A Wicked Reputation (Once Wicked)

by Liana Lefey

  “Diana, I know you worry for me—”

  “And René,” she injected. “Have you forgotten yours is not the only life at risk?” Regret instantly set in as a wounded look entered his gentle eyes. “I’m sorry. I know you think of him before yourself. I’m just so afraid of what might happen if this goes ill.”

  “It won’t,” he whispered. “Trust me?”

  There was no one on earth she trusted more. “Always.”

  “Then trust that I’ll keep our safety—including yours—foremost in mind.”

  She nodded.

  “And Diana?”

  “Yes?”

  “I know you don’t want to hear this, but it must be said again that part of the reason you’re so afraid of Blackthorn is that you’re attracted to him.”

  Her throat closed, and her tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth, refusing to deny it or form another excuse.

  Harrow’s eyes narrowed, and she could almost see the thoughts turning over in his mind as he observed her lack of response. “Ignoring it won’t work,” he eventually murmured with a soft smile. “I tried not to want René, you know. Impossible, of course, though I did everything in my power not to act on my desire. Even so, there was no hiding it from him. When he informed me the attraction was mutual, I was done. There was simply no denying what is between us. Just as there will be no denying it for you and Blackthorn.”

  An indignant huff broke from her lips. “I admit I find him pleasant enough to look at, and charming, to be sure—but not so much as to tempt me into endangering you and René.” She’d never betray her friends over a handsome face. Never. “I’d sooner swim across the Thames in midwinter. Naked.”

  He chuckled and shot her an enigmatic little smile. “We shall see. The ball is not for another month, which gives us plenty of time to sort out matters. All will be as it should.”

  It was an answer which left her feeling no better at all.

  The days stretched as Diana busied herself with settling in, adjusting to unfamiliar surroundings and becoming acquainted with newly hired staff.

  Some feathers were ruffled when René joined her household and was given accommodation a mere two doors down from her own chamber. Teachers were normally considered above servants in the household hierarchy, but only just, and were typically quartered in the same fashion as the housekeeper, cook, and head footman. Diana made it clear at the outset, however, that she viewed him as more of a guest. She also bade Francine, her lady’s maid who’d come with her from her old house, to warn any disgruntled staff against provoking her ire by showing any disrespect toward the man.

  Diana was relieved to learn Harrow had elected to postpone further assignations with his lover until it was deemed safe. His prudence told her he’d paid more heed to her warning than he’d given her to believe.

  She was determined not to let her unwanted neighbor’s presence rattle her. Seeing nothing of its master, it was easy to pretend no one lived in the house behind hers. Within a week, Diana began to relax and enjoy herself. René availed himself of the drawing room’s pianoforte daily, often for several hours at a time, gracing her home with the sweet strains of Pachelbel, Vivaldi, Rameau, and Handel.

  The clouds had lifted yesterday, and today the sky was bright and the air unseasonably warm. Taking advantage, she’d had all the windows opened to allow fresh air into the house. The sound of René busy at the pianoforte drifted out to Diana’s ears and mingled with the birdsong as she walked in her garden.

  It was delightful to have a real garden again. Back when she’d lived with her aunt, she’d taken care of their tiny slice of earth. It had been her private retreat, a place of peace in a household full of simmering resentment and bitter disappointments. Her uncle’s glower had never settled on her, and his voice had never barked at her from behind when she was outside in the sunshine. He disliked the outdoors, preferring to hole up in his library with his pipe and his ledgers. Her aunt had occasionally come out, but such visits had been rare. Usually, they’d only happened when she wanted to discuss something out of her husband’s hearing.

  This garden was much larger, and its previous owner had cared well for it. The roses were properly pruned, the flower beds free of weeds, and the hedges trimmed with precision. Harrow had hired a new gardener, but the fellow wouldn’t arrive to take up his position for another week. Until then, Diana surreptitiously pulled every weed she spied.

  No sense in allowing them to gain a foothold.

  As she meandered along the path to the rear, she marked the climbing vines on the brick wall that separated her space from that belonging to Lord Blackthorn. They’d gotten completely out of control and were hanging over its top. Examining them, she noticed fat buds protruding from the stems. Curiosity compelled her to pluck one and pry it open to see what color its petals would be. Pulling aside the thick curtain of leaves, she sought one that wouldn’t be missed—and found the wall behind had changed from stone to wood. A frown pulled at her mouth as she widened the opening and discovered a latch and handle.

  Had she not ventured a peek behind these vines, she might never have even known a gate was here. Tugging the foliage away, she examined the opening. It was small, just tall enough to let someone her height pass through without ducking.

  The ladies who once graced these abutting gardens must have been good friends indeed to have installed such a passage. Rusted hinges that looked as if they hadn’t moved in many years held the door in place. Bracing a hand against the wood, she pushed a little to see if it was still solid.

  A commotion and a muffled curse sounded from behind the door, and Diana let out a surprised yelp.

  “Hello?” said a voice on the other side. “I say, who’s there?”

  She cringed. Damned if it wasn’t Blackthorn himself! “Hello? I’m so sorry to have startled you.”

  Silence held for a beat. “Lady Diana?”

  Had she not exerted iron control, a laugh would’ve burst from her throat at how his voice had risen an octave.

  “Whatever in heaven’s name are you doing over there?” he asked. “Scaling the wall?”

  Her face heated. “No,” she retorted, indignant. “I was examining the vines and discovered a gate.” Too late, she bit her tongue.

  “A gate?”

  “Yes,” she replied resignedly. “There is a gate beneath the vines on this side.” Clenching her teeth, she waited, and sure enough, a moment later there was a scraping sound as vines were swept aside on the other side of the door. Then, to her surprise, the door shook, followed by a loud bang and the screech of protesting hinges as it swung out, causing her to take a step back.

  There in the opening, partially obscured by hanging greenery, was Lord Blackthorn. He stuck an arm out to clear the way between them and beamed at her. “I thought some animal was scurrying about over here, perhaps a cat trying to reach the top of the wall. How delighted I am to find you instead.”

  I’m sure you are. “I did not know anyone was over there, or I would have announced myself,” she said, feeling more than a little awkward.

  “No need to worry,” he said, brushing it off with a negligent wave, which resulted in one of the vines escaping to slap him across the face.

  This time, a laugh burst free before she could stifle it.

  Sputtering, he shoved the offending foliage away and looked up at her, mischief dancing in his gray eyes. “It seems Mother Nature has it in for me. First the rain this morning spoiled my walk, and now the plants attack me.”

  “To be fair, we attacked them first.”

  “I shall have to retaliate,” he muttered, eyeing them with feigned hostility. “At the least, they must be trimmed back so this gate can be repaired.”

  Alarm spiked through her. Repaired? “Why not leave them as they are? It’s not as if this gate will ever be used again. I’m sure the blooms will be very beautiful once the buds open. It would be a shame to see them destroyed.”

  “Ah, but these vines grow all along this
wall. A trimming here won’t hurt them.” He patted the wood fondly. “I’ll have this put good as new straightaway.”

  Why? her mind shrieked. “For what purpose?” she asked innocently.

  “Why, so we can be neighborly, of course. The people who built this between our houses must have been fast friends. I see no reason not to carry on their tradition.”

  Oh, no, you don’t! “I doubt that would be considered proper, my lord.”

  A wide grin split his face. “Oh, come now, Lady Diana. People like us are little concerned with propriety.”

  Speak for yourself, rogue. “Lord Harrow might object.”

  “I doubt it,” he replied, stunning her with the blunt answer. “He and I have become acquainted, and I now consider him a friend. Why, just yesterday he told me he was looking forward to bringing you to my ball so he could show you my garden. I’ve done a great deal to improve it.”

  Acquainted? When had that happened? And why hadn’t Harrow informed her of it? She’d thought he’d forgotten about their discussion. Blackthorn was staring at her, awaiting her response. “I…I had no idea you were such an enthusiastic horticulturist,” she replied brightly, her mind racing to find a way to extricate herself from this conversation so she could run back inside her house, lock the door behind her, and hide. Coward.

  “I adore gardening such that I hardly need to employ any hands but my own,” he said with a smug little smile. “Now you can come and see what I’ve done without having to wait.”

  What? No! “I really ought not to—”

  “Ah, Harrow!” called Blackthorn, his gaze fixing on something behind her.

  Whirling, she turned to see her protector strolling toward them, a quizzical look on his face.

  As Harrow neared, his eyes took in the disheveled greenery, the open gate, and her neighbor’s smiling visage. He returned it with a smile of his own. “The bill of sale neglected to include this charming detail,” he said, gesturing to the gate.

  “Indeed, I had no idea this existed,” answered Blackthorn with a chuckle. “I was cutting the dead blooms off the rose bushes on my side and nearly dropped my clippers when it rattled. My surprise was complete upon discovering a door beneath the vines and this lovely vision beyond,” he added, gesturing at Diana.

  Harrow laughed. “A fortuitous find any day,” said he, bending to drop a quick kiss on her mouth.

  A courtesan would be accustomed to such open displays of affection, so she strove for cool indifference. She looked Harrow straight in the eye. “Lord Blackthorn is of a mind to have the vines trimmed away and the gate repaired,” she said, careful to make it sound as if she thought it a fine idea in contrast to her unspoken protest.

  Harrow’s smile turned indulgent. “I don’t see why not. After all, we are friends. Now we need not take the carriage around when we wish to visit.”

  Oh, bloody hell! She’d wring his neck later. For now, she had to play along. “Yes, indeed. I foresee many chats over evening pipes and brandy in this garden.”

  A thoroughly impish expression took over Blackthorn’s features. “I had no idea ladies indulged in such things, but I shall be sure to make accommodation.” She barely had time to register the joke and feel indignant before he went on. “You will of course be invited, as well, Harrow.”

  …

  Damned if baiting her wasn’t the most entertaining occupation in which Lucas had ever engaged! Her blushes and thinly veiled outrage were a delight.

  He discussed the restoration of the gate with Harrow for a few more minutes before inviting them both to take a turn in his garden. He hadn’t lied about improving the grounds. The garden had been in a shameful state when he’d taken ownership, and it had been one of the first things he’d set in order.

  It had been necessary to take the entire area down to the dirt for a complete redesign. Now there were raised beds planted with tulips and other blooming plants, graveled walkways, ornamental trees and shrubbery, and rose bushes. He’d even had a small hothouse built in one corner for cultivating more exotic flora like orchids. In fact, ironically, the only thing he hadn’t changed…were the vines covering the back wall.

  He watched Lady Diana and Harrow as they admired his handiwork, his mind cataloguing their every word and action.

  The mystery surrounding these two deepened with every encounter.

  That chaste peck the fellow had given her in greeting had been all but brotherly, and he might as well have kissed a marble statue for all her response to it. Her sea-green eyes had lit upon seeing him, but there had been nothing more than pleased surprise in them. And now the man was advocating for an unguarded entry point into his mistress’s garden. Certainly, no jealous lover would permit such a thing.

  But if they are not lovers, then what are they to each other? Why would a man like Harrow keep such a beautiful woman in luxury if not to warm his sheets? From the vantage of his bedchamber window, he’d chanced to observe the lady several times over the previous fortnight. As far as he could tell, she lived quietly and maintained a proper household. As proper as any respectable lady.

  At first he’d felt a stab of envy every time Harrow had come to visit her, but that had quickly faded once Lucas had become acquainted with the gentleman. It had come as a bit of a shock, really, Harrow extending the hand of friendship. He attributed the gesture as owing to the need to be on friendly terms with one’s neighbor. Or one’s mistress’s neighbor, to be precise.

  He’d developed a genuine liking for the fellow. Harrow carried himself with utmost confidence, yet he was unassuming. Humble, even, and far less intimidating than he’d been led to anticipate. Certainly not the taciturn, short-tempered figure people like Westie had painted him.

  The musician who’d taken up residence in Lady Diana’s household had given him pause, but he’d witnessed no late-night rendezvous, and they’d observed every propriety during their occasional walks in her garden. There were no furtive glances between them, no stolen kisses or impassioned embraces beneath the arbor.

  It hit him suddenly that there’d been none of that during her garden strolls with Harrow, either. The instinctual doubt that had nagged him when they’d first met now spoke more strongly than ever—there was no way this woman was in an intimate relationship with Harrow. He’d be willing to wager good money on it.

  Again, he wondered what they were to each other.

  Their discussion with Liverpool rose to the fore of his memory. Her interest in her uncle’s doings notwithstanding, the lady was awfully well informed with regard to both domestic and foreign politics.

  Or is she? What if Harrow had merely fed her the information to give to Liverpool under the pretense of a personal vendetta? Was the marquess more ambitious than he appeared? More importantly: Is she his cat’s paw?

  But no. She’d been a shy little mouse when he’d first met her. The sophistication he saw now could only be a thin veneer, surely? He wondered what he’d find beneath if he scratched the surface…

  “I’m uncertain as to whether it would be prudent,” Lady Diana was saying.

  His head snapped up. “I beg your pardon?”

  Annoyance flashed in her eyes, but otherwise her demeanor remained unruffled. “I said it might not be prudent to create an open passage between our properties. The servants are sure to talk of it, and once it becomes public knowledge…”

  The pointed look she leveled at him reminded him of nothing so much as a strict governess chastising a charge. “I would not have thought you to care so much for gossip,” he quipped, raising a brow at her in challenge.

  Again, the faint tinge of roses appeared in her cheeks. Again, not the reaction of a courtesan.

  “I worry not for my good name, but yours,” she replied, meeting his gaze with a raised brow of her own. “And yes, I know your reputation for wild living, but your escapades to date are the sort easily tolerated by Society.” She slid a glance to their left, where Harrow meandered the path a short distance away, then her gaze re
turned to skewer Lucas. “Ours are less so. I’m sure you’ve heard tales.”

  Oh, he’d heard. “Indeed. But such rumors give no proof of veracity, especially when they originate from disgruntled former servants and the like.”

  A smug expression settled across her features. “Again, you’ll never be able to decipher the reality from the fiction, unless…would you have me confirm which rumors are true and which are wild speculation?”

  Now there was an interesting idea. He was almost certain to recognize it if she spoke falsely, but such would be a dangerous assumption this early in the game. Perhaps not yet. Give it a bit more time. “I would be no gentleman if I imposed upon you to reveal such intimacies.”

  A soft, derisive snort escaped her, surprising him. “No gentleman would suggest keeping an open passage between his property and that of another man’s mistress.”

  She had a point. “I concede the argument,” he said with a deliberate show of chagrin. “Very well. When the gate is repaired, I shall see that it is locked—and give you the key.” He would persuade her to use it later.

  The startled blink she gave him was yet another incongruity. “You would give up your advantage?”

  Interesting choice of words. So she views this as a game, too. “And what advantage is that, pray tell?”

  Once more, her cheeks pinked at his implication. “I’d be a blind fool not to acknowledge your interest in me, Lord Blackthorn, or do you deny that you seek my favor?”

  He let a slow smile curl his mouth. “While I respect Harrow enough not to outright poach, I cannot deny my interest in you. You’re a delectable contradiction: a courtesan who strikes me as more of a proper lady than any night blossom.” He knew very well his turn of phrase narrowly skirted the edge of propriety. He who risks naught gains naught.

  Right on cue, the rosy stain in her cheeks deepened. When she spoke, her tone was the morning frost. “I was once a ‘proper lady,’ as you put it. Old habits are slow to perish.” At once, her manner shifted back to mischief. “Give me but a few more years of roasting at the brink of hellfire’s flames, however, and I’m certain I’ll be able to satisfy even your wicked expectations.”