After she was through reading the newspaper with her breakfast, a luxury many women did not have since in most households the husbands got the freshly pressed newspaper before his wife did, her eye was once again caught by the small cream-colored envelope.
She broke the seal and flipped the parchment open.
One week, my dear lady. My client is most anxious to take possession of the portrait.
The writing was bold and crisp. Nothing elegant or mannerly about the words or the confident strokes of the letters.
Diana tossed the letter down and took a deep breath. Her breakfast attempted to make a re-appearance on her lap.
Please, Hunt. You must get it back.
Late that evening, Hunt entered The Rose Room, the club he and his two brothers, Driscoll and Dante, owned as a joint venture.
Driscoll was his full brother and Dante his father’s bastard who was raised with them. There was never a difference in the way Dante was treated by their father, but Hunt and Driscoll’s mother made it known on occasion that Dante was not ‘one of them’.
To Hunt, they were both his brothers, and he loved them as only brothers can. Over the years they fought, played, attended Eton together and vied for the same opera dancers.
Three years ago, Driscoll and Dante had come to him with a proposition to open a gambling hell. Hunt thought it was a good idea since, although he was prepared to provide for his brothers, he knew it would be a much more rewarding life for them if they had their own means of support. The ridiculous edict of gentlemen not working be damned.
Hunt threw in the financial backing, and he’d been well rewarded with their efforts since then. The club catered to the elite of London, the Upper Ten Thousand, and the newly rising wealthy merchant class. The only women permitted were mistresses and members of the demimonde. No true lady would ever step past the front door.
Hunt walked through the club, satisfied at how busy the tables were, and made his way upstairs to the offices.
His brothers sat at their desks, Driscoll’s head bent, going over numbers in one of his numerous ledgers and Dante slouching, his feet on the desktop, snapping a rubber band.
“It’s nice to see that at least one of you is working.” Hunt knocked Dante’s feet off the desk and leaned one shoulder against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest.
“We’re working. I’m taking a break.” Dante stretched and stood. “Now I’m about to go downstairs and mix and mingle. Encourage our customers to spend money.”
What no one except the three of them knew was, while the gambling hell was the two younger brothers’ true source of income, all three brothers took occasional sensitive assignments for the Crown.
With his low-key attitude and extraordinary way with numbers, Driscoll Rose was a trained agent who worked on the more difficult assignments that even the bravest of the brave shunned. Dante’s lackadaisical attitude got him the reputation as rake, libertine, and bon vivant. However, the easy-going gambling hell owner possessed skills with his fists and knives, along with the ability to remain cool and calm in any situation that put him at the top of the Crown’s list to call in when an assignment was about to turn sour.
Hunt, as the head of an old and respected family and title, had contacts among the upper class that provided the Crown with an inside agent when they had no other way to gain imperative information.
What the world saw were three brothers working together in a successful business, living the life of young, wealthy, handsome men who every debutante in London would welcome as a husband. Even the bastard son.
Dante opened the door to return to the gaming floor, then turned back to Hunt. “Did you hear about Lady Diana?”
Hunt’s stomach sunk to his toes. Had word already spread about her up-coming disgrace? “What about Diana?”
5
Dante stepped back into the room and frowned. “What’s wrong? You look angry.”
“What did you hear about Diana?” The words came out more clipped than Hunt would have liked.
Dante shrugged. “Only that she is back from Italy.”
Hunt let out the deep breath he’d been holding. “I know.”
“Have you seen her?” Dante asked, still viewing him with a puzzled expression.
Although he would love his brothers’ input on Diana’s situation, he promised to keep silent about it, so he merely shrugged. “Yes. Briefly at the Billingsley ballroom the other evening.”
“I heard she’s looking quite dazzling.” Dante winked.
Hunt’s jaw muscles tightened. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Driscoll’s jaw dropped as his brother looked up from his work and regarded Hunt with raised brows. “Blasted hell, brother, since when are you so touchy about Lady Trouble?”
“I am not touchy about Diana. And don’t call her Lady Trouble.” Damn, if he didn’t shut his mouth soon, his brothers would start a lot of speculation and asking questions which he didn’t need right now with her predicament looming over his head.
Also, it was highly unusual for him to be touchy about the girl. She’d been a thorn in his side for years, as well his brothers knew. Normally, he treated her with reserve, or at the very least, provided her with a wide berth.
Now the situation had shifted. He hated to admit it but, ever since their conversation, he’d thought about nothing except how she would look in the nude. Did she have pale or dusky rose, or deep brown nipples? Was the silk hair that covered her mound the same lovely shade as the hair on her head?
When he realized his body was beginning to react to his thoughts, he quickly switched the subject before his brothers noticed. “Didn’t you say you were about to go back to work, Dante?”
“Yes. I did say that.” Dante cast another bemused look at his brother and left the room.
Hunt pulled out a chair and sat, facing Driscoll. “How are we doing? It looks like a good crowd down there on the gaming floor.”
His brother laid his pencil on the desk and leaned back. “Very good. We had to cut off young Wentworth last night. He is too far in debt and rumors abound that he has been selling just about everything at his estate not entailed.”
Hunt shook his head. “What a fool. All that will get him is heavily into the market for a rich bride.”
Driscoll smirked. “No doubt. Better keep him away from Diana.”
Hunt stiffened. “What does that mean?”
Driscoll stared at him. “Damn, brother, you are definitely out of sorts when it comes to Lady Tr—”
“Don’t. Say. It.”
Driscoll raised his hands, palms up, in surrender. “Personally, I prefer not to delve into whatever it is that’s bothering you, big brother.”
“There is nothing bothering me.”
Liar.
“As you say. Are you here merely to keep me from my work, or do you have a purpose?” Driscoll tapped his pencil on his desk.
“No purpose. Just stopped in to have a chat with my brothers, but apparently my timing was off.” Hunt headed to the door.
“Either your timing or your attitude.”
Hunt saluted him with a rude gesture and left the room to the sound of Driscoll’s laughter. He hurried down the stairs and decided a late-night drink at one of his clubs was in order.