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Damn. She turned, a careful smile on her lips. Not unfriendly, but not overly encouraging, either. “Lord Westing, how delightful to see you again.”
“Likewise,” the gentleman replied, his face pinking slightly. “Might I beg a moment of your time to introduce a friend of mine?”
Flicking a glance at his companion, she nodded. “Of course.”
“Actually, we are already acquainted,” said Blackthorn. To his credit, his gaze remained fixed above her décolletage. “It’s been several years, madam, but your loveliness remains unchanged.”
She barely refrained from snorting. Had they ever met, she would surely remember it. “Thank you, my lord.”
Before she could gracefully extricate herself, he continued. “I understand your uncle, Lord Bolingbroke, has recently returned after retiring from his post this winter.”
Despite her most valiant effort, Diana felt her face tighten. She kept her tone light. “I believe you’ll find that, in truth, he was discharged from it,” she corrected. And may he never recover from the humiliation!
Blackthorn’s lips quirked almost as if he shared in her satisfaction at how badly things had gone for her former guardian. “My apologies. I’m still not yet caught up on the goings-on at court. I’ve been away, you see. In Germany.”
Was that supposed to impress her? “A matter of the Crown or of pleasure?” Alarm bells pealed in her mind at her foolish choice of the word “pleasure.”
“A matter of my father wanting me out of the way, I’m afraid.”
“I see. And now you’re back and once again looking for trouble?” She said it with a smile, but her warning would only be mistaken by a complete fool—and for all his brashness, Blackthorn didn’t seem like a fool.
Now his gaze dropped to appraise her fully. “It would seem so.”
Her face heated, and she had to take a deep breath to calm her traitorous pulse, which had leaped. Damn, but he’s a bold one! “Those who seek trouble often find it less appealing than it first appears—and far more costly.”
“Sometimes. But not always,” he murmured, his rain-gray eyes twinkling. Clearly, he’d understood not only her words of warning, but her silent censure. “Of course, one’s level of enjoyment depends greatly upon the kind of trouble one seeks. As for the cost, I’m always willing to pay the price for the right sort of trouble.” He cocked a suggestive brow.
Indignant shock made her forget for a moment the role she played. Thankfully, before she could fling her fan at his head, the sound o
f a throat rather violently being cleared drew her gaze away to Westing.
“I think I see Marlborough over by the entrance,” said he, fidgeting. “Blackthorn, did you not wish to speak to—”
“May I have the honor of a dance this evening?” Blackthorn asked her, ignoring his friend.
She blinked at his brashness. Normally, a gentleman spent a bit of time on compliments and pleasantries before making such a request. Of course, he probably didn’t feel it necessary to put forth such effort with someone like her.
The thought rankled. She’d like to answer his request with a proper dressing-down but marked that others had now begun to take notice of their conversation. She couldn’t afford to step out of character even for a moment, no matter how tempted. Casting her gaze down, she answered demurely and with all the polish he’d lacked, “My Lord Harrow has, of course, already claimed the first and last dances; however, I shall be pleased to grant you the second.” Better to get it over with quickly.
“As you wish, of course.” His smile was a devilish curl along one side of his mouth as he bowed and took up her hand to hover briefly over it. “Until then, my lady.”
Hot lightning shot from where his fingers slid across hers, traveling straight up her arm and down to slam into her lungs and pool in her belly. She watched his eyes darken and felt a corresponding tug deep inside. Her breath released in an inelegant burst as he let her go, and she looked away, mortified.
To cover her slip, she focused on Blackthorn’s companion. It went completely against all proper etiquette for a lady to ask a gentleman to dance, but she needed to let Blackthorn know where he stood—and besides, she wasn’t exactly a “lady” anymore. “And shall I reserve the third for you, Lord Westing?”
Westing’s eyes widened, and an altogether different sort of smile creased his face: the same a young boy might wear upon being taken into a sweet shop with a newly minted guinea and no restrictions. “Indeed, my lady,” he answered eagerly. “I should be most honored.”
Triumphant, Diana looked to Blackthorn to see his reaction. To her disappointment, his face remained impassive. “I must confess to being immensely flattered at having simultaneously earned the attentions of two such fine gentlemen.”
It was a deliberate reference to the recent gossip. As expected, Westing’s eyes took on a glazed, hungry look. Blackthorn’s gaze, however, was more curious than lustful. Diana bit back a curse. Lust, she could handle. Curiosity was a far more dangerous beast—much harder to tame.
Fortunately, Lord Harrow chose that moment to resurface. “I see you’ve made some new friends,” he said as he approached. His manner was cheery, but she knew him well enough to know he was concerned.
“Lords Westing and Blackthorn have each just engaged me for a dance this evening.”
Harrow’s smile would have melted any other woman’s knees. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself, my dear. Not that I thought for even a moment that you would languish for lack of company.” He turned to the gentlemen in question. “After all, is she not the loveliest of women?”
The pink stain in Westing’s cheeks became beet red, and even Blackthorn looked a bit chagrined.
