A Wicked Reputation (Once Wicked)

by Liana Lefey

  It quickly became evident their little “show” hadn’t put him off in the least. The man must be more of a libertine than they’d imagined!

  An hour after Blackthorn’s final guest had arrived, she and Westing were sitting beneath one of the oversized parasols pitched throughout the garden, chatting amiably and sharing a plate of elegant hors d’oeuvres, when their host came along with a bottle of chilled white wine to offer them a refill. The look he settled on Westing fairly sent the man scurrying, muttering something about fetching more strawberries.

  Here it comes… She braced herself as Westing left them alone.

  “You must be aware half of London is talking about your latest, ahem…exploit,” he began, shooting her a wry smile as he sat beside her. But the question Blackthorn asked next wasn’t at all the one she anticipated. “I wonder, have you and Harrow ever entertained a female third? I speak not of his wife, but of another,” he hastily added.

  For him to come right out and ask such a thing without preamble—and he’d used the appropriate term for it, too!—was startling. So startling, in fact, that she blurted out her answer without first thinking. “No.” Taking a hasty gulp of wine, she forced herself to address him calmly. “Why do you ask?”

  His steady gray eyes held her as he again managed to stun her. “I suppose you would become jealous if he required you to share him with another woman.”

  Oh good Lord. Think, Diana! “I had not even considered that possibility. After all, do I not already share him with his wife?”

  “Yes, but not in a carnal sense.”

  What a conversation to be having at a picnic in broad daylight with a dozen other people wandering about! “Indeed, you are correct.” Think, think! “I suppose I’m fortunate his affections are so restricted.”

  “Then, the addition of another bedpartner is for your benefit rather than his?”

  The trap’s jaws closed with a snap, and Diana felt her face flush in an involuntary response so strong she hadn’t any hope of concealing it. “My, but your curiosity is of the insatiable variety,” she said, giving him an embarrassed little laugh to cover her panic. His eyes narrowed at her use of the word “insatiable,” and she mentally kicked herself. Fine. If he wanted details, she’d give him ruddy details!

  Bracing herself with another sip of wine, she forced a light tone. “The addition of another companion is for our mutual benefit. It enhances his enjoyment to watch as another brings me pleasure. Then, when he feels the moment is right, he joins us.” She forced a cat-that-ate-the-cream smile onto her lips. “I can hardly complain, for we choose our companions well, and I reap the lion’s share of the rewards in the arrangement.”

  The expression that crossed his face was one of grudging admiration, which confused her. She’d expected shock or disgust at the implications of her revelation. Danger warnings sparked in the back of her mind. Time to turn the tide. “Why do you ask such questions? Are you contemplating a similar arrangement with your own mistress?”

  His scrutiny was unwavering. “Not exactly. I don’t think I’m the sort to find enjoyment in sharing my bedpartner.”

  “Quite understandable,” she said in a blasé tone, reaching for another berry. “Few men have the confidence to suffer the presence of another male while in so vulnerable a state. It’s all too easy to begin making comparisons, which invariably spoils it for everyone.” She popped the berry into her mouth and watched as the barb sank in. Maybe now he’d leave off the subject and find something else to discuss. Or, better yet, go away.

  But again, he surprised her. “Comparison does tend to rob one of joy in all circumstances. I can certainly see why it would be intolerable in the bedchamber. My hesitancy to share has nothing to do with comparisons, however. I simply don’t relish the idea of divided attention.”

  “You mean, of course, divided from yourself.”

  “I mean I prefer to devote my efforts wholly toward pleasing one person, with reciprocation in kind.” With that he, too, reached for a berry. Holding it between his teeth, he smiled briefly before sucking it into his mouth with a pop.

  Another flush rose in her cheeks, and she found herself laughing softly at how awry things had gone.

  Surprisingly, this reaction seemed to offend him. “Has no man ever devoted himself solely to your pleasure without any thought to his own?”

  It sobered her instantly. “As I said, I can hardly complain.”

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  “That’s the answer I choose to give,” she said, showing him a hint of steel.

  “You fear answering me truthfully—because you know the answer is no.”

  Her temper threatened to escape mastery. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath before replying, “You clearly have little knowledge regarding such matters. I suggest you seek proper tutelage before we continue this discussion.” She was just in the act of rising to escape his odious presence when his next words stopped her cold.

  “Since you’re so experienced in such matters, would you be willing to teach me?”

  It took everything not to laugh at his transparent endeavor to get beneath her skirts. “That’s hardly an appropriate request, given you and I have agreed to be friends, not to mention I’m currently engaged as another man’s mistress.”

  “Ah, but your protector seems to have a different view of friendship than most,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “I thought perhaps you might share this view and extend it to our friendship.”

  She allowed herself a longsuffering sigh before answering him. “You must understand, Lord Blackthorn, Harrow is exceedingly discriminating when it comes to choosing our third.”

  “You said you made that choice together.”

  Damn. “Yes, well, usually it is he who brings a candidate to my attention. For approval,” she rushed to add.

  “Usually? You mean always,” he said with a smirk, leaning a little closer and dropping to a whisper. “I think that a grave injustice, don’t you?”

  “I thought you did not enjoy sharing your bedpartner?” she shot back, irritated.

  “Touché. But in your case, and in the interest of ‘proper tutelage,’ I’d be willing to compromise.”

  Oh, I imagine you would, you rogue! She pasted a saccharine smile on her face. “I would not hesitate to make a request, provided I liked the candidate well enough.”

  His lips curved in a rueful smile as he acknowledged her quick rebuttal with a nod. “Then I suppose I’ll have to make you like me, won’t I?”

  Part of her wanted to laugh in his face. Another part wanted to melt at the look he was giving her. Fortunately, good sense prevented either reaction from surfacing. She settled for a cool smile. “I wish you luck in that endeavor.”

  “And if by some miracle I manage to pass muster?” he said, the hint of laughter in his voice.

  You won’t. But even as she thought it, she knew it was already too late. How long could she keep him at arm’s length if he maintained a steady siege? Then, as if inspiration had been whispered by some invisible muse’s lips at her ear, a new thought occurred to her: Why am I trying to fend him off? If anything, I ought to grant him permission to do his worst—with one small caveat.

  Now, it was her turn to smirk. “If you manage to make us both like you well enough, I won’t have to ask.” Wicked glee filled her as she watched his reaction to her inference. While he sat in gratifyingly dumbstruck silence, she took the opportunity to rise and brush the grass off her skirts. “I fear our friend Westing has become lost. Shall we go and find him?”

  …

  As he scrambled up to join her, Lucas cursed his reckless mouth for leading him right into a dead end. She knew he’d never—

  Bright as a sunrise, an idea formed. He’d call her bluff. She thought he viewed Harrow as a rival, but Harrow wasn’t the obstacle here—the music instructor was. He’d happily cozy up to Harrow if it meant driving a wedge between her and her nimble-fingered Casanova. All I have to do is make
her fall out of love with him and fall in love with me.

  He glanced over to see Diana staring at him. “I’ve had a decent start, you know—with regards to befriending Harrow,” he told her lightly. “We’re not yet boon companions, but I don’t doubt we’ll soon become so. I like him a great deal.”

  A wry smile tilted her full lips. “Please don’t take offense at my skepticism, but Harrow has a great many friends who ‘like him a great deal,’ but only a few have ever become close enough for him to trust in our bed.”

  Now that he didn’t doubt. But however long Harrow had known his current lover was immaterial, as Lucas didn’t intend to wait that long to achieve his purpose. He grinned. “I’m nothing if not convivial, and I’m hardly a man to judge another for his vices. I’ve quite a few of my own.”

  She stopped and faced him, a single caramel brow arched high. “So you would not mind being the subject of rumors placing you in his bed?”

  Lucas bit back the correction that raced to the tip of his tongue: your bed. A knowing gleam in her eye told him her word choice had been deliberate, a subtle warning couched in literal terms. It was indeed Harrow’s bed, as he owned her house and everything in it.

  Being named a libertine was one thing; it was nothing he hadn’t been called before. Harrow himself was often referred to in such terms. Because of the man’s rank, most people left it at that and chose to believe—or pretend to believe—his sole interest was in the ladies.

  Lucas knew better, however. And if the truth about Harrow ever became public knowledge, any man closely associated with him would be suspect. No, he’d be tried and convicted in the minds of everyone he knows. The idea of being called a molly behind his back—or to his face—wasn’t one he relished. His parents would be fit for Bedlam. No matter what he’d told Westing about not giving a damn what his father thought, he wasn’t certain he’d be able to withstand that sort of disapproval.

  Still… as long as he made it clear once he achieved his goal that his only pursuit had been Lady Diana, the scandal ought to blow over fairly quickly and do no permanent damage. After all, his notoriety was securely entrenched in the overturned skirts of dozens of women, few of whom had been discreet about it.

  Was it worth the risk?

  Is she worth the risk? Looking at her, he felt it again. She pulled at something inside him. Whenever he was with her, it was as if he were being swept out to sea, caught in the inexorable grip of an outgoing tide and helpless to fight against it. It terrified him a little. Perhaps more than a little. But that fear was no match for her draw.

  He decided to see how far she would go to put him off. “As long as you’re in it, I should not mind in the least,” he lied smoothly. “Don’t forget—I’m already well accustomed to Society’s censure.”

  Her gaze sharpened. “Gentlemen often boast of their own boldness but fail to follow through when their reputation is at risk.”

  Drawing close enough to breathe in her lavender scent, he gave her his best “I don’t give a damn” smile. “My name is already blackened.”

  “It’s not nearly as black as it could be,” she countered, her mouth hardening.

  How he longed to kiss those lips back to softness. “Is that an invitation to sully my name further?” He grinned. “Because if it is, I wholeheartedly accept.”

  “It’s a warning,” she murmured, her expression going utterly flat. “There are rules to this game, Lord Blackthorn. Rules of which you are clearly unaware. Such ignorance can be dangerous.”

  And the gloves are officially off… He sobered. “Then please, by all means, enlighten me.”

  A long pause followed in which he could almost see words being weighed behind her gem-like eyes. “For a man who prides himself on being known for his masculinity, accepting an invitation to join us would carry a most unpleasant consequence. No matter how you tell the tale—and we both know you would be unable to resist the temptation to boast—there would always be a question in the listener’s mind concerning your role.”

  With unerring accuracy, she’d struck right at the heart of his misgiving. “You mean people might think I’m a—”

  “Let us not give voice to ugly labels, but yes,” she interrupted. “And there would be no way for you to unequivocally prove otherwise. It’s a shadow you would live with for the rest of your life. So, I suggest you think long and hard about your next move.”

  The blatant innuendo wasn’t lost on him, but he didn’t dare smile. “I thought you’d know by now I’m not afraid of gossip. I’m—”

  “Before you decide whether to continue on this path, there is something more you ought to know.” She drifted a little closer and tipped her face up, impaling him with a seductive sea-green stare. “Since we have declared ourselves friends, may I depend upon your complete discretion?”

  It was difficult to speak when all the breath had been stolen from him, but he managed to rasp out a rough “Yes.”

  Holding him captive with her gaze, she lowered her voice to just above a whisper. “Friendship is readily won, trust less so but not impossible. Both are required for what you seek. Yet even with these, you will never be issued the invitation you covet unless you convince Harrow your desire for him is equal to that which you feel for me. We never bed anyone we don’t both want.”

  Pure shock skittered down his spine. Well, I’ll be damned. The last thing he’d expected was for her to reveal Harrow’s true inclination when it came to selecting his bedpartners.

  This was a test, plain and simple. And the time had come to either withdraw or make bold. Was it a wise decision to pursue her? Definitely not. But it was something he absolutely had to do.

  “Then…I must seduce you both…” Taking a deep breath, he leaped off the proverbial cliff. “Very well. I’ll give it my best effort.”

  It was worth it, if only to see the look on her face.

  “You cannot seriously be considering it?” she blurted, abandoning all pretense of cool sophistication.

  The memory of Harrow kissing the music teacher replayed in his mind’s eye. Unless he was sorely mistaken, Harrow’s heart was already taken, so there was little danger of the man actually falling in love with him. He feigned confusion. “Why not?”

  Her consternation gave way to a burst of incredulous laughter. “You cannot simply decide to like—” Glancing around, she lowered her voice back down to a barely audible hiss. “To like men in that way. From my understanding, such a thing is not a conscious decision. Harrow has always been attracted to both men and women.”

  Lucas shrugged, ignoring the lie she’d tacked onto the end of that statement. “Is there any reason it cannot be a conscious decision?” He enjoyed watching her sputter as she searched for a rebuttal capable of holding water. When it was clear none was forthcoming, he went on. “I’m not immune to curiosity, you know, and I’m not inhibited by any particularly strong sense of morality.”

  Her mouth fell open, and he saw sheer panic enter her eyes.

  The same sort of panic roiled in his gut, but his gambler’s mask remained firmly in place. It’s all or nothing, now. “I daresay Harrow is quite a good-looking fellow, now I think on it,” he mused, watching her carefully. “One might even go so far as to call him handsome. And he certainly seems to like me well enough. I’m—”

  “But—”

  “—certainly up to the challenge. In fact, I find the whole idea rather invigorating.” Her increasingly flustered reaction further bolstered his courage. “But then, I’ve never been one to shun new experiences. And as for my reputation—”

  “But—”

  “—that’s already well in the gutter. Let people assume what they will. I care not. Should anyone inquire, I’ll simply deny there is anything more than friendship between us. After all—”

  “But—”

  “—as long as we are discreet, no one will be able to prove anything one way or another. Yes,” he said in a tone of finality. “I’ll do it.” He waited for Diana to object
, but the lady appeared to have finally been rendered speechless. Her expression was beyond price, and he took his time memorizing it.

  At last, she found her tongue. “Do you have even the slightest idea how to court a man of his tastes?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck, at last allowing some of his nervousness to show. “Not in the least. I don’t suppose I can depend on your advice?”

  That brought her up short. “You’re asking me?”

  His anxiety was mitigated by amusement at her discomfiture. “I am.” But if he’d expected her to answer back with all manner of ridiculous suggestions guaranteed to earn him Harrow’s undying enmity, he was wrong.

  “I’m afraid I have little to offer. His expectations of me are not those of our other companions. But, as you said, he already seems to like you, which means you’re doing well enough on your own. You don’t need my guidance.”

  This time, the smile he gave her was genuine, borne of pure glee at her discomposure. “I’m glad to know it. But I suppose the question I really ought to have asked is how best to gain your favor.”

  The calculating look returned to her eyes. “Treat those whom I love with love, and you’ll have no trouble winning my heart.”

  And just like that he knew. He knew she wasn’t in love with the music teacher. Had she been, she never would have said her heart was even capable of being won. Did she harbor an honest affection for the fellow? Yes; he’d seen as much with his own eyes.

  But she’s not in love.

  Happiness flooded him at the thought. “You are as intelligent as you are beautiful,” he murmured. “I shall endeavor to be the best possible beau—for you both. But come, let us find Westie, and then I think we ought to find Harrow so I can begin winning his heart as well as yours.” He frowned suddenly. “You won’t tell him anything, will you?” he asked, knowing her answer would be a bald-faced lie.

  Chapter Nine

  “And spoil the romance? Of course not,” Diana lied, unable to refrain from sarcasm. “If you truly want my advice, you’ll tell him of your interest—and sooner rather than later. He prefers people to be direct when it comes to such matters. I’m sure you can understand why.”