A Scandalous Portrait (The Rose Room Rogues #1) - Callie Hutton Page 0,10

years of learning, growing, exploring, and becoming the woman with whom she was quite happy and satisfied. All thanks to Lady Abbottt.

Lord, how she missed that woman! Lady Abbott had been eccentric and outspoken and loved her granddaughter to distraction. From the time Diana had arrived at her estate, she’d received more attention and care then she’d seen all the years under her parents’ ministrations. Or lack thereof.

Pushing those memories from her mind, lest she turn maudlin, she and Charles began their ride on Rotten Row with a few others out for an early ride. ‘Twas not usual to see members of the ton out and about so early since most would have attended some sort of social affair the evening before and arrived home barely before dawn.

She stopped and chatted with the few people they met and, after about an hour, feeling refreshed and ready to take on the world, Diana returned with her groom to her townhouse in Mayfair.

“Please ask Cook to send in breakfast. I am quite hungry, and I will be down as soon as I change my clothes.” Diana spoke over her shoulder to Briggs as she made her way up to the bed chambers where Marguerite had already straightened her room and had her day gown laid out for her.

She loved the yellow, thin-striped, linen dress; ‘twas one of her favorites. Marguerite added a bright yellow ribbon to her hair and, with a very unladylike grumble in her stomach, Diana entered the breakfast room.

Smells of savory sausages, eggs, toast and beans almost made her groan. She filled her plate with much more than she knew she would eat and poured tea.

“My lady.” Briggs entered the breakfast room with a salver holding an envelope. “This came for you while you were in your bedchamber.”

She wiped her mouth with the napkin and took the missive. “Thank you.” She placed it next to her plate and eyed it as she took a sip of tea. She didn’t recognize the handwriting, and it didn’t appear to be an invitation. Shrugging, she pushed it aside and ate her breakfast.

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