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At last, Westing spoke. “You know if you go looking for trouble, you’re certain to find it. I should leave well enough alone, were I in your place.”
“I knew you would be unable to bloody well keep off it,” Lucas grumbled. “No, I don’t intend to go looking for her. Do you expect me to walk the streets of Mayfair knocking on doors?”
“No, you’re not quite that far gone yet,” said his friend with a dry chuckle. “But I’ve known you a long time, Blackthorn. Once you set your mind to a purpose, you pursue it relentlessly to its end, and damn the consequences.” He stopped and looked away. “Know that if you do so this time, I won’t be able to second you.”
A frown drew Lucas’s brows together. Not that he anticipated needing one, but Westing had always served as his second. “Is there a specific reason why not, or have you simply tired of it?”
Westing’s gaze rose to meet his. “I’m going to ask Lord Falmouth for permission to court his daughter.”
“The red-haired hellion or her sweet blond sister?”
Westing’s face colored. “The redhead, and her name is Charlotte.”
A broad grin stretched Lucas’s mouth. “Good man! With such a wife, you’ll never suffer ennui. When is the funeral?”
“I have to win her heart and propose first,” laughed his friend. “I was hoping you’d accompany me to see him this morning after finishing your business with Rothschild.”
“I would not miss it for the world,” Lucas replied. “But whatever am I to do once you’ve put on the leg iron? Besides find another friend to second me at duels, of course.”
“You might consider marrying. After all, we are both of us thirty this year.”
Lucas adopted a look of horror. “And ruin my reputation? Heaven forefend. And I’m well aware of my age. My mother reminds me of it at every opportunity.”
“You need an heir. Don’t you think it time to put the old wedding tackle to its proper use?”
“If I did, you would not be scolding me about my interest in Lady Diana—and how I choose to employ my ‘tackle’ is none of your concern. I shall thank you to kindly leave it out of the conversation.”
“No, of course, you’re right,” said Westing at once. His sobriety lasted all of a few seconds. “Though you should probably get used to it surfacing in discussion, as I’m fairly certain your parents will be interested in its employment when they hear of you chasing after another man’s bird.”
A growl lodged itself in Lucas’s throat, but he just couldn’t stay wroth with Westing. Not when the man wore a look of such unrepentant impudence. “Toss-off,” he muttered, giving in and laughing. “Were we not such good friends, I vow I would have shot you years ago for your cheek.”
“I’m eternally grateful for your forbearance,” said the other man with mock courtesy. “But truly, Blackthorn, you must know it’s impossible to win the woman.”
“Difficult, yes. Impossible? Never. Every woman has her price.” And so does every man. Lucas had to admit she’d been right about that.
“Of all the women
in London, you have to choose the one that presents the most danger to your continued longevity.”
Lucas looked him squarely in the eye. “Something is not right about her, Westie.”
“Something’s not right about you. You’re half mad.”
He ignored the barb. “I don’t doubt her loyalty to Harrow, but I do doubt the nature of their attachment.”
Westing shook his head, clearly boggled. “I was wrong. You’re fully mad. If you loved her, it would be different. God knows I’d stand for you in a blink if I thought you actually cared for the wench. I’m honestly beginning to question your sanity.”
“I appreciate your concern, but I’m not looking to do anything rash. I’m merely curious about her.”
“What in heaven’s name do you need to know other than she belongs to someone capable of killing you?”
“Everything, starting with how a gently raised female like her came to be his mistress.”
“Well, Fate has smiled upon you, my friend, because as it happens, I was present when they first met,” said his friend, looking smug. “It was at the Whitfield ball. News of the scandal had just begun to travel, you see, when Lady Diana arrived. Having invited her, Lady Whitfield could hardly turn her away on the basis of a rumor. Once she was through the receiving line, however, no one would deign to speak to the poor thing.”
“Except Harrow.”
Westing nodded. “After Lady Whitfield retired in high dudgeon to the ladies’ lounge along with Lady Harrow, he took pity on Lady Diana and danced with her. Everyone was scandalized, and I understand it caused a significant cooling between him and his wife. Two days later, it came out that Lady Diana had run off, that her family had disowned her, and she’d vanished. Then, a few months later, she pops up on Harrow’s arm at an event his wife had declined to attend. A month after that, Lady Harrow invited her to tea. The three of them have been offending London’s delicate sensibilities ever since. Satisfied?”
