He’d gone to Diana’s house twice but was told both times she was not at home. Whether that was true, or she was refusing to see him, he had no idea, but he must come up with a plan. Diana was his, and he would get her back.
As usual, instead of going to the front door of The Rose Room, Hunt entered through the back door and took the stairs to the office floor. From the sound of voices coming from the game floor, business was doing well.
“Well, the happily married man has returned from his honeymoon. I would think you had more interesting things to do than bother us.” Dante leaned back on his chair, with his feet on the desk. Hunt swiped at his boots and asked his usual question. “Why aren’t you working?”
“I’m on a break,” Dante and Hunt said at the same time, then grinned at each other.
Driscoll had his head bent over his books and ignored the brothers.
Still feeling restless, Hunt said, “I’m going downstairs. At least someone should oversee the business.”
He left to the sound of Dante’s laughter. As he entered the gaming room, it was just as he’d expected. Busy, noisy and crowded. Hunt went to the bar and ordered a brandy. He took a sip and turned to survey the area. As he observed the activity, his eyes wandered the room, noting the solid crowd and raucous conversation and excitement that was generally found in the club. Taking another sip, his eyes settled on a new addition on the east wall.
He squinted at the spot and, with a sense of horror, he carefully placed his partially empty glass on the bar and walked slowly past the gamers, barely acknowledging calls and comments from friends. The closer he drew to the wall, the harder his blood pumped through his body, until he thought his head would explode.
There in plain sight, hanging on the wall in the gaming room of the well-populated, well-known Rose Room, was Diana’s portrait.
* * *
Diana sat, staring out the window at the dark, misty night, her chin resting on her propped-up hand. She sighed. What a mess this had become. As much as she hated to admit it, she missed the cad.
She’d realized with the portrait sitting in that wardrobe, there was little chance of anyone seeing it. But she still had relied on him destroying the thing. Did that mean she could never trust him?
Lud, hadn’t she been hurt and embarrassed herself when she’d been judged on all the things she’d botched up? Especially since Hunt was the one who usually pulled her feet from the fire. Should she judge him the same way?
She finally admitted she was in love with her dastardly husband and really didn’t want the marriage to end with them separated. Once they put this behind them, they could have a good marriage. And children. She would love children.
With a sense of relief, and excited for the
first time in days, she scooted from the chair, her mind made up. She would go to Hunt’s townhouse—their townhouse—and settle the matter. She grinned. Of course, she would have him grovel first.
She raced upstairs and changed into one of the few gowns that had been left behind when Marguerite had arranged for her clothes to be moved. It was outdated but still fashionable. “Marguerite!”
The maid entered the room, a smirk on her face. “Going somewhere, my lady?”
“Yes!” She turned her back. “Will you please fasten me up and see what you can do with my hair?”
“Will you need me to accompany you?” Marguerite quickly fastened the gown and pointed to the chair in front of the dressing table. “Let’s see how we can make something lovely out of this mess.”
Diana laughed. “That’s exactly what I propose to do. Make something lovely out of a mess.” At the time the portrait had been stolen, she’d told Marguerite all about it and how Hunt was to burn the thing. Instead of being outraged on her mistress’s account when they’d discovered the painting in the wardrobe, Marguerite viewed him not burning the portrait as amusing. Her words: “This could very well be what led Lord Huntington to propose.”
At which time Diana reminded her maid that there was no ‘proposal’, just an avoidance of scandal.
“There. You look lovely. Shall I send for the carriage?”
Diana stood and pulled on her gloves. “Yes, please. I will be down in a few minutes.”
Marguerite left the room, and Diana placed her hands on her stomach and took a deep breath. Yes, this was the right thing to do. Briggs had told her that Hunt had called twice when she was out. She wondered if her husband believed she was truly out or if she was hiding from him.
She picked up her reticule and left the room. Briggs awaited her at the door, holding her short pelisse which she shrugged into. She fastened up the buttons, her hands shaky and her mouth dry. This was silly, and she must pull herself together. But she could not deny the excitement she felt at seeing Hunt again.
Blast the man.
The carriage ride was short, and her stomach was in knots by the time they arrived. Peters had the door opened before she reached the top step. “I am sorry, my lady, but his lordship is out for the evening.”
“Oh.” Her sense of excitement crumbled. “Did he say where he was going, or when he would return?”
“I believe he was visiting his brothers at The Rose Room. If you would like to come in and wait, I can have tea sent in.”