A Wicked Reputation (Once Wicked)

by Liana Lefey

  Though still daringly low cut, it was more modest than those she typically wore when Harrow wanted to show her off. She couldn’t wait to put it on. Another, smaller package was tucked inside the larger box. This one held matching slippers, a silver reticule, and aquamarine jewelry.

  As the day wore on, she grew more and more nervous. She’d been to countless balls, but this one was different. It was his. He was their host, and they were now considered by all of London to be friends. Which meant she would have to act…friendly.

  Exactly how friendly was the question. A sudden bout of nerves made her feel faintly nauseous.

  Harrow, upon seeing her pale cheeks when he arrived, tried to set her mind at ease. “We’ve nearly achieved our goal. The flirtations must become a bit bolder tonight—from all parties—so expect some ruffled feathers from the less tolerant of his guests.” A predatory look entered his eyes, and she recalled how much he loved pitting his wits against an opponent, a trait they shared. “This is our first real opportunity to plant the seeds of suspicion in the minds of the public, and it must be done right. Hopefully, he plays his part.”

  “And if he fails? If he tries to distance himself?”

  A faint smile played about his mouth. “I’ve a contingency plan at the ready.”

  “What is it?”

  But he merely shook his head. “It’s best you not know. If I must enact it, it’s vital that your reaction be genuine.”

  Dread made her heart pound inside her chest. “I’m frightened.”

  His gentle hands cupped her shoulders, warm and reassuring. “You’ve no cause for worry. I’ll be with you the entire evening. By the time we’re done, he’ll be unable to say anything damning without also condemning himself.”

  Despite her faith in him, Diana was a mass of nerves as she sat through the finishing touches of her toilette. When she was ready, however, Harrow told her to remain seated and dismissed Francine from the room, closing the door behind her.

  “Why are we not leaving? He’ll expect us to be among the first to arrive.”

  “I intend us to be fashionably late,” he answered. “I want everyone present when we enter.”

  Trusting his judgment, she contented herself with reviewing the finer points of the plan in her mind while he read the Gazette and she pretended interest in her copy of Magazin des Modes Nouvelles. Half an hour later, he rose and held out his arm, ending her torment. On arriving downstairs, she was surprised when he led her not to the front of the house to board his carriage, but to the back. At her askance look, he held up an oversize brass key she recognized as belonging to her garden gate.

  A devil’s grin curved his mouth. “Tonight, I want everyone to know just how very neighborly we are.”

  Her breath caught, and she knew her eyes must be like saucers. The consequences of what they were about to do would be irreversible. If Blackthorn had any hope of escape, it was about to be crushed.

  …

  Where the bloody hell are they? Surely she cannot have fallen ill since taking her morning constitutional? Perhaps something has happened. Perhaps Harrow is late… Lucas’s teeth were practically itching with irritation. They ought to have put in an appearance by now.

  It was all he could do to stop himself sneaking out and going up to the terrace to try to see what the devil might be causing their delay. Prying himself away from his guests, he edged toward the rear of the ballroom and its bank of garden-facing French doors. He wouldn’t be able to see over the wall from down here, but he could at least catch a glimpse of her second floor windows. Several were lit from within, but not the ones belonging to Diana’s bedchamber. Nor were the music teacher’s windows aglow.

  Perhaps she decided not to attend? His heart sank. Then he felt a flash of anger—immediately followed by trepidation. If she’d told Harrow what he was on about…

  Light and movement amid the darkness caught his eye. Moving toward him, a lamp bobbed along the garden path. Moments later, the servant bearing it was revealed, immediately followed by Diana and Harrow.

  Why are they coming through the back rather than around front? Had something happened to Harrow’s carriage on the way to pick her up? But even so, Diana had her own. Perplexed, he opened the doors to let them in.

  As soon as Lucas saw Diana’s dazzling smile, he forgot his annoyance and puzzlement. She looked a vision. Bowing over her outstretched fingers, he bid her welcome before shaking Harrow’s hand in greeting.

  Harrow’s earnest face was full of regret as he covered their joined hands with his other and apologized profusely for their lateness. “The fault is entirely mine—an unexpected visitor prevented my departure at the appointed time, and as we were already so late, I thought to avoid any further delay by taking our little garden shortcut,” he said with a conspiratorial wink, releasing his hand with a final pat. “Don’t worry about formally announcing us. We’ll just pretend we’ve been here all along, and no one will be the wiser.”

  Except they would. Because several of his other guests had witnessed their entrance. Granted, none were near enough to have heard the exchange, but they had eyes.

  Lucas’s stomach did a somersault as the implications sank in. Whether intentional or not, the result of their unconventional arrival was fait accompli. Everyone would soon know he and his neighbor were on very friendly terms, such that they had private access to each other’s grounds and felt familiar enough to enter unannounced through the back door. The warmth of Harrow’s greeting would not have been missed, either.

  Indeed, heads were already turning toward them as whispers doubtless raced from mouth to ear, spreading like ripples across a still pond.

  There is no going back now. Squaring his shoulders, he mentally prepared to brazen it out. Forcing muscles twitchy with nerves, he smiled broadly. “Now you’ve finally arrived, we can truly begin the festivities. Come, let me introduce you to some of my other friends. You already know Westing, of course…”

  He’d worry about the consequences of this later. For now, he could only manage the cards dealt him and play as best able. Making the rounds and seeing familiar, friendly faces helped dismiss the panic threatening to set in. As did remembering all the bets placed at White’s.

  People already thought the worst and were merely awaiting confirmation. He hadn’t planned on giving it to them tonight, but that’s the way the dice sometimes rolled. His mind raced, searching for a way to turn this around to his benefit.

  It had already occurred to him that he couldn’t discontinue his flirtation with Harrow tonight without revealing his deceit. The only way around it was to flirt only when both Diana and Harrow were present, making sure to always end on her, thereby allowing others to assume his attentions were directed toward her alone.

  By the time the dancing began, confused and doubtful expressions had given way to knowing looks and even grudging nods of approval from some of the men. Through it all, he maintained a calm exterior, as if he’d expected nothing less.

  The deal was sealed when Harrow, who took Diana’s first and second dances, walked her over to Lucas and presented her to him for the third. The significance of that number was not lost on Lucas. Nor was it lost on the keenest of their spectators. Brows rose, and whispers followed the gesture.

  He couldn’t keep the smile off his face as they took their places for the waltz. “You look like an angel in that gown,” he said on impulse, internally kicking himself for sounding so trite.

  When she laughed, her face transitioned from beauty to divinity. “Flatterer,” she teased, arching a caramel brow. “Most here would sooner name me the devil.”

  “Was not the devil once heaven’s most beautiful angel before the fall?”

  “Have you no shame?”

  “None. I lost it in a foolish bet with a clever angel.”

  Mischief twinkled in her sea-green eyes. “Beware, lest the esteemed matrons overhear you and caution you against corruption at my hands.”

  “I should consider myse
lf the luckiest of men if you deigned to corrupt me.” The music began, and he swept her away across the ballroom floor, happy to admire her graceful movements from up close. “In fact, I hereby issue a standing invitation to attempt it.”

  A combination of desire and wariness flickered across her face for an instant before she smoothed it over with a low, sultry chuckle. “Were I to accept, you would be forever ruined.”

  “Have I not said before that I care nothing for other people’s opinions?”

  “Indeed.” Her lashes lowered, and her gaze became molten. “But I was speaking of a different sort of ruination.”

  Her words sent a dizzying bolt of pure desire lancing down through his vitals and straight into his suddenly aching crotch. The swiftness with which he grew hard was almost painful. It forced him to reevaluate his plan. He’d thought to have Diana once and get her out of his blood, but the strength of his want for her was such that he wondered if a solid month between her legs could quench it.

  Every look that passed between them stoked the fire. Every touch made it burn hotter. Everything in him clamored to claim Diana, to make her his. The impulse to kiss her and damn the consequences was almost overwhelming. He bit back a nervous laugh on realizing his muscles were trembling with the effort of holding himself back.

  Her lush mouth curved up at the corners. “I see I’ve managed to silence you at last.”

  All his senses were heightened by unrelenting want as he focused on the woman before him. The color had risen in her cheeks, making her eyes appear even brighter as she teased him. The pulse at the base of her throat was a rapid flutter. Her small hand was hot and dry in his grasp as they slowly circled the ballroom. As he watched, the pink tip of her tongue darted out to moisten her ripe lips, leaving behind a pearly sheen that begged his attention.

  He knew she wanted him as badly as he wanted her. The thought sent another lightning-flicker of need spearing through him. Something had to be done about this before he was driven to act recklessly. “Speaking of invitations, has there been any hint of my receiving the one we spoke of before?”

  Perfect lips parted in a gentle smile. “He certainly seems quite fond of you.”

  A sinking sensation settled the pit of his stomach. “I had hoped by now that you—both of you—would be more than just ‘fond’ of my company.”

  Something like regret flashed in her eyes, but she didn’t have a chance to answer as the waltz drew to a close. Before he knew it, she was gone, led away on the arm of another gentleman who appeared far too enamored of her for his liking.

  Black jealousy pricked him sore as she turned her brilliant smile on the poor, dumbstruck bastard. Bad enough he had to compete with the bloody music teacher. The last thing he needed was yet another rival. The supreme irony of it elicited a quiet laugh. He was competing with a man he didn’t even know for the affection of another man in whom he wasn’t the least bit interested. And all for her.

  There had to be a way to hasten this along before it grew any more complicated. He knew he was making headway with Diana. They’d spent a lot of time together and talked enough now that he could see the signs. She wasn’t quite there yet, but soon. As for Harrow, he was but a hair’s breadth from infatuation.

  This thought made him squirm a little, and not merely from discomfort at the idea of being lusted after by another man, but from guilt. He was playing a cutthroat game, and its victim was a capital fellow, a genuinely good man in a city full of bad ones. In the beginning, he hadn’t been concerned for anyone’s feelings but his own. Now…

  But damn it all, he couldn’t walk away. Not when he was so close to winning her over. He stuffed the guilt away in a dark corner and shut the door on it. Sentimentality had a nasty habit of getting in the way of obtaining what one wanted. It wasn’t as if he’d be leaving the man broken and alone. Harrow had his lover to console him.

  When Diana complained of sore feet later in the evening, Lucas invited her, Harrow, and Westing to join him in a game of whist in the drawing room, where he’d had several tables set up for his guests’ pleasure. The first few rounds were full of jests and friendly banter. When Harrow rose with the intention of having a smoke, he could have followed him and Westing, but decided Harrow had been the focus of enough of his attention tonight and remained with Diana.

  He gave her a disarming smile. “Have your poor, abused feet recovered?”

  She winced and with a little huff of rueful laughter shook her head. “I’m afraid I won’t be dancing anymore tonight. Lord Burlington trod upon my toes without mercy, and he is no small man. I shall count myself lucky should I manage the return home without having to be carried. Shall we continue playing, or did you have something else in mind?”

  Lucas marked that although the words were suggestive, her tone wasn’t. “Cards it is, then. A round of Speculation, since it’s just us two?” As she nodded agreement, inspiration struck. “What say we learn which of us is the better player?”

  One brow arched. “Is that really fair, considering gambling is your profession?”

  “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of losing?” he teased, continuing to shuffle the cards.

  A slow smile stole over her lips as she held him with her eyes. “Do I look afraid? Deal.”

  Within half an hour, he realized any losses the lady suffered were the result of pure bad luck rather than any lack of skill. Several games later, the tally showed them tied for the number of wins, with her slightly ahead in currency, which up to this point had been only markers, as it would’ve been ill-mannered for a gentleman to play against a lady for actual money.

  Several of the room’s other occupants had abandoned their games to watch them. Eventually, Harrow and Westing returned and joined the gathering, but neither expressed an interest in rejoining the game.

  Another half hour passed, and he was down by two wins and a few markers. Losing was never a pleasant experience, but in this particular instance he was exactly where he wanted to be. “You’re a masterful player,” he conceded. “Shall we raise the stakes and make it a little more interesting?” he suggested as she was dealing another round.

  She kept her gaze trained on the table, where she was laying out cards. “What do you propose?”

  “Five rounds. Both players begin with fifty markers, and the one with the most markers at the end wins. Loser grants a forfeit to the winner.”

  Sea-green eyes flicked up to meet his. “Care to be a bit more specific?”

  Giving her a lazy grin, he answered lightly, “No.” He watched as her gaze became wary while she contemplated her response.

  Before she could answer, Harrow chuckled softly and came up behind her chair to place his hands on her shoulders. Bending, he murmured at her ear, loud enough for those closest to hear, “Go on, Diana. You’re the best player I’ve ever known.”

  Tipping her head back to meet her protector’s eyes, she gave him a look full of uncertainty.

  Then Harrow shocked him and everyone present by leaning down and pressing a brief kiss to her upturned lips, and whispering, “Show him how it’s done, my dear.”

  Lucas’s gut clenched as a flush tinted her cheeks, turning them rosy. Doubt resurged at her telltale response. Harrow’s hands still rested on Diana’s shoulders, absently stroking them as he stared at Lucas with a faintly amused expression.

  Are they, in fact, lovers? Unease rippled through Lucas, and feather-brushings of panic caused his stomach to knot. It took all his self-control not to show how unnerved he was as Diana returned her attention to him.

  No smile graced her lips now, and her gaze was clear and sharp. “Very well. I agree to your terms.”

  Their audience’s collective exhale was a soft susurration that raised the hair on the back of his neck.

  Hoisted by my own petard. There was nothing for it but to play. He briefly considered letting her win in order to save the situation, but with so many onlookers there was no way to do so without being caught. If he went easy on her, ev
eryone in London would know he’d thrown it and wonder why. Play to win, then.

  She won the first round. He won the second and third. The area around their table was ringed with faces as the room became crowded. More were trickling in, having been alerted to the titillating nature of their wager. She won the fourth.

  The fifth game would determine the winner of the forfeit. Tension rose as the cards were shuffled. The atmosphere in the room fairly crackled with it. Harrow’s face was inscrutable as he looked on.

  Lucas had a moment of sincere regret for having brought it to a head in so public a manner. “We can stop now and call it a draw, if you prefer,” he offered her quietly, ignoring the small noises of protest echoing around them. “I won’t hold it against you if you do so.”

  Irritation sparked in her eyes, telling him it’d been the wrong thing to say. “Now who is afraid of losing? Deal the cards. Unless, of course, you wish to concede and grant me the forfeit now?”

  Oho! So that’s how you want to play this, then? Very well. You asked for it. In a flash, his reticence vanished, and all at once he became the cool hand that had won this house and most of his fortune. Picking up the deck of cards, he offered them to her. “You deal this time.”

  Without breaking eye contact, she picked them up and shuffled them a few more times before dealing. The crowd ringing them seemed to collectively hold its breath as they played the game out to its end.

  When the last of the cards was laid out, a bolt of pure elation ran through Lucas. He met her eyes, seeing his own shock reflected in their sea-green depths.

  He’d won.

  Her voice quavered a little as she bowed her head in acknowledgment of her loss. “Name your prize.”

  A choice lay before him. Ever since proposing their wager, he’d been going back and forth, desire wrestling with conscience, trying to decide what he’d do if he won. He had the option of requesting something safe, something that would offer no offense, yet put him one step closer to his goal. Something like: all of your first and last dances at every ball we both attend for the remainder of the Season. Or perhaps even a little more daring: a kiss.