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The urge to squirm was almost overpowering, such was his discomfort at confronting the issue. “You must pardon my ignorance, but I hardly know how to define that, myself.”
Another laugh, this one gentle, full of patience. “You know what I am. If you must put a name to it, the least unsavory term I’ve heard is ‘amphibious’.”
Lucas had heard it said before of those attracted to both men and women. He nodded. The question nagged at him until he couldn’t stand it anymore. “And you truly don’t find me at all…?”
One of Harrow’s brows arched high. “Are you disappointed?”
“Not in the least,” he laughed, draining his glass. “Though I’ll admit I was a tiny bit flattered to think you might be when Diana first tried to use the idea to frighten me off.” Their easy laughter mingled, and the tension between Lucas’s shoulder blades eased.
“Ah, vanity,” said Harrow wryly. “As I said, you’re handsome but not my sort. After all, just because you’re attracted to women does not signify that you’re attracted to all women. The same applies to people like me. We all have our individual preferences.” He settled a long, weighty stare on Lucas. “Do you really want Diana enough to do whatever is necessary to make this work?”
At this point, the decision had already been made. I must be insane. “I suppose I can withstand a bit more of Society’s disapproval.”
Chapter Thirteen
Diana’s nerves were stretched to the breaking point. Harrow was still downstairs talking with Blackthorn. “What in heaven’s name is taking so long?” A warm palm pressed down on the back of her hand, and long, elegant fingers interleaved between hers, giving them a gentle squeeze. She looked at René, seeking reassurance.
“All will be as it should, mon amie,” said René, leaning close so she could rest her head against his shoulder. “Trust in Charles. He won’t fail.”
“I hate this,” she confessed, ashamed of the rising panic in her voice but unable to control it. “I wish we did not have to d
eceive him in this manner.”
“There is no other way—or, rather, there is no safer way—to do this. Not if you are to have what you desire.”
Now it came to it, she regretted letting said desire sway her. “I knew better. I knew I would be unable to resist him. I should never have allowed him to get near me again. I should have run away.”
“Do you think he would have allowed it?” the Frenchman asked, again squeezing her hand. “If he feels as strongly about you as you do him, then I’m afraid there is nothing on this earth that would keep him away. Non. C’est mieux. Be patient.”
“And if he betrays us?”
“He won’t. Charles will make certain of this. I’ve known him long enough to know there is nothing he won’t do to protect those he loves, and he loves you, chérie. Trust in that love.”
She wanted to believe him but had no idea what Harrow might be telling Blackthorn. When she’d asked him, he’d told her he’d know how much to say only when it needed saying, which would all depend on Blackthorn’s reactions. That had given her no comfort. Today’s reactions aside, could he be trusted to keep his word once he knew the truth?
Every fiber of her being wanted to get up and pace the room, but she knew it wouldn’t help and that it would only make René anxious. She glanced at her friend, wondering how he could remain so calm in the face of this catastrophe.
Her heart leapt painfully in her chest as the door opened, admitting Harrow. A bemused smile hovered on his lips, but she refused to allow herself to hope until he spoke the words that would release her from this torment of uncertainty. “Well?” she demanded, unwilling to wait even a moment longer.
“I think he’ll do admirably.”
A relieved sigh burst from her throat. “Tell me everything, and don’t leave out a single detail, no matter how small.” She listened as he spoke, taking it all in. His observations, his predictions, all of it. He was holding something back; she was sure of it. But what he did say calmed her considerably.
Beside her, René chuckled. “Did I not tell you, chérie?”
Harrow reached out and took the other man’s hand between his own and kissed its palm. “Such faith you have in me,” he whispered to his lover. “I hope you’re not disappointed I felt it best not to reveal your part in this?” When René indicated no displeasure, Harrow again looked to Diana. “I disliked misleading Blackthorn about my true nature, but it was the only way to preserve his view of you until he learns differently for himself. Once he realizes neither of us is a threat, that certainty should dispel any remaining jealousy. It might even turn him into an ally. If he can help us maintain appearances…”
A lump rose in her throat as she looked at her two dear friends sitting with their hands entwined. Love, tender and ferocious, rose up inside her. She wouldn’t allow anyone to harm them—or Minerva and Henry. Certainly not because of my selfishness. “I assume he knows this won’t end well for him if he makes the wrong choices?”
“Indeed, he does,” affirmed Harrow softly.
“Good. We cannot afford any mistakes.” Any more mistakes, you mean…
“Diana…” Harrow’s tone was hesitant. “There can be no coming back from this. The man is besotted, and once he knows the truth it’s especially unlikely he’ll be willing to let you go after just one night. There is still time for you to change your mind.”
“No,” she answered at once. “This—he is what I want. At least once.” It frightened her to bits, but she’d regret it her whole life if she didn’t do this.
“Even if it means giving up the future you had planned? The likelihood he’ll marry you is all but nonexistent. Any children born to you would be illegitimate. And you must face the possibility that he might one day marry someone else.”
