to my club? Are you missing a scarf, also?”
Once again, she hopped up and Hunt followed, spilling tea on his shiny shoe.
Diana sighed. “We are getting nowhere. Will you escort me to the garden? I think what I have to say would be easier if I am on my feet.” Anything would be easier than the two of them jumping up and down like a couple of court jesters.
He hesitated a moment and glanced at the door as if considering making a dash for it. Eventually, he sighed. “As you wish.”
He extended his arm, and they strolled out the French door, into the garden, Marguerite keeping a respectful distance behind them. The scent of bay rum wafted from him, temporarily distracting her. The muscles under her fingertips flexed as he maneuvered her around the flower beds. Goodness, he was warm. Heat radiated from him in waves.
You are stalling, Diana. Get on with it.
The time had come. No more hesitation. This needed to be done. She stopped in the pathway and turned to him. She raised her chin. “I have a favor to ask of you.”
His slight smile gave her courage. “Ah, so now we’ve come to the crux of the matter. Due to your nervousness, I assume you are once again in deep trouble. What do you want from me now, Diana?”
She took a deep breath and said, “I need you to steal a portrait from Mr. J. D. Mallory’s art studio.”
3
Hunt stared at Diana for almost a full minute. “I’m about to ask you to repeat what you just said, except I’m afraid I heard you right.”
“Um. Yes, you most likely did. So, what do you say?”
His mouth opened and closed a few times. “No. Absolutely not.” He backed up and, after a moment, he bowed. “I will leave you now.” He stalked off before Diana even had a chance to say a word.
Stunned, she shook her head in confusion and stared at his retreating back with her mouth open. After a moment, she gained her senses and raced after him, almost losing her footing as her slippers slid on the carpeted stairs. Attempting to catch her breath, she looked around the empty entrance hall. “Did Lord Huntington leave?”
Briggs bowed. “Yes, my lady. And he seemed to be in quite a hurry.”
Quite a hurry, indeed. She gritted her teeth and quelled the urge to kick the door since his shin was nowhere near her foot. Except that would only hurt. Well, this had only just started. She had every intention of getting that portrait back, and Hunt would help her.
Two nights later, Diana searched the St. John ballroom for Hunt. She’d gone to three balls the night before and, tonight, this was her second. She would run the man down if she had to find him at one of his men’s clubs.
Or she might even be daring enough to demand entrance to The Rose Room, the exclusive and extremely popular gambling hell Hunt owned with his two brothers, Driscoll and Dante Rose. It was not well known that Hunt was involved in the business, since he was mostly a silent investment partner.
Hunt hated any sort of scandal attached to his name and an earl owning a gambling hell did not portray how Hunt wanted to be presented to Society.
But Diana knew, and she also knew he visited the place and consulted with his brothers, a few times a week, at the very least.
Only women of the demimonde and disreputable mistresses dared visit the establishment, but surely Diana could weather that scandal much better than the one currently hanging over her head. She might even throw all caution to the wind and visit him at his home.
Oh, she would find him. There was simply too much at stake this time.
Giving up on this event, she decided to return to the entrance and request her carriage brought around, most likely to the displeasure of her chaperone who hated being dragged from place to place, but that concern was nowhere near as daunting as Diana’s looming disaster.
There were two more events on her notecard. One soiree and one—she winced—musicale. Goodness, but she hated those things. But if Hunt was there suffering through it, she would too.
Diana was headed toward the corner where Mrs. Strickland sat with the other matrons and chaperones when Hunt’s name was announced. She looked up to the top of the stairs.
There he stood in all his aristocratic arrogance, his eyes scanning the crowd and settling on her. He