A Beginner's Guide to Rakes

by Suzanne Enoch

  Last night, however, his mind had evidently fled the premises. And the damnedest part of the disaster was that sex with Diane Benchley had not accomplished what he’d intended. Because while she’d clearly enjoyed the tumble physically, her mind and her heart had remained her own. Not that he’d intended to lure her into heartbreak again, but he found it aggravating that he’d lost control when she hadn’t.

  This was supposed to be about proving to himself that Vienna had been … unique, a fortnight-long instance of mental confusion and weakness on his part. He was now supposed to be done with her—except that clearly he wasn’t.

  Shifting carefully, Oliver slipped out of the bed, pulled on a pair of trousers, and went to his front room to ring the servant’s bell hanging against the wall there. A handful of seconds later, someone knocked and he pulled open the door. “Langtree. Good morning.”

  Her steady gaze didn’t even acknowledge his bare chest. Damn it all, he was clearly not up to his usual standards. “I require breakfast for two, and suitable morning attire for Lady Cameron. Gown, shoes, a hairbrush, and whatever else she generally has need of when she rises.”

  This time the servant blinked. “For Lady Cameron?”

  “Yes, and be quick about it.” Before she could say anything else, he closed the door on her.

  Interesting. The servants didn’t know where their mistress had spent the night. He wondered if the tall French twist had any idea about the terms of the new loan. The rest of Mayfair thought he and Lady Cameron were lovers already, mostly because she’d encouraged that interpretation herself. Evidently her own household wasn’t supposed to have come to the same conclusion.

  While he waited, he sat down and wrote out a note to Manderlin excusing himself from the planned excursion to Tattersall’s, then another to Lady Katherine to inform her that he wouldn’t be available for an intimate afternoon tea after all. She wouldn’t be surprised; he hadn’t been available for anything intimate or otherwise for nearly five weeks.

  The siren in his bedchamber kept drawing him toward the back of his apartments, and he sternly resisted the urge to go see whether she was still sleeping. He needed a new strategy, and he needed it quickly. Because if he still wanted her, then he had to do something to make certain she wanted him. Which meant something different, something unexpected, something to shake her free of her heretofore very accurate perception of him—the him whose character seemed to … improve when he was in her presence.

  His front door rattled and someone shoved at the heavy wood. Hard. Out of habit he always latched it—one never knew who might be displeased with one.

  “Open the door at once!”

  Ah, the French twist. “I’m not seeing visitors, Miss Martine,” he said, stifling a grin. Genevieve Martine hadn’t been informed of Diane’s obligations for the next … eighteen hours, either.

  “Juliet, fetch me an axe and Mr. Jacobs!” she called from the other side of the door, naming the largest of Diane’s male club protectors.

  Oliver unlocked the door and pulled it open. “I suggest you not attempt to break down my door,” he said in the same tone that had convinced several men not to fight him and subsequently lose their lives in idiotic duels.

  “You will release Diane immediately,” she snapped back at him, her blond hair only partly put up and her gown slightly askew. “Or I will do worse than break down your door, you blackguard.”

  “Mm-hm. Breakfast and clothes. If you want an explanation for Diane’s presence, you may ask her after four o’clock tomorrow morning.”

  “I’ll ask her now.”

  “No, you won’t.”

  “You h—”

  He shut and locked the door again. Immediately she began pounding on it. Generally women were either intimidated by him or set on attracting his attention. Other than Diane, none of them were openly hostile. Well, her and this chit.

  “What the devil have you done now?”

  Oliver leaned back against the shaking door and folded his arms across his bare chest. Diane stood a few feet from him, clothed in his discarded shirt and nothing else. With her long, loose hair, bare legs, and sleeves rolled up to her elbows, she looked … delicious. And she knew it. Otherwise she might have donned her shift. Did she want him to fall on her again? Even acknowledging that it would likely cost him some ground, he couldn’t help simply … gazing at her.

  “Well?” she prompted.

  “Your Miss Martine thinks I’ve kidnapped you,” he answered. “I’m assuming you didn’t inform your household about our agreement.”

  She frowned. “I was waiting for an opportune moment. You’re the one who pounced on me before I could say anything to them.”

  “I did not pounce, and you had several hours to tell whomever you chose.”

  Diane waved a hand at him. “Oh, get out of the way before they break down the door.”

  He didn’t move. “You aren’t leaving.” Even if he had to fight off a house full to the brim with angry, yowling chits.

  “Not for eighteen hours.” This time when she motioned him aside, he shifted.

  “She’s not allowed in, either,” he added, reaching over to unlock the door.

  From his place behind the door, keeping it from opening fully, he couldn’t see the angry Miss Martine just on the other side of the oak planks, but he didn’t need to. Considering that he hadn’t been particularly unpleasant to the woman, he had to assume that Diane had spoken to her about the events in Vienna. Interesting, then, that Diane hadn’t said anything about this.

  “No, I’m quite well,” Diane was saying as she curled her fingers into the half-open door.

  She had elegant fingers. Perfect for a cardplayer, though she more than likely wouldn’t appreciate hearing that. Oliver reached out, intending to run his own fingers along hers, then stopped the motion. This wasn’t a seduction or a romance. This was him, attempting to purge her from his mind. Touching her for no damned reason was not going to help that.

  “But him, Diane? You said you would rath—”

  “I know what I said,” she interrupted, her grip on the door tightening momentarily. “But I also told you that I had an agreement to see to. I’ll attempt to explain it later, Jenny. In eighteen hours. Until then, you’ll have to make do without me.”

  “The fiend asked for breakfast and clothes for you.”

  Oliver frowned. While he didn’t give a damn what the French twist thought of him, he didn’t particularly believe he’d been a fiend. He looked at Diane’s profile. Had that been her word, or her friend’s? Was that truly what Diane thought of him? He leaned around the door. “And tea,” he added. “Now.”

  With the flat of his hand he closed the door again, this time leaving it unlocked. The chit began a stream of muffled curses in several different languages, but he doubted she would attempt to break down the door again. Turning around once more, he gazed at his guest.

  “I have a question,” he said, gesturing her to precede him to his small morning room.

  “Did we decide that me talking to you was part of your agreement?”

  Perhaps he should have kept her awake all night after all. That would have dulled her sharp tongue a little. “You can either chat with me or I’ll remember we have more physical things we could be doing together. I’ll let you choose.”

  Color touched her cheeks. “I believe you had a question, didn’t you?” she asked, walking to the overstuffed chair beneath the window and curling into it like a cat.

  He stayed silent as he sank onto the couch opposite, considering whether to ask the question foremost on his mind. It was a very poor idea, because it left him open to a riposte, but he genuinely wanted to know. “In Vienna,” he began, “when we met, what did you think the outcome would be?”

  She drew a breath, turning her gaze toward the window and the treetops of her garden beyond. “Clearly my thinking was impaired in Vienna. I can’t answer your question.”

  “Yes, you can.”

  “You
answer it first, then.”

  “Very well.”

  Visibly surprised, she shifted to face him again. “Well, this should be enlightening.”

  “Just remember that you have to answer the question as well. No matter what I say on the subject.” This would have been an opportune moment for the tea or breakfast to arrive, but the front door remained closed and silent. “When we first met, I thought you were stunning, and so angry at the world that you would grasp at any way to defy it. And I thought you would be a fine addition to my bed.”

  “What about the outcome?”

  Of course she’d noticed that he hadn’t quite answered the question. “I reckoned I would spend time with you until I became bored or you began to cling, at which time we would part company.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I didn’t cling, so you must have become bored.”

  “Th—”

  “What’s this, then?” she pursued. “If I bored you, why arrange to have me in your bed again?”

  “You didn’t bore me.”

  “Then why did you leave?”

  The front door opened. “In here,” he called, rising and going to intercept the platter of food and the pot of tea entering his apartments. Once the footwomen had set the trays down on the table in between Diane and him, he sent them away in search of his other request. The longer Diane remained in his shirt, the more likely he was to peel her out of it. And while he had no objection to having sex with her again—in fact, he planned to do so—he wanted it to be on his terms rather than because she was purposely tempting him.

  She sat forward to pick up a piece of toast and began munching. “Shall I repeat the question?”

  “You can if you wish, but this is my dance, if you’ll recall. And it’s your turn.”

  Rather than answer, she finished her toast, then poured herself a cup of tea and sipped at it. Oliver selected a soft gold-colored peach and bit into it. He might have teased or taunted her into answering, he supposed, but if she wanted a moment to think and decide on her answer, in this instance he was willing to give it to her.

  “I was eighteen when I married Frederick,” she finally said, standing to lean against the windowsill. “It was arranged, you know, but I was quite excited to be marrying an earl.”

  “Your grandfather was a marquis, was he not?”

  “Yes. But the title went to my uncle, which my father never liked. The idea of his daughter being a countess made him quite happy.” She took another sip of her tea. “I won’t say that Frederick was a monster or any such thing, because he wasn’t. He simply wasn’t very … intelligent, or interesting. Of course he thought he was, the same way he thought he knew how to play cards.”

  “I think that ailment is common to most men.”

  “I did everything I could to keep our bills paid, but he was the master of his house, and he brought it down around both of our ears. And when he died, yes, I was angry. He destroyed everything, and left me to face the consequences. Not to mention the year I was forced to spend in mourning.”

  “You never told me this before,” he commented, sitting forward to pour himself some tea.

  “You never asked. When you appeared at Lady Darham’s luncheon, I just wanted to forget everything.”

  “I’m glad I could oblige, then.”

  “Oh, please. Clearly you would have pursued me, regardless of what I might have been thinking.”

  “Fair enough.” He gazed at her profile for a moment, but she remained silent. “And a fortnight later?” he finally prompted.

  Taking a breath, she faced him once more. “Evidently I hadn’t learned as much about men and their motivations as I’d thought. Honestly, Oliver, I’d never met anyone like you. You fascinated me. For a time I thought perhaps you were meant as compensation—a counterbalance for Frederick and his idiocy. And then you left, and I realized you were merely the final part of my lesson.”

  He didn’t like the way she said that. “Which lesson was that?”

  “The lesson about the peril of relying on men—on any man—for my security or happiness. I don’t feel inclined to thank you, but I don’t believe I would be here opening The Tantalus Club if I’d never met you.”

  She said it smoothly enough, but he knew damned well it wasn’t a compliment. “If you detest me so much, you might have found someone else to fund your venture.”

  “Perhaps, but I have the means to compel you to help me. And I like seeing you inconvenienced. And in all honesty, there were pleasant moments in Vienna. I merely need to remember not to take them to heart.” As someone knocked at his door again, she set down her tea. “That will be my clothes, I assume,” she said, and left the room.

  Oliver listened for a moment to be certain she wouldn’t attempt an escape after all, but when he heard the door close and her bare feet padding in the direction of his bedchamber he rolled his shoulders. Then he dragged the end table closer and dug into the poached eggs and ham.

  She had fallen for him in Vienna, however she chose to word it. And damn it all, he’d fallen for her. The only difference was that he hadn’t liked the sensation and he’d done everything possible to expel it—and her—from his thoughts and memory. And he thought he’d managed it—until she’d appeared in London.

  And now he’d made it worse. Had he been attempting to purge himself of his desire for her, or had another part of him wanted to remember how much he enjoyed touching her and feeling her skin against his? He liked their verbal fencing matches, even when she drew blood. Her damned rapier was much sharper these days. And evidently he liked being knotted up in her schemes, because Lucifer knew he could have convinced her to hand over that bloody letter if he’d truly wished her to. Doing that, however, would have left her destroyed; he couldn’t imagine she would surrender her advantage willingly.

  The question, then, became what to do next. He’d taken more money from men than they could afford to lose. He’d damaged the reputations of women when they’d attempted to make more of a connection with him than he’d wanted. And now this woman who hated him had tangled herself into his life and he’d allowed it. Even encouraged it.

  And then there was the way she’d chosen to wear his shirt this morning, the way she’d agreed to his twenty-four-hour meeting. As he considered it, the most likely conclusion was either that she disliked him less than she pretended or that she was attempting to seduce him and then break his heart, as he’d broken hers.

  Oliver paused in midbite. The Diane of two years ago hadn’t been nearly as devious, but this one … He gave a slow smile. He couldn’t even remember the last person who’d attempted to stand toe-to-toe with him. And if this was the path she wanted to take and if it meant letting her get closer to him—and him to her—then by God, he would make it a merry chase. He had no idea how it might end, but that thought didn’t trouble him nearly as much as he’d expected.

  Hm. Finishing off his bite, he rose once more and went to the bell pull. He had a few more plans to make this morning.

  * * *

  Diane left the top two buttons at the back of her simple black muslin walking dress open and finished pinning up her hair. Thank goodness Oliver had asked about Vienna. After last night she wanted to make certain he knew that she hadn’t lost all her sensibilities and forgotten what a cad he was. And she wanted to make certain she remembered, as well.

  Oh, he perturbed her no end. And what the devil was wrong with him, that she could appear wearing nothing but his shirt and he did nothing more than send for breakfast? Last night had given her an epiphany, among other things. The man needed a healthy dose of heartache. And as long as she kept their past firmly in mind, she would be just the one to give it to him.

  She stepped into her shoes, then frowned as her left toes poked something stiff. Sitting again, she reached into the shoe and pulled out a folded piece of paper. If you need assistance, she read in Jenny’s flowing cursive, say “marmalade” when you leave the apartment.

  They’d used the same strate
gy before, when she’d first begun meeting with Frederick’s rather angry creditors. Considering that she disliked marmalade, it seemed a safe word to use. Shifting the note to her pocket, she finished donning her shoes and left the room. Oliver still sat in the morning room drinking tea. From the look of the breakfast platter, he’d had a generous meal as well.

  “Button me, will you?” she asked, turning her back on him.

  A moment later she felt him approach behind her, and then his warm fingers trailed up her shoulder blades. “Do you own anything not in black?”

  “Yes.”

  “When will you wear it?”

  “When I wish to.” She pulled the note from her pocket and held it up as she turned to face him.

  Oliver took it from her and opened it. He read it swiftly, then looked up at her. “Your friend is very resourceful.”

  Diane grinned. “You have no idea.”

  “Why did you show it to me?”

  “To prove that I’m honoring our deal. And so you don’t say ‘marmalade’ by accident. She’s likely to shoot you.”

  “I try to limit having holes put in me to once a month. Thank you for the warning.” His jaw twitching, he handed the note back. “Who is she?”

  Damnation. She should have known he would be putting all the puzzle pieces together. It was what he did. “She’s an old friend. I told you that.”

  “Fine. I can do a bit of digging on my own. It’s rather gratifying to realize how many people owe me favors.”

  Taking a moment to gather her thoughts, Diane picked through the remains of the breakfast platter. Being on the defensive wouldn’t get her anywhere. “I presume you have something other than fornication in mind, since you sent for my clothes,” she commented. “Or is it just that you wanted to tear them off me?”

  “I have the ability to think of fornication and something else, all at the same time,” he returned with a swift, attractive smile. “But you’re correct; we’re going out.”

  Considering that she’d thought he would keep her naked in his bedchamber all day, this was supremely unexpected. “Going out where?”