The time had come. No more hesitation. This needed to be done. She stopped in the pathway and turned to him. She raised her chin. “I have a favor to ask of you.”
His slight smile gave her courage. “Ah, so now we’ve come to the crux of the matter. Due to your nervousness, I assume you are once again in deep trouble. What do you want from me now, Diana?”
She took a deep breath and said, “I need you to steal a portrait from Mr. J. D. Mallory’s art studio.”
3
Hunt stared at Diana for almost a full minute. “I’m about to ask you to repeat what you just said, except I’m afraid I heard you right.”
“Um. Yes, you most likely did. So, what do you say?”
His mouth opened and closed a few times. “No. Absolutely not.” He backed up and, after a moment, he bowed. “I will leave you now.” He stalked off before Diana even had a chance to say a word.
Stunned, she shook her head in confusion and stared at his retreating back with her mouth open. After a moment, she gained her senses and raced after him, almost losing her footing as her slippers slid on the carpeted stairs. Attempting to catch her breath, she looked around the empty entrance hall. “Did Lord Huntington leave?”
Briggs bowed. “Yes, my lady. And he seemed to be in quite a hurry.”
Quite a hurry, indeed. She gritted her teeth and quelled the urge to kick the door since his shin was nowhere near her foot. Except that would only hurt. Well, this had only just started. She had every intention of getting that portrait back, and Hunt would help her.
Two nights later, Diana searched the St. John ballroom for Hunt. She’d gone to three balls the night before and, tonight, this was her second. She would run the man down if she had to find him at one of his men’s clubs.
Or she might even be daring enough to demand entrance to The Rose Room, the exclusive and extremely popular gambling hell Hunt owned with his two brothers, Driscoll and Dante Rose. It was not well known that Hunt was involved in the business, since he was mostly a silent investment partner.
Hunt hated any sort of scandal attached to his name and an earl owning a gambling hell did not portray how Hunt wanted to be presented to Society.
But Diana knew, and she also knew he visited the place and consulted with his brothers, a few times a week, at the very least.
Only women of the demimonde and disreputable mistresses dared visit the establishment, but surely Diana could weather that scandal much better than the one currently hanging over her head. She might even throw all caution to the wind and visit him at his home.
Oh, she would find him. There was simply too much at stake this time.
Giving up on this event, she decided to return to the entrance and request her carriage brought around, most likely to the displeasure of her chaperone who hated being dragged from place to place, but that concern was nowhere near as daunting as Diana’s looming disaster.
There were two more events on her notecard. One soiree and one—she winced—musicale. Goodness, but she hated those things. But if Hunt was there suffering through it, she would too.
Diana was headed toward the corner where Mrs. Strickland sat with the other matrons and chaperones when Hunt’s name was announced. She looked up to the top of the stairs.
There he stood in all his aristocratic arrogance, his eyes scanning the crowd and settling on her. He was dressed completely in black except for a white cravat tied in the most fashionable manner and a silver waistcoat. But more than the clothes he wore and how they fit was the manner in which he strolled down the stairs, aware, she was sure, of all the fluttering eyelashes, waving fans, and sighs coming from the young ladies watching him.
Handsome, titled, and wealthy, he was in the eyesight of many a desperate mama, as well as matrons and widows looking for one of the most sought-after lovers to warm their beds. A few began to move in his direction, but he merely nodded at the swell of ladies and made his way directly to Diana.
Damn her heart that sped up and her breathing that increased. It wasn’t merely from fear of him rejecting her again as much as how he affected her. They’d been friends for years, for goodness sake. Why now did he turn her into a blubbering idiot when it was imperative she remain calm and simply use her well-honed skills to convince him to help her?
“My lady.” He bowed to her curtsey. His serious mien was a contrast to the twinkle in his eyes. Good, maybe he would at least listen to her now.
“Good evening, my lord.”
He extended his hand. “Walk with me.”
He tucked her arm into his and moved them to the edge of the ballroom. Since it was still early in the evening, there was room for walking. Within a couple of hours, it would be almost impossible to move, let alone actually dance in the area set aside for such activity.
The bay rum scent from him as well as his fine-tailored, expensive clothing immediately put her body on alert. Aching nipples, rapid breathing and the butterflies setting up housekeeping in her stomach needed to be ignored. She must stay centered on what she needed from him.
“First of all, I must apologize.” Hunt murmured the words but continued to face forward.
“Indeed?”
“Yes.” He turned to her. “It was quite rude to leave your home the other day. ‘Twas not well done of me.” He grinned. “You do frighten me sometimes, Diana.”
“Me?” She placed her hand on her chest, immediately drawing his eyes to her neckline. She dropped her hand and fought the heat rising from her middle. “Why would you be afraid of me?”
He pushed open the French door leading to the terrace beyond. The music started up, and several couples who were strolling in the garden and chatting on the terrace moved back into the ballroom.
Still awaiting his response, she let him move them down the few steps to the garden area, which was lit well enough to avoid scandal, yet sufficiently shadowed so that they would have privacy.
“You frighten me, Diana, because you’ve given me more than my share of sleepless nights.” He raised his hand. “Before you begin huffing, please remember all the times I bailed you out of your messes.” He smirked and looked down at her.
She must not be distracted by his rakish smile. Or his very male scent. Or his hooded eyes. Or the taut muscles under her hand. Let the other ladies swoon at his feet, she must keep her senses where he was concerned. “What messes?”
After a few moments, he said, “Must I number them?” He began to count on his fingers. “First there was the time you climbed a tree just as your parents’ guests were arriving for a house party. If I remember correctly, you were stuck up there for hours before I found you.”
“For goodness sake, Hunt, I was ten years at the time!”
“Ah. That is true. In that case, I will not number all the other rescues from then until you made your come-out.” He turned them so they moved on the path around the side of the house where another set of French doors revealed couples waltzing by in the ballroom.
“Do you remember Lady Abercrombie’s garden party?”
She offered a stiff nod.
“Do you also recall falling into the creek behind her house, drenching yourself, forcing me to sneak you out the back gate to my waiting carriage to get you home?”