Lady St. John stepped in front of him, leaning a little too close, then placing her hand on his chest in a very forward move. He smiled at her, and Diana immediately grew annoyed. The woman was a known flirt. Not only flirting but inviting various men to her bed while her husband occupied himself in his mistress’s bed. Diana told herself it was truly no business of hers if Hunt availed himself of her offer.
Then why was she so irritated as she watched their exchange?
Hunt stepped back a bit but then took the small dance card dangling from her wrist that she waved in his face and wrote his name. Lady St. John looked at the card and frowned, but he merely offered a slight bow and continued to move in Diana’s direction.
“Lady Diana, don’t you agree?” Lord Astley’s question drew Diana’s attention from Hunt.
“I’m sorry, my lord, but I’m afraid I was woolgathering.”
Astley stiffened. Full of self-importance, he apparently did not like the idea that his comments were not attended to. He sighed as if attempting to get through to a slow child. “I asked if you believed that
the Devon musicale next Thursday would be a trying event to sit through.” He grinned and looked around the circle, most of them nodding and smiling along with him.
Miss Devon and her sister, Miss Amelia Devon, were forced by their overbearing mother to perform at least once a year. The young ladies were sweet girls with very little talent. Diana hated to think this group would laugh and snicker at the poor girls who were being bullied into doing something they did not want to do.
But then Lord Astley was a known gossiper and nasty in his comments about almost everyone.
“I don’t believe so, my lord. I always look forward to the event.” She caught Hunt’s eye as he moved closer. Diana gave a slight curtsey to no one in particular. “If you will excuse me, I see my chaperone is summoning me.”
Luckily, none in the group turned to see where Diana headed since no one would believe for one minute that Lord Huntington, with his rakish reputation, was acting as her chaperone.
Her heart thudded, and her mouth dried up as she reached him. This was complete silliness. She’d known Hunt forever. For goodness sake he taught her to swim wearing only her chemise. Of course she had been only eight years at the time and he twelve.
Hunt bowed. “Good evening, my lady.”
She dipped. “Good evening to you, my lord.”
He extended his arm. “Let’s take a stroll.”
So this is what they’d come to? Formal greetings and a stroll around the ballroom? ‘Twas almost as if they were strangers.
* * *
Hunt grimaced at their exchange. ‘Twas almost as if they were strangers. He drew Diana closer as they made their way through the throng to the edge of the ballroom where there was a bit of space for them to walk.
He’d tried to avoid her since he’d told Diana about the portrait’s recovery. Why? He wasn’t absolutely clear. He’d known the woman all his life. He’d rescued her from so many mishaps he’d lost count. But there was something about this last entanglement that had him on edge in her presence.
Maybe the fact that I saw a painting of her naked and, despite her request that I burn it, it still sits in the wardrobe in the bedchamber next to mine.
The past week he’d spent time at his clubs and at The Rose Room, telling himself he was there to make sure business was running as it should. Only after Dante and Driscoll both ordered him from the place since he was disrupting their routine did he admit he was evading the normal social events he would generally attend to avoid Diana.
“I haven’t seen you all week, my lord.”
Hunt shook his head and smiled at her. “Diana, let’s stop the ‘my lord’ ‘my lady’ business. I think we feel uncomfortable with each other because of the painting. Let’s put it aside and go back to the way we were.”
“And what way was that, Hunt? I’ve been gone for a year. The first time I saw you after my return, I asked you to retrieve a scandalous portrait for me.”
“Friends, Diana. We’ve always been friends.” He almost believed it himself. Yes, they had always been friends, but he could never be friends again with the woman in the portrait. He was simply too full of lust when he was near her.
So where did that leave them?
“Are you going to the Grafton house party this weekend?” Diana asked, not looking him in the eye. She was acting as strange as he felt.
He shook his head. “I don’t plan on it. I will be quite busy with straightening out some of my investments.” Bloody hell, couldn’t he come up with a better excuse than that? He had no intention of straightening business matters or going to the blasted house party. The idea of him and Diana under the same roof. All night. Only rooms away. . .
He shuddered at the temptation. He had never bedded a virgin and had no intention of starting with Diana. Unless they were betrothed. However, as fond as he was of her, Diana did jump from one disaster to another. As her husband, some poor man—not him—would spend all his time defending her honor and dodging scandal.
Hunt could never be that husband. Between his work with the Crown and his need to keep his title shame-free, his newly-discovered lust for Diana would end nowhere. Despite her reputation for trouble, she was still a gently-bred young lady of the ton and hands off for any gentleman not looking to step into the parson’s noose.