The Wicked One (8 page)

His hands felt warm even through her gloves—and thank God she was wearing them, or she would have been tempted to scratch out those lovely eyes with her nails. His fingers, though, remained in hers. And they were very still. A heartbeat later he withdrew them. “Yes, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” he said, though the expression deep in his eyes was far more murderous.

“It has! Do call on me tomorrow. At ten o’clock. We’ll have tea. I do so want to announce the news of my new gaming club, you know.”

There.
Before she could even turn away she heard the echoes of her conversation spreading through the guests like a ripple of water in a pond. Or fire in a wheat field, more like. Yes, she’d just said she was opening a gaming club. Yes, Lord Haybury knew all about it—indeed, they were old friends.

A hand grabbed her elbow. “What the dev—”

Diane blinked, pulling in her thoughts even as she faced Oliver again. His expression hadn’t altered, but his eyes weren’t cool any longer. “Not here, Oliver,” she cooed, holding still despite the fact that she had the sudden urge to yank herself free and run. Swiftly. “We must discuss the details first.” With her free hand she reached up and touched his cheek, brushed her fingers against hair the brown of richest chocolate.

The murmuring became peppered with gasps of surprise. “Whatever you’re attempting to tangle me in, I will destroy you for this,” he breathed.

She smiled again. “You may try,” she returned. “Now unhand me or I shall kiss you.”

The trap of his fingers snapped open, and feeling rushed back into her arm.

“A pity you aren’t dancing this evening,” she continued in a more audible tone. “Ten o’clock. Don’t forget.”

His hard gaze held her in place for a moment. “I don’t forget anything.”

“Hm. Neither do I.”

As she glided over to meet her partner for the next dance of the evening, she used every ounce of willpower to keep her hands and voice steady. Yes, she knew precisely what she was doing and no, he didn’t frighten her in the least, but being face-to-face with him again … It reminded her of more than how much she disliked the man. Touching him sparked the memory of things that she’d already resolved were not to be dredged up again. Not for anything.

By the second waltz of the evening Lord Haybury was nowhere to be found and the gossip about her plans had spread so far it was coming back to her. She stood to one side, intentionally in sight of all the men who’d asked her to waltz and been refused. Yes, they were on the dance floor while she wasn’t, but each one knew—as did she—that he was partnered with his second choice.

Yes, the night was proceeding perfectly. The only thing that could have made it better was if Oliver had demanded a waltz as well, so she could have turned him down just as she had all the others. More than likely he’d known that, though. Oliver Warren was no fool.

“You should sample the parfaits,” Jenny said from beside her. “They are exquisite.”

“The Hennessys’ chef is a fellow from Sicily,” she returned. “I won’t have him.”

“I didn’t mean you should hire him. I meant the sweets are tasty.”

Diane rolled her shoulders. “Yes, yes. I’m sorry, my dear; I’m obsessing again. But I won’t be eating this evening.”

“I shall eat two, then.” Genevieve seated herself, using a stand of ferns to shield her from the majority of the room. “Everyone wants to know if you’ve gone mad. ‘A club? What sort of club? If Haybury is involved it must be for wagering.’”

“I told you he was the better choice, however willing Lord Blalock was to open his purse. Blalock wasn’t known for anything but having deep pockets and a penchant for the ladies. Oliver Warren is synonymous with wagering. It saves so many steps.”

Even without looking, she knew Jenny’s expression would be skeptical. It didn’t matter, however. She’d taken the first step and had already laid out the pathway all the way to the front door. And Oliver had best walk it with her, or he would regret it. Because arrogant as he was, she knew just where to find the chinks in his armor. Nor was she afraid to exploit them. With Lord Blalock dead, everything depended on it.

“As you said, we have no choice,” her companion agreed softly.

“As I said. More gossip, if you please.”

“I’ll be close by the refreshment table. And not because of the parfaits. The sweets seem to loosen tongues.”

“I’ll not begrudge you a parfait, my dear. Merely keep your ears busy, as well.”

“Mais oui.”

Partway across the room Diane noticed a young lady looking at her. That wasn’t so unusual, though the woman’s expression wasn’t the vaguely resentful one she’d already become accustomed to seeing on female faces this evening. Finally the lady clasped her hands together and approached. “Has it truly been so long that you don’t remember me?” she said, stopping a few feet away.

Diane looked at her more closely. “Jane Lumley.”

Jane smiled. “You see? Four years hasn’t altered me so much. You, on the other hand…” She gestured at the sleek black gown Diane wore. “You’ve become some sort of goddess of temptation, I think.”

“Oh, please. It’s only clothes.” Abruptly less certain than she had been since her return to London, Diane gestured her old friend toward the open balcony doors. She hadn’t had many close friends before Frederick, and fewer after, and this was not a conversation she looked forward to having. But if she’d learned anything over the past four years, it was that no one else would look after her with the same care and cunning she used. And looking after herself took precedence over everything. Even old friends.

“For someone who so quietly absented herself from Society you certainly know how to make a grand entrance,” Jane observed as they stepped out on the balcony. Two couples had preceded them, but it was still a hundred times quieter than the ballroom.

Of course quiet also meant they could more easily be overheard. “Frederick’s decision to leave England was rather … impulsive. Leaving Vienna took a bit more forethought. It’s such a lovely city, you know.”

“So I hear.” Her expression cooling a fraction, Jane sent her gaze over the rooftops behind them. “You’re not still in mourning, are you?” she asked in a quieter voice. “Because as I recall, you and Frederick—”

“Vienna is quite romantic as well,” Diane broke in. “You really should make an effort to visit.”
There.
Whatever her motives, it would never do for her to be seen as mercenary. Everyone had to see something in her plans for themselves, or her ship would be sunk before it ever left port.

“I shall, then.” Jane favored her with a sideways glance. “I would be delighted if you would call on me, you know. For tea, or luncheon, or shopping—whatever pleases you.”

“Well, I’m frightfully busy with my new hobby, but we shall see. Thank you for the invitation.”

“Your new hobby being opening a gaming house?”

“A club. A magnificent, very exclusive club.”

“A club, then.” Jane drew a breath. “We were dear friends once, Diane. If you ever wish to chat, I shall lend you an ear. Two, if necessary.”

“Thank you, but I’m not harboring any dark secrets. Not very exciting, I know, but there you have it.”

When Jane excused herself a few moments later in favor of a clearly nonexistent appointment, Diane let out her breath in a small sigh. Yes, they’d been friends, but the last thing she needed these days was a combination of confidante and reminder of her unfortunate, naïve past. Diane chose her companions and associates with great care now, mostly because she could. In fact, she refused to be a victim of circumstance or tradition or—or anything, any longer.

This was her venture, and no one else would be allowed to guide, assume, or abscond with it. Ever. And the sooner one particularly arrogant man learned his place in the scheme of things, the better for everyone concerned. She would tell him that tomorrow. At ten o’clock.