, it gives people a target for their curiosity and their disapproval. From there, it will progress to persecution, and that risks engulfing us all. I cannot allow that to happen. Too many people could be hurt.”
“Then the only solution is to become my mistress outright,” he said, following suit and stepping from his bath. “We’ll think of a way to make the transfer that won’t damage people’s perception of him as a man.”
She was already shaking her head in denial. “No. I made a promise, and I intend to honor it. If you wish to engage in the occasional rendezvous with me, we will need to arrange it with Harrow, and it cannot be so often as to give rise to the aforementioned consequences.”
“That’s not going to work for me, Diana.” Coming up behind her, he wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder. “I can tell you now I’m going to want to see you more often than what you’re suggesting.”
Part of her was thrilled to hear him say it, but she knew it wasn’t safe to let that part overrule good sense. “I feel the same way, but we must be prudent about this.” It was difficult, but she clamped down on the longing that rose up within her, wrestling it under control. Emotions—especially ones without any chance of reciprocation—couldn’t be allowed to get in the way of her purpose.
He kissed the damp curls at the nape of her neck. “If you give me the key to the gate, I could slip in under cover of darkness and no one would be the wiser. We could even plan ahead for it.” His lips nuzzled her ear. “I could come every Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday.”
Laughing, she turned in his arms. “Lucas—”
“I love the way my name sounds when you say it.” He dropped a kiss on her upturned lips.
She pulled back before he could deepen it, but didn’t break the circle of his arms. “I cannot be persuaded,” she said on a laugh, which was wrung out of her despite the intention to sound stern by the sight of his pursed lips chasing hers.
“Care to wager on that?” he taunted, waggling his brows. When she didn’t answer immediately, he moved to her neglected ear to nuzzle it, too. “You should reconsider your response to either option. I believe a clean break would be better, but I’m willing to risk a quick run through our gardens during the wee hours if it means I get to do this several times a week.” His lips trailed across her collarbone.
Damn him. After what they’d done tonight, she knew she’d be unable to resist the temptation he represented. She needed to talk to Harrow about this. Unlike her, he would have a clear head and be able to look at it objectively. Well, more objectively than her, at least at the moment. “I’ll think about it,” she said noncommittally, bending her neck to give him better access.
…
The following day after Lucas left, Diana told Harrow about his offer and watched with utter confusion as he smiled and then softly chuckled. But he agreed with her that it was too soon to consider such an abrupt change. He also agreed to plan more rendezvous for them—not frequently enough to raise any dangerous suspicions, but often enough she knew people would begin to wonder about the men’s friendship. It worried her.
He waved away her concerns. “They already think we are closer than we ought to be. It won’t make a jot of difference one way or another.”
Reluctantly, she also told him of Lucas’s idea to visit her in secrecy via their garden gate.
A smile creased his face. “I’ve already had a copy of the key made for you to give to him, as well as one for the back door.”
It was several seconds before she could force her mouth, which had fallen open in shock, to form coherent speech. “I—I beg your pardon?”
“It’s ridiculous to imagine him staying away, Diana,” said her friend, frowning at her as if she were being deliberately obtuse. “He’ll be scaling the damned wall and making an enormous racket trying to get you to let him in if you don’t grant him a quieter means of access. I leave it to your discretion, of course, but unless you prefer to be the one sneaking about at night outdoors, you had better leave it to him. Then if he’s caught, it lands on his head and not yours.”
“As if I would ever do so foolish a thing as sneak about at night to meet with him!” she snapped, indignant. Her ire only increased when he gave her a sidelong look full of doubt. “I’m in love, but I’m not stupid!”
Horrified, she clapped her hands over her traitorous mouth, but it was too late. The words, formed without forethought, had already escaped. A low moan escaped from between her fingers as she met Harrow’s now smug gaze. Her hands shot back down to her sides, clenched in fists of outrage. “You planned for this to happen!”
“No, my dear,” he replied, his complacent look transforming into one of utmost sobriety. “But a good tactician always prepares for every contingency. I knew it might happen, but I could not have predicted when or with whom.”
“How can you be so calm about this?” her voice wobbled, and she knew she was dangerously close to tears. “Everything, all our plans, they are falling apart!”
Coming over to her, he gently grasped her shoulders. “Plans can be changed.”
…
The following day Lucas turned the key to the garden gate over in his hand, astonished beyond words. She’d sent it and another, smaller key wrapped in a parcel via one of her footmen. The note that accompanied them simply read:
Mondays and Wednesdays at the second hour.
L.D.H.
Happiness welled up in a rush, making his skin tingle in anticipation.
Later that same day, a letter also arrived from Harrow inviting him to again join them the following Tuesday and Thursday for cards and musical entertainments, additionally informing him that his good friend Westing had also been invited.
However, Westing, he learned that evening at their club, hadn’t been as pleased to receive the invitation.
“I’m afraid I had to politely decline,” said the other man, frowning over his brandy.
Perplexed at his friend’s sudden change of demeanor, Lucas leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Why? Has he done something to offend?”
“Not exactly.” Westing looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Perhaps we ought to retire to somewhere more private to have this discussion.”
Once they were in Lucas’s carriage, it came out.
“I’m afraid Charlotte’s parents are displeased by my association with Harrow. I cannot join you without risking their disapproval and possibly the withdrawal of their permission to court their daughter.”
“Damn,” Lucas muttered. He’d not thought the stain would set in so quickly. “Tell me this does not extend to our friendship?”
“No, of course not. Although…”
A trickle of dread ran between Lucas’s shoulder blades. “Although what?”
Westing heaved a sigh. “The wager was one thing, but your deepening friendship—or whatever it is—with Harrow could become a concern.
Her family is highly adverse to anything that smacks of immorality, and they firmly believe in guilt by association.”
Snorting, Lucas eyed him. “If that’s true, then I’m surprised they saw fit to allow you anywhere near their daughter in the first place. And what do you mean ‘or whatever it is’?”
The look Westing gave him was penetrating. “Everyone knows you claimed the forfeit. They also know Harrow stayed at her house that same night. I’m sure you can guess what’s being said about that.”
“I spent the night with her, Westie.” He debated his next words carefully, but was sure they wouldn’t contravene his agreement with Harrow. “No one else was in that room with the two of us, I assure you. Harrow remained there overnight because he was uncomfortable leaving her there alone with me. It was a matter of his ensuring her safety.”
Westing raised his palms in surrender. “I believe you, but surely you must know that not everyone will. You know how determined some people are to believe the worst of others.”
“I assume Charlotte’s parents are of said ilk?”
“You assume correctly,” replied Westing, his voice flat as a crepe. “I’m going to have to become a damned altar boy if I want to marry her—and I do want to marry her,” he added softly.
“Are you certain you’ve selected the right bride for a man of your particular moral fiber?” Lucas asked, giving him a sidelong look. “There are plenty of women out there, old boy. You need not burden yourself with one who does not suit.”
“But she does,” insisted his friend. “She’s perfect for me. I adore her in every possible way.”
The quiet admission set Lucas back on his heels. “I must applaud the lady on her efficacy. To have set her hook in so quickly no doubt requires great skill.”
“You’re one to talk,” drawled Westing with a smirk. “I’m not the only one with a hook in his cheek. You’ve been reeled in with just as much skill as I, my friend.”
His words drew a flush up Lucas’s neck, but he laughed it off. “I’m not the one who just confessed he’s in love. I may enjoy Diana’s charms, but you don’t see me setting aside my friendships in order to win anyone’s approval.”
“Not yet. But you may find yourself dancing a different jig when your father hears about you and Harrow,” his friend muttered back.
The way he said “you and Harrow” made Lucas’s hackles rise. She’d warned him, but he hadn’t expected his best friend to be the first to jump aboard that coach. “Just to be perfectly clear, my ‘interest’ is in Diana, not her protector,” he growled, glaring. “That you of all people would even imply otherwise is an intolerable affront.”
Westing’s expression became unreadable. “It was not my intent to imply anything of the sort,” he said quietly. “Any such interpretation was purely your own.”
Lucas’s heart slowed, and the anger that had begun to boil in his veins ebbed away. “Your pardon. I suppose I may indeed be a bit anxious over the prospect of what people might say, after all.”
“Forgiven,” his friend murmured a moment later. “Considering what just occurred, I do hope you know what you’re doing and are prepared for the ramifications should this continue down its current path. This is not the same as tupping other men’s neglected wives. People are willing to overlook that sin.”
“I’m well aware of the situation into which I’ve put myself,” he answered. Drawing up his courage, he looked his friend squarely in the eye. “I knew the possible consequences when I began pursuing her and accepted them. Having said it, I don’t wish to lose your friendship over this.”
Westing’s usual irreverent expression returned. “That won’t happen, I can assure you. I may not be around as much until after the wedding, but once my ring is on Charlotte’s dainty little finger, her parents will have no more leverage over me. They certainly won’t be dictating my friendships or pruning my circle.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
Westing leaned closer, his expression avid. “So, what was she like?”
Lucas laughed.
…
The first night Lucas used the keys, he nearly worried himself an ulcer. Just traversing their gardens unseen—and unheard, considering he tripped over what felt like every rock and root in Christendom while fumbling in the dark—seemed an impossible challenge. Cursing beneath his breath the entire way, he questioned his own sanity.
On reaching the house, he waited in deepest shadow several long minutes to be sure all was clear and quiet before venturing within. He tiptoed down the dimly lit halls, keeping to the thick runners to deaden his footsteps, praying he encountered no stray servants. His trepidation evaporated, however, upon entering his amour’s boudoir and finding her waiting for him—naked.
Their second night of passion was well worth his nerve-wracking journey. As was their third.
Days slid by, becoming weeks, during which Lucas saw more of Diana than he’d dreamed possible. Evenings spent playing cards with her and Harrow actually worked to stave off the ugliest of rumors, as there were always servants—or, as he now liked to call them, spy eyes—present, and he always returned home before it grew too late.
The keys were a godsend, allowing him to come to her on their appointed nights, which changed from week to week to avoid establishing a pattern. There were a few close calls where he nearly ran into a servant either at his house or hers, but he managed to evade detection.
Between these clandestine visits, Harrow arranged more “official” ones, providing just enough grist for gossip’s mill to perpetuate the myth of his own voyeurism. But Diana had been right in predicting that the longer these went on, the more people would begin to suspect the men’s friendship of being something else.
And indeed, no one dared say anything to his face, but Lucas began to feel it hanging in the air like a foul miasma whenever he went to the club to meet up with Westing or other friends. A few of these became increasingly absent during the times they usually met, and when he subsequently ran into them about Town, there was an awkwardness present that hadn’t been there before.
It stung. He felt the weight of their judgment on his shoulders as tangibly as if someone had settled a cloak about them. And it made him wroth. Such fair-weather friends were well shed, as far as he was concerned—and easily replaced, he soon discovered.
Harrow had many friends, all of whom Lucas quite liked. They were no different than the people he’d known most of his life save in one area: they were, in general, far more easygoing and a great deal less judgmental. And because Harrow was a marquess, many of these friends were part of a much higher circle than the one he’d been privileged to inhabit prior.
This was a thought that warmed him whenever he was forced to endure parental disgruntlement—which was no laughing matter—or bear the slights of certain former comrades.
Meanwhile, the time he spent with Diana was something he found himself anticipating more and more. It wasn’t even the prospect of engaging in carnality the likes of which he imagined few men ever enjoyed—she had, he’d determined, almost no inhibition regarding anything he wanted to try and had even surprised him with a few shocking suggestions herself—but rather the time they spent talking and laughing together.
At random moments, he often found himself wishing she was with him to share news with or ask an opinion. Nights when they couldn’t be together were the worst. His arms felt empty, his bed cold. On the nights he did spend with her, their time together was far too brief for his liking. More and more, he wished he could wake up in her arms with the dawn, as they did on those special occasions when Harrow extended an invitation to overnight as their guest, instead of having to arrive and depart like a thief under cover of darkness.
There were several flies in the inkwell when it came to their relationship. For one, the stealthy nocturnal visits were both nerve-wracking and exhausting. The possibility of being caught lent a certain excitement to the endeavor, but it was also worrisome. The loss of old friends and the
increasingly emphatic disapproval of his family were both ticks in the negative column. Being called a molly behind his back—and he knew it was happening—was yet another.
But there was one inky fly that bothered him more than all the rest combined. Though he and Diana had shared many personal secrets with each other over the feather mattress, she steadfastly refused to discuss the circumstances which had led to her being disowned by her family.
If Lucas had one grave fault, it was the same insatiable curiosity that had led him to Diana in the first place. He knew the same story everyone else did, that Viscount Grenville had abandoned his fiancé and eloped with her closest friend, telling everyone it was because Diana had been compromised by another and thereby ruining her. Well, Lucas knew that for an outright lie, which meant there had to have been some other reason why he’d done it.
One night as he was coming home after an evening of cards and music with his new friends, Lucas had a clever thought. If she wouldn’t tell him, perhaps Grenville would.
He didn’t request an appointment. He didn’t send ahead to tell the blackguard of his intent to call. He simply showed up on the man’s doorstep the following morning claiming to have business with his lordship.
Unfortunately, Grenville wasn’t at home, but Lady Grenville was. As Lucas was of equal rank with her husband, he was permitted to come inside to leave a message with her on his behalf.
Knowing this woman had once been Diana’s best friend made him fairly itch to meet her. She was a piece of Diana’s past, and part of the puzzle he’d as yet been unable to complete. He was uncertain of her culpability in the affair, but instinct told him one didn’t marry a beau belonging to one’s best friend without there being an element of betrayal involved.
The lady, when she came to greet him, was pretty enough, if a bit wan and tired-looking. Grenville chose a candle for his bride when he could have had the sun. “Madam, I’m pleased to make your acquaintance and must apologize for my unannounced presence here today.”
“What may I do for you, Lord Blackthorn?”