She could see that he was. The steady gray eyes, the clenched jaw, even the way he stood between her and most of the other St. James’s Park visitors. For a second she allowed herself to feel cared for and protected by a man who’d once very nearly wanted to marry her, to forget that Anthony Benchley was her problem and would be dealt with on her terms. Oliver had already agreed to that, so he knew the rules, but for a moment it was nice—in a warm, fluff-filled pastry sort of way—to pretend.
Then she pulled her hand free and shifted the parasol to her other shoulder. “Very gallant,” she said aloud, “but unnecessary. Play your part as you agreed and I will be satisfied.”
Oliver fell in beside her again. “Come to my bed tonight, and I will be satisfied.”
“We are not negotiating something you already agreed to,” Diane retorted, ignoring the thrill swirling down her spine. Whatever motivated him these days, it was still … pleasant to be desired.
“Then come because you choose to.”
And that was a very tempting offer. After all, she’d made doing as she pleased something of a motto these days. He was still trouble. A great deal of trouble. But God help her, she was becoming quite fond of his sort of trouble. And knowing why he’d fled Vienna made more of a difference than she would ever have admitted to him.
His reasons didn’t change the fact that he’d fled in a decidedly ungentlemanly manner, and she didn’t wish to make any excuses for him over that. But she knew what he’d been like before, and she was beginning to believe that he truly had changed. For the better. “Perhaps,” she said aloud. “But you are not to destroy my home if I don’t appear.”
With a wicked grin he took her hand again. Lifting it, he kissed her knuckles. “No promises.”
* * *
Oliver wrote out three drafts of the letter he, Diane, and Miss Martine had decided would be necessary to lure Lord Cameron into their net. Finally satisfied that he’d conveyed what he needed to say in terms plain enough to be understood and subtle enough that it didn’t look faux, he dusted the letter, blew it off, and folded it so he could write the address on the outside.
“Myles,” he called, and his footman appeared from the direction of the front room.
“Yes, my lord?”
He slid the letter across his desk. “See that someone delivers this tonight.”
The servant took the letter and headed out of the small office again. “Very good, my lord.”
“And Myles, stop gawking out the front window. You’ll frighten away Lady Cameron’s guests.”
“I’ve never seen so many well-dressed women in one place. It’s all so … fluttery.”
Oliver snorted, turning the page of the book he’d been attempting to read. “It reminds me of the first assembly at Almack’s during the Season, except no one’s wearing white.”
“Might I look from behind the curtains, my lord?”
“Make certain the lamps are all out first. I don’t want anyone thinking it’s me spying through the window.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“Yes, well, one of us might as well have some fun with chits this evening.” Standing, he pulled on his dark blue coat. “I’m going out for a time. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Even if Diane did decide to call on him that night, it would be well after midnight. And while rumors that the two of them were lovers didn’t trouble him in the least, both Appleton and Manderlin had lately been intimating that he was being pulled about by his cock. He had the strong suspicion that they were aiming a good eighteen inches or so too low, but he could do without hearing it, anyway.
With three hours to wait for an answer to his letter, he directed his driver to take him to the Society Club. Both the games and the company there bored him, and after less than an hour he moved on to White’s. It wasn’t much of an improvement. Forty minutes earlier than he’d intended he found himself at Boodle’s. By then he had to admit that it wasn’t the clubs. He was the problem, restless and uncomfortable in his own skin and scarcely able to contemplate anything other than returning to The Tantalus Club.
It wasn’t even that the games were better there, though they were. Hell, he’d barely played for more than a quid in a fortnight. No, the games weren’t the lure of The Tantalus Club. Not for him. Of course, a good portion of the club’s members had joined because of the chits running the games and carrying the drinks and serving the meals. For him it was one chit—or rather, one challenging, sophisticated lady—who kept him returning, who made him want to be there every night even when he had obligations elsewhere, and even when men weren’t invited.
Whatever the devil had happened to him, she’d done it. And not by waving a damning letter from someone whom, if need be, he could track down and squash like a bug. Two years ago she’d been an attractive, compelling, but very vulnerable woman. Now she was a remarkable one. And he couldn’t imagine how dull and ordinary the days—and nights—would be without her. She claimed to make a point of never repeating her mistakes, but so did he. He’d let her get away once. He wouldn’t do it again.
“Oliver. You’re just in time to purchase me a brandy.”
Stopping his stroll through Boodle’s at the sound of Manderlin’s voice, he returned to the small sitting room at the front of the club. “My timing is remarkable,” he noted, gesturing for two snifters.
“It is,” Jonathan agreed. “Though we’re likely to expire before a footman actually appears. The fellow behind the bar served drinks to Shakespeare himself, and he’s the youngest servant here tonight.”
All of the clubs had been short-staffed this evening. Considering where those men were tonight and Oliver’s own connection to The Tantalus Club, he wasn’t about to complain. “I’m not in any hurry.”
“Neither am I, actually.” The earl drummed his fingers against the tabletop. “Are you attending Hereton’s soiree tomorrow night?”
“I accepted the invitation, but I’m not entirely convinced I want to spend five hours avoiding Lydia Hereton.”
“Perhaps if you’d avoided her last year she wouldn’t be chasing you now.”
Oliver eyed him. “As my friend you are supposed to commiserate with me—not remind me of my mistakes.”
“I’d be more sympathetic if you hadn’t avoided me at Tattersall’s yesterday after you specifically asked me to be there.”
Damnation. “I unexpectedly decided to enjoy the company of Lord Cameron.”
“Unexpectedly?”
“It’s a long story, and at points I don’t come out looking so well.” He leaned his elbow on the table. “I couldn’t even look at the damned horses. Any good prospects?”
“Several. If you actually purchase a mare broken to the sidesaddle, however, you know most people will realize it’s not for you.”
“If I want to purchase someone a horse, I don’t see why I shouldn’t do so. Especially if the someone is an old friend.”
“You’re not the one your peers will be looking at sideways—or turning their backs on—the first time she rides it.”
Anger curled through him. “Has someone cut her?”
“Not directly. She’s still a novelty. But she is willingly engaged in a rather scandalous venture. And with Lady Dashton organizing her stiff-spined cronies to hold teas and parties and book clubs to compete against Tantalus ladies’ nights, it’s only a matter of time, anyway.”
“I dare anyone to do so where I can see them.”
“Well, that’s the other rub, isn’t it? However scandalous her … hobby, everyone’s intimidated by you, so she’s protected in your company. At the same time, no one will invite her anywhere for fear of either you verbally goring the other guests, or being associated too closely with scandal, or Lady Dashton cutting anyone seen to be friendly with her.”
“As long as they all still want to visit The Tantalus, I don’t think she cares how they view her. I, however, consider anyone who attends and then speaks against her to be a hypocrite and they, he, o
r she should be flogged.”
“And talk like that will only encourage people not to invite you anywhere, either.”
Oliver blew out his breath. Hypothetical conversations like this one only served to make him angry at people who hadn’t actually done anything to hurt her. Not yet, anyway. And if she couldn’t go out to be the ambassador for The Tantalus Club, then that task fell to him. “Hence the reason I’m talking only to you about this. No one pays attention to you.”
“Oh, thank you very much. Now you owe me another brandy.” Manderlin waved at the ancient footman.
Swiftly Oliver checked his pocket watch and sent a glance at the front door. Five minutes, unless the recipient of his letter arrived early—which he likely would. Oliver leaned forward. “I require your assistance, Jonathan,” he said in a low voice.
“I’m not killing anyone with you.”
“I find it interesting that that’s the first thing that sprang to your mind, but there’s no murder involved. Not yet, at any rate. In a few moments I’m going to tell you to go away. I need you to look troubled and uneasy and then get up and leave.”
“Leave the room, or leave the club?”
He considered that for a moment. “The room. Leaving the club might be too suspicious.”
Manderlin swirled his drink. “Are you up to something evil, or something benevolent?”
Hm. At least Jonathan thought him capable of benevolence. “Something the recipient deserves, and something that will hopefully aid a very dear friend.” Except that Diane wasn’t only a dear friend. The dictionary simply didn’t hold enough words to describe her.
“Very well. And if I may say, this dear friend of yours seems to be having an unexpected effect on you. I can’t say I disapprove.”
“I’m still undecided myself.”
“Then why aid her?”
He didn’t want to consider his answer to that question too closely at the moment. “You know my fondness for mayhem,” he said instead.
“That’s a damned understatement.”
A figure walked into the Boodle’s sitting room, fingers twitching with either nerves or anticipated wealth. Oliver lifted his brandy. “And thus the play begins,” he murmured, taking a drink of the amber-colored liquid.
Manderlin followed his gaze. “Cameron again?”
“Hush.”
Anthony Benchley stopped in front of the table. “I’m here, Haybury. Though this is an odd place for a meeting.”
Oliver sat forward. “Manderlin, go away. I have something to discuss with Lord Cameron.”
A fair imitation of uneasy disapproval on his face, Jonathan stood. “Good evening, then,” he said. With a backward glance over his shoulder he headed into the gaming room.
When Cameron remained looking about suspiciously, Oliver pushed out the opposite chair with his boot. “Sit.”
“I’ve had a day to consider our discussion, and I’m not convinced that you don’t have some plan to publicly disgrace me. You clearly dislike Greaves and Larden, and everyone knows you’re fond of Diane—whatever you said to me about her.”
Patience, Oliver reminded himself. “I thought I might need to clarify a few things. That’s why I asked you to meet me here. Sit. Please.”
Still eyeing him skeptically, the earl seated himself. “I’ve made an appointment for tomorrow to see my solicitors. I’m doing this for the express purpose of putting forward my claim to Adam House and The Tantalus Club.”
“As I mentioned before, I wouldn’t advise that.”
“And I would advise that you continue providing me with advice and insight, or not only will you not be one of my partners, but I’ll see to it that you’re included right alongside Diane in any criminal proceedings.”
“I am advising you, if you’d just listen for a moment. And I’m attempting to explain a rather convoluted set of circumstances,” Oliver returned. “These circumstances require both of us to keep our voices down.”
A footman arrived with Manderlin’s second brandy, and Oliver nudged it toward Cameron. After yesterday he would have rather thrown it, snifter and all, into the man’s face, but he’d decided to follow a more subtle path. That was the route he’d agreed on with Diane, and so he would proceed—however hard he had to grit his teeth to do so.
After a moment the earl cleared his throat. “I’m listening,” he murmured, taking a too-large swallow of the drink. “And you’d best be very persuasive.”
“Firstly, I assume Diane truly did inherit Adam House legally. At the least she’s never said otherwise.”
“I am not going to sit here simply to listen to her version of events, Haybury. That’s what court will be for.”
“If you don’t shut up and listen, you’ll never make it before a judge.”
Finally Cameron’s belligerent expression dropped. “What? If you think to murder me, I assure you that I already spoke with the Duke of Greaves about our partnership, and about my requiring a monthly stipend in exchange for allowing Diane to continue managing The Tantalus Club. Killing me will end with you being hanged for it.”
“I’m not talking about me,” Oliver retorted. Thus far Cameron had been more predictable than a clock. He only hoped that would continue. “I’m attempting to explain that you have no idea how much is involved in skimming blunt from this enterprise. Adding you to the equation—well, you’ve given us no choice, really, but it’s going to complicate things even further.”
“Adding me? You’re stealing from Diane already?”
“No, I’m not. We—and there are two of us currently involved, and three when we include you—have simply … reorganized the way the money flows through the club. To our benefit.” With a grimace he leaned over the table, with Cameron matching him on the other side. “You were correct in thinking that Diane had no money when she returned to London. And that we were … friends in Vienna, which is why she came to me initially. But together we knew several influential people willing to use their funds to produce additional funds.”
“Which influential people?”
“I can’t tell you that. I can tell you that Diane and I decided the income they were offering to us for our efforts here wasn’t quite adequate. So we made a few alterations, and, well, let’s just say that money is no longer a problem. But then you came along and threatened to bring the entire thing to the attention of the courts, and when I couldn’t dissuade you, I decided you needed to be included.”
Good God. What a cartful of shit, yet from Cameron’s rapt expression he was swallowing every word of it. And so if this ploy stung Oliver’s pride a little, then so be it. The prize he intended to gain at the end of this play was more than worth his current discomfort.
“Then I will be receiving three thousand pounds each month. Because otherwise—”
“To begin with, we’ll hand you two thousand pounds per month,” Oliver broke in. This bit had been Diane’s idea, and he thought it rather brilliant. “That’s equal to Diane’s and my portion. In three months, if no one’s become suspicious, we’ll add another thousand.”
Cameron frowned. “The Tantalus Club is making enough money that it can afford to lose seven thousand pounds each month?”
“Money goes in, and money goes back out. We merely hold our hands beneath the spigot. Of course it’s much more complicated than that, but you have the general idea. And you must swear to be absolutely discreet about it. There are people inside the club who can’t have any idea what we’re doing. If they did … well, public embarrassment would be welcome compared to what would happen to us all.” He sent a glance around the room. “Do I have your word?”
“I want to be admitted to the club and see its inner workings for myself,” the earl returned. “The Diane who married my brother wouldn’t have dared to do something as audacious as opening a gentlemen’s club. I find it difficult to believe that she’s now stealing from her investors.”
The Diane her brother-in-law once knew didn’t exist any longer. Her husband, de
bt, and abandonment—both by Frederick and by himself, Oliver reflected—had made her stronger and more determined. And completely irresistible. Nothing could be allowed to harm her again, whether she ever chose to include him again in her life, in her heart, or not.
“Very well,” he said aloud. “You don’t leave me much choice.”
A smile touched Anthony’s face before he managed to banish it again. Oliver kept his own expression neutral, though he was rather tempted to smile himself. Greed, the lure of an unworked-for pound—he saw those faces seated across the gaming table from him every time he wagered. As for him, it was the game he loved. The money was secondary.
“No, I don’t suppose I do. Make me a member of The Tantalus Club.”
“I can’t push that point without arousing suspicions,” Oliver returned, unsurprised by the demand. “I’ll put you forward, but with the base membership established, the process will take a few weeks.”
“I am not—”
“Until then, you may attend as my guest. But for Lucifer’s sake, be discreet.”
“Don’t worry about that, Haybury. Just keep your promise.”
Oh, he would. Just not the one he’d made to Cameron.
Chapter Nineteen
Diane paced back and forth in the front room of Oliver’s apartment. Going by the strictest of definitions, she shouldn’t have been there without his express permission; after all, while she owned the house, she’d forced him to take up residence there, and to pay her rent for the privilege.
But for heaven’s sake, she’d put the future of The Tantalus Club in his hands. A man who’d broken her heart and whom she’d sworn she would never trust again. A man whom she’d blackmailed into assisting her in the first place. What the devil was wrong with her that she trusted him now? Because there was no denying that fact, least of all to herself. She trusted him. Worse still, she liked him. A great deal more than she cared to admit.
His front door opened, and Oliver walked into his rooms. “Hello,” he said, pausing as his gaze found her.
A Beginner's Guide to Rakes Page 26