Chapter Ten

Diana watched as Blackthorn took the seat opposite Harrow at the card table. His distracted, fidgety demeanor had her caught somewhere between laughter and pity. How Harrow was maintaining such a calm exterior was beyond her. When she’d told him what had transpired between them at the picnic, he’d laughed so hard he’d cried.

On several occasions, she marked Westing’s nervous glances in their direction. Within twenty minutes of Blackthorn’s arrival, she knew the two were in each other’s confidences. It was only fair. After all, she and Harrow were a team, too.

Playing cards seemed to have a strangely calming effect on Blackthorn. She attributed it to distraction at first, but then realized it was more than that. He was a skilled player. They all were, but his focus seemed a bit too intent for a friendly match. Several games in, she realized his was the manner of a professional gambler, and another piece of the puzzle fell into place.

His willingness to take what most would consider a dangerous risk suddenly made sense. He wasn’t the sort to back down from a challenge. His very nature demanded that he rise to meet it. In that area, they were very alike.

The games ended in a dead tie, which Blackthorn likely attributed to Westing’s skill rather than hers. It didn’t matter to her in the least. In fact, it worked to her advantage to let him think her less clever than she was.

Throughout dinner, the four of them covered a range of subjects, the conversation flowing easily between them. Blackthorn’s gaze rested on her a bit more frequently than before, but she noticed he made a marked effort to look at Harrow often, too.

Harrow, bless him, returned each glance with just the right amount of intensity to make the fellow squirm and look away, pink-faced.

She had to give it to Blackthorn—he was indeed giving it his best effort.

As for Westing, he was excellent company and admirably fulfilled his role as a distraction. In her case, a welcome one. Anything that kept her from paying too much attention to the sensations elicited by Blackthorn’s nearness was a good thing. She revised her earlier decision to exempt him from her company for his own benefit. Could she help it if he’d thrown his lot in with Blackthorn? He’d made his choice. She’d try her best to see he didn’t regret it, but would make no promises.

Following dinner, the four retired to the salon for more games. This time, they swapped partners, and she ended up with Blackthorn. They made a surprisingly good team. He was an intuitive player, at times seeming to know what cards she held before they were revealed. She suspected he did.

After playing with him for an hour, she realized she’d erred in thinking he didn’t respect her skill. Rather than making her a passive partner, he worked with her to maximize their cards. Winning against the other pair was all but effortless, a fact greatly lamented by their opponents, who’d been roundly drubbed.

Blackthorn’s open admiration of her ability warmed her inside. As much as she’d intended to see him make a fool of himself trying to flirt with Harrow, she was rather glad he hadn’t.

As the men were preparing to depart, however, he appeared to remember his promise.

When Harrow reached out to shake hands in farewell, Blackthorn held on a bit longer than necessary and shot him such an intense look that it elicited a twinge below her navel. To her shock, it appeared to have an effect on Harrow, too. His eyes widened a fraction, and a tinge of color entered his cheeks before he managed to compose himself and bid their guest goodbye.

The look Blackthorn gave her when he bowed over her hand a moment later was one of smug triumph. A shiver of heat ran through her as it changed to one even more intense than that to which he’d subjected Harrow. Blackthorn’s hot, dry fingers slid beneath hers, setting off little sparks deep inside. Those sparks ignited into a bonfire when his warm lips brushed against her skin.

A melting sensation swept through her, eliciting tingles in unmentionable places, simultaneously scrambling her brain and setting off warning bells. Keeping her distance was going to be much harder than anticipated.

As soon as their guests were on the other side of the door, she went straight to the decanter and poured two stiff drinks, one for herself and another for Harrow.

Harrow didn’t even blink. “George’s gout, what have we gotten ourselves into?” he muttered as he accepted his.

She swallowed a mouthful of fire, barely refraining from making a face at the burning trail it left in its wake before answering, “Trouble. Let us hope not more than we can manage.” Eyeing her friend, she smirked. “I thought you immune to his charms?”

He huffed a laugh. “So did I, but I was unprepared for that. I swear if you had not warned me he was going to pretend an interest, I might have thought it genuine. A body would have to be cold in the grave at least three days not to have been affected. You’re certain he’s only playacting?”

The hint of wistfulness in his tone broke the tension, and she released the laugh she’d been holding in all evening. “Should I warn René he has competition?”

“Bite your tongue,” he replied with mock severity, knocking back his drink. This more than anything told her it had affected him more than he was happy to admit. “He may be a handsome devil, but so is René, and he has my heart.” His look turned sly. “I was not the only one flustered by the man. I saw the way you blushed every time he looked at you tonight, especially just now.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” she said, putting her nose in the air. The effect was ruined by the giggle that erupted from her lips, however. Her head felt light, and she grasped the back of a chair to steady herself.

Harrow’s eyes narrowed. Before she could protest, he gently took the glass from her hand. “I think you’ve had enough. It won’t help anyway, not really. And you don’t wish a headache in the morning.”

It was probably too late for that, but she conceded without argument. As for helping, the alcohol seemed to have the opposite effect. If anything, it made her feel more vulnerable and at the mercy of her emotions. “How am I to endure this, this…wanting?” she asked, beyond caring how embarrassed she ought to have been.

“You’re not,” answered her friend. “I told you it would become more than you’ll be able to bear. If you think it’s bad now, just wait.” He downed the rest of her drink and set aside their glasses. “Giving in too soon would be a mistake, however, so we must plan ahead.”

“Easy for you to say ‘wait’ when you have René,” she grumbled.

A guilty grin flashed across Harrow’s face. “I do, indeed.”

Heat flared in her cheeks, and she pulled a face. “I don’t want to know,” she half sang before giving in to laughter.

Coming over, he wrapped an arm about her shoulders and pulled her into a hug.

Diana leaned in and let herself be comforted for a moment. “I’m glad you have each other,” she said, determined not to feel jealous.

“As am I.” He placed a kiss atop her head and whispered, “You won’t be alone forever.”

She let out a sigh. “Sometimes it feels as if I will. All my old friends are married now.”

“Trust me when I tell you it’s likely better you waited,” he said, leading her toward the stairs. “So many women marry young and come to regret it. When you wed, it will be for nothing less than love.”

“You’re thinking of Minerva again and making yourself sad,” she murmured, shaking a finger at him.

“She’ll never know love the way she deserves.”

“We’ve talked about this,” she admonished.

Now he was the one to sigh. “I know, but it was still selfish of me. And it was selfish of me to make you part of my facade.”

“Nonsense. What would I have done if not for you?” She didn’t wait for an answer before changing the subject. “What shall we do next with regards to Blackthorn?”

“Continue to let him think he’s succeeding.”

“That should be easy, given both our reactions tonight. I imagine he must be quite proud of himself at the moment, having made us blush. Any idea how long we should let it go before entering the next stage of the game?”

“You’ll know when the time is right, and you’ll tell me,” he said, steering her down the hallway and into her bedchamber.

Diana let him lead her over to the bed and sit her on its edge. The room was spinning ever so slightly. She really ought to have had better sense than to try and drink brandy on top of all the wine she’d had with dinner and the sherry she’d enjoyed during cards. She’d been worse off but knew this was still going to bite her in the arse tomorrow morning.

The sound of Harrow closing the curtains behind her filled her with intense relief. Knowing there would be no eyes watching from across the way as he helped her strip down to her chemise was a blessing. Ever since moving here, she’d felt like she was on display.

On impulse, she leaned over and planted a kiss on Harrow’s cheek. “Thank you for being such a wonderful friend.”

The corners of his kind eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Don’t thank me yet. We’ve yet to see the end of this tribulation.”

“Nonetheless, I thank you,” she insisted, peeling off her stockings. “And I promise I’ll do whatever I must to keep you, René, Minerva, and Henry safe. He won’t find out.”

“I know,” he said, his tone placating as he helped her into bed and tucked the covers beneath her chin.

She felt a bit ridiculous, a grown woman being put to bed like a small child, but it was also more comforting than she’d ever admit. As Harrow trimmed the lamp’s wick, she grimaced. What would Blackthorn say if he could see me now?

“Try not to think about it anymore,” murmured Harrow as he opened the door to his and René’s room. “It will all become clear in time, and you’ll know what to do.”

“I hope so,” she said, stifling a yawn.

…

Lucas refrained from getting the opera glasses back out again, but only just. The sight of Harrow leading Diana into her bedchamber had him pressing his nose against the glass, glad that he’d declined to light a lamp. It was just as well that he hadn’t gone to the trouble, because the man shut the drapes only a moment after depositing her on the bed.

Seeing them together didn’t bother him at all. He was more confident than ever there was nothing between them, especially after his little experiment with Harrow had resulted in a rather spectacular blush from the man.

The sight of the music teacher leaving his room a moment later, however, tied his stomach in knots and made his hands clench into white-knuckled fists.

Lucas knew exactly where he was going.

All the desire he’d seen bloom in Diana’s eyes when he’d kissed her hand would be spent on someone else tonight. Envy coiled like a venomous serpent in his gut, filling him with its poison until he felt it was oozing from every pore. He didn’t even know the fellow, and the man had done him no ill save that of being the lover of the woman he wanted for himself, yet Lucas despised him.

The musician was probably a very amiable person. He must be, if two people felt so passionately about him they’d be willing to share his affection. But Lucas knew he’d never be able to meet him face-to-face. So strong was his dislike that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to hide it.

More than ever, he regretted turning down Westing’s invitation to finish out the evening at their favorite tavern. Now he wished he’d taken him up on the offer, because the last thing he wanted to dwell on was what was happening in Diana’s bedchamber, and that’s all he could think about.

He nearly ripped the curtains off the rod as he yanked them shut, blanketing his room in total darkness. Determined to forget about his neighbor, he went downstairs to find a bottle of brandy.

It was time to get drunk. Exceedingly drunk.

The brightness bleeding through his closed eyelids was an unwelcome intrusion, chasing away the blessed oblivion that had enveloped him after downing far more liquid comfort than any man ought. He dared not open his eyes.

Unfortunately, his valet wasn’t the merciful sort to allow him to rest in peace on the day his mother was to visit. The smell of coffee mitigated Lucas’s disgruntlement only a little, but it was enough to entice him to take a peek. He cracked one aching eye open. The morning sun streaming through his windows carved directly into his pounding head with the precision of a surgeon’s blade.

Lucas let out a stream of curses so foul they’d likely make a dockside whore cross herself and pray for his immortal soul.

His valet cheerfully went about his duties, behaving as if he hadn’t heard. “Coffee, my lord?” he murmured, wisely keeping his voice down.

“God, yes.” Dragging his legs from beneath the covers, he planted his feet on the rug and just sat there for a moment, willing the room to stop moving around him.

A steaming cup of what looked like tar appeared before him. He took it and proceeded to drink what had to be the strongest coffee he’d ever tasted.

His valet continued bustling around the room, laying out clothes. “A bath has been drawn if you’d—”

“Yes, yes,” Lucas cut in. He reeked of alcohol and sweat. His mother certainly couldn’t see him in such a state. “What time is it?”

“Half past ten, my lord.”

George’s hairy arse. He had only an hour and a half to make himself presentable and cognizant enough to handle conversing with his mother. Not that she wouldn’t necessarily expect him to have a hangover; his profligate lifestyle was her favorite subject of complaint.

Resigning himself to the discomfort, he levered himself up slowly off the bed, groaning with each subsequent step as fresh pain assaulted his cranium. As always after a night of excess, he vowed never again to imbibe so much alcohol. But he knew damned well it was a vow he’d never be able to keep as long as Diana lived within sight.

He had to get her out of his blood, and there was only one way to do it.

Although his desire for her was much stronger than any he’d previously experienced, this wasn’t the first time he’d wanted a particular woman to the point of distraction. It hadn’t happened in several years, but he remembered well enough what it was like. Until he knew everything there was to know about the woman and tasted pleasure with her, the thought of her would drive him mad with curiosity and want.

But within a few weeks of finally scratching that itch and sating his curiosity, he knew his attention would drift. No woman had ever held his interest for very long. It was the reason he’d never kept a mistress. Mistresses required a certain level of commitment not required by the occasional willing wench he availed himself of whenever his desire grew beyond his own ability to sate.

As he stepped into the tub and sank with a soft groan of pleasure into the warm water, he reflected on his current predicament.

For all his reputation, Lucas hadn’t really been with that many women. There were a few notables he’d given a good tumble in his first years on his own in London. He’d not disappointed them, and they’d done him the favor of bruiting about their pleasure in his company enough that he hadn’t had to do much to maintain his roguish reputation since. Which suited him just fine.

Because the truth was, women were trouble. His mother, for all he adored her and was actually looking forward to her visit today—not that he’d ever admit it to anyone but himself—had taught him that much. She’d fooled his father into thinking she was in love with him, when in fact she’d been in love with another, and he’d been nothing more than a means to an end. Learning the truth had made his father wretched for many years, and Lucas had vowed never to let that happen to him.

Marrying for love was an impetuous act that could only end in misery. He couldn’t blame women, really. Their hearts were by nature fickle, and their dependence on men for means and security made them mercenary. When he married, it would be a practical union made for the sake of duty, and it would be to someone who had no reason to deceive him into thinking otherwise.

That wasn’t to say his eventual bride wouldn’t be likable and attractive, of course. Just not enough to cause trouble. Not like Lady Diana Haversham. Just the thought of her made him wince with discomfort as the pressure in his head increased with the quickening of his pulse.

Again, he condemned the idiotic idea of drinking away his problems. It hadn’t helped. If anything, it had made it worse. All he’d been able to think about last night as he’d nursed a newly opened bottle of very expensive brandy was her and that damned music teacher.

How had such a man managed to make her love him? The soft-eyed look he’d seen her give the musician on the morning of the picnic had convinced him she did. Lucas denied wanting her to look at him in such a way, of course. Yes, he’d come to the conclusion that the transference of her affection was the only way to get her into his bed, but that didn’t mean he had to love her back.

It struck him that he ought to feel at least some guilt for planning to destroy what was clearly a happy arrangement, but he just couldn’t. He wanted her with a selfish desire that brooked no pity for his rival.

And what of her? If she gave him her heart, he’d only break it when he lost interest.

He couldn’t bring himself to feel guilty about that, either. If she foolishly decided to take her fickle heart back from her nimble pianist’s fingers and give it to someone else, well, that was her prerogative. She was a grown woman capable of making her own choices.

Even if they are bad ones. Again, the image of her adoring expression as she’d looked up at her lover assaulted him. Taking up a face cloth, he scrubbed at his scrunched eyelids in a vain attempt to scour the picture from his mind’s eye. He almost wished he had that bottle of brandy here with him to help stifle the memory and silence his nagging conscience.

Ultimately, the choice would be hers to make, not his. He was merely offering her an alternative, nothing more.

By the time his mother arrived, Lucas was feeling much more himself. Her pleasure in his new address was, as expected, expressed in no uncertain terms. He welcomed the rare praise. The immediacy of her subsequent inquiry as to when he expected to install a wife there, although also anticipated, was somewhat less welcome.

“I’m only just preparing to host my first ball,” he reasoned, offering her another scone, which was declined. “Give me some time to settle myself in the neighborhood.”

“A wife would help you do so with far greater efficiency,” she shot back, glaring.

Lucas allowed himself a small laugh. “Yes, Mother. I know, but I’m not yet ready for a wife.”

An elegant brow arched in an all-too-familiar look of disapproval. “Indeed, as all of London knows after you invited Lord Harrow and his mistress to your picnic.”

Ah. Here it comes. “They are my neighbors, Mother.”

“No, my son. They are not. She is.”

“The invitation was addressed to him, and where he goes, she also attends. I can hardly dictate who he chooses to accompany him.”

“It’s shameful,” she declared, putting her nose in the air. “He flaunts his lover to the whole of London while neglecting his wife.”

“From what I understand, it’s a mutually satisfactory arrangement.”

Her gray eyes, which he’d inherited, grew icy. “According to whom? The woman sleeping with her husband?”

Surely his mother had heard every rumor he himself had, possibly more, but he decided to play the game. “From her lover, actually.” Or, at least the man pretending to be her lover. It was better to be blunt than to allow the conversation to travel any further down this path. “Like your own, his marriage is without passionate sentiment. It was a marriage of convenience.”

A harrumph of discontent erupted from her. “Marquess or not, I don’t like you associating with him. He has a terrible reputation.”

“So do I, or have you forgotten?”

“Not like his.” Worry sparked in her pale eyes. “He is a deviant. They both are. I know you’ve heard talk of their depravity.” Color flooded her cheeks. “Not only does he keep a mistress, but he brings…others…into their, their—must I say it?”

“Their bed?” he offered bluntly, enjoying the discomfort that flashed across her face. “Yes, I’ve heard all of the as-yet-unsubstantiated rumors.” The fib rolled easily off his tongue. He could hardly tell her it was even worse than she imagined. The next lie was just as smoothly delivered. “I’ve observed no such unseemly behavior. In fact, the lady lives far more quietly than even I expected.”

“Then the most recent tale that came out last week was nothing?”

He bared his teeth in a cool smile. “Considering every window I could see was dark that night when the event supposedly took place, I must assume so.” Then, he realized how it might sound. “It was warm, and I was restless. I came out onto the terrace to smoke that night. When I saw the story in the papers, it made me laugh because I knew it to be untrue.”

Her expression grew skeptical. “Perhaps, but the rumors cannot all be fictitious. Regardless, you should distance yourself from such people lest their taint ruin you. Be polite, of course—he is a marquess—but no more than the necessary due deference.”

Anger over being ordered around like a recalcitrant child made his face stiffen. “I choose my friends, mother. And I form my own opinions. I neither require nor want parental advice pertaining to my social life.”

The faint lines bracketing her mouth turned white. “As much as I dislike meddling in your personal affairs, I feel it necessary to warn you about these people. Harrow is bad enough on his own, keeping dubious company and allowing filthy tales to spread without offering so much as the slightest denial or protest. You’ve befriended questionable men before, but none like him. He is a shameless libertine. As for the Haversham woman, I find her particularly worrying. Several of my friends’ daughters have complained of her turning their suitor’s heads, distracting them. Duels have been fought over her, as well. She is nothing but trouble.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You’ve never before complained about any of the people with whom I’ve associated. Why now?”

“You were young and brash then. You’re older now, and I thought you were moving toward wisdom when you settled in this house and expressed interest in your father’s seat at Parliament. That you were ready to take the next step as a responsible gentleman and the future Earl of Markham. Now I know the truth, that you took this address because of her.”

It took him a moment to tamp down his fury so he could speak with relative calm. “I was unaware she lived there when I won this place—and yes, Mother, I won the deed to this property in a wager.” He knew how much she despised his gambling, and to tell her he’d won the address about which she’d doubtless bragged to all of her friends was guaranteed to provoke her ire. He didn’t care.

Indeed, her face paled on hearing it. But she wasn’t ready to give up the fight yet. “If you persist in this foolish association, I cannot vouch for your father’s reaction.”

A laugh slipped out of him. “What will he do? Send me out of the country again? I think not. Father stopped having control over me the day I amassed my own fortune, and he bloody well knows it.”

“He may have allowed you to run wild in your youth, but I anticipate that will soon change. Wealthy or not, you are his heir, and you will be expected to behave like it.”

“Or what?” He let out a soft snort. “I will continue to conduct my personal life as I please, and thank you to keep your nose out of it. Whom I choose to befriend is my business.”

Her lips thinned. “Well, I sincerely hope your friends don’t make it impossible for you to marry appropriately.”

Again, he laughed a little. “If by marrying appropriately you mean taking the bride of your choice, I’ll pass. I’d rather marry someone I’ve come to know on my own.”

Now it was her turn to snort. “If your recent judgment of character places you among such infamous personages as Lord Harrow and that shameless harlot, then—”

“Careful, Mother.” His earlier amusement vanished. Lady Diana was no angel, but she was someone he liked, and he didn’t care to hear her so disparaged, even if the label was technically true. “These are my friends you speak of.”

She blanched at his chilly manner, but her gaze remained steady. “You know how she came to be his mistress, yes?”

“I’ve heard.”

“Well, here is something you may not know. The gentleman the Haversham woman was to have married, Grenville, told someone that a few days before he’d intended to propose to her, he learned she’d gotten herself with child by another man. She was going to tell everyone Grenville had compromised her and pass off her lover’s offspring as his. He eloped with the current Lady Grenville to avoid becoming a cuckold.”

Indeed, he’d not heard this version of the tale. “Who told you this?”

“It’s not important,” she replied, a triumphant gleam in her eye. “What is important is that you know the type of people with whom you associate and select your circle with more care.”

A frown pulled at his brow as he folded his arms and contemplated his mother. “And where is this child?”

“Lost,” she said with a negligent wave. Her face darkened. “Presumably, your friend, Harrow, paid to be rid of the inconvenience when he made her his whore.”

He didn’t believe it. Not for one instant. Of either of them. Sighing, he passed a weary hand over his face. “I happen to know them both well enough to know neither of them would do such a thing.” He pinned her with a hard stare. “You know, I would not have expected you to be spreading such fabrication.”

Her eyes widened. “You doubt your own mother? I’m only trying to help you—”

“No, you’re trying to help yourself by ensuring I don’t embarrass you,” he drawled. At once, her look went from wounded to sullen. “Again, from whence did you obtain such enlightenment?”

“Lady Atherton said she overheard it when her husband was talking to Grenville one evening at a dinner party. May I now assume my information is acceptable, since it reportedly came from the gentleman himself?”

“Reportedly,” he retorted drily. “I find it…interesting…that this new information comes from Lady Atherton, who happens to be one of London’s worst gossipmongers, known for embellishing hearsay and propagating whole-cloth lies. That woman is a menace, and I cannot believe you tried to sway me with such twaddle.”

The offended look she wore now was quite genuine. “I have only your best interests at heart—”

“Save your protestations, Mother.” Tired of playing games, he held up a hand to forestall any further objection. He loved her, but she could be such a trial at times. “I’ll do as I please. Your disapproval of me is already well known to your friends and liberates you of responsibility for my actions. I don’t see how my befriending Harrow—or his mistress—can make one jot of difference.”

The Countess of Markham drew herself up, her face reddening. “Then you are blind and deaf to reason. Your past disregard for Society’s sensibilities may be owed to youth and forgiven, but no more. People are saying things about this friendship of yours. Unpleasant things. Things no girl of decent lineage will forbear to overlook in a potential husband.”

Now his temper did get the better of him. “Any woman that refuses my suit based on the opinions of others does not deserve the honor of bearing my name. When I finally marry, my bride will know exactly what she’s getting and accept me as I am. I, in turn, will grant her the same courtesy. You have my love, Mother, but I won’t change who I am or desert my friends in order to impress anyone.”

The careful mask his mother had built over the years crumbled, and he saw she was, in truth, quite distraught. “Then you may expect your father to make a show of his displeasure, as well. He asked me to speak with you first in the hope you would alter your course for my sake. That failing, he will do what he feels he must.”

He stiffened, surprise sending his eyebrows skyward. They’d not communicated in years save through their solicitor. “You’re speaking to each other again?”

“Briefly, yes,” she said in a clipped tone.

Somewhere in Hell, the devil is building a snowman… A smirk tilted his lips before he could prevent it surfacing. “I must have committed a grave offense to warrant such a miracle.”

Her glare should have turned him into a pile of smoking ashes. “It was a most unpleasant meeting. And now I shall have to write and tell him of your disappointing answer. I’ve little doubt but that you may expect to see him not long after he receives it.”

“I’m not leaving London to answer the summons,” he said with a cool smile.

“You won’t have to.”

When it dawned, comprehension sent a feather-brushing of alarm skittering down his spine. “He’s here? In Town?”

“He is, and I don’t expect his mood will be congenial when you see him. You know how he dislikes leaving his lair,” she added, her lip curling with contempt.

His father loathed London, preferring the “smaller, but infinitely more wholesome” society of the English countryside. He was a man content to live like a country squire rather than a wealthy earl, and Society would likely have forgotten him entirely but for his notorious prodigal son.

Lucas couldn’t let her know the thought of his father coming to chasten him in person gave him any concern. Adopting an expression of supreme indifference, he sniffed. “Then I hope for his sake the visit won’t be a lengthy one.”

“As disagreeable as I find your father, I hope you won’t say or do anything foolish enough to truly anger him,” she replied. “Tread carefully with him, my son. He fears for your future. As do I. We only want what is best for you.”

He’d expected sarcasm and bile, but her manner was instead both sober and sincere. Instead of snapping back with a biting retort, he looked her in the eye and nodded. “I cannot promise to alter my course, but I’ll hear what he has to say and make every effort not to speak rashly.”

Maternal affection softened her features. “If I could, I would tell you to do whatever makes you happy.” The faint smile faded from her lips, and she laid a gentle hand on his cheek. “But the world does not often reward such people. Often, we must do what we dislike in order to survive, which means putting needs above wants and practicality before sentiment.”

Though Lucas had grown up knowing she’d broken his father’s heart, he’d never been able to hate her for it. For all that she was a terrible wife, she’d been a wonderful, loving mother. “Then it will comfort you to know I’m not a man governed by sentiment.” He’d found most desires could be fulfilled without emotions getting in the way.

“No, you’re not,” she replied with sad eyes. “But neither are you ruled entirely by reason. You may not require your father’s support or approval to be happy, but consider how much easier life would be if you have them. Weigh your choices carefully.”

When his father called later that evening, the discussion between them was brief and disagreeable. Battle lines had been drawn. He would either end his friendship with Harrow or lose all support for his ambitions with regards to Parliament.

Lucas bid his father farewell with the expectation of the latter and the understanding this wasn’t over, that there would be more unpleasantness to come.

As the door closed behind his normally mild-mannered father, he reflected that it wouldn’t be the first time he’d done exactly as he pleased and managed to make it work. Even his trip abroad had worked to his benefit in the end. Not only had he avoided escalating the conflict that had set him on such a course, but the journey had provided him the means to both ingratiate himself with the Crown and enrich himself through profitable investment.

Same as then, his gambler’s mind weighed the risks against the potential gains—only this time, the margin was far slimmer than any he’d previously justified. His mother was right. Regardless of whether he succeeded in this game, Society would always remember his association with Harrow. Whether that was for good or ill depended on the man maintaining plausible deniability concerning his true nature.

But could he count on Harrow’s discretion? After all, he’d managed to catch a glimpse of the truth. What if someone else did, too? It might just as easily have been a servant who’d seen them as himself.

Fingers of apprehension marched across his scalp.

But it’s not as if people don’t already wonder… As long as he wasn’t caught in the act by at least two witnesses willing to testify before a magistrate, however, it was nothing more than gossip. Harrow had many powerful friends who’d clearly decided to turn a deaf ear to the rumors. He had his detractors, too, but they were lesser men.

Lesser men are often envious, ambitious, and cunning. To discount them entirely would be very unwise.

If he was going to continue on this path, he’d have to befriend Harrow in truth and then somehow tactfully warn him to be more careful. In this game, the only one Lucas wanted to see gain the upper hand was himself.