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“You fear answering me truthfully—because you know the answer is no.”
Her temper threatened to escape mastery. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath before replying, “You clearly have little knowledge regarding such matters. I suggest you seek proper tutelage before we continue this discussion.” She was just in the act of rising to escape his odious presence when his next words stopped her cold.
“Since you’re so experienced in such matters, would you be willing to teach me?”
It took everything not to laugh at his transparent endeavor to get beneath her skirts. “That’s hardly an appropriate request, given you and I have agreed to be friends, not to mention I’m currently engaged as another man’s mistress.”
“Ah, but your protector seems to have a different view of friendship than most,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “I thought perhaps you might share this view and extend it to our friendship.”
She allowed herself a longsuffering sigh before answering him. “You must understand, Lord Blackthorn, Harrow is exceedingly discriminating when it comes to choosing our third.”
“You said you made that choice together.”
Damn. “Yes, well, usually it is he who brings a candidate to my attention. For approval,” she rushed to add.
“Usually? You mean always,” he said with a smirk, leaning a little closer and dropping to a whisper. “I think that a grave injustice, don’t you?”
“I thought you did not enjoy sharing your bedpartner?” she shot back, irritated.
“Touché. But in your case, and in the interest of ‘proper tutelage,’ I’d be willing to compromise.”
Oh, I imagine you would, you rogue! She pasted a saccharine smile on her face. “I would not hesitate to make a request, provided I liked the candidate well enough.”
His lips curved in a rueful smile as he acknowledged her quick rebuttal with a nod. “Then I suppose I’ll have to make you like me, won’t I?”
Part of her wanted to laugh in his face. Another part wanted to melt at the look he was giving her. Fortunately, good sense prevented either reaction from surfacing. She settled for a cool smile. “I wish you luck in that endeavor.”
“And if by some miracle I manage to pass muster?” he said, the hint of laughter in his voice.
You won’t. But even as she thought it, she knew it was already too late. How long could she keep him at arm’s length if he maintained a steady siege? Then, as if inspiration had been whispered by some invisible muse’s lips at her ear, a new thought occurred to her: Why am I trying to fend him off? If anything, I ought to grant him permission to do his worst—with one small caveat.
Now, it was her turn to smirk. “If you manage to make us both like you well enough, I won’t have to ask.” Wicked glee filled her as she watched his reaction to her inference. While he sat in gratifyingly dumbstruck silence, she took the opportunity to rise and brush the grass off her skirts. “I fear our friend Westing has become lost. Shall we go and find him?”
…
As he scrambled up to join her, Lucas cursed his reckless mouth for leading him right into a dead end. She knew he’d never—
Bright as a sunrise, an idea formed. He’d call her bluff. She thought he viewed Harrow as a rival, but Harrow wasn’t the obstacle here—the music instructor was. He’d happily cozy up to Harrow if it meant driving a wedge between her and her nimble-fingered Casanova. All I have to do is make
her fall out of love with him and fall in love with me.
He glanced over to see Diana staring at him. “I’ve had a decent start, you know—with regards to befriending Harrow,” he told her lightly. “We’re not yet boon companions, but I don’t doubt we’ll soon become so. I like him a great deal.”
A wry smile tilted her full lips. “Please don’t take offense at my skepticism, but Harrow has a great many friends who ‘like him a great deal,’ but only a few have ever become close enough for him to trust in our bed.”
Now that he didn’t doubt. But however long Harrow had known his current lover was immaterial, as Lucas didn’t intend to wait that long to achieve his purpose. He grinned. “I’m nothing if not convivial, and I’m hardly a man to judge another for his vices. I’ve quite a few of my own.”
She stopped and faced him, a single caramel brow arched high. “So you would not mind being the subject of rumors placing you in his bed?”
Lucas bit back the correction that raced to the tip of his tongue: your bed. A knowing gleam in her eye told him her word choice had been deliberate, a subtle warning couched in literal terms. It was indeed Harrow’s bed, as he owned her house and everything in it.
Being named a libertine was one thing; it was nothing he hadn’t been called before. Harrow himself was often referred to in such terms. Because of the man’s rank, most people left it at that and chose to believe—or pretend to believe—his sole interest was in the ladies.
Lucas knew better, however. And if the truth about Harrow ever became public knowledge, any man closely associated with him would be suspect. No, he’d be tried and convicted in the minds of everyone he knows. The idea of being called a molly behind his back—or to his face—wasn’t one he relished. His parents would be fit for Bedlam. No matter what he’d told Westing about not giving a damn what his father thought, he wasn’t certain he’d be able to withstand that sort of disapproval.
Still… as long as he made it clear once he achieved his goal that his only pursuit had been Lady Diana, the scandal ought to blow over fairly quickly and do no permanent damage. After all, his notoriety was securely entrenched in the overturned skirts of dozens of women, few of whom had been discreet about it.
Was it worth the risk?
