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Stinging heat swept across Lucas’s skin in a great wave, gooseflesh rising immediately in its wake.
It was staged! The whole bloody tableau had been quite deliberately set up for someone’s viewing pleasure, and he had a good idea who that someone was. Certainty thrummed in his veins, and with it, a sense of triumph. He’d wager that the scene behind those curtains was nowhere near as debauched as his lovely neighbor would have him believe.
Again, the question begged: why? Why the effort to make everyone believe they were so immoral? What were she and Harrow hiding behind their wicked reputations?
Of course, he could be wrong. About all of it. But again, certainty settled in the back of his mind. Rarely had his instincts led him astray, and he vowed to trust them now. A grim smile creased his lips. He was going to figure out Lady Diana Haversham—or die trying.
By the following evening, London’s tattler columns had run amok with a witness account describing “Lord H’s” latest erotic escapade with his mistress, confirming Lucas’s belief that more eyes than his had borne witness to their little act. Unfortunately, from the visual perspective of the tale, it appeared said witness hailed from among his own staff.
Though offended one of his servants had to have been the culprit, Lucas could hardly blame them for it. There was good money to be had in trading information concerning members of the upper crust. As long as the servant kept their mouth shut concerning his activities, he could not grudge them the extra coin. After all, his neighbor had put on quite a show.
With the breaking news, preparations for his picnic had surpassed material concerns; mental agility would be required to safely navigate social waters in the wake of the storm. Thankfully, his was to be a small gathering. Westie would be there, of course, and Lucas knew he could count on his closest friend for support. The other attendees might not like being in the company of people who’d been the subject of such lurid gossip, but Westie, the only one he’d warned, was doubtless salivating over the prospect.
This was the thought that rose to the fore of Lucas’s mind the following morning as he strolled out onto the broad terrace overlooking the gardens. Inhaling deeply, he grinned at the certainty that Westie would be the first of his guests to arrive that afternoon.
Gazing out over the wall separating his and Lady Diana’s properties, Lucas saw his neighbor’s windows were open to take advantage of the fresh air. The sound of a pianoforte and a sweet, high voice accompanying it drifted through those on the east-facing corner of the house—her drawing room.
Moving down the terrace as far as he could, he strained to see in, but his view was partially blocked by a potted tree. A curse on his lips, he wedged himself between it and the wall, crouching down so as not to be seen. First checking to be sure he was adequately concealed, he once more brought out the opera glasses.
Heat crept up from his collar to warm his face and make his scalp prickle as he unfolded them. If anyone sees me like this, I’ll be the laughingstock of London. Shame was a hot coal in the pit of his stomach, yet he didn’t stop. He knew he was behaving like the worst sort of busybody, but damn it all, his curiosity would not be repressed.
Peering across the divide from his new vantage point, he could see about half the room’s interior. There sat the infamous lady of the house at her instrument, fingers flying over the keys, voice lifted in song. Such was her skill at playing that he forgot for a moment to do anything but enjoy the piece.
Then movement caught his eye, and he watched her music teacher breeze into view. After a few minutes spent playing under his approving gaze, Diana stopped and scooted over to allow him to sit beside her—close beside her, Lucas noticed. His nimble fingers then joined hers as, together, they played the same song again. A moment later, the man’s rich tenor rose alongside her clear soprano, adding a complementary counter melody.
Something dark twisted in Lucas’s gut as he watched her throw her head back in open-mouthed laughter when they finished the rollicking piece. It eased only after she relinquished the instrument to the man and moved to a nearby chair beside the window to read while he continued playing.
Clearly, this wasn’t a music lesson. Her fingers had lingered on the fellow’s shoulder far too long as she’d risen, and her manner with him wasn’t that of a student with a teacher, but rather that of someone much more familiar.
Why would someone as accomplished as she require an instructor to begin with? Lucas added the question to his ever-growing list.
A mistress with a passionless protector to whom she was unswervingly loyal. A sham show of carnality clearly meant to shock and distract any observer. A music instructor for a pupil who was, if his ears had told him no lies, equally as skilled as her supposed teacher.
What is she, really?
So deep was he amid his own thoughts that he almost missed it when the music came to an abrupt halt. Squinting through the glasses, he saw another visitor had arrived: Harrow, presumably to fetch her for the picnic, though it was still several hours off. Oddly, Diana didn’t deign to stir from her chair to greet her protector. In fact, she only looked up from her book for the briefest moment in acknowledgment of his arrival.
The music teacher’s reaction, however, was quite different.
Lucas’s jaw went slack as the man practically leaped up from his seat at the pianoforte to greet Harrow with…a kiss. And it was no dispassionate kiss upon the cheeks, as between longstanding friends, but rather the hungry clashing of mouths reserved for desperate lovers.
“Blood-y hell,” Lucas muttered to himself, drawing out each syllable as Harrow’s long arms wrapped around the smaller man’s shoulders and clasped him tight in an embrace that would make one think they’d been parted for years—rather than mere hours.
The epiphany brought with it an invigorating rush of elation. It had to be! He’d wager his inheritance that the gentleman “friend” who’d “shared” Diana’s favors the other night was none other than her music teacher in disguise. The height is about right, the build…
Lucas’s face stretched with a grin of pure delight. Ha! Now I know your secret, madam charlatan! Diana was no man’s mistress after all. The clever actress had only fooled all of London into thinking it in order to hide her protector’s romantic involvement with another man!
His smile grew smug as he watched the lady at last put down her book and rise. Going to the men, who were now talking animatedly, she embraced first one and then the other with almost familial affection. Then, as she was conversing with Harrow, Lucas saw the musician’s hand absently drift down to the small of her back and remain there, gently massaging in small circles as he listened to the other two talk.
When she looked at him, Lucas saw her face in profile, and it was alight with a soft-eyed, adoring smile. Reaching around his waist, she then returned his affectionate gesture with a side hug and leaned her head on his shoulder.
The ebullience of a moment ago disintegrated in an instant, the fire of his delight turning into cold ashes. Part of him wanted to believe it was another ruse, but reason told him that since her drawing room wasn’t within direct line of sight of his house, it couldn’t be. Desperate, he searched for any clue the three might know they were being watched, but found none. The angles were all wrong, and there was nothing about their positions that smacked of playing to an audience.
Which could mean only one thing: Diana was part of a love triangle. Lucas sat back on his heels, numb. Harrow and Diana both loved the musician. The musician loved both of them. She and Harrow were friends, seemingly content to share in their lover’s divided affections. That she should be involved in such a convoluted relationship baffled him entirely.
What sort of female mind could make peace with such an arrangement? Every woman he’d ever known was the jealous sort. The instant her man’s attention wandered in the slightest, the green-eyed monster turned her into a vengeful lunatic. Some women even grew envious of their man’s friendships with other men—the platonic sort. If he
had to wed, and he would at some point, he wanted to marry someone like her, someone who wouldn’t drive him to Bedlam over petty jealousies.
