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Yet despite every instinct screaming at him to hold his tongue, his mouth continued producing sounds. “I suppose you would marry, however, if the opportunity arose?”
Such was her look of astonishment at this inquiry that Lucas wondered whether any blood remained in his extremities, for it felt as though every last drop had risen to his face.
Her expression told him his question had clearly caught her off guard, and in that candid moment of surprise he again saw a young woman of surprising naïveté. “I suppose I might,” she answered, the words seeming carefully weighed and measured. “But under the circumstances I doubt such an opportunity will ever manifest. I’m a courtesan, my lord.”
“It’s not unheard of for such women to wed their protectors,” he replied, again astounded at his boldness. In for a pence, in for a pound. “I’ve heard it said that your Lord Harrow intends you to replace his wife in the event of her death.”
Her reaction to that was as suspect as any he’d yet seen. Instead of the smug affirmation of a mercenary female assured of a coveted position, he saw sudden fury fill her eyes. It was only for an instant, but it spoke volumes.
When she answered, however, her voice carried none of that anger. “I consider Lady Harrow to be my friend. I know most people are unable to accept that a man’s mistress can be friends with his wife, but it’s quite true for us. I certainly hold no ill will for that lady and in fact wish her a long and healthy life.”
He just couldn’t help himself. “So you have no ambitions at all, then?”
“Certainly none that involve the untimely death of a good friend!” she hissed, the wrath returning to light her eyes and color her cheeks.
A thrill raced through Lucas as he realized he was now seeing the real Lady Diana. Anger often removed the masks people wore, showing the true self. What he saw was…astonishingly commendable. Loyalty, morality, altruism. Not qualities one would expect to find in a courtesan. His suspicion concerning her function in Harrow’s life increased yet more.
As he considered the flushed, angry woman before him, he marked how the sun shone on her honey hair, turning it into burnished gold. His fingers itched to feel its texture, his palms to frame that lovely face and soothe it to calmness. He’d riled her, and he’d done it on purpose, just to get the true measure of her. Curiosity had compelled him, but now he almost regretted it, because knowing who she really was beneath the facade hadn’t cured him of his attraction to her.
Indeed, no. It had only served to fling fuel upon the already burning fire.
Attraction and admiration, when combined, were the world’s most potent aphrodisiac. Contending instincts warred within him, one driving him to do as he imagined, as he desired—to cup her flaming cheeks and kiss away her upset. The other, however, was thankfully far louder, telling him to keep his distance lest he end up facing his new friend Harrow on the field of honor at dawn.
Say something, you ass! Apologize. “I humbly crave your pardon, madam,” he said, all nerves. It took all his willpower to keep from looking to see where Harrow was as he addressed her. “In giving voice to such distasteful gossip, I have again exhibited the most rude and un-gentlemanlike behavior. Tell me what I must do to regain your good regard.”
Chapter Seven
Diana longed for nothing so much as to pull back her arm and slap Blackthorn with all her might, but Harrow, who was not far off, would hear, and then there would be trouble. Stuffing her ire back down, she regarded her neighbor with all the frigidity she could muster. “You may begin by never again speaking of my friends in so coarse a manner.”
The bottom dropped from her stomach as, too late, she realized her mistake. Did I just refer to Harrow and his wife as my friends?
The subtle shift in Blackthorn’s expression did not go unmarked. Contrition bled from his gaze, replaced by the distinct gleam of triumph, as if he’d just won a great prize. “Old habits are indeed slow to perish,” he murmured, using her own words against her. “The lady may be removed from her raising, but the raising can never be removed from the lady. You’re not at all as I’ve been led to expect.”
Her heart tried to claw its way up o
ut of her throat, but to her surprise, he elected not to further pursue that path.
“I have erred and offended you, madam. Deeply, I fear. I must again beg your forgiveness. My curiosity got the better of me and led my tongue to incivility.”
Curiosity be damned! It required great effort to maintain a placid demeanor when she was torn between the desire to run in terror and the need to repair the damage already done before it was too late. If it wasn’t already. “I’m well aware of the speculation about me,” she said, taking a steadying breath. “The mixture of truth and falsity is doubtless bewildering from your perspective.”
“You have a gift for understatement,” he said with a rueful half smile. “You’ll pardon my shock, but I’ve never heard of a man’s mistress referring to him and his wife as ‘friends.’ At best, the wife and the mistress tolerate each other, but friendship?” He left it there, hanging in the air between them.
So much for thinking he’d decided to leave it alone! It was time to put into action the contingency plan she and Harrow had formulated in the event of a break in their cover story. “Although Lord Harrow is my lover and indeed, my protector, I also consider him my friend. I’m privileged to have also found favor with his lady wife, who could have considered me a rival and a threat to her position, but instead welcomed me.”
Of all the rumors about them, the idea that Lady Harrow was somehow part of a triangle involving her husband and his mistress was the most sordid. Minerva was well aware of it, yet held her peace. Better for people to think that than to learn the truth. Blackthorn’s eyes betrayed him, telling her he’d most definitely heard the tale.
Dropping her voice even lower, Diana continued. “Few know it, but Lord and Lady Harrow have been friends almost from infancy. Their marriage was one of convenience rather than passion. Thus, when the physician who delivered Henry—their son—warned Harrow it would surely kill her to bear another child, he vowed never to touch her again. Theirs is an amicable arrangement, and I am part of it. I agreed never to sow discord between them or seek to usurp her, and she has rewarded my fidelity with her friendship and trust. My company may be paid for, Lord Blackthorn, but there are some things money cannot purchase. Lord and Lady Harrow have been good to me, and I would not betray either of them for the world.”
So piercing was his clear gray gaze that she had to stop herself from squirming.
At last, just before her composure threatened to crumble, he spoke. “I begin to comprehend. Both you and your situation are far more complex than people assume.”
“So it is with most things, I imagine,” she quietly snapped. “Which is why one should be slow to pass judgment. Think what you will of my adulterous relationship with Lord Harrow, but leave Lady Harrow out of your crude conjecture.”
He looked duly chastised as he conceded. “Rare is the occasion upon which I am humbled, but you, madam, have most assuredly put me in my place. I’m ashamed to say I’ve allowed myself to be guided by the opinions of others where you are concerned, when I ought to have ignored them in favor of forming my own. That error must now be corrected, as my findings are in direct opposition to almost everything I’ve heard.”
“Almost?”
