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With shaky hands, Diana poured the tea, adding cream and sugar as was Hunt’s wont. Once they were settled and initial pleasantries had been exchanged about the offerings on the tea tray, she placed her teacup firmly in the saucer and stiffened her back. “You must be wondering why I asked you to call.”
He nodded, a slight smirk on his lips. “What trouble are you in now, Diana?”
She jumped up, causing him to quickly put his teacup down and stand, the serviette on his lap falling to the floor.
“No, no, sit, please.”
He offered her a bemused smile. “You know I am unable to sit while a lady stands.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. All right, I’ll sit.” She returned to her chair and then fidgeted so much she annoyed herself. She took a deep breath and smiled. “I learned about your rescue of Miss Manchester last month.”
“Miss Manchester? Rescue? I’m afraid I do not understand.” He picked up the teacup and frowned, obviously feigning ignorance.
“Perhaps you did not see it as a rescue, but I’m sure Miss Manchester felt it was.”
He continued to look perplexed until she wondered if perhaps Marguerite had gotten the story wrong from Miss Manchester’s lady’s maid. Please, God, don’t make it so. She needed Hunt’s help. Desperately. “You seem confused, so perhaps I may refresh your memory?”
He nodded. “Please, do.”
“The information I received was Miss Manchester was present at a house party where you were also a guest.” When he continued to stare at her, she sighed. “Hunt, for heaven’s sake, you are nowhere near your dotage. Did you or did you not attend a house party at the Bedford estate last month?”
“Yes, I did.” He dragged the words out, his eyes narrowing.
“Was Miss Millie Manchester also a guest?” She tried to keep her voice calm, but the entire situation had been unnerving her for a week, and the sooner she could get his promise to help her, the happier she would be.
“I believe she was, along with her brother, Mr. David Manchester.” The caution in his words was telling. A man protecting a woman’s reputation. Perfect. The sort of behavior she desperately wanted to encourage.
“If you are trying to guard the young lady’s name, I admire you for that, but I assure you I know the story of how she left her scarf in a young man’s bedchamber and, at her behest, you retrieved the garment for her before her brother discovered her indiscretion.”
If he’d been surprised at her knowledge of the event, he did not show it. Instead, he viewed her with curiosity. “If you are in possession of that story, it has not come from me. May I ask why you bring it up now, and how that connects to the reason you have requested my presence this afternoon when I would much rather be on the way 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.”
*****
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