A Beginner's Guide to Rakes

by Suzanne Enoch

  “How much money are you going to pay out to him before we close the trap?” she asked, nodding as Jenny joined them.

  “I presume he’ll ask for another two thousand tomorrow, if not tonight. Once he’s spent most of that, we’ll have him.”

  “Then let’s get on with it.”

  “Well, it would proceed more quickly if I played directly against him, but that would also make him suspicious. So at the moment we’ll have to rely on his own lack of skill and judgment. It will take more time, but he won’t be able to say we drove him to it.”

  “Are you going to offer him credit?” Jenny asked.

  “The club’s limit is two hundred pounds,” Diane returned. “I don’t want him thinking he can go beyond that and simply keep running up his debt.”

  “If he doesn’t feel that touch of panic that he’s lost more than he can repay, he won’t follow the path we want,” Oliver agreed.

  Diane took a breath. “Shall we go have a public argument then, Jenny?” she asked.

  Genevieve glanced at Oliver. “Oui. I believe I have a topic in mind.”

  The topic didn’t matter, but if he was what Jenny wanted to discuss, Diane could hardly avoid it. Leaving her position at the back of the room, she slowly made her way through the club’s members toward the Ariadne Room. While she didn’t relish chatting with Anthony, it was important that he realize his activities were not going unnoticed.

  Yes, it was all very elaborate, and yes, there were simpler, more brutal ways to be rid of her former brother-in-law. But her keen sense of irony preferred that he meet his demise through the perils of wagering. Frederick had never learned his lesson, not even at the end. Perhaps Anthony would do so while he still had a chance to alter the way he lived his life. If he didn’t, well, at least she would have given him the opportunity to do so.

  Anthony had small stacks of money on several different numbers and both colors of the roulette table, a sure sign that he had no idea where the best odds lay. She stifled a sigh as she stopped beside him. “How is your evening?” she asked.

  “Bloody wretched,” he snapped, cursing as the ball stopped on a number he hadn’t chosen. “You need to make certain my luck runs more favorably.”

  Diane frowned. “That is entirely up to you and to luck,” she returned. “All my tables are honest. I wouldn’t be in business if it were otherwise—or if anyone thought otherwise.”

  “This isn’t good enough, then.”

  And there it was. “I beg your pardon?” she whispered. “I am not going to fund your wagering. I paid you what you asked. I can’t do any more than that.”

  “I believe you can. I’ve lost nearly two thousand quid in one night. Multiply that by what, two hundred other men here this evening? You can damned well afford to give me another two thousand pounds. And I want it.”

  “Not everyone loses, and not everyone loses to the bank. The greatest amount of money simply changes hands.”

  “That is not my problem. And your problem is whether you’re willing to risk this establishment.”

  “Fine. But I can’t give you two thousand pounds every day. That’s absurd. People would notice.”

  “Which people?”

  Diane put a hand to her throat. “I can’t tell you that. And keep your voice down. Come by for breakfast tomorrow and I’ll get you what I can.”

  “Diane.”

  Jumping, she turned around to see Jenny approaching. “Don’t mention any of this,” Diane hissed at Anthony, then went to see her friend. “Ready?”

  “Has he asked for more money?”

  “I’m to give it to him at breakfast.”

  “Then let’s discuss that man, shall we?”

  “This is only supposed to appear to be an argument. I don’t want to actually fight.”

  “Neither do I. I only want to know why you’re trusting him now.”

  Diane frowned, making a helpless gesture with her hands. “He had a very good idea, you have to admit.”

  “That only means he’s an expert at being devious. I don’t trust him.”

  “I may not trust him with my heart, Jenny, but he’s proved himself several times over in the past weeks. Do a pointing thing.”

  Jenny jabbed a finger at her. “I feel like a complete idiot. Do you love him?”

  That stopped her for a moment. To hear it said so directly … “I find him extremely aggravating.”

  “That’s not an answer. Shake your head.”

  Diane shook her head. “It’s not an answer I can give you, regardless.”

  Scowling, Genevieve gazed at her. “He’s very quick-witted. I’ll grant him that. But you need to figure out what it is you want of him. Aside from his money.”

  “He offered to put me up in my own wing at Haybury Park after the Season.”

  “What? What did you tell him?”

  “I told him that I didn’t want to be that near him.” She took a breath. “Because I do want to be that near him. It’s very complicated.”

  “Not as much as you think.” Giving a hostile wave of her hands, Jenny took a step closer. “Decide who you’re punishing, and why.”

  “I thought you hated him.”

  “I hate him because you hate him. We are friends, yes?”

  Just barely, Diane kept from smiling. “Good friends.”

  “Bon. Lord Cameron has been watching, so be afraid of me now, and I’ll see you upstairs for tea later.”

  “Thank you, Jenny.” Grimacing, Diane backed away, then turned toward the roulette table just in time to see Anthony swiftly look away. “Will you excuse me, Anthony? That French b—” She stopped herself, swallowing. “I need to see to my books.”

  “You will give me what I want in the morning, yes?”

  “I will try.”

  “No. You will do so.”

  “Anthony, I told you that this is very complicated. I need to be careful.”

  “Do what you need to. I’m not a part of your scheme. But I want my two thousand pounds, or you’ll be meeting with my solicitors by the afternoon.”

  “No!” She put a hand over her mouth as if to stifle her protest. “No solicitors,” she said much more quietly. “Very well. I’ll manage it.”

  “Good.”

  Once Diane left the club for the privacy of the Adam House sitting room, she allowed herself to grin. Tomorrow was going to be quite fun.

  A knock sounded at the half-open door. “You could be on the stage,” Oliver’s low voice came. “Magnificent.”

  She sat in the chair beside the table lamp. Very likely she should be asking how he managed to get past Langtree, but he’d made it into her home so many times now that questioning his methods hardly seemed worth the effort. “I’m to give him the money during breakfast.”

  Dropping into the chair by the fire, Oliver stretched out his legs and crossed his ankles. “What were you and Miss Martine pretending to argue about?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Ah. Me, then. Not so pretend, was it?”

  He looked magnificent taking his ease before the fire, relaxed and still alert, a lion waiting for its prey to move into reach. “What am I going to do with you?” she murmured, half-smiling.

  “What do you want to do with me?”

  “I’m divided fairly evenly between wanting to kiss you and wanting to strangle you,” she returned.

  “I consider that an improvement.” Oliver kept his gaze on her. In the dim firelight that reached her from halfway across the room, her black hair looked almost bronze, her skin warm and enticing. “I want you.”

  “And I want to know what you’ll do when you’ve tired of having only one woman. Or when you decide that you like me more than you’re comfortable admitting.”

  He was already well past that point. “I told you that I’m not running.”

  “You’re assuming that I want you to stay.”

  “I believe according to our agreement you have two years each to repay my loans to you.”
Something abruptly occurred to him, and he frowned. “That’s why you’re making additional payments, isn’t it? To be rid of me.”

  “I didn’t expect the club to be going so well already. You were to be a shield and a lure. You’ve succeeded at the first part, and you’re no longer necessary for the second.”

  “Necessary,” he repeated. “That’s an interesting word.”

  “Is it?” she returned coolly. “How so?”

  She wasn’t going to give him an inch of space to maneuver. But if she meant to justify having him about because he was “necessary” to the club, then once they disposed of Lord Cameron he would likely be asked to move away. Then he would only see her when he visited the club and only until the end of the Season. Haybury Park had been his property for only two years, and he couldn’t spend the autumn and winter in London just because he was mooning over some chit who didn’t want him.

  Uneasiness ran through him. It went against every part of his being to leave himself exposed, but he’d begun to realize that until he could make things right with her they would never be able to move forward. And he wanted to move forward. With her.

  Slowly he stood and went over to where she sat. “I said we would talk after we were finished with Cameron,” he said, sinking down onto his haunches directly in front of her, “but I’m finding that your jibes about ridding yourself of me are beginning to draw blood.”

  “You aggravate me. I haven’t made a secret of that.”

  “Yes, I know, but I’d hoped you were jesting about your relentless dislike. Perhaps you were, and perhaps you’re serious, but I’m not willing to sit and watch another chance pass me by.”

  She shifted, her gaze narrowing. “Oliver, I’m tired. I don’t—”

  Diane started to stand, but he put his hands on her thighs and kept her where she was. Wanting to touch her, Oliver curled his fingers into the black material of her skirt.

  “I am sorry,” he said, trying to keep his voice low and measured. “You were looking for hope, and I was looking for a bit of fun, and when I realized I’d began to care for you far more than I was willing to acknowledge, I ran. Like a scalded dog, I believe you said. I apologize. It’s not nearly enough to say the words, or to confess that leaving you in Vienna stands as the greatest regret of my life, but there you have it.”

  For a moment she sat silently. Then she leaned forward over his hands and slapped him. Hard.

  “Your greatest regret?” she repeated, shoving him onto his backside. “That’s ridiculous!”

  Throwing herself forward, she landed on him, punching at his face and chest. Oliver tried to hold her away from him but couldn’t shield himself completely from the blows without hurting her. “Diane!”

  “For two years I thought you left because I was some weak, weeping chit, so helpless I could barely stand myself.”

  “You were not helpless. You’ve never been helpless.” He grunted, wincing as her knee dug into his groin. “You were lost and angry, but by God, you were never weak. And that part of you I could see, that was the part that drew me to you. And frightened the devil out of me. The part that told me I’d met my match.”

  “If you regretted leaving so very much, did it never occur to you to, oh, return to Vienna? You knew I was penniless, but once you inherited your fortune you didn’t consider sending me ten pounds? I suppose you regret that, too. Regret does me no good, you stupid man.”

  “When I saw you again here,” he retorted, attempting to ignore her very apt barbs, “I knew. That strong, defiant spark in you was so … You were on fire. So yes, I regret my stupidity, but I’m … proud that you did all this yourself. You don’t owe anyone anything.”

  “Ha. Certainly not you.”

  “No, you don’t. I don’t want to tell you what to do, order you about, make you stop what you’re doing. I only want to be a part of it. I … I love you, Diane. I always have.”

  “You broke my heart!” she yelled, slapping at him again.

  “I know. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I hurt you. I was only thinking of myself. I thought you would forget about me. My not being able to forget you—that was my own trouble to bear. Or so I thought.”

  Abruptly she collapsed against his chest, her breath hard and broken against his neck. Cautiously he released his grip on her wrists, and she curled her hands into his jacket.

  “Are you crying?” he whispered, ready to begin defending himself again.

  “No!” she said, her voice muffled and damp against him.

  Slowly he put his arms around her, holding her close against him. “We are two bullheaded, wicked people who have lived very unconventional lives,” he murmured into her hair. “Personally I think we belong together.”

  “You’re a very aggravating man,” she whispered.

  “Yes, my love. I know.” He blew out his breath. “I’m going to ask you a question. I don’t want you to answer it until we’re finished with Cameron and until you don’t have to worry about losing the club. And after I ask this question I’m going to take you into your bedchamber, where I will be a perfect gentleman and stay with you until you fall asleep.”

  “What question?” she demanded, her face still buried against him.

  “Diane Benchley, will you marry me?”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Diane opened one bleary eye. “Shh. I’m asleep,” she muttered, and closed her eye again.

  “My lady, please. You said I should wake you at seven o’clock,” Mary whispered, shaking Diane’s shoulder again.

  “Why are you whispering?” she whispered back at the maid, forcing both eyes open this time.

  “Because of him, my lady.” The maid pointed behind Diane at the opposite side of the bed.

  Diane turned her head, abruptly remembering why her eyes felt so dry and crusty. She’d been crying. Close enough to touch, eyes shuttered beneath long lashes and a day’s growth of beard stubbling the lower half of his face, lay Oliver Warren. The man who’d last night said he loved her. Who’d proposed to her.

  She sat up, rubbing at her face. Beneath the blankets she still wore her shift, and while Oliver had shed his boots, jacket, and waistcoat, he was nowhere near naked, either. He’d said he would be a gentleman, and he’d behaved as one.

  “Thank you, Mary. Fetch us some tea, will you? And if Lord Cameron should appear downstairs, please let me know immediately.”

  “I’ll see to it at once, my lady.” The maid hurried from the room and closed the door softly behind her.

  “Is she gone?” Oliver muttered, otherwise unmoving.

  “Yes.”

  Gray eyes opened, meeting hers. “Good. I was worried she would try to smother me with a pillow if I moved.”

  “Mm-hm.” Diane had the oddest desire to simply sit there and gaze at him, so instead she slipped from under the covers and pulled on the dressing robe draped across the foot of the bed. “Do you think we’ll be able to coax Anthony into wagering his next two thousand pounds this morning?”

  “All business, eh? Very well.” Oliver sat up, stretching. “I suggested to several friends that they might wish to gamble after breakfast this morning, so he won’t be alone in the gaming rooms.”

  “It might work. I just don’t want him to be overly suspicious.”

  Oliver stood up in his bare feet and walked around to her side of the bed. “If he balks I’ll turn him away until tonight. Or conceivably he could lose the blunt at any other club in London. I just prefer to see him do it here.”

  They’d planned this as best they could, but she hated that so much had to be left to chance. To hope—for their good fortune, and for Anthony’s ill fortune. “What if he wins today?”

  “Then I imagine some street thugs will attempt to rob him on his way home.”

  She squinted one eye. “You know street thugs?”

  He grinned. “You’d be surprised.”

  “Not as much as you might think.”

  Whatever he’d said about not wishing an an
swer to his question until they’d dealt with Anthony, the words still seemed to hang in the air between them. Not heavy or dark but soft and pleasant, like lace curtains or laughter. It terrified and enticed her all at the same time.

  Oliver brushed a finger along her cheek. “Penny for your thoughts.”

  “I’m worried about Anthony’s new friends,” she improvised. “Larden may not return, but the Duke of Greaves seems to be nearly everyone’s welcome guest.”

  “If he appears, I’ll deal with him.”

  “I doubt a brawl would aid our plan.”

  Oliver put a hand to his chest. “Please. A brawl? Me? I have a great many cards in my deck, my dear.”

  “I don’t doubt that.”

  Mary knocked and came back into the room, her arms filled with a tea tray. “Lord Cameron hasn’t yet arrived, my lady,” she said, sending glances in Oliver’s direction as she set the tray on the dressing table. “Shall I stay and help you dress?”

  “Give me fifteen minutes, Mary.”

  The maid curtsied. “Very good, my lady.”

  Once she left, Oliver poured two cups of tea. “Fifteen minutes is hardly enough time for anything worth doing,” he commented, indicating the sugar and lifting an eyebrow.

  “One, if you please. No cream.”

  He handed her the cup of tea, then leaned back against the dressing table to sip at his own. “You know,” he said conversationally, gazing at her over the rim of his cup, “with most people I can tell what they’re thinking, or even what they’re about to say. With you, most of the time I haven’t a clue. It’s fascinating. You’re fascinating.”

  “Yes, well, stop looking at me like I’m some insect you’re about to stick with a pin.”

  “It’s not a pin I want to stick you with, my dear.” He glanced at the clock squatting on her deep mantel. “I should go make myself handsome,” he said. “I think I’ll breakfast here at the club. How close do you want me sitting to Cameron’s table?”