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Did he look at her with more than curiosity and lust? Was there more to his interest in her? She told herself no, tried to quell the spark of hope that flared inside each time their eyes met and his held a warmth that, despite all her cool reasoning, appeared to be genuine affection.
Every time Diana was with Blackthorn, speech seemed easier and grew more familiar. The tension inside her, however, wound ever tighter. She knew they held each other’s gazes for too long. She was well aware her face warmed at even the smallest implied compliment. She cursed the liquid heat that pooled at the base of her spine every time he was near.
Over the course of these visits, they shared with each other childhood memories and spoke of their likes and dislikes. She was always careful not to tell him too much, but even so it felt like she was sliding further and further down a slippery slope, at the bottom of which lay she knew not what.
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With great amusement, Harrow continued in his plan to befriend her neighbor, a task aided by the man’s own determined attempts to garner favor. Her protector responded with all fervor to the slightest flirtation as though unable to help himself.
Despite her misgivings, the pointed looks he occasionally shot her when Blackthorn couldn’t see made it doubly hard for her to refrain from laughing every time triumph wrote itself across their mark’s face in the wake of an apparent victory.
She had nearly let out a snort on hearing Blackthorn compliment Harrow on the superior cut of his jacket.
A giggle had almost worked its way out of her throat when he was so bold as to actually reach out and straighten Harrow’s lapel while requesting the name of his tailor.
Asphyxiation had become a real threat when Harrow had subsequently pinned him with a steady gaze and invited him to come along with him for a fitting appointment later that week so that he might personally recommend him to the fellow, who was very exclusive and only took on new clients by such means.
Blackthorn had turned several beautiful shades of scarlet while accepting the invitation in a distinctly cracked voice.
That night, together with René, she and Harrow had celebrated their fine performances, not to mention ironbound restraint, with a bottle of champagne.
But no matter the hilarity throughout, nothing could alleviate Diana’s growing disquiet at the thought of where all of this was leading. Especially when both Blackthorn and Harrow separately confirmed the book at Whites was beginning to see a great number of wagers on whether or not “Lord B.” would become their next overnight guest. There were also quite a few in favor of an impending duel between Lord H. and Lord B. over Lady D. Bets on the outcome had yet to be posted.
On the morning of Blackthorn’s ball, Diana awakened to a surprise package from Harrow. The gown within, a Fisk’s, stole her breath.
Deep teal silk with a fine silver mesh overlay embroidered with tiny sparkling jewels fell in graceful swaths, bound just beneath a shallow bodice by a darker sash of velvet edged with silver. Its train was a glorious pale aquamarine silk so fine it was nearly transparent, also dotted here and there with gems. The miniscule puffed sleeves were of the same material.
Though still daringly low cut, it was more modest than those she typically wore when Harrow wanted to show her off. She couldn’t wait to put it on. Another, smaller package was tucked inside the larger box. This one held matching slippers, a silver reticule, and aquamarine jewelry.
As the day wore on, she grew more and more nervous. She’d been to countless balls, but this one was different. It was his. He was their host, and they were now considered by all of London to be friends. Which meant she would have to act…friendly.
Exactly how friendly was the question. A sudden bout of nerves made her feel faintly nauseous.
Harrow, upon seeing her pale cheeks when he arrived, tried to set her mind at ease. “We’ve nearly achieved our goal. The flirtations must become a bit bolder tonight—from all parties—so expect some ruffled feathers from the less tolerant of his guests.” A predatory look entered his eyes, and she recalled how much he loved pitting his wits against an opponent, a trait they shared. “This is our first real opportunity to plant the seeds of suspicion in the minds of the public, and it must be done right. Hopefully, he plays his part.”
“And if he fails? If he tries to distance himself?”
A faint smile played about his mouth. “I’ve a contingency plan at the ready.”
“What is it?”
But he merely shook his head. “It’s best you not know. If I must enact it, it’s vital that your reaction be genuine.”
Dread made her heart pound inside her chest. “I’m frightened.”
His gentle hands cupped her shoulders, warm and reassuring. “You’ve no cause for worry. I’ll be with you the entire evening. By the time we’re done, he’ll be unable to say anything damning without also condemning himself.”
Despite her faith in him, Diana was a mass of nerves as she sat through the finishing touches of her toilette. When she was ready, however, Harrow told her to remain seated and dismissed Francine from the room, closing the door behind her.
“Why are we not leaving? He’ll expect us to be among the first to arrive.”
“I intend us to be fashionably late,” he answered. “I want everyone present when we enter.”
Trusting his judgment, she contented herself with reviewing the finer points of the plan in her mind while he read the Gazette and she pretended interest in her copy of Magazin des Modes Nouvelles. Half an hour later, he rose and held out his arm, ending her torment. On arriving downstairs, she was surprised when he led her not to the front of the house to board his carriage, but to the back. At her askance look, he held up an oversize brass key she recognized as belonging to her garden gate.
A devil’s grin curved his mouth. “Tonight, I want everyone to know just how very neighborly we are.”
Her breath caught, and she knew her eyes must be like saucers. The consequences of what they were about to do would be irreversible. If Blackthorn had any hope of escape, it was about to be crushed.
