A Scandalous Portrait: Rose Room Rogues ~ Book One

by Hutton, Callie

  “And, going out and about in Society is vital if we’re to save both our reputations. However, I know what our plan is, you know what it is—to wait and see if we suit, or whatever it is that is holding you back, but that will remain our secret. To the world, we are a happily engaged couple.” He held the ring out once more. “Will you wear it under those conditions?”

  Diana looked down at the ring and then back at him again. Something in his eyes must have touched her since her demeanor shifted and she offered him a slight smile. “You can be quite the eloquent speaker when the situation calls for it, my lord.” She chewed on her lower lip for a few moments. “Very well. I will accept the ring under those conditions.”

  He slid it on her finger. The ring was a tad big, but he would have it adjusted. Right now he was merely grateful that she’d accepted.

  He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. “Perhaps a kiss to seal our betrothal?”

  “Pretend betrothal,” she returned.

  He smiled at her stubbornness and reached out to cup her chin. Her skin was soft, like satin petals on a rose. He leaned in and gently touched his lips to hers. She didn’t pull back, so he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close, taking the kiss deeper.

  Nudging her lips, his tongue swept in, teasing, tasting, taking possession. A slight moan from Diana had him pulling back, kissing the soft skin under her ear, along her jaw and neck. “So sweet.”

  She pressed closer, her breasts crushed against his chest. In her naivety, she was unaware of how her moans and movements were nudging him past where he planned to stop. “I want you, Diana. I have for so long.”

  She shook her head. “Not true. You’ve thought of me as the plague for years.”

  “I love plagues.” He returned to her mouth, his hand sliding up her ribs to cup her breast. There wasn’t much he could do with her layers of clothing hampering him, but she picked that moment to pull back anyway.

  They were both panting, and her face was flushed. She cleared her throat and patted her hair. “I believe it is time to leave.”

  Since she was right, and he shouldn’t be leading her down the path where marriage would be inevitable instead of necessary, he stood and held out his hand.

  And sat right back down when he realized the bit of passion they’d shared had awakened body parts of which he did not want her aware. Not yet, at least.

  “Finish your drink.” He motioned to her glass and downed his own drink. Since Diana sipped at hers, it gave him enough time to recover his dignity to stand and appear the gentleman.

  * * *

  Diana turned as Hunt placed the rose-colored lace shawl that matched her gown over her shoulders. Her breathing had finally returned to normal, but she was still shaken by their kiss.

  Not that it was the first kiss they’d shared, but this one shocked her. Perhaps it was wearing the betrothal ring. Or maybe it was feeling things for her long-time friend she’d never felt before.

  She’d known her feelings toward Hunt had changed since her return from Italy. No. That wasn’t quite true. It wasn’t until he’d viewed the portrait and his attitude changed toward her that she found herself viewing him in a different light.

  They made their way down the steps to his waiting carriage. Hunt helped her in and took the seat across from her. Facing backward. Always the gentleman.

  “Hunt, can we be honest?” The vehicle started up, and she grabbed the strap hanging alongside her as they hit a rut in the road.

  His eyebrows rose. “Of course.”

  “What are your thoughts on an ideal wife?”

  Hunt had the nerve to throw his head back and laugh. “Oh, no. You’re not going to drag me into that.”

  She stiffened at his annoying reaction to an honest question. “I don’t intend to drag you into anything. I just want to know how far removed I am from what you had wanted for a wife. This was your year to find a bride, and I had no reason to believe you would ever look in my direction. Am I right?”

  He rested his foot on his knee and stared at her for a moment. “What I thought I wanted and what I actually need turned out to be two different things.”

  She huffed. “Whatever does that nebulous statement mean?”

  “’Tis not so nebulous. I will admit I’ve always wanted a biddable young lady. But, to be honest, every biddable young lady I met so far this Season was boring as hell. Excuse my language.”

  She waved him off. “No matter.”

  Hunt leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. “You see. That is precisely what I mean. Can you imagine Lady Eunice or anyone of her ilk not fainting dead away at my use of the word ‘hell’?”

  “All right. Then an ideal wife is one who allows cussing?”

  He grinned. “That was not what I meant, and you are intelligent enough to know that. Which is another reason I think we would suit. You are a smart, witty, knowledgeable woman. You have traveled, lived on your own. Our conversations involve more than the color of your ribbon choices or how well you play the pianoforte.”

  “I don’t play very well, I’m afraid.”

  “That is perhaps why you don’t mention it.” He reached across the open space and took her hand. “It turns out what I need and what I want are not the same thing. I need you.”

  “Ah, but do you want me?”

  He released her hand and sat back. “You have no idea how much I want you, Diana.”

  The look on his face, the hooded eyes and the slight tilt of his lips had her lady parts throbbing. Despite her best efforts, a flush rose from her middle to cover her upper body. Thank goodness the carriage was dark so he couldn’t see her blush.

  Diana folded her hands in her lap and leaned against the squab, staring at her entwined fingers. Another ten minutes of silence passed as she considered what Hunt said. He sounded sincere which astonished as well as frightened her. Was she ready to accept a marriage between them? Would he grow tired of her constant ability to find trouble? On the other hand, was she willing to change herself to suit the title of Countess?

  Her brain in a whirl enough to give her a megrim, she used a finger to move aside the curtain. “It appears we’re almost there.”

  As she gathered her things, they came to a rolling stop, and the driver jumped down to open the door. Hunt stepped out first and turned to help Diana out of the carriage. She took his extended hand, and a sharp jolt ran up her arm, and her eyes flicked to his. He must have felt the same thing, but instead of surprised, he looked pleased.

  Whatever was he all about? Hunt was turning into a mystery. He’d gone from eschewing the idea of marriage—at least to her anyway—to attempting to talk her into it. She was more confused than ever.

  She took his arm, and they climbed the steps to the theater. She was excited to see Charles Dickens’ Oliver Twist, a book she’d read many times over and was anxious to see all the characters come to life.

  “Good evening, Lady Diana, Lord Huntington.” Lady Torrington gazed at them through her looking glass. The old gossipmonger looked pointedly at Diana’s left hand. “Ah, I heard you two had gotten yourselves betrothed, but knowing this young man as I do,” she tapped Hunt on this arm with her fan, “I doubted he would choose you for a bride.”

  Diana felt Hunt’s muscles stiffen under her arm. Hopefully, he was not about to make a scene since the last thing they needed was more notoriety. She jumped in. “Isn’t it lovely when one can surprise one’s peers?”

  Hunt made a noise that could only be a construed as a meager suppression of laughter.

  “You’ve always been a sharp gel.” The older woman looked between Diana and Hunt. “I believe you two will suit. I hope to be around long enough to see the offspring you produce.” With those words, she winked, then turned and hobbled away.

  “For a moment I thought we were in trouble, there,” Hunt said as they continued their stroll around the lobby.

  Thinking of the tension she’d felt in his arm, she said, “I believe Lady Torrington
enjoys those who stand up to her. But then, I feel her attitude would have been different had you answered her.”

  Hunt nodded. “You are correct. No one insults my fiancée.”

  “Pretend fiancée,” she muttered.

  “Well, look who is strolling the halls of Drury Lane.” Hunt’s brother, Driscoll stepped in front of them, a lovely young lady clinging to his arm.

  Hunt slapped Driscoll on the back, who returned the favor, both of them grinning. “Why aren’t you working?” Hunt asked.

  “I am permitted one night a week off and this is it.” He turned to the young lady. “Miss Davenport, may I present my high in the instep brother, the Earl of Huntington and Lady Diana Pemberton.”

  “My fiancée,” Hunt added.

  Driscoll’s brows reached his hairline. “When did this happen?”

  “Recently.”

  “It is lovely to meet you both,” Miss Davenport said. “Mr. Rose has told me so much about you, my lord.”

  “Don’t believe everything he says.” The brothers grinned at each other again.

  “What a surprise. The infamous couple from the Grafton House Party.” Lord Melrose bowed and smiled at the two of them, something in his eyes making Diana uncomfortable. But then, the man was a member of the peerage who consorted with anarchists.

  Hopefully he hadn’t sought them out because of what they’d uncovered at the house party.

  She gulped when he said, “There is something I wish to speak with you about, Hunt.”

  15

  Two nights after the trip to the theater, Hunt entered The Rose Room and took the stairs two at a time to the office floor. He strode down the corridor and pushed open the door to see Driscoll bent over his ledgers and Dante slumped in a chair, his feet on the desk.

  “Don’t you ever work?” he asked his younger brother. “Every time I come here, you’re sitting on your arse.”

  “Good evening to you, too, brother. It just so happens I’m on a break.”

  “You’re always on a break.” Hunt pushed Dante’s feet off the desk and pulled up a chair, turning it around and sitting with his arms folded over the back. “I have an issue with which I need your help.”

  Driscoll put his pencil down, took off his spectacles, and rubbed his eyes with his index finger and thumb. “What do you need?”

  “I assume Lord Melrose is a patron of The Rose Room?”

  Dante snorted. “Patron isn’t a strong enough word. It’s to the point where I’m thinking we should start charging him rent.”

  “Except he loses so much money to us we can afford to bring in a bed for him.” Driscoll leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Good, that’s what I was hoping to hear.”

  Dante leaned forward, his sluggish attitude gone. “Why the interest in Melrose and his sad state of affairs?”

  Despite his indolent demeanor, Dante Rose was sharp-witted and intelligent. He’d made honors in all his subjects at University and still found time to bed a sufficient number of women and drag several of his friends home after a night of drinking and carousing. His mathematical near-genius had made The Rose Room the most successful gambling hell in all of London, probably England as well.

  “According to DuBois-Gifford, Melrose is involved with anarchists.”

  Driscoll let out with a low whistle.

  “I confirmed that information for Sir Phillip when I attended the Grafton house party. DuBois-Gifford had information that the peer working with the anarchists would be at the house party and would be either passing along information or gaining information from one of the staff members.

  “Diana and I saw Melrose with one of the footmen at the bookstore in the small village near Grafton Manor. They were conversing in a secretive manner. After that encounter, they completely ignored each other for the remainder of the party.”

  Dante leaned back and stretched. “This wouldn’t be the Lady Diana to whom I understand you’ve become betrothed? Our Lady Diana? The one who—”

  “Stop.” Hunter glared at his youngest brother. “We are not discussing my fiancée. And I suggest you keep any derisive comments to yourself.”

  Dante smirked and raised his hands, palms forward. “As you say, big brother. I merely wanted to wish you both well.”

  Hunt snorted and continued. “Another point in this story is J. D. Mallory whose body was found in his burned-out studio. He didn’t die from the fire, but the two bullet holes in his chest. The man was apparently working with the group and planned on escaping to the continent. Why he was fleeing, I have no idea, but he might have been absconding with either money, information, or names. Perhaps all three.”

  The men remained silent for a moment, then Hunt added, “I saw Melrose at the theater the other night, and he approached me about speaking with the two of you about extending him more credit.” He turned to Driscoll. “Apparently he has been cut off?”

  “Yes. He has.”

  “Here is where my favor from the two of you comes in. I have been asked by Sir Phillip to slip into Melrose’s house and gather whatever documentation I can regarding his involvement. I have guaranteed access to the house, but I need to make sure he doesn’t return before I finish.”

  Dante glanced over at Driscoll. “How bad is Melrose’s account?”

  “Bad enough, but we can certainly keep him busy enough here without adding too much to his debt.”

  Driscoll turned to Hunt. “When?”

  “That I must get back to you on. My valet has a contact with someone at Melrose’s house who will leave the back door open for me. We just need to coordinate with him, then I’ll know the day. How can we be sure Melrose will be here that night?”

  Driscoll tapped the end of his pencil on the table. “Easy enough. He is currently banned, but I can send around a note that you spoke with us, and he is now allowed back in with a limited amount of credit. I can practically guarantee he will arrive the very night I send the note.”

  Hunt slapped his hands on his thighs and stood. “Good. Let me know when the note goes out. Give me a few days to set it up with my man.” He moved toward the door.

  “Wait,” Dante said, his annoying grin putting Hunt on alert. “When is the wedding?”

  “We haven’t set a date yet.”

  “Ah, some doubts on your part, perhaps?” Dante laughed. “Not that I am suggesting anything about the young lady’s past.”

  Hunt glared at his youngest brother. “No. Actually the reticence is on Lady Diana’s part.” With a quick two-finger salute, he left the room with his brothers’ startled expressions on their faces and headed out of the club.

  “Where is Marcus?” Hunt asked as he handed his hat and gloves to Peters, the man at the door. Another one of Marcus’s recruits.

  “The last time I saw him, my lord, he was headed to the kitchen.”

  Most likely to cajole Cook out of one of her apple pasties. The man had an enormous sweet tooth.

  Hunt made his way to the kitchen where, as expected, Marcus was charming the cook, who, despite her age was giggling like a schoolgirl. “Marcus!”

  He turned to Hunt. “Yes, my lord.”

  “Grab your pastie and attend me in the library.” Hunt winked at Cook and left the room.

  Marcus came through the doorway, swallowing the last of his treat. “What do you need, my lord?”

  Hunt waved to the seat in front of his desk. “I need you to contact your man at Melrose’s house and work out a date he will leave the back door unlocked.”

  “Any particular day?”

  “Nothing specific but give me a day or two to work things out.”

  * * *

  Diana joined Hunt in her drawing room where he waited to escort her on a drive through Hyde Park. It was the fashionable hour for members of the ton to see and be seen.

  Hunt walked up to her and took her hand in his. Turning her hand, he kissed the sensitive skin on the inside of her wrist. She flushed at the reaction her body had to tha
t intimate contact.

  “You look lovely, Diana.”

  “Thank you.” She’d been quite pleased with the reflection in her mirror before she’d left her room. The yellow chiné was one of her favorites. The neckline was higher than one would expect to wear to an evening event, but quite appropriate for a ride in the park.

  The deeper yellow flowered embroidery lining the long sleeves and bottom of the gown gave it a more elegant look than a normal carriage dress. The gown hugged her waist and stomach with the back drawn into a fashionable bow on her lower back. The lovely yellow satin hat with netting tied under her chin was set off by a daisy trim along the edging of the piece.

  Fumbling slightly with the raw admiration in Hunt’s eyes, she pulled on her gloves. The heat in her face was unnerving. “I am ready,” she said.

  They left the house and made their way down to Hunt’s open-air carriage. “I decided to bring a driver along today so we can freely converse.” Hunt helped her up into the vehicle where they sat side by side. The lovely scent of bay rum drifted to her nose from Hunt’s close proximity.

  Diana snapped open her parasol and rested the shaft on her shoulder. “It’s truly a beautiful day for a drive, Hunt. I’m so glad you suggested it.”

  He studied her so carefully, she grew uncomfortable. “What?”

  Hunt shook his head. “Nothing. I was just thinking how very beautiful you are, Diana. I don’t think I say it often enough.”

  She waved her hand, feeling the rising of another blush to her face. “Oh, please. I am no more than ordinary.” She’d never been vain but was certainly aware of her appeal to the male species. For some reason, however, Hunt’s very sincere comment both pleased and disquieted her.