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“—as long as we are discreet, no one will be able to prove anything one way or another. Yes,” he said in a tone of finality. “I’ll do it.” He waited for Diana to object
, but the lady appeared to have finally been rendered speechless. Her expression was beyond price, and he took his time memorizing it.
At last, she found her tongue. “Do you have even the slightest idea how to court a man of his tastes?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, at last allowing some of his nervousness to show. “Not in the least. I don’t suppose I can depend on your advice?”
That brought her up short. “You’re asking me?”
His anxiety was mitigated by amusement at her discomfiture. “I am.” But if he’d expected her to answer back with all manner of ridiculous suggestions guaranteed to earn him Harrow’s undying enmity, he was wrong.
“I’m afraid I have little to offer. His expectations of me are not those of our other companions. But, as you said, he already seems to like you, which means you’re doing well enough on your own. You don’t need my guidance.”
This time, the smile he gave her was genuine, borne of pure glee at her discomposure. “I’m glad to know it. But I suppose the question I really ought to have asked is how best to gain your favor.”
The calculating look returned to her eyes. “Treat those whom I love with love, and you’ll have no trouble winning my heart.”
And just like that he knew. He knew she wasn’t in love with the music teacher. Had she been, she never would have said her heart was even capable of being won. Did she harbor an honest affection for the fellow? Yes; he’d seen as much with his own eyes.
But she’s not in love.
Happiness flooded him at the thought. “You are as intelligent as you are beautiful,” he murmured. “I shall endeavor to be the best possible beau—for you both. But come, let us find Westie, and then I think we ought to find Harrow so I can begin winning his heart as well as yours.” He frowned suddenly. “You won’t tell him anything, will you?” he asked, knowing her answer would be a bald-faced lie.
Chapter Nine
“And spoil the romance? Of course not,” Diana lied, unable to refrain from sarcasm. “If you truly want my advice, you’ll tell him of your interest—and sooner rather than later. He prefers people to be direct when it comes to such matters. I’m sure you can understand why.”
Facing forward, she pretended utter indifference, as if this entire conversation hadn’t bothered her in the least. Inside, she was an absolute disaster. But she mustn’t let him, or anyone else, see it.
The annoyance at her side flashed her a wry grin. “I do indeed. Not everyone is easily discerned regarding their most intimate preferences. I, for instance, would not have suspected a man like Harrow of having a foot on either side of the fence.”
What have I done? Fear spiked in her belly as she mentally castigated herself for being a fool. Exposing Harrow had been an incredibly dangerous move on her part, even though she knew it would be impossible to find any evidence to support a criminal conviction. Still, the scandal of such an accusation would at best be damaging. People might whisper about them now, but as long as she and Harrow maintained that she was the focus of their third’s attentions, the law called it “immorality” rather than a “criminal perversion” deserving of the noose.
As they rejoined the other picnickers, she forced her features into a pleasant smile that gave away nothing of her inner turmoil. Spying Westing, she practically dragged Blackthorn over to him, hoping to rid herself of the millstone ’round her neck. “You abandoned me,” she accused, giving the man her prettiest pout.
She didn’t miss the wary glance he shot at her escort before answering. “My apologies, madam. It’s said two is company, and I had no wish to overburden the conversation with a third voice. I hope he did not bore you too much.”
Beside her, Blackthorn chuckled. “I believe our exchange was lively enough to stave off ennui,” he said, lading the words with intimate overtones. “Would you not agree?”
Diana wanted to fling her parasol at his head. Instead, she pasted on a sweet smile. “Oh, indeed, yes. I found your advice on cultivating roses fascinating, though I hardly do more than reap the benefits of my gardener’s hard work. He manages the thorns and the manure, you see—and the pruning. He’s absolutely merciless when it comes to pruning. I merely enjoy the results of his tender care.”
His eyes lit with merriment rather than ire. “Manure and pruning are indeed necessary evils if one wants the best blooms. But one must wield the watering can as well as the shears, for beautiful roses require constant, devoted attention. As for the thorns, I’ve found that most beautiful things often have them.”
Damn him. The speculative look on Westing’s face told her their not-so-subtle verbal swordplay hadn’t gone unnoticed.
Thankfully, Harrow chose that moment to come and save her. But before she could greet him, Blackthorn moved between them, leaving her standing rather awkwardly behind him while he began to talk to Harrow.
Westing stepped in at once. “It seems our friends have things to discuss. Why don’t we find those strawberries?”
Grateful for having been rescued from any further embarrassment, she took his arm and let him lead her away. Harrow would find her when he was ready. She’d love to have given him some warning concerning what was about to happen, but he was a grown man and could handle himself. In fact, it would likely give them a great deal to laugh about later tonight.
A chuckle escaped her as she imagined his reaction when Blackthorn began flirting with him.
“You have a lovely smile, but I suppose you hear that on an all-too-frequent basis.”
Indeed, she did, and always from men who wanted something. She looked at Westing, not bothering to suppress her mirth. “It never hurts a lady’s vanity to hear it said.”
“May I inquire as to what amuses you so? Was it what Blackthorn said about gardening?”
