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Alarm sparked in Westing’s eyes. “Oh, no. No—bad idea, Blackthorn. If you so much as look at her the wrong way Harrow will run you through.”
“I only want to have a peek,” Lucas assured him, unable to quash his curiosity. The daughter of a duke become a man’s mistress wasn’t something one saw every day. “Any woman capable of seducing not only a man, but his wife along with him, is worth seeing.”
“Oh, God,” said Westing weakly. “The last time this happened, your father made you leave the bloody country. He’ll disown you if you get yourself into another debacle.”
In truth, his temporary banishment had been a convenient excuse to leave England’s shores as a matter of service for the Foreign Office, but he could hardly say so. Lucas straightened his cuffs and grinned. “He cannot. I’m his only heir. And considering he’s already cut off my allowance—to what end I know not, since we both know I have no need of it—I see no reason to deny myself the pleasure.” And with that, he turned and headed for the door. He paused before exiting. “Are you coming?”
Grimacing, Westing followed. “If only to keep you out of trouble,” he muttered as he passed.
“Excellent. You can point her out to me, and if she’s not with him you might even reintroduce us.” He wiggled his brows. “If I manage to seduce her between now and tomorrow, and Harrow challenges me, I shall need a second. You’ll do.”
“That’s not funny, Blackthorn.”
“It bloody well is,” laughed Lucas, ignoring his friend’s sour tone.
…
A sudden bout of nerves took Diana as she slipped through the crush in the ballroom. Harrow would’ve allowed her to accompany him had she pressed, but he’d requested that she not, lest she distract him. She hated being left on her own. Harrow was like a suit of armor, protecting her from the world’s cruel caprice. Without him at her side, she felt naked and altogether too vulnerable.
She cast about, desperate for some sort of anchor. Always have something in your hand, she remembered him telling her.
Eyes flicked up to glance at her as she snagged a glass of champagne from a passing tray. Taking a sip, she began to drift among the partygoers, trying to project an aura of calm and sophistication. She was accustomed to people looking at her, to their speculative stares, and made sure to boldly meet them.
No shame. She couldn’t afford it. Not anymore. She had a part to play and was being paid to play it well. The daring plan she’d conceived at her uncle’s house had succeeded even better, in fact, than she’d hoped in her wildest imaginings. Harrow kept her in what could only be termed outrageous luxury. Her home was a small palace, her servants legion. Everything she possessed was of the very highest quality. The sapphires and diamonds she wore tonight were worthy of Queen Charlotte herself.
And it all belonged to her. Harrow had given it to her, along with a monthly allowance that was nothing short of astounding. In the time since he’d publicly set her up as his mistress, she’d accumulated quite a sum. By the time their arrangement came to an end, she’d be able to live the rest of her life in comfort and independence. She might even leave England, start afresh under a new name. The world was wide open to a woman with money.
Remembering how she’d worried herself to distraction over how to make three thousand pounds provide a sustainable living, she allowed herself a small chuckle. Harrow was many things to many people, but to her he was both friend and savior. He’d
raised her up from the ashes of ruination and taught her everything she’d needed to know to survive in a courtesan’s world. But while he was kind and generous, and though she knew he cared for her a great deal, he couldn’t give her that for which she truly longed.
The next few years will fly as if on wings, and then I’ll be free. Until then, she would hold her head high and walk as if she owned the world.
Per her protector’s instruction, her gown tonight was particularly provocative. Though swathed in yards of lavishly embroidered cerulean silk, she felt almost nude. Never before had she displayed so much décolletage. Glancing down at herself, she saw the very tops of her areolas peeking through the lace at the neckline.
Don’t think about it! She looked away quickly, before a blush could steal into her cheeks and make anyone wonder at it. The reality of being left on her own for the first time since her shocking return to Society a year ago settled in, and with it, trepidation. Would anyone speak to her without Harrow at her side? If not, it was just as well. She didn’t really feel like conversing at the moment. But if they did, she had to be ready to answer them.
A familiar head of red-blond hair caught her eye. In an instant, all desire to hide vanished. Taking an unladylike gulp of liquid fortitude, Diana made straight for the center of the ballroom. Coming up behind her mark, she stopped.
The pile of coppery curls before her ceased their bobbing as those in front of it began to whisper and peek around it with wide eyes. Slowly, the owner of the mountainous coiffure turned around.
Deliberately pitching her voice low and husky, Diana greeted her as one would an old friend—entirely appropriate, as that was exactly what they’d been, once upon a time. “Lady Grenville, how pleased I am to see you again after your long absence.” Lips that had before quivered with the effort to smile did so now with an insolence that required no effort whatsoever. “You look well,” she said, eyeing the other woman. Not bad for having given birth only a few months ago, but I wonder that she can breathe with her stays so tight?
“Th-thank you,” choked Lady Grenville—Lucille—before apparently remembering she was never supposed to speak to or even acknowledge a woman of Diana’s ilk. Color flooded back into her face, chasing away the pallor of a moment ago.
Diana’s smile broadened. Too late now! The door had been flung wide and an invitation issued. “And how is Lord Grenville? Also well, I hope?” she said, her tone belying the sentiment.
Her opponent answered as though it were being dragged out of her. “Y-yes. Quite well.”
“How lovely for you both. Allow me to offer my felicitations on the arrival of your daughter.” How disappointed Grenville must have been! The guarantee of male issue had been one of his main points when negotiating a match with her uncle.
“Thank you,” repeated Lucille weakly, her eyes darting to those avidly drinking in the spectacle. She paled again and swayed slightly.
For a moment, Diana thought the traitorous wretch might actually faint. As she stared into her former friend’s miserable, pleading eyes, she marked the violet shadows beneath them and the fine lines etched beside her once ever-smiling mouth. She’d thought to shame Lucille, but now she saw the woman was not only embarrassed to the soles of her feet, but absolutely terrified.
Suddenly, there was no more pleasure to be had in the confrontation. Diana searched for the words to release them both, wanting—needing—to say something that would forever rid her of the pain of this woman’s betrayal. It’s time to move on. “I’m pleased for you, Lucille.”
The use of her opponent’s Christian name elicited faint noises of disapproval from their audience.
