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Again, she spoke with quiet confidence. “It is my belief he will attempt to leverage the recent dispute with the United States as a strong point of contention. Our forces are already engaged in the war against France. Many have no desire to become involved in another conflict.”
Lucas felt his jaw go slack. The Foreign Office had many eyes and ears, himself among them, but he’d not heard of her being under their aegis.
“You must pardon my skepticism,” said Liverpool, “but how can you know all of this when you are no longer a member of Bolingbroke’s household?”
Silence followed for a long, tense moment before she spoke. “Suffice it to say that men don’t often bother to quiet themselves in my presence. As such, I hear many things of interest.” She chuckled, a low seductive sound that trailed heat through Lucas’s vitals. “You may be assured, my lord, that the information I’ve given you is quite reliable.”
“And I shall use it to see that he fails in his efforts to undermine our purpose,” replied Liverpool, his voice grim. “Thank you, my lady. This has been a most enlightening conversation. If you will please excuse me, there are matters to which I must at once attend. Harrow, shall I assume we’ll see you at this week’s meeting?”
“Alas, I’m afraid I’m engaged that evening,” replied Harrow. “Perhaps another time?”
“Of course. I’ll send word to you well before our next one. You are, of course, invited to attend as well, my lady.”
Lucas’s brows inched higher as the niceties were observed, and the three broke company. Well, well. Lady Diana. You’re simply full of surprises. He ventured a peek from around the pillar to see her gliding away alongside Harrow.
If there was one thing he’d learned over the years, it was that all women were dangerous to some degree. This one, it appeared, was no exception.
Chapter Four
Though good sense begged him to leave and forget his growing obsession with the woman, Lucas watched as Lady Diana paired with Harrow for the first dance. Her movements were sure and graceful. He’d expect no less from a gently raised female. Or a courtesan, for that matter.
Her eyes, however, were what interested him the most. They looked everywhere but at her partner’s face. A woman in love ordinarily had eyes only for her lover. Even if she weren’t in love with him, any courtesan worth her salt knew to attend her patron as if she were. Harrow was equally distracted, his gaze flicking back and forth over the crowd. And the two of them talked almost incessantly while they were dancing—a serious and decidedly unromantic discussion by the look of it.
He soon marked his scrutiny had not gone unnoticed, for at the dance’s close the couple at once began to make their way directly over to where he stood.
“My lady,” he said, bowing low before her.
“Lord Blackthorn,” she said, inclining her head politely. “I believe you promised me this next dance?”
“Indeed,” Lucas answered automatically. Half a heartbeat later, he caught himself—he’d asked her to dance.
“I trust my treasure is in good hands, Blackthorn,” said Harrow, his stern tone belied by his amused expression. Turning to the lady, he smiled and took up her hand to kiss it. “Enjoy yourself, my love.”
When Harrow had disappeared into
the crush, Lucas turned to her. “Why did you do that?”
“To what are you referring?” she asked, all innocence.
He marked the appearance of a dimple in her cheek as her smile turned knowing and mischievous. “You deliberately made it seem as though you were the one to request this dance of me rather than the other way around. Why?”
The corners of her mouth curled a bit more. “Perhaps I dislike the idea of my lover risking himself yet again over another man’s impetuous pursuit of that which cannot be attained.”
“Is that what you think I’m up to?” he said lightly. “I know when to leave well enough alone, although your patron seems far less prone to fits of jealous rage than he has been made out to be. In truth, I find him quite agreeable.”
“Don’t let his pleasant demeanor fool you,” she replied just as lightly. “He is neither pleased by your attentions to me nor willing to tolerate more than the utmost propriety on your part where I am concerned. He told me all about you, by the bye.” She flicked a sidelong glance at him. “I know all about your banishment—and the reason for it.”
“Then you have the advantage, for I know very little of you.”
“Save what London’s eager lips have whispered in your ear, you mean,” she said with a low laugh. “You’ll never be able to discern the truth from the fiction, I assure you.”
“I will, if you tell me which is which.”
“How can I, when I myself hardly know?” she quipped. “Are we to dance, my lord? Or would you prefer to retire to a corner and debate the matter until your friend comes to claim me for the next dance?”
Actually, he’d love to do just that and tell his friend to sod off, but he took her point. “I suppose the same may be said of any person—meaning that very few people truly know themselves,” he said, picking up the thread again. He held out his hand, and she allowed him to lead her to the ballroom floor. His hand tingled where she touched it, reaffirming his initial observation. “We all invent ourselves daily, do we not?”
Again, she shot him a sharp glance. “Indeed we do, my lord. Each day comes with just such a decision. Today is very nearly done. When I awake tomorrow, I shall have to decide whether to remain as I am now or choose to become something new.”
