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“I spent the night with her, Westie.” He debated his next words carefully, but was sure they wouldn’t contravene his agreement with Harrow. “No one else was in that room with the two of us, I assure you. Harrow remained there overnight because he was uncomfortable leaving her there alone with me. It was a matter of his ensuring her safety.”
Westing raised his palms in surrender. “I believe you, but surely you must know that not everyone will. You know how determined some people are to believe the worst of others.”
“I assume Charlotte’s parents are of said ilk?”
“You assume correctly,” replied Westing, his voice flat as a crepe. “I’m going to have to become a damned altar boy if I want to marry her—and I do want to marry her,” he added softly.
“Are you certain you’ve selected the right bride for a man of your particular moral fiber?” Lucas asked, giving him a sidelong look. “There are plenty of women out there, old boy. You need not burden yourself with one who does not suit.”
“But she does,” insisted his friend. “She’s perfect for me. I adore her in every possible way.”
The quiet admission set Lucas back on his heels. “I must applaud the lady on her efficacy. To have set her hook in so quickly no doubt requires great skill.”
“You’re one to talk,” drawled Westing with a smirk. “I’m not the only one with a hook in his cheek. You’ve been reeled in with just as much skill as I, my friend.”
His words drew a flush up Lucas’s neck, but he laughed it off. “I’m not the one who just confessed he’s in love. I may enjoy Diana’s charms, but you don’t see me setting aside my friendships in order to win anyone’s approval.”
“Not yet. But you may find yourself dancing a different jig when your father hears about you and Harrow,” his friend muttered back.
The way he said “you and Harrow” made Lucas’s hackles rise. She’d warned him, but he hadn’t expected his best friend to be the first to jump aboard that coach. “Just to be perfectly clear, my ‘interest’ is in Diana, not her protector,” he growled, glaring. “That you of all people would even imply otherwise is an intolerable affront.”
Westing’s expression became unreadable. “It was not my intent to imply anything of the sort,” he said quietly. “Any such interpretation was purely your own.”
Lucas’s heart slowed, and the anger that had begun to boil in his veins ebbed away. “Your pardon. I suppose I may indeed be a bit anxious over the prospect of what people might say, after all.”
“Forgiven,” his friend murmured a moment later. “Considering what just occurred, I do hope you know what you’re doing and are prepared for the ramifications should this continue down its current path. This is not the same as tupping other men’s neglected wives. People are willing to overlook that sin.”
“I’m well aware of the situation into which I’ve put myself,” he answered. Drawing up his courage, he looked his friend squarely in the eye. “I knew the possible consequences when I began pursuing her and accepted them. Having said it, I don’t wish to lose your friendship over this.”
Westing’s usual irreverent expression returned. “That won’t happen, I can assure you. I may not be around as much until after the wedding, but once my ring is on Charlotte’s dainty little finger, her parents will have no more leverage over me. They certainly won’t be dictating my friendships or pruning my circle.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
Westing leaned closer, his expression avid. “So, what was she like?”
Lucas laughed.
…
The first night Lucas used the keys, he nearly worried himself an ulcer. Just traversing their gardens unseen—and unheard, considering he tripped over what felt like every rock and root in Christendom while fumbling in the dark—seemed an impossible challenge. Cursing beneath his breath the entire way, he questioned his own sanity.
On reaching the house, he waited in deepest shadow several long minutes to be sure all was clear and quiet before venturing within. He tiptoed down the dimly lit halls, keeping to the thick runners to deaden his footsteps, praying he encountered no stray servants. His trepidation evaporated, however, upon entering his amour’s boudoir and finding her waiting for him—naked.
Their second night of passion was well worth his nerve-wracking journey. As was their third.
Days slid by, becoming weeks, during which Lucas saw more of Diana than he’d dreamed possible. Evenings spent playing cards with her and Harrow actually worked to stave off the ugliest of rumors, as there were always servants—or, as he now liked to call them, spy eyes—present, and he always returned home before it grew too late.
The keys were a godsend, allowing him to come to her on their appointed nights, which changed from week to week to avoid establishing a pattern. There were a few close calls where he nearly ran into a servant either at his house or hers, but he managed to evade detection.
Between these clandestine visits, Harrow arranged more “official” ones, providing just enough grist for gossip’s mill to perpetuate the myth of his own voyeurism. But Diana had been right in predicting that the longer these went on, the more people would begin to suspect the men’s friendship of being something else.
And indeed, no one dared say anything to his face, but Lucas began to feel it hanging in the air like a foul miasma whenever he went to the club to meet up with Westing or other friends. A few of these became increasingly absent during the times they usually met, and when he subsequently ran into them about Town, there was an awkwardness present that hadn’t been there before.
It stung. He felt the weight of their judgment on his shoulders as tangibly as if someone had settled a cloak about them. And it made him wroth. Such fair-weather friends were well shed, as far as he was concerned—and easily replaced, he soon discovered.
Harrow had many friends, all of whom Lucas quite liked. They were no different than the people he’d known most of his life save in one area: they were, in general, far more easygoing and a great deal less judgmental. And because Harrow was a marquess, many of these friends were part of a much higher circle than the one he’d been privileged to inhabit prior.
This was a thought that warmed him whenever he was forced to endure parental disgruntlement—which was no laughing matter—or bear the slights of certain former comrades.
