A Beginner's Guide to Rakes

by Suzanne Enoch

  If she agreed, would he claim victory? He could certainly attempt to do so, but if she viewed it merely as a business transaction, then what had she to lose? She’d survived him before, after all. And this time, at least, she knew the rules. Quite possibly better than he did.

  With a slow smile she rapped her knuckles against the glass and then went to find Jenny. With additional funds coming in, she needed to make a plan. Or two.

  Chapter Nine

  Oliver stood back and watched as two large fellows carried his mahogany desk into Adam House. The matching bookcase had gone into storage, but in truth he spent so little time at home that he didn’t much care what ended up above The Tantalus Club—except for his bed, of course.

  “Haybury!”

  He managed to arrest all expression except for the twitch of one eye and turned to face the barouche parading down the street in his direction. “Lady Katherine,” he returned, inclining his head.

  “It’s true, then!” she exclaimed, calling for her driver to stop beside him. “You’re actually going to reside above a gambling club.”

  “A fitting address for me, don’t you think?”

  Light blue eyes glanced toward the large building behind him. “A club employing only females and owned by a woman. Yes, I should think so. If I were the kind of female who became jealous, however, this would be a stab to my heart.”

  “Lucky for you, then, that you aren’t that kind of female.”

  She tapped her delicate blue ivory fan against her palm. “I think I would very much like a tour of the premises, when you’re available to guide me, of course.”

  The idea that he’d been forbidden to dally hadn’t much amused him from the beginning, whether he’d particularly felt the desire to do so or not. A kept mistress was supposed to be faithful to her benefactor, of course, but here he was the benefactor and he was being blackmailed into keeping his breeches buttoned. It might have been amusing, if he’d discovered someone else being managed in such a way. “Perhaps when I’ve settled in,” he hedged.

  Katherine Falston leaned over the side of the carriage. “You moved very quickly to take these rooms, Haybury. Especially for someone in no particular need of them.”

  “Ah. Well, simply because I never discussed my plans for shifting my residence with you, Kat, doesn’t mean I never had any.”

  “Be a beast then if you wish to,” she returned mildly. “It’s what I enjoy most about you.” At her order the barouche clattered off again, trailed by the half-dozen carriages forced to stop behind it.

  With a silent curse, Oliver turned his back on them. In addition to his movers, Diane had most of her hired chits running about putting the final bits and bobs together for the evening’s soiree. He’d never received an invitation himself, but a brigade of the Coldstream Guards wouldn’t have been able to keep him out of The Tantalus Club tonight. He wondered, though, if Diane had realized that once he’d made it past Langtree and into his own quarters he was essentially inside the club and halfway into her private house, anyway.

  He glanced through the open door, past the additional door at the rear of the foyer, and into the depths of the club. She hadn’t given him an answer yet about his offer of additional funds, which did not help his growing level of frustration any. Instead she’d spent the last few days not being in the same room as he, while her damned silent-moving shadow delivered her instructions.

  When another laden wagon stopped behind him he ignored it. At least he did so until all four of the club’s hired bruisers clomped outside and began unloading gaming tables and chairs. Oliver turned around. Two more wagons carrying identical furniture turned onto the street behind the first.

  “Hubert!” he yelled.

  His valet scampered out of Adam House. “My lord, I don’t know why you leased rooms with an east-facing bedchamber window. Those draperies are not heavy enough to k—”

  “Hubert,” Oliver cut in, “calm yourself. And keep an eye out here. I have business with Lady Cameron.”

  Before the valet could reply, Oliver strode into the foyer. “Langtree, where is Diane?”

  The butleress looked up from a list she had clutched in both hands. “She isn’t seeing visitors, my lord. The grand open—”

  “This is business,” he interrupted, and pushed past one of the arriving tables to stride through the Persephone Room.

  He had to concede that naming the rooms was a rather good idea, and the way Diane had managed to work the goddess’s myth into each room’s decor would make it possible for all but the most inebriated gentleman to at least know where in the club they were.

  In the doorway to the Demeter Room he caught sight of Pansy Bridger, one of his more promising—and hostile—faro students. “Have you seen Lady Cameron?” he asked.

  “In the Athena Room,” she returned, then went back to arranging lamps.

  With a nod he walked through the doorway into the generous space Diane had designated as a library and smoking room. She stood on a stool, placing a last few books on the deep-set shelves. As she lifted her arms, her sleek black skirt rose to expose her black slippers and bare ankles.

  He stood back, watching. Whatever might or might not have been between them, she was a lovely woman. In truth, when they’d first met, her appearance was the only thing he had admired about her. Now, however, she’d displayed spleen he never would have expected from that weeping, vulnerable widow. However, her positive qualities were far outweighed by one horrific fact—Diane Benchley was the only person in the world of whom he’d been afraid. And allowing her to remain in that position simply wasn’t acceptable.

  “You know I can see your reflection in the window,” she commented into the silence.

  So much for the element of surprise. “You’ve purchased more tables and chairs.”

  She continued shelving. “I won’t use them tonight; we’ll need the floor space.”

  “That wasn’t my question.”

  “You didn’t ask a question.”

  He stayed where he was, safely across a good portion of the room from her. “I thought it was implied. As you wish, then. Where did you get the money?”

  Setting a last book into its place, she stepped to the floor and went to put the stepstool back into the corner. “I decided to accept your offer,” she said, so coolly that for a heartbeat he thought he must have heard her wrong.

  Abrupt, raw … hunger stabbed through him, so strong it was almost painful. By sheer willpower alone Oliver kept his feet from moving. Of all the things he’d expected to feel when she agreed to his proposal, it hadn’t been need. “And when were you going to tell me?” he asked, making certain he sounded even more disinterested than she had.

  “I thought you would figure it out when you saw the furniture, which you evidently did.”

  “Perhaps, but that’s not how gentlemen make agreements.”

  She wiped her hands on a rag. “I’m not a gentleman. Nor are you, I daresay.”

  “Nevertheless, I expect you to walk up to me, offer me your hand, and say, ‘I agree to your terms, Oliver.’ And then I will summon my solicitor and have the funds transferred to your account posthaste.”

  He added that last part to remind her that at the moment he hadn’t given her anything, so she’d best cooperate.

  She eyed him, then set down the rag and approached. “Very well. Make whatever silly rules about this you want; after all, it’s clearly about pleasing you.” She stuck out her hand. “As for me, this is business. Twenty-four hours of my time in exchange for five thousand pounds.”

  So she thought she had him figured out, then. How could she, though, when he didn’t know what he was doing himself? He took her hand in his. “You still have to say it.”

  Diane blew out her breath in an exaggerated sigh. “‘I agree to your terms, Oliver,’” she recited.

  He kept hold of her hand for a heartbeat longer than he needed to. “I’ll consult my calendar, then. You’re mine for twenty-four hours—whenever
I choose.”

  “I’m not yours, Oliver. Nor will I ever be again. As I said, this is business.”

  “Call it whatever you like, darling. We’ll see how clinical you can be when I’m moving inside you.”

  Just before she pulled her hand away, he felt the shiver in her fingers. He hoped to hell it was anticipation making her shake, because as coolly as he generally liked to play his games, he was fairly shuddering with lust himself. At least he presumed it to be lust. He couldn’t imagine what else it might be.

  “You’ll be happy to know that I’m nearly moved in,” he continued when she seemed to have collected herself enough to turn away. “By the time your soiree begins tonight you’ll be able to claim me as your … whatever. What am I, again?”

  “You should know better than to leave your skin so exposed, darling,” she retorted, dragging a chair back to its place closer to the bookshelves. “I don’t know what you are. You are posing as my protector. A man interested in me but vague about how intimate we have been and continue to be. Enough to make other men both see me as desirable and realize they can’t have me.”

  “You are desirable, Diane. You hardly need me to convince anyone of that.”

  She tapped her chin with one finger. “I’m more interested in being able to turn them away without insulting them. Attempt to be formidable.”

  “Shall I frown relentlessly, then?”

  Diane shot him a look that contained more humor than he expected. “We’ve discussed this already. Stop pestering me and go prepare to play your part.”

  “And what will you be doing?” he asked skeptically. “Aside from being mysterious, desirable, and unobtainable.”

  “I will be preparing to make as much money as possible.”

  She started for the door back into the Demeter Room, but he moved forward and blocked her path. “Someone will ask about my involvement with the club.”

  “The club is mine, Lord Haybury. You are an employee.”

  “I’m not telling them that.”

  Diane blew out her breath. “Fine. Tell them you are a consultant. You do know a great deal about wagering and clubs after all, since you’ve wasted most of your adult life doing one while inside the other.”

  That blow was a bit direct, especially for her. Sensing that he had her on the run about something, Oliver stepped closer. “I’ll tell them that, then.”

  “Good.”

  “If you kiss me.”

  “I— I am not going to kiss you.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “You will do as I say, Haybury, or I’ll ruin you.”

  “You’d use that letter now? To make me say I’m your consultant? That seems a waste, Diane. Your club isn’t even open yet.”

  Her emerald eyes snapping with anger, she strode up to him, grabbed him by the lapels, and smashed her mouth against his. Before he could even respond she’d pushed backward, moved around him, and left the room. “There,” she said over her shoulder. “You’re my consultant.”

  “That wasn’t much of a kiss,” he called after her, and saw her shoulders stiffen.

  “You aren’t much of an inspiration.”

  The hell she said. At the moment he felt quite inspired. And according to the amount of spirit she showed arguing with him, she was inspired as well. She was saying drivel, nonsense to make him angry and cause him to forget that, first, she had just kissed him, sloppily or not. And second, she’d agreed to come to his bed on a date and at a time of his choosing. A damned fine morning’s work, if he said so himself. Which he did.

  * * *

  Jenny stood supervising as the last of the new tables was carried into a back storage room and covered with a sheet. Tonight the club would be crowded enough that adding the extra seating would only get in the way, but Haybury had been correct in noting that they needed the additional gaming tables if they wanted to keep the rooms from looking too empty.

  Halfway across the room from her friend, Diane stepped aside as a pair of her large bruisers, as Haybury called them, nodded politely at her and returned to polishing the few existing tables that had yet to receive the treatment. At least thus far no one had complained about her policy of having everyone lend a hand when required. Tonight they could look large and stand ready to step in if needed, but for the moment moving and polishing furniture was far more necessary than appearing formidable.

  “Everything here?” she asked as Jenny faced her.

  “Oui. And the cook has just received the last bucket of strawberries, so the tarts should be well on their way to the oven.”

  “Excellent.” Diane took Jenny’s arm as they returned to the main part of the club. “And I have to say, the ladies have come along quite well.”

  “Are we giving credit to the marquis for that?” Jenny asked.

  “No, we are keeping it for ourselves, since we hired him.”

  “You hired him, you mean.”

  “Well, yes.”

  “And you agreed to whatever his terms were for the additional funds.”

  “Yes.”

  Jenny paused for a heartbeat. “But you aren’t going to tell me what those terms are.”

  “Not at the moment, no. Suffice it to say that on paper this five thousand pounds is to be repaid in the same manner and under the same terms as the original loan.”

  Her friend nodded, then tightened her arm, keeping Diane close against her. “Lord Haybury has had little incentive to change his ways, my dear,” she said in a low voice.

  Diane pulled free, scowling. “Whatever you’re implying, Genevieve, I am not in pursuit of that man. Because even if I found him attractive, which I no longer do, I haven’t forgotten that he … very nearly broke me,” she finished in a whisper, wishing she could stop the tremor in her voice.

  “But he didn’t.” Jenny gripped her shoulder. “You are my dearest friend, Diane. If you wish Haybury to disappear, I believe I can see to it.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Diane returned, snorting. “However determined I am to have this go my way, I am not prepared to resort to murder. Thank you for the offer, though.”

  “Just keep it in mind.”

  “Certainly. I do believe in reviewing every option.”

  That kept her smiling until her mind strayed back to the self-satisfied expression on that gray-eyed demon’s face when she’d agreed to his terms. Something swirled down her spine, hot and shivering all at the same time.

  That would be another battle, and she had quite enough madness through which to wade over the next few hours. In fact, that seemed to be the only way she could manage to keep her sanity for the time being. Because business proposition or not, she’d just agreed to share Oliver Warren’s bed. Good heavens.

  Attempting to shake off that rather persistent and unexpectedly heated thought, she did a last circle through the club’s large rooms. The tips of her fingers felt electric as she adjusted a chair here or a festive ribbon there. The previous seven weeks—every conversation, every appearance she’d made, nearly every thought she’d had, had been about this night. Every man she hadn’t invited needed to hear about it and wish they had been. And then she would choose who was allowed to come to The Tantalus and lose their money.

  Deciding how lavishly to decorate for tonight had been a challenge, but as she continued her tour through the kitchen to speak with the cooks and then walked outside for a last word with Clark, her head groom, she thought she’d found the correct balance. Spectacle was good—it was only that extravagance didn’t match with mystery. Elegance, however, did, and as she viewed the string quartets setting up in each room and her ladies making last-minute adjustments to hair and dress before they vanished behind the mystery doors, she didn’t even bother to stifle her smile.

  She sat down with her staff for one final meeting, ate a quick dinner with Jenny, and went upstairs to her private rooms to change into her evening attire. It hadn’t taken much for her to be known as the lady who always wore black, and she’d actually de
bated whether abruptly appearing in crimson might be effective in keeping everyone’s attention.

  After all, every one of her guests tonight would be male, and every one of them would be gazing at the ladies swirling around them, wondering which of them could be seduced. Finally she settled on a sleek black gown sparkling with swirls of black glass beads—she wasn’t the mistress of some bawdy house, after all. And while she didn’t care whether or which of her ladies might accept the favors of a gentleman, that was not her purpose.

  Once she’d made a final turn in front of the mirror, checked the fit of her elbow-length black gloves, and settled the onyx pendant on her throat, she stepped back. Sound didn’t carry from the front into the back of the house; she’d made certain of that. But Adam House felt different. Occupied. A glance around the edge of the closed bedchamber curtains confirmed that bobbing carriage lanterns lined the street and filled the stable yard. The invitation had specified nine o’clock in the evening, and she’d been raised knowing the social importance of a fashionably late arrival. No one wanted to be seen as overly anxious to know what someone else might be doing.

  “What time is it, Mary?” she asked aloud.

  Her maid looked up from putting away the extra hairpins and combs they hadn’t needed. “Ten minutes of nine, my lady.”

  Diane smiled. Early arrivals. This was going to be a very good evening.

  A knock sounded at the door, and Mary hurried over to answer it. A moment later she returned with a folded note. Diane took the missive and opened it. Oliver’s heavy but elegant scrawl crossed the paper, and the steady beat of her heart sped a little—in concern, of course, that he would be attempting something nefarious at the last moment.

  Swiftly she read through it. Are we lovers presently? Am I dancing attendance on you?

  She thought she’d made it clear to him; obviously he was only attempting to remind her that he was a necessary part of her plans. Crossing to her writing desk, she scribbled out a “Yes” beneath the first question, and a “Close enough to do so” under the second and then had the waiting footwoman return it to him. Then she sat down beside her window and picked up a book. Her part didn’t begin for nearly an hour, after all.