A Beginner's Guide to Rakes

by Suzanne Enoch

  “Mm. Good.” She drew a quick breath as if shaking herself free of the viscount’s spell. He was a handsome man, after all, if not as devastating as the devil beside him. “If you gentlemen will excuse me, I have some things to see to.” She walked to a bell rope hanging against one of the mystery doors, as she and Jenny had taken to calling them, and pulled it. Less than a dozen seconds later the door opened. “Mr. Jacobs will see you out,” she said, keeping her gaze on Oliver.

  One of the very large men she’d hired earlier sauntered into the room. She would have to thank Gentleman Jackson for his recommendations. She’d had no idea that there were so many former boxers willing to work for a lady in search of strong, intimidating help. If Mr. Jacobs and Mr. Smith were as effective as they looked to be at keeping order, she might even hire a few more of the fellows.

  Once Lord Manderlin and Satan left the room, she sent Camille to find Emily. The supposed Miss Portsman had shown herself to be quite proficient at organizing both the ladies’ private quarters and their work and training schedules. And whatever her past, Diane liked the way Emily had stepped in to see to the employees who’d survived Oliver’s lessons.

  Diane looked around the large room with its generously spaced tables, low-hanging chandeliers, and burgundy carpet with pale gold walls. The Benchley family wouldn’t recognize Adam House any longer. Of course they likely wouldn’t recognize her, either—and both realizations suited her just fine.

  “The Persephone Room?” Oliver’s low drawl came from the doorway.

  She continued jotting down the names of Greek goddesses and muses. “I believe Juliet informed you that I’m not entertaining today. And your … services aren’t required, either, as the ladies are learning the menu schedule and how to go about asking noblemen for money. To pay for their food and drink, to answer your next question.”

  “Are you going to offer lines of credit, then?” He strolled closer, his expression cool and otherwise indecipherable. “With my money?”

  “It’s my money until your repayment comes due. And no, I won’t offer credit.”

  “Then you’ll be seeing less wagering and fewer dinners and drinks purchased.”

  “Do you always pay off your bills at your various clubs?”

  He pulled out the chair opposite her and sat. “Yes.”

  “Frederick didn’t. At the time we left London, he owed something near four hundred pounds just at the Society. I can’t tie up that amount of funds for the pleasure of men who gamble more than they can afford to lose.” She set down her pencil and sat forward. “Convince me that Frederick was an exception, that everyone else pays their debts in a timely manner, and I’ll reconsider. Otherwise I prefer to learn from my mistakes and to avoid repeating them. Or having them repeated against me.”

  “Hm.” Oliver pulled the paper on which she’d been scribbling around to face him. “In that case and at the risk of being shot again, I suggest that you place a notice in plain view in the foyer, then. Something akin to: ‘Play only with the cash you have to hand; you’ll receive no credit here.’ Otherwise you’ll run into gentlemen who just assume they can make good later.”

  It was actually a very good suggestion, little as she wanted to admit it. “That’s somewhat long-winded, but I’ll consider it.”

  He fiddled with the paper for a moment, then picked it up. “‘Persephone,’ ‘Psyche,’ ‘Aphrodite,’ ‘Demeter,’ ‘Hera,’ ‘Ariadne,’ and ‘Athena.’ Ariadne’s not a goddess, you know.”

  “I’m not creating a thesaurus listing. And it fits for my purposes.”

  “Why not Artemis? Or Diana?”

  “Diana is Roman, and either one sounds too self-congratulatory.”

  “And they are the goddesses of the hunt. Perhaps too aggressive for a wagering club owned by a female?”

  She glanced up at him. “We defend ourselves when attacked, if that’s what you mean.”

  “I think you know it isn’t, but I clearly won’t win this argument.” He looked at the paper again. “Room names is a fairly clever notion, I have to say.”

  “They go with the name of the club. And saying ‘the Demeter Room’ is easier than saying ‘the billiards room in the northeast corner on the first floor,’ don’t you think?”

  “I can’t argue with that.”

  “For once,” she muttered.

  “Beg pardon?”

  “I said, ‘for once,’” she repeated in a louder voice.

  “Ah. That’s what I thought you said. So are you going to paint the names above the doors?”

  Diane scowled. “That is my intention, yes. The easier the club is to navigate, the more inebriated the guests can be. And simply because I said I would consider your placard doesn’t mean I want to hear any more of your suggestions.”

  He slammed the paper back down with the flat of his hand. “We are in a unique position, you and I,” he said in a low, intimate voice. “I am at your disposal until I either decide that no man’s reputation is worth this insanity, or I steal that letter from you. However, I think it’s only fair that I share one or two facts with you in the meantime.”

  Her small pistol lay beneath her pillow upstairs. Haybury hadn’t been expected today, and she’d yet to encounter anyone or anything else she couldn’t conquer with her wits. She tightened her fingers around the pencil. It wasn’t much of a weapon, but stabbed into a sensitive area it would at least give her time to summon assistance. “Enlighten me,” she said in her most disinterested tone.

  “Two years ago I may have had no money and no home to return to,” he commented even more quietly. “But those two things were not all I left behind in London. Most women, for instance, learned quite some time ago to not attempt to order me about or dictate to me the terms of my life. The one man who attempted it—well, I now hold his title, his property, and his rather substantial fortune.”

  “If you’re attempting to convince me that you murdered your uncle, I’m afraid you’re wasting your time. Unless you employed a witch who cast a spell to have him drop dead in the middle of the House of Lords. Because darling, poison just doesn’t suit you.”

  Gray eyes held hers in a steady, even gaze. “I wasn’t implying anything. I’m telling you—people don’t cross me. They don’t toy with me. They don’t blackmail me. I believe some of them are actually frightened of me.”

  “You’re not a nice man.” She forced a sigh, relieved that it sounded just a touch bored, rather than edged with wariness. This was a game of chance, just as every encounter with him had ever been. She’d merely been a fortnight too late in realizing that fact. “I do know that, Oliver.” She took the paper back from beneath his hand. “I only hope you’ve realized by now that I am simply not afraid of you.”

  To her surprise, he smiled. “‘Afraid’ is not a word I have ever used to describe you, Diane.”

  That almost felt like a compliment. “Then may I assume you’re finished with wasting my time today?” she said aloud.

  “Not quite. How many invitations are you sending out?” He lifted a finger. “And before you tell me to mind my own affairs, I’d like to mention that you wanted me about because of my expertise. Most clubs have a membership committee to decide who may or may not be admitted. Once you send out an invitation, everyone who receives it will assume they’ve been admitted.”

  “The invitations state very clearly that they are welcome to come and view The Tantalus Club for one evening. Membership applications will be handed out then.”

  “How many?” he repeated.

  “Fifty, you annoying man.”

  “Fifty invitations, or fifty applications?”

  “Applications. Three hundred invitations.”

  For a moment he sat silently. “You need more than fifty members. White’s has hundreds, as well as a four- or five-year waiting list.”

  Clearly he wasn’t going to go away until she’d discussed club membership with him. “I’ve a budget to follow, as you know. Five thousand pounds with which to
open a club, hire employees, fund the club’s bank, purchase food and liquor, renovations, furnishings, invitations, enlarge the stable and the front drive, feed the ho—”

  “Then ask for more money,” he interrupted. “Fifty members who are also members of other clubs won’t appear here every night. Nor will they fill seven grand rooms. The place will look deserted, not exclusive.”

  “You would loan me more?” she asked, reluctance making the words catch in her throat. All her plans had been made with Lord Blalock’s budget in mind; when Oliver had been dragged in she hadn’t actually taken the time to consider that he might be able to afford to lend her more. A stupid, behindhand mistake that could now put her in a defensive position. “You made it very clear you were only willing to risk five thousand.”

  “I find that I’m willing to negotiate.”

  And there it was. The sound of the second shoe dropping. She’d been waiting for it, but it still managed to make her heart stutter. Diane sat back. “I won’t pay you a larger percent in interest. That wouldn’t gain me anything.”

  “That’s not what I want. I don’t need more money.”

  “Then what, pray tell, do you want?”

  “You.”

  Her jaw dropped before she could stop it. A thousand thoughts spun through her mind. At least half of them involved her with a weapon and him lying dead. The other half, though … “But I hate you!” she exclaimed.

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  Diane pushed away from the table and stood, her mind working furiously. She could not afford to spend her time retreating from him. “You are a despicable man. Go away before I have you removed.”

  He rose as well, moving around the table toward her. “You could do that. Or attempt it, anyway. But consider my offer. Another five thousand pounds, with the same terms as previously. And one night—no, twenty-four hours—with no one but you and me. At a time and place of my choosing.”

  “I don’t need to consider anything.” Turning, she stalked toward the wall where the rope pull hung even as another avenue of attack occurred to her. “In fact,” she continued, “I’ve been thinking. Your friend, Lord Manderlin, is quite charming and handsome. And you certainly lead him about by the nose. It shouldn’t be difficult for me to do so. I imagine convincing him to lend me—”

  “No.”

  The single word was abrupt, guttural, and spoken directly behind her. Before Diane could process just how close he was, Oliver had her by the shoulder. He yanked her around to face him, and her spine thudded against the wall.

  She lifted her chin, balling both her hands into fists. “You do not get to tell me what to do, Oliver,” she snapped, putting the tremble in her own voice to anger. “And be careful; you almost sounded jealous.”

  “You may play your games with me, Diane,” he retorted, planting his hands against the wall on either side of her shoulders and trapping her there. “But you will leave my friends alone.”

  “‘Friends’?” she retorted. “You have more than just the one? And here I was surprised to see anyone with you willingly.”

  Oliver leaned in until only an inch or so separated his mouth from hers. “We both know you could have found some rich, naïve pup to fund your venture, darling. Over the past two years you’ve perfected the art of manipulation, after all. Or so you want everyone to think.”

  If there was one thing she detested, it was being dissected and cataloged. Wife. Property. Powerless. Penniless. Well, now she was charting her own course, and no one else was allowed at the wheel. “You’re mistaken,” she forced out through her clenched jaw. “I don’t care what anyone thinks. I only care what they do.”

  “Do you truly think you’re that invulnerable, Diane? Because you haven’t convinced me.”

  “And I care what you think least of all.”

  His gaze lowered to her mouth, and her breath wobbled. Did he mean to kiss her again? She tried to convince herself that it was revulsion roiling low in her gut, but it didn’t feel like revulsion. It felt like excitement. Anticipation.

  But she would not give up her control. And certainly not to him. Diane took a breath and met his gaze. “Attempting to prove me wrong?” she prodded. “Do you expect me to melt into your arms and beg you to take over this little venture?”

  His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. “Any begging from you to me won’t be about business.” Moving slowly, he leaned in closer and touched his lips to her forehead.

  The gesture didn’t feel at all fatherly, which she would have disliked as much as anything else. And damn it all, he might as well have kissed her properly—improperly—and let her yell at him for it. Before she could punch him in the gut, he backed away and turned on his heel. “An additional five thousand would give you the opportunity to admit enough members to keep your club solvent, and allow you to purchase those additional tables I know you don’t have. Consider my offer, darling.”

  Diane grabbed a candelabra off the side table and hurled it at him. If her aim had been as sharp as her anger, the brass tower would have slammed into the back of his head and sent him to the floor bloody and unconscious. Instead it brushed his jacket sleeve as he sidestepped but kept walking.

  “You’re better with a pistol,” he commented without turning around and left the room.

  Diane glared after him for a long moment, then strode over to retrieve the candelabra. How the devil he’d realized just how closely she’d had to trim her budget she had no idea, but his estimations were so near the target that arguing them even in her mind made no sense.

  Blast it all. Yes, she’d had to do some quick reestimations of expense when Lord Blalock and her plans to lease an already existing facility had both dropped dead. And yes, she knew she needed a larger club membership—but that meant more upfront purchases of liquor, tables, hay, employees, everything. And a larger amount of cash on hand for those evenings when the players had better luck than the house.

  An additional five thousand pounds would see her precisely where she needed to be. The terms, however …

  “Diane,” Genevieve’s voice came from the doorway behind her, “Juliet informed me that Haybury brought a visitor to see his apartments.”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “Why are you carrying a candelabra?”

  “Because it landed on the floor after I threw it at his head.”

  “I see.” Jenny continued to approach until she could carefully remove the brass fixture from Diane’s fingers and set it back in its place. “And was there a particular reason you wanted to kill the Marquis of Haybury again?”

  “I didn’t want to kill him. Maim him, yes, but not kill him. That would have caused too many difficulties.”

  “Well, I’m pleased to hear you haven’t lost your mind, then. Since I don’t see him on the floor may I assume you missed?”

  “Yes, dash it all.”

  “And why did all this happen?”

  Diane clenched her jaw. Perhaps Jenny’s reputation wasn’t tied into this venture the way her own was, but Genevieve Martine was the one person in the entire world she trusted. She took a breath. “He offered to lend me an additional five thousand pounds.”

  “That’s excellent news. Isn’t it?”

  “One would think so.”

  From Jenny’s expression, she clearly knew she was missing part of the equation. Rather than explain, though, Diane excused herself and retreated to the private part of the house—her sanctuary.

  Once there, she closed the door to the solarium so she could pace undisturbed. Oliver Warren wanted her, and he was willing to pay five thousand pounds for the privilege. Interesting, considering he’d had her for free two years ago and then fled.

  If she refused, of course she could still keep the club, because that was, after all, the reason she’d returned to England in the first place. There was more to the additional funds than easing the strain of beginning a new venture, however—or at least he would see it that way. It would mea
n he’d made a challenge and either gotten his way or made her back down. And damn it all, the man knew precisely how attractive he was and how … proficient he was in bed. But then, she knew that as well. Surely for five thousand pounds she could tolerate his touch for one night.

  And if she accepted, what would that mean? For her, a night of very troubling reminders of how alone and angry and desperate she’d been and how very nice it had felt to be preferred over a deck of cards or a pair of dice. How hungry she’d been for affection and for someone who didn’t see returning to her side each night as merely holding on to the last remaining vestiges of a marriage that had long since failed in every other way possible.

  That was her, however. What did he want? Oliver Warren could easily have a multitude of other women without offering up money. Diane made her way slowly to the nearest window and ran her finger along the bottom casement. In offering her precisely what she needed, he expected her to accept.

  Did he wish another chance to earn her affections, then? Or was he attempting to prove something to himself?

  She scowled. Or it could simply be that he was a man and that she’d made herself unobtainable and that running her thoughts around in circles was only going to give her a megrim. Pressing her fingers to her temple, she resisted the urge to go and see to some task or other and instead stayed where she was.

  Because all speculation aside, he’d made her an offer for a substantial amount of money. And she needed to decide whether to accept it—not because of any plots on his part but because she’d literally staked her entire future on this venture. And those additional funds could make all the difference in the world.

  What was that compared with a night of painful memories and the unabated company of a man with whom she’d once, and fleetingly, felt a connection? In fact, it should have been an easy decision. Why, then, was she being so … impractical?

  Just at that moment the reason rode by on a fine gray thoroughbred, clearly heading from her stables to somewhere in the direction of Grosvenor Square. Perhaps he had other debts to collect on, or, more likely, other women to attempt to seduce.