“My opinion in regard to what?” he asked, their fingers brushing as he took the pages from her.
Warmth slid up her arm. “I keep waiting for you to say something cynical or biting, you know.”
He flashed her a grin. “After we’re finished here, perhaps. I’m becoming quite the conundrum, aren’t I?”
“That’s one way of putting it.” She gestured at the applications. “I won’t have anyone here who has no money to wager. Especially if they’re married.”
For several moments he sat silently as he looked through the papers. Whatever she thought of him and his character, with his lean face, long eyelashes, and high cheekbones he was an exceedingly handsome man. He knew it, though. And he knew how to use his attractiveness to his benefit.
Finally he looked up at her. “Not everyone has as little self-control or as poor judgment as Frederick Benchley.”
“I refuse to be responsible for seeing another woman, another wife, left penniless because of her husband’s idiocy.”
“Men—even ones who can afford to wager—win and lose fortunes every day at gaming tables. Ruination will happen at The Tantalus Club, Diane, and short of placing absurd limits on the wagers, as long as you keep the doors open there is nothing you can do to prevent it.”
“I can prevent men with no incomes from walking through my doors in the first place,” she retorted. “Frederick was in debt everywhere, and not one club turned him away. They sent dunners after us, but they still allowed him to gamble. This club will not do so.”
It made sense to her, and it was one thing about which she didn’t care to be advised. Even so, the muscles across her shoulders eased when he nodded. Perhaps he’d simply realized that arguing with her wouldn’t do any good, but it meant … something that he’d accepted her explanation.
“I wouldn’t admit any of these men, then,” he said, setting the applications back on the desk. “I would say you have a good eye for detecting men who have more balls than brains, but then you’d be even more impossible to live with than you are now.”
She chuckled. “I’ll take the compliment, since you don’t live with me.” Diane took a sip of her tea, then made a face at the cold liquid and set it down again. “Blech. Thank you.”
“And now I’m dismissed?”
It would likely be a nice gesture for her to ask what he’d wanted to talk about when he’d invaded her home earlier. “Yes, I’m finished with you,” she said aloud. She wasn’t prepared to make nice gestures yet. Not for him.
Oliver stood. Then before she could react, he leaned across the desk and gave her a swift kiss. “No, you’re not,” he returned, and headed for the door. “Seven o’clock. And I insist that you wear black.”
Aggravating man. “Is that supposed to drive me to do otherwise?”
“I suppose we’ll find out this evening,” he returned, amusement in his voice.
* * *
Oliver descended to the foyer his apartment shared with both Adam House and The Tantalus Club. At two minutes before seven the entryway was busy, with small groups of peers entering for dinner or leaving to attend the theater or one of the trio of soirees scheduled for the evening.
“Your coach is waiting,” Langtree said as she spotted him.
“Thank you.” He stopped to one side of her. “Your duties have expanded of late, haven’t they?”
“I knew they would when I accepted employment with Lady Cameron,” she returned, sending a footwoman to the coatroom for Lord Avery’s greatcoat and hat, and without pause directing Mr. Walter Jorie to the Hera Room for the best selection of wines.
“So you have no regrets over leaving your father’s shop?”
Langtree smiled. “I earn five times what my father could afford to pay me,” she said in a low voice, nodding to greet another group of gentlemen. “I’m not expected to wed Bertram Marks and move from being a shopkeeper’s daughter to a baker’s wife. So, no. I have no regrets.”
Another chit Diane had apparently saved. Oliver wondered if she was doing it consciously or if the women she hired simply filled empty positions and she didn’t care beyond that. From the way she spoke to him about her determination to reclaim a life that wagering had taken from her, she wanted him to believe that everything was simply the means to an end. But he was beginning to think that she was lying.
“Generally a gentleman escorting a lady to the theater brings her flowers, does he not?” Diane’s smooth voice came from behind him, followed by a loud chorus of “my lady” from the men around them.
“Who’s to say I didn’t?” he returned, facing her. The next suave thing he’d been about to say, however, lodged in his throat and stayed there.
Diane Benchley, the Countess of Cameron, wasn’t wearing black. Deep emerald silk clung to the curves up top and draped down around her legs like liquid. A single emerald glinted on her neck, drawing his eyes to the low, sweeping bodice that barely seemed to contain her charms. More emeralds dripped from her ears, and an emerald bracelet hung about her left wrist, circling one elbow-length black glove.
She lifted an eyebrow. “Are you well, or should I slap you on the back?”
He felt like he was leaning toward her. It took a great deal of effort to draw himself back both mentally and physically. “Save the slapping for a better occasion.” Gesturing her toward the door, he intentionally moved between her and the three gentlemen who stood gaping at her from the entrance to The Tantalus Club. “Your coach awaits, my lady.”
Outside he handed her into his large, black coach and then stepped up behind her. His control, his decision not to claim her later tonight, felt frayed already, and he nearly asked her if she wished a chaperone. Him. As soon as he pulled the door closed the coach lurched into motion, and he sat back in the forward-facing seat, opposite her.
“Did you select that material simply because it becomes you, or because it precisely matches the color of your eyes?” he asked after a moment.
“Both, of course.” She glanced about the coach. “Where are my flowers?”
“The horses must have eaten them.”
“Mm-hm.” She tilted her head at him, eyeing him from beneath long lowered eyelashes. His cock twitched in response. “You might have just said you didn’t think to purchase any,” she continued.
“In my defense, I don’t actually have to leave my house to come calling on you.” He shifted, trying to find a comfortable position in his usually comfortable coach. “Since we both know you didn’t decide to alter your wardrobe because of anything I said, what prompted the emerald?”
Diane smoothed her palms down her thighs. If he didn’t know any better, he could almost think she was attempting to seduce him. “The emerald is unexpected. And it’s dark, which I believe still qualifies as mysterious.” She flicked a finger at her dangling ear bob, making it wink in the lantern light. “These are faux, by the way. I don’t want you thinking I’ve misspent the money you loaned me.”
“The thought never crossed my mind.”
He shifted again—anything to keep him from falling into that bottomless green gaze. If he fell, he would drown. And she’d probably aid the process by holding his head under. Thank God he was a worldly, jaded cynic wise to the folly of following his heart, or he would have been in very real danger of losing it.
“You do realize that when we arrive at the theater unescorted,” he offered, “the rumors that we’re lovers will be confirmed.”
“Nothing is confirmed unless one of the two of us confirms it. Which we won’t.”
“Suit yourself. You may have men wondering if you’re available, but there are scores of women who wonder the same about me.”
“Are you trying to make me jealous?” she asked, then favored him with an amused grin. “Because it’s not working.”
That bucket of icy water cooled his ardor and cleared his mind, at least. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he retorted. “I’m merely offering advance warning. Men seek you out, and women seek me out. And
now that The Tantalus Club is open and attracting even more interest, you may also find yourself the object of … censure.”
“I fully expect to be insulted, both behind my back and to my face. I have no problem with that, though if I find anyone too petty or small-minded I shan’t invite him—or her—to darken my doorstep.”
“Very pragmatic of you. You’re going to hold a ladies’ night, then?”
“Yes. I was thinking of something like the first and third Tuesday of every month.”
Oliver nodded. “Parliament has an early session most Wednesday mornings, so you would likely have fewer men in attendance on Tuesday evenings, anyway.”
“Yes, I know.”
Of course she knew that; she’d clearly done a great deal of research to learn every aspect of owning a gentlemen’s club and dragged him in to supply her with blunt and the one or two bits of information she hadn’t been able to obtain elsewhere.
She did like her facts. It was the other areas, the ones that called for her to use her feelings, where the ground beneath her feet wasn’t nearly as firm. The question was how best to use that knowledge and how to discover precisely what it was he wanted from her. Because he didn’t think sex would be enough to satisfy him any longer.
“Stop being so quiet,” she said abruptly. “It makes me think you’re plotting something which can’t possibly benefit me.”
“I was considering where you could find male croupiers for two days a month. Because the ladies won’t want your scandalous chits walking among them.”
She flipped a hand at him. “Don’t blame their snobbery on my club. If all of my ‘chits,’ as you call them, were employed as governesses and companions, they would be just as frowned upon.”
“I don’t want to debate degrees of frowning, but there’s a difference between being seen as socially inferior and being avoided. Governesses and companions may not all be asked to dance, but they are allowed to enter good households.”
“And yet not all well-educated women find themselves in the position to net more … acceptable employment. What are they supposed to do, become whores?”
Oliver swallowed the cynical comment he’d been about to make. She’d actually asked him for advice earlier, and he didn’t want to lose ground. “You’re beginning to sound protective of your employees,” he said instead. “That makes you a rare flower, Diane.”
She actually blinked. “Don’t compliment me in the middle of an argument. It won’t make me stammer or blush, and it just makes you look desperate.”
Folding his arms across his chest, he gazed at her for a long moment. “And what I think,” he commented slowly, hoping she didn’t have another pistol strapped to her thigh, “is that whenever I say something complimentary, you snap back with an insult because you feel uncomfortable. Because you like when I compliment you.”
“Rubbish.” She scooted to one side of the seat and peered out the window. “Good. We’re here.”
“Coward.”
“Ha. Just remember that your character was questionable long before I succumbed to pragmatism.” The coach stopped. “And another thing,” she continued, standing as the driver flipped down the trio of steps and opened the carriage door. “I may enjoy a compliment, but you’ll never see one turning my head.”
Hm. That felt very much like progress. In a dirty, clawing battle like this one was turning out to be, it was nearly a victory.
Chapter Fourteen
Attending the Drury Lane theater was exactly as Diane had expected. Murmured conversations and sideways glances surrounded them, and even an offended gasp or two sounded behind them as she and Oliver made their way through the large lobby.
She kept her fingers wrapped lightly around the gray sleeve of his superfine jacket and listened and watched. Another female, one concerned with propriety or her standing among the social elite, would have been mortified. Diane, however, was not that female. Not any longer.
In a sense it was freeing to have lost everything. At the least it had broadened and altered her perspective on what was truly important. Her necessities were enough wealth to be able to live comfortably and the ability to determine the course of her own future. Those things were important. Being looked at in askance or having some marchioness turn her back—that was not worth losing even a single night’s sleep over.
“You’re being quiet,” the tall, lean devil at her side commented, turning his head to gaze at her with those mesmerizing gray eyes.
“I’m busy being noticed,” she returned, finally admitting to herself that he was one of the reasons she could hold her head high tonight. Before they’d met, she’d known nothing about how to survive or how to stand her ground against men like him. “Keep walking.”
“Yes, my lady.” They continued toward the stairs leading to his private box. “If any of this nonsense troubles you, I’m happy to go tackle Manderlin and make a scene.”
“If they’re talking about me, then it’s not nonsense; it’s good business.”
“But not terribly amusing for you, I would imagine.”
Oh, this was too much. First she couldn’t seem to keep herself from thinking about him more kindly, and now he was being solicitous. She stopped, fixing a look of amazement on her face so plain that even he would be able to make it out. “Are you having a sympathetic thought for someone other than yourself? Do you wish to lie down?”
“Ordinarily I would take that as an invitation and ask you to join me,” he returned smoothly, “but since you first appeared tonight I’ve begun to suspect that you want me to collect on the remaining eight hours of our agreement and … get it over with.”
Drat. “What makes you assume that, other than your own inflated sense of self-importance?”
He leaned closer. “It’s not my self-importance that’s inflated, my dear,” he murmured, “but I’ll collect what’s owed me when I choose to do so.”
Clearly he either had no idea that thinking about another interlude with him was keeping her awake nights, or he did realize that he unsettled her and he simply didn’t care. More than likely it was the latter.
“So you actually intend to sit for three hours and watch King Lear.”
With a slight grin he maneuvered her around a trio of gawking overdressed fops who were never going to be granted membership at The Tantalus Club. “I imagine I’ll enjoy it well enough.” He sent her a sideways glance. “I lied, by the way.”
It took some effort to keep the frown from her face. As far as she knew, he’d only lied to her once, and that hadn’t turned out well for her. “Could you be more specific?”
“Very amusing. We’re not here to see King Lear.”
“Then what are we here for?”
“To see a different play.” Oliver pulled back the curtain at the back of his large box and gestured for her to precede him. “The Taming of the Shrew.”
If most of the audience seated below them hadn’t already been looking in their direction, she would have hit him. “If you’re implying that I’m a shrew, Haybury, then I have sorely overestimated your intelligence and insight. And furthermore, if I were a chit who needed to be tamed, you are not the man to do it.” Sniffing, she plunked herself down in one of the chairs at the box’s front. “Such a man doesn’t exist.”
He took the seat beside her. “I don’t feel the slightest need or inclination to tame you, Diane,” he said in a voice so low she could barely hear it over the noise of the audience filling the theater. “I happen to like you as you are.”
“Stop attempting to flatter me,” she snapped back, keeping an expression of vague amusement on her face for the benefit of their growing audience. “Why go to the bother of lying to me about the play if you don’t see me as a shrew?”
“Because we would have had this argument in private and I would have lost—and I wanted to see the play.”
“Does one of your mistresses happen to be an actress?”
As soon as Diane asked the question, she had the oddest d
esire to clap her hands over her ears to avoid hearing the answer. Which was absurd, because she didn’t care what his answer might be.
“Oddly enough, no.” He brushed the edge of her skirt with one finger. “Did I tell you that you look stunning this evening? If I were less jaded and cynical, I would call you breathtaking.”
Well, that was unexpected. And the part of her that was still eighteen years old and wished she’d been wooed rather than bargained for was pleased that he thought so. And that he’d noticed. That silly girl, though, had never had her heart broken—by this same man. No doubt he expected her to bite back at him again, as she’d done every other time he’d attempted to compliment her. Diane took a slow breath. “Thank you.”
Oliver gazed at her. “That’s it?”
Shrugging, Diane sent a glance at the box opposite theirs. “It was a nice compliment.”
“As was my aim.”
She looked at the opposite box once more. “Who is that staring at me through his opera glasses?”
“Everyone’s been looking at you. Why point him out?”
A low, delicious shiver went through Diane. If they hadn’t just finished a discussion about jealousy, she would have asked him why his tone seemed so sharp. “Not a friend of yours then, I assume?” she asked him instead.
“Adam Baswich, the Duke of Greaves. He was in York for your grand opening, I believe. Must’ve just returned.”
“And you dislike him because…”
“I don’t dislike him.”
“Then which word would you use?” she pursued. Anyone who upended Oliver Warren was worth knowing about, at the least.
“You’re more damned single-minded than a dog after a bone, aren’t you? Leave it be. The curtain’s opening.”
Oh, this was far too interesting to let go. Diane sat silently as Christopher Sly and the Hostess took the stage and the audience’s attention moved to the front of the theater. Once everyone had settled, Diane edged closer to the formidable man seated beside her. “Is your disagreement with Greaves over a woman?” she whispered.
A Beginner's Guide to Rakes Page 18
