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His face pinked as he raised startled eyes. “Please accept my humblest apology—”
She forestalled him with a gentle gesture. “I meant no reproach.”
His shoulders relaxed, and a rueful smile tugged at his mouth. “My thoughts of late are generally not where they should be, I fear.”
She returned his smile with one of her own and followed her instincts. “Who is she?”
The widening of his eyes told her she’d been dead on the nose with her guess.
Blackthorn chuckled and answered for his friend, “Lord Falmouth’s daughter, the Lady Charlotte.”
She didn’t know the woman—a fact for which she was immensely grateful. “I thought it must be a lady,” she said, lacing her words with just the right amount of mischief before sobering. “Is all going well with your pursuit?”
“Indeed. I could not be more pleased.” But the worry that sprang into his eyes belied his too-quick affirmation, and the telltale glance he sent to the tables nearest them told her everything.
He’s concerned about being seen in my company! It ought not to have come as a shock, and it ought not to have hurt, but it was, and it did. Her ire faded as quickly as it had arisen, however. She couldn’t blame him. Everyone in this room would be talking of this meeting today, and all of London would know of it by tonight. If—no, when—his Charlotte heard of it, she’d likely question his devotion regardless of any legitimate explanation he might offer.
Blackthorn appeared to reach this conclusion at the same time as her. “Indeed, Westie has been intolerably smug about his success on that front,” he said jovially, turning to his friend. “The lady would be a fool not to accept your suit, old fellow.”
Minerva seemed to pick up on the undercurrent also. “Lady Falmouth and my mother are acquaintances,” she said softly, eliciting a comic look of surprise from Westing. “They attended finishing school together and wrote each other faithfully for many years. I was only a little girl when Lady Falmouth last visited us, but I remember well her sweetness. I shall be delighted to tell my mother of our mutual acquaintance and give her an excuse to renew their friendship. I’ll be sure to have her recommend you, should an opportunity arise.”
Oh, well done, Minerva! She watched as Westing’s manner relaxed a bit. Minerva’s mother was a duchess, and no matter what Charlotte’s parents thought of Harrow, they couldn’t deny such an influential connection. Perhaps they might even overlook Westing’s less palatable acquaintances. The sting of knowing she’d be numbered among that lot was lessened only by the certainty that it wasn’t really her that people disapproved of, but rather the facade she’d taken on.
If they knew the truth, would they think better of me? Would Blackthorn? The stray thought jolted her out of her melancholic slide. Caring for his—or anyone else’s—opinion of her was both dangerous and stupid. Harrow, Minerva, and René know the truth and love me. No one else matters.
Looking up, she saw Blackthorn’s gaze had settled on her. How long had he been staring? Her pulse quickened. The man looked as if he knew what she’d been thinking.
Ridiculous! Her thoughts were her own, of course. Unless you wear them on your face like an inexperienced little fool. She glanced away and schooled her features into a look of supreme indifference.
But it was too late, and she knew it. She didn’t know what exactly he’d seen, but the knowing glint in his eye told her it’d been entirely too much. A tiny smile quirked his lips, and her traitorous face heated. Silently, she cursed his uncanny ability to unsettle her.
When she looked elsewhere to compose herself, she made the mistake of choosing Minerva as her refuge. Her friend’s arched brow made it clear nothing of her blushes and fidgeting had been missed.
The next half hour was quite possibly one of the most uncomfortable Diana had experienced within the last year. Being caught between two people who knew too much—one of whom should know nothing at all—tied her stomach in knots.
Minerva waited until they were safely ensconced within her carriage before beginning her interrogation. “Charles told me of your admirer. Until today, I merely thought Blackthorn another of the same sort as has pursued you prior.”
Nettled, she answered with a bit more sharpness than was probably warranted. “He’s no different. Others have attached themselves to my skirt in hopes to overturn it. Rest assured, I’ll shake him off my train just as easily as I did them.”
“Oh, I think not,” countered Minerva with a chuckle. “The way he looked at you tells a different story, my dear. He’s quite serious.”
Her temper got the better of her. “About what?” she exploded. “About bedding me? Of course he is! They all are. But it’s nothing more than that—nothing more than lust. How could it be anything else?” she spat bitterly. “The day he bends knee and begs me to marry him with the whole world watching, then I’ll believe it’s more than just a desire to get between my legs.”
Minerva, unfazed, stared at her in contemplative silence for several heartbeats before answering softly, “You may well inspire such an act.” She ignored Diana’s unladylike snort of contempt. “You really don’t see it, do you? The way he looks at you? He knows you’re not what you pretend to be.”
Fear spiked in her belly, and she knew it was written all over her face. She didn’t even bother trying to put up a brave front. “If that is so, then we are all in trouble. Such curiosity will be our undoing.”
Her friend laid a hand atop hers and gently squeezed. “Charles will handle him if he comes too close to the truth or calls the ruse into question, but I doubt it will happen. Blackthorn may be interested in you, but he’s no fool.”
The laugh she let out had a desperate, near hysterical edge to it. “Men are all fools when it comes to lust.”
“I won’t argue with you on that,” said Minerva with a wry smile. “But I think there is more at play here. I think he’s falling in love with you—if it has not already happened.”
Diana’s heart all but seized in her breast, but she was determined not to show fear. “You’re wrong. He’s like all the others, and I’ll manage him just as I did them.”
Thankfully, she was spared any further questions. But Minerva’s words stuck in her mind, and she couldn’t help it if every interaction thereafter was colored by them.
The very next night, she and Harrow bumped into Blackthorn at the Theatre Royale. Naturally, Harrow invited him to join them in his box for the performance and then to share a late meal afterward at Rules. A good time was had by all, with many a story told over superb wine and delicious pheasant, heavily spiced with laughter from all three. The whole time, she kept careful watch, trying to see what Minerva claimed to have seen.
