Page 3 of The Rake Desires the Diamond

Two men spoke in hushed voices. One was the odious Greyson.

“If the chit knows what is good for her, she will not ignore me this time,” he said.

Probably dozens of women wanted nothing to do with Greyson, so surely, he was not referringto her. Was he?

Of course not. All the attention she’d received this season from her paternal aunt—who was none other than the queen—had her thinking she was the center of everyone’s universe. She was simply the Duke of Astleyshire and Lord Ethan Harrington’s younger sister, with a maternal aunt who owned a seaside inn and a cousin of dubious character. Oh, and the queen’s niece.

Piffle. She’d have to sneak past Greyson and the other man to reach her destination. But her heart beat so hard she was certain they could hear thewhoosh whooshof her pumping blood. She rose on tiptoe and stepped carefully. Avoiding rocks, leaves, and the other crunching items littering Mother Nature’s carpet in the moonlight proved quite challenging. To her surprise, it was an exceedingly exhilarating challenge.

Once she was safely past them, her giggles bubbled. She slapped her hand across her mouth and sprinted as fast as her slippers allowed. By the time she stood in front of the trellis, she was breathless from both exertion and euphoria. It was as if she’d become intoxicated from the sea air.

Who would have guessed that sneaking about Yardley Manor would be such fun?

Sitting on the grass as the breeze caressed her skin would also be quite enjoyable. She hadn’t done something so freeing and childlike since she’d started to care about pristine gowns almost eleven years ago.

She dropped to her knees, rearranged her skirts, then waited.

Chapter two

June 27th, 1818, A quarter past midnight

Evan Eaton had arrived in Brighton three days earlier. In the short time he’d been at Yardley Manor, he’d won every game of cards, taken long walks on the beach, and started painting a portrait of his best mate’s lovely wife. Currently, he was at a masquerade, and very soon, he would take his leave to meet with a woman he’d run into in an empty alcove. She’d caressed his arm, pressed her hip into his, and whispered wickedly indecent things in his ear. He’d been so delighted—and shocked—that he’d forgotten to ask her name.

Yes, indeed, he was one lucky chap.

By the time he was four years old, Evan knew he loved being the third son of an earl. While the heir and the spare visitedtenants with their father, he played pirates with their sister. Luckily, Georgiana could roughhouse and curse as much as a nefarious buccaneer.

Academic standards for his brothers were high, but he’d only had to earn passable grades at Bedford and Cambridge, allowing him to concentrate on his art. And he’d been blessed to have a mentor at Cambridge who’d studied under the Swiss painter Johann Heinrich Fussli.

And that wasn’t even the best part. While their father focused on Alistair and Stephen and the incorrigible Georgiana, he’d been able to run off and tup the girls in the village, honing his lovemaking skills.

Evan chuckled every time he thought about his oldest brother having an earldom. 'Twas actually quite humorous since Alistair had rebelled and been quite the scoundrel in his university days. Since then, Alistair had given up his libidinous lifestyle to devote himself to his earldom, his wife, and his infant son. Meanwhile, his brother Stephen was expecting his first child and engaged in important humanitarian work for the Crown. At this very moment, his brothers were probably working themselves to death. Meanwhile, Evan drank Port with his best mates from school. Even the wild Georgiana had married and settled. She’d grown quite round and would pop out the Duke of Astleyshire’s first child any day.

Life was grand. Being a third son meant he spent his life pursuing his passions—women, fencing, cards, sculpture, and painting.

“Can I see it yet?” Ethan Harrington asked, interrupting Evan’s woolgathering. If only there were some tincture to help one concentrate.

What had they been talking about? Evan pressed a finger to his temple.

The Earl of Wellspring, Springy to his best mates, chortled. “Evan, he wants to see the painting of his wife.”

“Pfft.”Evan chuckled. “Patience, Harrington.”

Evan worked quickly, so the original sketches were done, but the oil would take longer. When finished, it would be rich shades of red, green, and gold and capture Anna Harrington’s regal bearing and innocent eyes. It was hard to believe that she had once been a chambermaid. His friend had stomped on propriety and followed his heart. When asked his opinion on the scandalous matter, Evan loudly proclaimed he found the second son of the late Duke of Astleyshire’s choice of bride, “Delightful indeed.” Because she truly was a million wonderful things.

Springy held up his mask. A red ribbon hung from one of the feathers. “First place. A fine job indeed.”

Evan nodded his agreement. The feathers and jewels were truly spectacular. He’d taken more time creating his friend’s disguise than he had his own. He’d have loved winning the first-place ribbon himself. Oh, well. He let go of the notion and relaxed into the wingback.

“Cheater.” Harrington’s eyes twinkled with his smart-arse grin. “Springy, I should out you and tell everyone that Eaton created yours.”

Evan chuckled. “Nay. Let Springy take the prize. He needs to be able to beat me at something, for it isn’t at cards or with women.”

Wellspring accepted his ribbing with a sincere smile. The man was truly good-natured. Of course, the three of them always covered for each other. No one planned tooutanyone.

“Have you seen Greyson lurking about the ballroom with his solicitor, Charles Taylor?” Harrington asked. “Taylor is a tolerable chap. A bit of a dandy, with hisdiamond cufflinks and high collars. But likable enough. Although had I known he’d intended to arrive with a man who bullies and blackmails, I’d never have invited him.” Harrington huffed. “Even worse, Greyson mistreats women.”

Springy choked on his drink. “I knew he was a blackguard. But he also mistreats women? Do you think he forces himself on them?”