A Scandalous Portrait (The Rose Room Rogues #1) - Callie Hutton Page 0,35

to the butler. “Tell him I need to see him in my bedchamber post haste.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Once he reached his room, he grabbed a piece of linen and dried his hair. He was already out of his wet clothes when the valet appeared. “My lord, how can I be of service?”

“I need some of your expertise.”

The man nodded. He’d done several things for Hunt in the past that didn’t fall into the realm of valet. Marcus had been raised on the streets and, after a near-death experience, managed to get a job at a tailor shop, taking out the trash and cleaning up. He watched and learned and accosted Hunt on the street after leaving the tailor shop one afternoon and asked for a job.

Impressed with the young man’s ambition and willingness to learn, he agreed to take him on as an assistant to Sergio, his former valet who was growing close to his pension. Two years later, Sergio retired and Marcus took over full duties.

“I need to examine some papers in Lord Melrose’s house.”

Marcus never batted an eye.

“I prefer not to crawl through the window like a burglar. I want you to find someone in Melrose’s household who will leave the back door open for a price.”

“Yes, my lord. That will not be a problem. I can think of a couple already.”

Another of Marcus’s talents was helping former street urchins gain respectable employment. He had several male and female friends in great houses all over London.

While these cohorts were, for the most part, honest, they were always up for a little extra coin.

“Excellent. Just let me know what night.”

Whistling now that the unpleasant part of the day was over, Hunt headed to his office where the safe holding the family jewels were kept.

He’d been barely out of university when his father had passed away, only months after his mother. He’d taken on the responsibility of his two brothers and was grateful when they came to him with the request to help finance The Rose Room.

The family jewels had been passed down for generations. Hunt had never examined them, since they were meant to go to his wife and, until now, she’d been an elusive, shadowy woman.

Since now there was a face—and a figure—attached to this mystery woman, he pulled the box out of the safe with the idea of finding something that would suit Diana.

His soon to be wife.

Maybe.

What amazed him was how quickly he’d accepted Diana as his. What also amazed him was why it had taken him this long, and another misstep, to realize how much he wanted her. Had probably always wanted her. Even before he saw the portrait.

There were two types of perfect wives. The young debutantes who had been raised to never speak out, always agree, lay very still in bed until it was all over, produce perfect heirs while praying her husband was then done with the ‘nasty’ business, and run an efficient household.

Then there was a woman who was perfect for him.

Lady Diana Pemberton.

He selected what he thought would be the perfect ring for her. It was a black onyx surrounded by small diamonds. It seemed to be about the correct size, but that could be altered.

The question was, would she accept it?

Diana lifted her skirts as Marguerite helped her slide her slippers on. She straightened when that was finished and regarded herself in the mirror. The pale, rose gown with silver scrolls across the top and around the short capped sleeves had always been one of her favorites.

She leaned closer to the mirror and examined her face. In Italy, she had learned about Pear’s Almond Bloom, all the rage at the time, but once she returned to London, where the air was more moist, she decided her complexion looked better without the powder unless she was hiding anxiety.

Shaking her head back and forth, she smiled at the earbobs that caught the light next to the dressing table. She quickly stood. Whyever was she so concerned with how she looked tonight?

Simple. Because Hunt was escorting her to the theater, the first of their outings to mark the beginning of their courtship.

She grinned. Yes, they’d been caught in a compromising situation, but in all the disasters she’d been involved in and needed Hunt’s rescue, this was one they were in together.

Diana scooped up her shawl and reticule from the blue and white striped chair near the door to her bedroom. “I will be late, I am sure, since most likely we will stop