AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Despite his better instincts, Lucas bit. “How can you be certain?”
“I have it on good authority Harrow has accepted the invitation.”
“I see. And what makes you think he’ll bring her along?”
Westing looked smug. “Lords Harrow and Latham are longtime friends, but their wives are not—which all but guarantees Lady Harrow won’t accompany her husband to the event. But Harrow never attends these things alone. Mark my words, she’ll be with him.”
“And you really think she’ll show her face in public after…” Lucas nodded meaningfully at the discarded paper.
“Oh, she’ll be there—if only to spite Bolingbroke. She positively loathes the man. To this day she maintains she was unjustly cast out and was unspoiled until meeting Harrow.” He sniffed. “Grenville, of course, says otherwise. I suppose only the three of them will ever know the truth.”
“Indeed,” agreed Lucas, draining his glass. “Though I doubt it matters much, given the papers have now touted the lady as having participated in ménage à trois.” He shifted and leveled a suspicious look at his friend. “Why did you tell me she’ll be there?”
“Because I knew you’d been invited, and, knowing you as I do, I know you would discover her in attendance and be unable to resist. Now I know to be there, too, if only to stop you from doing anything extraordinarily foolish.”
“Are you my keeper, then?” Lucas asked, unable to help laughing at the dour grimace that subsequently crossed Westing’s face.
“If anyone requires one, old fellow, it’s you.”
As Wednesday approached, Lucas found himself increasingly preoccupied with thoughts of one Diana Haversham. The woman was an anomaly, to be sure. When faced with ruination or other similarly disastrous events, very few ladies of quality chose to become courtesans. Most went for the church or into service for a relative.
Not, apparently, Lady Diana. And that choice made her infinitely interesting.
Given what he’d seen of her thus far—her bold demeanor and seductive manner of dress—she’d made the transition with remarkable speed for a girl who’d only a short time ago been prim, proper, and boringly respectable. He positively burned with curiosity. What did her voice sound like? What was the color of her eyes? He couldn’t remember either detail from their previous meeting.
From the confines of his carriage, he searched for Harrow’s crest on the other conveyances clogging the drive to the Latham estate, but the increasingly inclement weather and general chaos made identification impossible. It began to rain in earnest, and the congestion grew so terrible that nothing moved for over a quarter of an hour.
“At this rate, it will be nightfall before I arrive,” he muttered. Frustration at last prompted him to rap sharply on the roof. “I’ll walk the rest of the way,” he told his coachman through the portal. Grabbing his umbrella, Lucas climbed out and opened it, drawing stares from those who hurried past him, huddled beneath their sodden cloaks. Living abroad had taught him many useful things, including the benefit of keeping one of these contraptions in his carriage. Considering how much it rained in London, heaven only knew why his fellow Englishmen still declined to adopt the use of such a worthwhile device.
Twenty minutes later and dry, with the unfortunate exception of one damp shoe, he entered the ballroom and greeted his hosts while those coming in behind him went off to dry themselves. Circling, he looked for Harrow and, more importantly, his infamous mistress.
“I was beginning to wonder whether or not you’d make it,” said Westing from behind. “Then I saw that bloody tent of yours coming up the walk. A right odd sight, it is.”
“Perhaps, and yet here I stand warm and dry rather than wet and chilled. Is she here yet?”
“Who, may I ask, are you looking for, Lord Blackthorn?” asked Lady Latham, pausing beside them on her way across the ballroom.
Westing’s mouth clamped shut.
Following the story of the alleged ménage à trois, any respectable hostess doubtless would dread hearing the name “Lady Diana Haversham” in connection with her party, but Lucas had no compunction about saying it.
As anticipated, the woman’s smile faltered and died. “She is with Lord Harrow, of course,” she answered flatly, jerking her chin toward a point beyond his left shoulder. “Over by the terrace doors.”
Lucas looked, and there she was, gowned in yellow with pale green ribbons, looking for all the world like a sweet—waiting to be gobbled up. When he turned back, all that remained of Lady Latham was the lingering scent of her overpowering perfume.
“You could have said you were looking for Harrow, you know,” muttered Westing.
“Yes, but that would have been a lie,” Lucas said cheerfully, ignoring his friend’s black look.
“You’re hopeless,” sighed the other man. “Very well. Shall we?”
…
Diana tried not to let her anxiety show on the surface as she watched Lords Westing and Blackthorn approach. Damn me for telling Harrow I’d be fine on my own! He’d gone off with Lord Louden to discuss an investment proposal.
Though Blackthorn was conversing with his friend, she’d seen the way he’d stared at her and knew he was coming for her. That man is trouble. Turning just before they reached her, she tried to make a tactical retreat but wasn’t quick enough to avoid being caught up.
“Lady Diana?”
