A Wicked Reputation (Once Wicked) Page 2

Why not go without her?

  The rebellious thought was so ridiculous she almost laughed. But at the same time it was so utterly appealing that she was tempted. Sorely tempted. She’d give just about anything to be out of this room, away from this place. She eyed the gown again.

  Why not? The invitation still stood, after all. No one knew her aunt and uncle were about to disown her. She’d wait until everyone had gone to bed, which ought to be soon, considering her aunt had already complained of a headache. Her uncle would likely closet himself in his library, nursing his beloved brandy, until the wee hours. Her hair was already done. All she had to do was put on that gown and get out unnoticed. The servants’ stair would work. She could hire a carriage to take her to the ball, which would not end until dawn.

  It would be her last chance—her only chance—to ensnare a husband. No doubt that, like her uncle, many had read the papers and were even now drawing their conclusions, but she’d not yet been ostracized. There might still be a way out of this.

  If I can somehow arrange to become truly compromised by a gentleman…

  But hope’s flame guttered after only the briefest flare. It would never work. No man would offer her marriage under the current circumstances, not even after having taken her maidenhead. Despite her innocence, he’d deny it to save himself from the scandal of marrying a woman of questionable virtue, and then she’d truly be branded a harlot. A strumpet. A—

  Courtesan.

  A prickly, unpleasant sensation crept across Diana’s scalp and slowly marched down her back. Now there was an option that would provide a comfortable life, for all that it would be a life of sin. That she’d even think of taking such a course showed the depths to which she’d already sunk.

  Yet some courtesans become mistresses, and some mistresses eventually become wives. What if she agreed to become a gentleman’s lover tonight? And what if he then fell in love with her? As for returning the tender sentiment, she had no intention of it. Her heart wouldn’t be part of the bargain. Love was unreliable. People always broke your heart. Like her parents when they’d died. Like her aunt when she’d turned her back on her own kin. Like the fiancé who’d claimed to love her, only to betray her with her supposed-best friend.

  Better to keep one’s heart to oneself than let it be torn apart.

  She looked at the rose gown again. It was an enormous risk. If her first mark did not fall hopelessly in love with her and marry her, she would indeed have to become a courtesan in truth.

  Can I bring myself to do such a thing?

  A gleam of gold and a spark of reflected light caught her eye as she turned away. Her mother’s jewels lay on the vanity, ready for her to wear tonight. Bolingbroke might be willing to let her take furniture and clothing, but her jewels might be another matter entirely. Those, he could say, belonged to her mother’s sister—his wife.

  She shook her head to clear it. Focus on the task at hand! If Bolingbroke decided to take them, there would be nothing she could do about it. Unless I wear them out tonight and never return. If this worked, she would send for her other things and hope he failed to remember them. She picked up her mother’s diamond necklace, feeling the cool weight of it in her palm.

  Mama. Had she lived, none of this would have happened. She would’ve been presented two years ago and already be safely married.

  As Diana clutched the jewels, a strange peace came over her, along with renewed resolve. Bolingbroke couldn’t take them before she wore them one last time, at least. When she was done, provided all went according to the half-formed and completely mad plan taking shape in her mind, London’s gossips would be telling another story entirely, one that would take the malicious lies that had ruined her and turn them on the very people who’d betrayed her.

  Laying the necklace back down, she went and took the pink gown from the wardrobe and laid it across her bed. Next, she rummaged in her sewing basket and took out her embroidery scissors. With its lace-embellished bosom and a fichu, the pink gown was a very modest affair. Without those affects, however…

  Her hands paused over the delicate lace, and she marked how they shook. Can I really do this? Can I deliberately set my feet on such an unsavory path? So much could go wrong. But the prospect of a slow decline into abject poverty loomed ahead if she didn’t take this final opportunity. Never again would she be received on her own by Polite Society.

  Taking a deep breath, she began to carefully take out the tiny stitches securing the lace to the neckline.

  Anything was preferable to starvation.

  Chapter Two

  London, 1812

  Lucas tossed his cards on the table and excused himself. Far more interesting than the game was the hushed confrontation going on between Lords Brampton and Harrow on the other side of the room. Rising, he went to the hearth under the pretense of fetching a rush to light his pipe. The men stood nearly nose to nose, anger clear in every taut line of their bodies. But where Brampton was red-faced and clearly enraged, Harrow appeared utterly unmoved by emotion.

  “If that is your desire, then so be it,” he heard Harrow say calmly. “Dawn?”

  “Dawn,” sneered the other man. “Better tell that pretty little whore of yours to prepare to find herself a new patron,” he threw in as Harrow turned away. “Perhaps I’ll take her myself and show her what it feels like to have a real man between her legs.”

  Harrow’s back stiffened, and he turned back around, a hard, dangerous look in his dark eyes. “That is the second time you’ve referred to Lady Diana in a less than courteous manner. If you wish to live tomorrow, I would advise you to curb your tongue.”

  The other man let out an ugly laugh. “Lady Diana,” he snorted. “I don’t know many ladies willing to t—”

  “I promised that lady I’d merely nick you,” Harrow cut in so softly Lucas almost didn’t hear him. “She was kind enough to ask me to spare your life for the sake of your wife and children. Don’t make me disappoint her.”

  All the color drained from Brampton’s face.

  Harrow’s mouth twitched up at one corner. “I’ll see you at dawn.”

  All eyes followed as Harrow turned his back on the man and left the room. The silence was tangible, everyone waiting to see his opponent’s reaction, but Brampton merely slumped down into a chair and sullenly called for more wine. Conversations resumed around the room, though at a more subdued level than before.

  Lucas joined his friend, Westing, who’d also abandoned the card table. “What was that about?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

  Westing chuckled. “By George, man. I thought everyone knew.”

  “I’ve been away,” Lucas reminded him. “Or have you forgotten?”

  A twinkle appeared in the other man’s eye. “The circumstances of your departure don’t encourage forgetfulness, I’m afraid. Lord Grafton is still quite wroth with you.”

  “His anger has cooled enough to make him sensible. Now, tell me,” Lucas prompted, knowing his friend could no more resist the compulsion to spill the tea than he could the urge to gamble.

  A grim smirk twisted Westing’s mouth as he capitulated. “Harrow is, as you’ve just observed, particularly fond of his mistress. Let a man speak ill of her, and Harrow will soon give him cause to regret it. He’s already fought and won several duels on her account.”

  “Looks like he has another appointment in the morning,” Lucas muttered. “She must possess incredible skill to elicit such devotion.”

  “Legendary,” sighed Westing. “Or so I’ve been given to understand.”

  Lucas couldn’t help laughing at his wistful tone. “If you’re keen on having her, why not make her patron an offer? I’ve done it on occasion. As long as you have his blessing, her agreement, and make it profitable for them both…” He shrugged.

  The look on Westing’s face changed from one of regret to one of wariness. “That would be the height of foolishness, however tempting the prize. The man is exceedingly jealous of her favor. It’s all but a certaint
y Lady Diana Haversham will become the next Lady Harrow the instant his current wife is in the ground.”

  “A man should never marry his mistress,” Lucas drawled. “Or is he fool enough to have fallen in love with her?” That was an error he’d vowed never to make—with any woman.

  “One can only surmise so,” said Westing. “Heaven knows there is no romance between him and his wife. They live at separate residences. It’s common knowledge she’s not shared his bed since giving him his heir. Told everyone she’d fulfilled her obligation and that there would be ‘no more nonsense’. That was several years ago.”

  “Not a love match, I gather?”

  “Cradle arrangement, or so I heard,” confirmed Westing, laughing a little. “When news of her husband’s philandering reached her, it’s rumored she told her friends she was quite pleased he’d finally taken a mistress upon whom to vent his bothersome lust.”

  Lucas snorted. “I imagine she might feel differently if she knew he was planning to eventually marry the wench.”

  A devilish grin spread across the other man’s face. “In truth, the current Lady Harrow and the prospective one are quite friendly with each other. They take tea together every other Tuesday and have been seen together about Town on several occasions. It’s one of London’s biggest scandals.”

  Silence fell for several heartbeats before Lucas huffed out the breath he’d been holding and laughed. “You nearly had me, Westie. For a moment I thought you were serious.” But the laughter died on his lips as Westing stared back at him soberly. “Good Lord, man. Surely you’re joking?”

  “Upon my honor, I swear it’s the truth,” said the other man. His voice lowered to a whisper. “The ladies’ private tête-à-têtes have inspired some to speculate that the countess likes Lady Diana’s company better than she does that of her husband—or indeed that of any man.”

  He felt his brows rise. “And how does Harrow feel about their…association?”

  Impossibly, Westing’s grin stretched even further. “Someone told me the man said he was glad his wife had finally found a confidante.” He lowered his voice a bit more and winked. “Can you imagine having a mistress your wife loved equally as well as you did?”

  “And here I thought I’d seen everything during my travels abroad,” muttered Lucas, shaking his head.

  “Yes, well you ought to see the three of them together,” said Westing with relish. “Oh, yes. They can be seen every other week or so in Harrow’s box at the Theatre Royale. The story goes that in the early days of their affair Harrow brought her to see a performance under the mistaken notion that his wife had decided not to attend that night. Naturally, everyone thought there would be a nasty confrontation, but instead of causing a scene and departing in a huff, Lady Harrow invited them to stay—and called for an additional chair to be brought for their ‘guest’!” His chuckle was one of pure delight. “What a wife!”

  Lucas realized his mouth was hanging open. “The woman’s clearly an eccentric.”

  “I’d die to know the man’s secret,” said Westing as if he hadn’t heard him.

  Haversham… “Is this the same Lady Diana Haversham that was disgraced just before I left?”

  “One and the same,” confirmed his friend. “You met her once, remember? We both did. I was there with you that night.”

  The memory that had been nagging at him at last surfaced fully. It had been several Seasons ago. When they were introduced, the girl’s voice had been hardly more than a whisper when she’d greeted him with bowed head and blushing cheeks, hands gripping her fan as if for dear life. She’d been red to the tips of her ears and had never even raised her eyes. In the throes of a torrid affair with Lady Atherby at the time, he’d been too preoccupied to give her more than a passing thought. She’d been a pretty little thing, but no more interesting than any of the other debutantes flocking him at every turn.

  Now, however… “Thrown over, was she not?”

  The other man nodded. “As I understand it, Grenville eloped with her closest friend. Harrow, sly devil that he is, wasted no time in snapping her up. Lucky bastard. I’d give my inheritance to have her for just one night.”

  Lucas laughed again. “I take it this paragon of moral abandon must be a veritable Helen of Troy.”

  “Having met her, I can attest to it.” His friend’s look turned wry. “I’d be willing to wager most of the married men attending tonight will go home with tired ears, if not sore cheeks, thanks to wifely rancor over her presence.”

  “What—she’s here with him now?”

  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?