A Scandalous Portrait (The Rose Room Rogues #1) - Callie Hutton Page 0,12

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.

White’s was bursting at the seams which told Hunt most of the evening’s balls, soirees and musicales had ended. Before visiting his brothers, he’d spent some time at the Manning come-out ball for their youngest daughter, but when he didn’t find Diana there, he left after an hour.

Why it mattered to him that she wasn’t there annoyed him since he’d gone to dozens of affairs in the time she was hiding in Italy and didn’t miss her at all. Damn that portrait and the image he could not get out of his mind.

“Hunt!”

Hunt turned toward a small group of gentlemen, Lord Allenby waving at him. After instructing one of the footmen to bring him a drink, Hunt wandered in the direction of the group.

“I hear Lady Diana Pemberton has returned from Italy.” Stephen Blackmoor, a long-time acquaintance since Eton, nodded at Hunt as he took a seat across from Allenby.

Hunt reached for his drink from the footman’s tray. It would be Blackmoor who made that statement since the man loved gossip more than the old, disapproving matrons of the ton.

“Yes. She has.” He sipped his brandy, hoping he was not going to have to speak all night about the woman of whom he was trying to rid his mind.

“I can’t help but wonder what sort of trouble she’s going to get into now?” Lord Belton grinned, and the others all nodded. Belton raised his glass. “Here’s to another fine scandal in the making.”

The others saluted him, but Hunt glared in Belton’s direction. “It is not proper to speak of a well-bred young lady that way, Belton.”

Belton gave him a dismissive wave. “Come now, Hunt. You can’t think she will stay out of difficulty, can you?” He downed the rest of his drink and signaled the footman. “Of all people, you should know that. How many times have you played the knight in shining armor to her damsel in distress?”

“Maybe we should place a wager in the book,” Talbot said, leaning forward. “How long it will take before she is in trouble again.”

“If you,” Hunt looked around the group, “if any of you, write Lady Diana’s name in that book, or a book at any club in London, you will face the consequences at the end of my fists.”

Shocked looks and silence greeted him. “Sorry, Hunt. Didn’t know that was the way of things,” Blackmoor said, his brows raised.

Hunt tossed the rest of his drink down, the burning liquid settling in his sour stomach. “There is no the way of things. I just won’t allow a young lady of good breeding to be maligned in my presence.”

When silence remained, Hunt placed his glass on the table in front of him. “Gentlemen.” He rose and strode from the room. He was obviously not in the proper frame of mind for companionship.

Still unsettled as he rode home in his carriage, he pushed aside the picture in his mind of Diana naked and reclining on a lounge, and instead focused on what he could do to help her.

Steal the portrait.

Once the carriage rolled to a stop in front of his townhouse, he jumped from the vehicle and addressed the driver. “John, when you return the carriage, please wake the groom and ask him to saddle my horse.”

As a well-trained servant, the driver offered no reaction to his master requesting his horse saddled for a ride in the middle of the night.

Hunt bounded up the front steps and proceeded to his bedchamber. His valet, Marcus, awaited him.

Hunt began pulling off his cravat. “I need to change into riding clothes.”

Also used to his master’s comings and goings over the years, Marcus merely nodded and walked to the wardrobe where he extracted appropriate clothing.

If he were to attempt to sneak into Mallory’s studio and swipe the scandalous portrait, he needed to first assess the place. Not that he was committed to stealing it. He just wanted to see what the possibilities were before he spoke with Diana.

Damn, the woman could get herself into the most trying situations. Finding herself in the dark part of Vauxhall Gardens with one of London’s worst rakes had forced her flight to Italy. Of course, had she agreed