A Scandalous Portrait: Rose Room Rogues ~ Book One

by Hutton, Callie

  “Surely you don’t plan to shoot one of your brothers?” Diana looked at him with horror.

  “No, my love. But it is always safer when one is out and about London late at night to have protection.”

  To keep from startling the servants, they left through the back door. Their carriage awaited them, since there was no reason this time to avoid his vehicle being noticed. He had every right to be at the club. Even if it was after it closed.

  As they made their way to The Rose Room, he thought about the portrait and how it had brought him and Diana together. Would he have changed his mind about her had he not seen her in the nude? That had certainly put her into a whole new light.

  However, for as much as he’d been obsessed with lust for her once he’d seen the painting, now that he’d viewed her in the flesh, the portrait did nothing for him. Mallory did get it all wrong and his painting did not compare to Diana in the flesh, soft and warm and cuddled next to him.

  With very little traffic on the streets, the carriage arrived quickly. “Even though we’re not illegally entering the building, I still prefer to go through the back door.”

  He led her down the alleyway to the rear of the building. Using his key, he opened the door and they entered. “I am going to put on a few lights to help. If anyone from the Watch sees us, there is nothing wrong with one of the owners wandering the club after it’s closed.”

  The place always looked so different when cast in dark shadows. The gaming tables resembled monsters waiting to pounce on a poor soul to grab and haul one to some evil place. The smell of whiskey and cheroots surrounded them as they wove their way around the tables.

  “It looks quite different when empty,” Diana said in a whisper.

  Hunt nodded and took her hand to lead her to the wall where the portrait hung. He picked up one of the oil lamps from a table to carry with him.

  “I think when we get to the portrait, the best way to do this is for you to climb onto my shoulders. That should make you tall enough to pluck the painting off the wall. Just be careful that it doesn’t throw you off balance.”

  Diana nodded.

  They arrived at the wall, and Hunt held up the oil lamp.

  They both stared at the empty space where the portrait hung only hours before.

  He turned to Diana, who looked back at him, both of their jaws slack.

  “Where is the portrait?” they said at the same time.

  “Oh, the devil take it,” Diana said, apparently not too concerned about her language at this point. “Do you think your brother sold it? Do you think one of the patrons won it? Didn’t I hear there was some sort of betting going on?” Her shaky voice rose higher and higher with each question until Hunt was certain she was working herself into a full-blown panic.

  “Calm down, sweetheart. I don’t know why they took it off the wall, but I’m sure it’s in the office upstairs.” He took her ice-cold hand. “Come.”

  It had better be in the office upstairs. He couldn’t imagine why it would not be. He didn’t even want to consider Diana’s concerns about someone from the club winning it. He told himself the sweat that broke out on his body was from the exertion of climbing the steps to the office and not abject terror at that possibility.

  He flung the door open, and they entered, lighting all the lamps as they wandered the space.

  “I don’t see it.” Diana’s voice was a dejected whisper.

  They searched the office, as well as the supply room next to it. No portrait.

  Hunt ran his hand down his face and then held his hand out to Diana. “Let’s go.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To my brother’s house so I can kill him.”

  “You can’t go to Dante’s house to kill him this late. He’s probably sleeping.”

  “Good, then he won’t know what hit him.” He dragged her along the corridor, down the steps, and out the door. He just about tossed her into the carriage, slammed the door, and slumped in the corner of the vehicle.

  * * *

  Diana’s stomach was in knots, but she still didn’t think they should barge into Dante’s house. He would certainly question their anxiety to get the painting back and might come up with an answer she definitely did not want.

  She reached across the space between them and placed her hand over Hunt’s. “Let’s just go home. I’m tired, annoyed, and ready for a large brandy.”

  His brows rose. “Brandy? You? I’ve never seen you drink brandy before.”

  She sighed. “If there ever was a time for me to start, I believe this is it.”

  They remained silent for the ride home. Diana was indeed tired, actually bordering on exhaustion. She hadn’t slept in almost twenty-four hours, and she didn’t have the strength to worry about where the portrait was now.

  If Mallory wasn’t already dead, she would shoot him herself.

  It was a sorry, dejected pair who entered the townhouse in Mayfair. The servants were already up and taking care of their chores when Diana and Hunt arrived home. The aroma of fresh baked bread filled the air, making her stomach rumble.

  Hunt regarded her carefully. “Are you sure you want a brandy? Maybe tea and some food instead?”

  Truthfully, the idea of brandy did turn her stomach, and the thought of tea and food appealed much more. “Yes. Thank you. That sounds much better, but you go ahead and have a brandy if you want one.”

  “Why don’t you go to the kitchen and have Cook send breakfast to our room? We can eat and then sleep before we decide what our next step is.”

  Diana wandered to the kitchen, Cook’s eyes growing wide at Diana’s attire and early appearance.

  “May I help you, my lady?”

  “Yes. His lordship and I were out, and we would like our breakfast sent up to our bedchamber as soon as it is ready.”

  “Yes, of course.” As a good employee, Cook turned and began pulling items from the larder. Most likely, after years of working for the nobility, she had learned to expect anything at all.

  “Diana!” Hunt’s shout had her hurrying from the kitchen to the library. Hunt stood with a glass of brandy in his hand, staring at a spot behind his desk.

  “What is it?”

  He turned to her and grinned. “The portrait.”

  “What?” Diana rounded the desk and looked down. There, leaning against the wall, sat the portrait. She turned to Hunt. “How?”

  He shook his head. “The only idea I have is Dante took it down and returned it. Most likely on his way home from the club. He probably passed us on the street as we headed to The Rose Room.”

  “I wonder why?”

  Hunt took the final sip of his drink and placed the glass on the desk. “Most likely because I made such a fuss over it.”

  “So now you won’t kill him?” Diana asked as she flipped the linen back over the painting.

  “No. I’ve oftentimes wondered how someone as intelligent as Dante could be at times as dumb as a rock.” He shook his head. “Is breakfast on the way?”

  “Yes.” She reached out and took Hunt’s hand and they wearily climbed the stairs together. “Maybe we can think of something to do that will keep us awake before breakfast arrives.” She smirked at her husband who smirked back.

  “Yes, my love. I’m sure there is something.”

  Two days later, Hunt loaded a picnic basket, a bottle of wine, and the cursed portrait into his open-air carriage. He turned to help Diana in, then strode to the other side of the vehicle and hopped in. “Ready?”

  “Yes. More than ready,” Diana responded as she twirled her parasol on her shoulder.

  The day was warm and pleasant, with the sun bright in the sky. They were headed to a spot far outside of London where the air was fresher and more agreeable.

  Dante had stopped by their house on his way to work the afternoon they had returned to find the portrait in the library. He’d been very apologetic and asked their forgiveness for taking the painting without permission.

  F
rankly, she did not like the way he looked at her, which led her to believe he knew the painting was her. Hunt must have thought that also since he told Dante they were never to speak of the portrait again, and he must erase it from his mind. He also instructed him to tell Driscoll the same thing. Dante managed to keep the smile off his face, but everything about his demeanor told her he knew.

  After about a thirty-minute ride with them chatting about their return soon to Hunt’s country estate, they arrived at a lovely spot with trees surrounding a grassy area next to a brook. “This is beautiful,” Diana said.

  “Yes. I’ve never stopped here but passed it many times. I think this is perfect for our purpose.”

  Diana spread the blanket on the soft warm grass while Hunt unloaded the portrait and the basket. Cook had sent cold meat, cheese, bread, and apples. Hunt poured the wine.

  Once they finished, Hunt searched the ground for small kindling sticks, which he made into a pile. He lit a few sticks, blew on the pile, and once he had the fire going well, he threw on larger pieces of wood.

  And then, finally, the painting.

  They’d taken it out of the frame which they’d given to one of the servants, and then sat back against a tree, watching the portrait burn while they finished the wine.

  Once the portrait was burned beyond recognition, Hunt cupped Diana’s chin and turned her face toward him. “Only one more thing will make this trip perfect.”

  Diana felt her heartbeat pick up and flutters in her stomach. “What is that?” she whispered.

  “I think it’s time we made love outdoors.” He nuzzled her neck. “This is a very isolated place and, if we walk farther into the wooded area behind us, we will be invisible.”

  “Is that right, my lord?”

  He grinned and stood, reaching out for her hand. She accepted and, with their arms wrapped around each other’s waists, they made their way into the cool forest area.

  They didn’t return for quite some time.

  Epilogue

  Nine months later

  London, England

  “Hunt, I really prefer to have this baby at our country estate. I can’t help but think the air and noise is not good for either of us.” Diana shifted in her chair, attempting to get comfortable. Comfort near the end of one’s pregnancy was generally hard to find, she’d discovered.

  “Darling, we’ve been over this,” Hunt said as he scanned the newspaper. “The best doctor is right here in London, and I want the best for you and the baby.”

  “Ha. I believe you’re telling yourself that because you want to be here for Parliament, so you can meet with all your friends and pretend you’re serving the country.”

  Hunt lowered the newspaper and stared at his wife. With messy curls hanging from her topknot and the scowl on her face, she looked like an adorable toddler annoyed at not having her own way. He couldn’t help but grin.

  “Don’t laugh at me!”

  ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart. I don’t mean to laugh, it’s just that you know in your heart Dr. Reading is the best doctor in London for delivering healthy and happy babies. You selected him yourself.”

  “I know.” She shifted again. “I do need to get out of the house. I hate that a pregnant woman out and about is scandalous.”

  Hunt folded the newspaper and placed it alongside his empty breakfast plate. “We shall go out, then.”

  “Really?” Her eyes reflected the joy in his statement, causing a bit of guilt to rest in his chest. He had been spending too much time on business and Parliament, neglecting his beautiful wife who was growing close to her time to give birth.

  “Yes. I shall order the carriage brought around, and we will take a leisurely ride around Hyde Park. Then we will make a stop at Gunter’s and order ices brought to our carriage. How does that sound?”

  “Wonderful!”

  He groaned inwardly when tears pooled in her eyes. She’d been so prone to bouts of weepiness of late that he always had a handkerchief at the ready. Which he promptly removed from his pocket and handed to her.

  “Thank you.” She patted the corners of her eyes. “When shall I be ready?”

  “I think after luncheon. The air will be warmer so the ices don’t freeze us to death.”

  “Well, look who’s still lollygagging at the breakfast table. Don’t you have work to do?” Dante entered the breakfast room, Driscoll right behind him. “At least that’s what you always tell me when I’m on a well-deserved break at the club.”

  His brothers pulled out chairs and sat. Dante reached for a slice of toast and the jar of jam to top it with. “How is my favorite sister-in-law feeling today?”

  “Tired. Bored. Ready to have the baby.” She smiled at the two men who had made almost as much a fuss over her as Hunt did.

  “I do have work, in fact. I have to check over the financial statements you sent me,” Hunt said.

  “Ah, don’t trust your own flesh and blood, eh?” Driscoll took an orange from the middle of the table and began to peel it.

  Hunt grew serious. He loved these two men and would trust them with his and his wife’s lives. “I trust you, as you well know. But mistakes happen.”

  “Lately there seems to be a lot of mistakes coming from Miss Pence’s table,” Dante said and glanced over at Driscoll. Despite trying to look indifferent, there was a slight blush to Driscoll’s face.

  “I’m sure everything is fine.”

  “Miss Pence? You have a woman working at The Rose Room?”

  “Yes, and her table is swarmed every night,” Dante said between bites.

  Hunt looked over at Driscoll who was in charge of hiring. “Whatever made you hire a woman?”

  “She’s smart, talented, a good worker and the members love her.” His words were clipped as if expecting Hunt to challenge him.

  Hunt shrugged. “Your decision.” He looked at Dante. “What is the problem with her table?”

  “Nothing,” Driscoll said as Dante also answered, “Could be shortages.”

  “Well, I will leave you gentlemen to fight this out. I am going to take a short lie-down before Hunt and I go for our ride this afternoon.” Diana rose, and all three brothers jumped to their feet.

  “Are you well, Diana? You look a little drawn.” Hunt studied her as he rounded the table to take her arm.

  “I’m fine. Just a bit tired, as I said. I also have been troubled by a backache all night.”

  “Should I send for Dr. Reading?” Hunt frowned as he led her out of the breakfast room.

  “No.”

  He helped her upstairs and called for Marguerite to assist her in undressing so she could rest comfortably.

  Diana grabbed his arm as he made to leave the room. “We’re still going on our ride this afternoon, correct?”

  “If you feel up to it, sweeting.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  He kissed her on the head and returned to the breakfast room where his brothers were in the midst of an argument.

  “Are you two still arguing about Miss Pence?”

  “There is nothing wrong with Miss Pence’s final tally reports.” Driscoll practically growled at Dante.

  Dante shrugged. “If you say so.”

  “How did you find this female dealer?” Hunt motioned to the footman to bring another pot of coffee.

  “She fell in his lap,” Dante said, grinning widely.

  Driscoll made to jump up and swing at his brother. Hunt grabbed the back of Driscoll’s jacket. “Knock it off. What’s the matter with the two of you?”

  “Hunt!”

  The scream from their bedchamber had Hunt forgetting all about his brothers and racing up the stairs. Marguerite met him, wringing her hands. “Her waters have broken, my lord.”

  “What?” He had no idea what the maid was talking about. “Did she spill a glass of water on herself? Is that why she’s wailing in there?” He gestured with his thumb at the door and the sound of Diana crying.

  Again.

  “No, my
lord. Her waters have broken. You must send for Dr. Reading.”

  “Well, why didn’t you say so, instead of talking about spilled water?” He thundered down the stairs to the front door. “Peters, send for Dr. Reading. I think Lady Huntington is having the baby.”

  He turned to see Dante and Driscoll striding toward the door. “I think this is a good time for us to take our leave.” Driscoll pounded him on his back. “Let us know when it is all over.”

  Like two scurrying lads in trouble with the headmaster, the brothers grabbed their hats from Peters and fled the house.

  “Hunt!” Another cry from upstairs.

  Hunt gave Peters a shove to his shoulder. “Go. Get the doctor.”

  Then he hurried back upstairs. Marguerite was just leaving the bedchamber, holding some wet clothing. “How is she?”

  “Frightened, my lord. She’s never done this before.”

  “Me, either,” he mumbled as he passed the maid and entered the room.

  “I’ve sent for Dr. Reading, my love.” He sat alongside her on the bed and held her hand. “He will be here shortly.”

  She nodded, then gripped his hands as her face twisted in pain. Blasted hell, he wanted to be anywhere but here. He hated watching his wife suffer and not able to do anything about it.

  The next two hours passed with Diana alternating between squeezing his hand and panting and chattering non-stop about the baby and where the hell was Dr. Reading?

  The same question he had. He tried twice to go back downstairs and pummel someone into hurrying up, but Diana would not let him leave.

  Finally, they heard the sound of footsteps and the gruff voice of Dr. Reading. He entered the room right behind Marguerite. “Ah, here is our patient. I knew it was growing close to your time.” He turned to Marguerite. “My assistant is right behind me in another carriage with the necessary supplies. Can you have a footman assist her?”

  “Yes, Doctor.”

  Dr. Reading waved Hunt off. “Young man, it appears you’ve already done your work, now it’s time for your wife to take over and bring this bundle of joy into the world.”