Edith Layton (14 page)

Dana gave his hand to Camille, then to Nell, and didn’t answer until he had helped both women down the few steps to the pavement. “We were delayed by the crowds,” he finally told Eric.

“Crowds?” Eric asked. “In the park?”

“We didn’t go to the park,” Nell said brightly, giving Eric a warm smile. “My cousin took us on a tour. We went to Newgate—that’s where the crowds were—for the hangings. But there was such a throng we couldn’t get through! So then he showed us the hulks instead. At least there was no one on the docks to trouble us there.”

Eric’s hands fisted at his sides, his mouth grew tight, and his eyes blazed with light. Camille suddenly saw it might not be just a joke when his friends laughingly referred to him as a Viking.

“You took them on a tour of the prisons?” Eric asked incredulously, staring at Dana.

Dana stood poised and stared back at Eric. “They were never in any danger. I thought,” he said slowly, “it would be edifying.”

“It was!” Camille broke in, looking from Dana’s wary posture to the outraged giant in front of him. It would be disastrous if the men fought. It would be worse if she tried to explain Dana’s motives. At least she could tell some of the truth.

“That’s not all we saw,” Camille said quickly. “We also saw where the Mermaid Tavern used to be. But from afar, because it wasn’t the thing for us to go in, Dana said. But just think, Shakespeare’s favorite tavern! We passed Doctor Johnson’s house too and Blackfriars Bridge—and so much more,” she added, running out of inspiration. “The only reason we met crowds was because Newgate is so close to the Old Bailey, where Dana was going to
take us next. But he wouldn’t hear of us going near Tyburn. And standing by the river was so exhilarating, Eric! I love the sea, and we’re so hemmed in by buildings here it’s easy to forget England is an island. The air was delicious and the view was extraordinary. Thank you,” she said, turning to Dana. “I had a lovely time.”

He took her hand. “No. Thank you,” he said gravely. The look in his eyes told her he understood and was both amused and pleased by her defense of him.

“We’re just going to take tea,” she said impulsively. “Would you care to join us?”

“Thank you, but I can’t. I must be back at work. I do work, you know,” he added, absorbing the insult Nell had implied and making it a point of honor.

Camille was impressed.

“Another time I’d be pleased to join you, so please remember me. Good afternoon, cousin,” he said to Nell. “Lieutenant,” he said with a curt nod to Eric. He stepped into the carriage and drove on, leaving Camille smiling, Nell watching thoughtfully, and Eric looking balked.

“The fellow’s clever as he can hold together,” Eric said bitterly an hour later. “Then what must he do but make me look like an idle lout? ‘I must be back at work,’ he says, as though he’s the only man in London who does anything worthwhile.”

He’d met his friend Drum on the street after he’d left Camille, and now, in the style of gentlemen, they were ambling along together as though it were a balmy morning instead of wintry twilight.

“But a gentleman doesn’t work,” Drum said reasonably.

“I do,” Eric said gruffly, still smarting, “when I’m at home. I work training horses, helping my father and his tenants at all sorts of things, moving lumber if I must, raising roofs, farm work too,” he said, aggrieved. “Real work, not just pushing papers. Though I do that too. You know I handle my own investments.”

“Oh, I do,” his friend said mildly. “But the point you’re making is that the ladies concerned don’t know that, isn’t it?”

Eric scowled. “The point is that the fellow used what might be considered disadvantage to his advantage. He’s sly, Drum, shifty too, I’d swear it.”

“Well, he is a lawyer,” Drum mused.

“That’s not what I mean. Why show them prisons and the hulks, for God’s sake? And don’t tell me it was an accident. That one’s too smooth to do anything by accident.”

“But do you know women as well?” Drum said mildly. “I agree, doubtless he had a reason. Did you ask Camille what it might be?”

Eric snorted. “I didn’t have to. She told me all about it. Constantly, all through tea. It seems, Drum, that the sun rises on Dana Bartlett’s right shoulder and sets on his left one.”

“And the little heroine, Mistress Nell, she defended him too?”

“He’s her cousin,” Eric said on a shrug, “so of course she wouldn’t say anything against him. The girl doesn’t have much to say for herself anyway.”

Now interest sprang into Drum’s eyes. He turned his head to look at his friend. “And you find that…disappointing?”

“Why should I?” Eric asked, honestly surprised.

Drum smiled and seemed to relax. “No reason at all,” he said with pleasure. “I find her a dead bore myself. The only interesting thing the chit ever had to say for herself was ‘Help.’”

Eric laughed, then sobered. “That’s true. But you know, I’m not sure she’s the best company for Camille. At first, I thought there’d be no harm, but now…The girl is—I don’t know—too quiet. It begins to appear to be slyness rather than reticence. Just like that cousin of hers. Though I hate to think I’m letting that influence my perception of her. No. I can’t trust her somehow. And Camille won’t cut her loose until Bartlett provides a home for her. It can’t come soon enough. Not that I begrudge Nell a safe haven,” he added quickly. “But while she stays, he has an excuse to hang around. Do you think Camille has a
tendre
for him?”

“Who can say? Camille has a tender heart for everyone. But this I can tell you. If she did care for him, Belle would be hiring assassins right now. She does not favor that match.”

Eric’s smile was more thoughtful than amused.
“Still, Camille should have the right to decide her future.”

“Wait until you have a daughter before you say such a revolutionary thing. So. Since we’re expecting you for dinner tonight, this was a fortunate meeting. Why don’t you come home with me now, and we’ll raise a glass or two before we eat. Alexandria would love extra time with you. You’re one of her favorite people.”

“And she’s one of mine, you lucky dog. But I have to go home and change my clothes first.”

Drum stopped and looked at his friend from head to toe. Eric’s massive frame was impeccably clad, as usual. He wore his military-style long coat open even on the coldest days, and so his brown jacket, spotless linen, and form-fitting ivory breeches could be seen. They all looked pristine.

“Lord! We’re not giving a ball, just a small supper. You look fine.”

Eric glanced down at himself. “So I thought,” he said with a frown, remembering Camille’s strange, constant, hastily concealed glances all through tea this afternoon. “But I think I’d better change these trousers. That’s why I left Miles’s house early. There must be a spot or a stain on them that can’t be seen in this light. I turn here. See you at seven,” he said, and strode away.

Drum went on his way, deciding that Eric was bedeviled and not thinking very clearly. But if it was Camille who had addled his wits and not the
girl he’d rescued, Drum was glad. Because that meant Nell Baynes would be out of his life when she left Camille. That was all to the good. Drum considered himself a good judge of people too.

“W
hat’s the matter, Cammie?” Eric asked with such gentle concern that it almost broke her heart. “Have I offended you?”

He’d found a moment alone with her when they’d returned from their morning ride and were standing in the stables in back of Miles’s house. There was no groom around. Eric had sent him on an errand to be sure he had a moment to talk to Camille without anyone hearing or watching. And now there was no dignified escape for Camille. She had to answer him.

Eric stood in the hay-lined aisle and absently stroked her horse’s outstretched neck as he waited for her answer. Camille suddenly found herself wishing she were that fortunate creature. For one
thing, Eric’s touch would be so welcome, and for another, she wouldn’t have to talk.

“No, of course you haven’t offended me,” she said.

He stood silhouetted by the light of the open stable door, his face in shadow, his honey-colored hair a nimbus of golden light. She couldn’t see his expression and was glad of it. Bad enough that she heard the warmth in his voice. She didn’t have to see it in his glowing hazel eyes as he looked down at her. She couldn’t have withstood that, and it was important for her pride that she should resist it—as well as the almost overwhelming desire to cast herself into his arms and tell him all her troubles. But he’d stepped away from her in the dance the last time they’d met, and she didn’t think she could bear his retreating from her again.

“So what’s the matter, then?” he asked. “Is something troubling you?”

“No,” she said, looking down at her toes.

“No?” he echoed, a world of sorrow in his voice. “That’s not an answer I’d expect from you. It’s too short, it’s too curt, and it’s not true.”

Her head shot up. No one called her a liar! Then her shoulders slumped. She couldn’t argue.

He nodded. “You’re right. I’ve no right to question you. However much I’ve thought of you as your brother’s little sister, you’re not a child anymore. If you don’t want to speak to a fellow, you don’t have to, whatever his claims of family friendship. Forgive me for pestering you.”
“You’re not!” she exclaimed. “And I do like talking to you.”

“Really? Then why haven’t you been? You were mute as a mime yesterday at tea. I kept looking at you to see if you’d give me a hint of what was wrong, but you kept looking away from me. And just now, we rode through the park without speaking, and that’s something you’ve never done. Is it because I was angry with Bartlett for keeping you out too long yesterday? I shouldn’t have said anything, but I was worried. Still, it wasn’t my place, and so please accept my apologies. If you’d like, I’ll apologize to him when and if I see him again. It’s just that Miles wasn’t home, and I suppose I thought I had to stand in for him.”

Camille bit her lip. She turned her head aside and began to stroke her horse’s silken nose, because she didn’t know what else to do. He’d come right out and said it. He thought of her as his sister. “I’m sorry you were worried,” she said in a small voice, because she had to say something.

“Camille, we used to have good times together, or so I thought,” he said softly. “You never had any trouble talking to me. In fact, those rides we had were enlivened for me because of the way you used to ask me sixteen questions a minute, answering half of them yourself. But you couldn’t or wouldn’t even look at me yesterday. You kept glancing away as though the sight of me hurt your eyes. What am I supposed to think?”

She felt the blood rush to her head. It was true. She’d been so stricken with lust by seeing the contrast of that fragile teacup in those big, tanned hands of his that she’d lost her breath along with her wits. She couldn’t even look at him as Nell suggested, because she could hardly bear to look at him at all, and yet every time she glanced at him, she remembered what Nell had said.

She knew she was so passionate in her enthusiasms that it was a family joke. But this wasn’t funny. Suddenly, it was as if she’d caught Eric’s own dreaded malady—at least, the symptoms seemed the same. Just looking at him sent shivers up and down her back. If he happened to meet her eyes, she’d flush with heat and then freeze with embarrassment. Her hunger for him affected her like a mortal illness, because now she really believed that if he ever left England or married another, she might very well die of it.

It wasn’t first love or calf love or a simple case of hero worship. She knew very well he wasn’t perfect. She didn’t think she’d have liked him if he were. She knew about infatuation, because she’d had a few. But she’d known them for what they were after a short time. Men she’d worshipped from afar had been ones she really hadn’t wanted to get too near when the opportunity came. The others had been flirtations that never amounted to more because she’d only enjoyed the teasing and never wanted them to grow to anything else.

This was different and permanent.

For all her enthusiasms, she wasn’t fickle; in fact, she was too constant for her own good. Her word, once given, was never taken back. Her heart, once lost, would never be wholly her own again. And she’d given her heart wholly to him.

She didn’t know what to do. It was clear he wasn’t in love with her. So if he guessed how she felt, he’d be as stricken as she was—but with guilt. How could she tell him he was the problem she was having, without him leaving her? So she said nothing.

He gave her horse a final pat and dropped his hand. His shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. “Well, then. If I can’t tempt you to tell me, I suppose there’s nothing more to say. I’ll leave you, then, and wish you well. If you ever feel you can confide in me, know that whatever it is, I’d keep your confidence to myself. And if you don’t…I’m sorry if I offended, and I won’t bother you again.”

He felt sick. Something had happened. It might only be that she’d grown up and out of her infatuation with him. That would be a good thing for her, but he felt as though he’d been struck to the heart. There was nothing more he could say.

He bowed and turned.

And she couldn’t bear it anymore.

“No!” she cried, catching onto his sleeve, dancing around him and twisting so she could see his face. “Don’t go! It’s not you, it’s me, it’s all me. I can’t look at your eyes because I don’t want you to
know how I feel about you, and I can’t look at you anywhere else because of what Nell said, but you didn’t do anything. Oh, what a mess I’m making of it, but the truth is, Eric, that I love…I…Oh, Eric, I care for you so
damned
much I can’t bear it!”

He looked as if she’d hit him. He caught the hand plucking at his sleeve. He looked down at her, amazed.

“What?” he asked, dumbfounded.

But she wasn’t able to speak again because she was ashamed and upset and afraid that if one more word escaped her lips she wouldn’t have a secret left to her name.

“Cammie,” he said, looking down into her eyes, “you’re saying you
love
me?”

She nodded.

She felt his hand tighten on hers. He shook his head. “I’m older than you are.”

“What?”

“I said, I’m older than you. By over a decade.”

“Well, so what?” she was able to answer, because she couldn’t stand the sorrow in his voice, and she’d defend him against anyone, even himself. “You’re not ancient. And I’m not a child.”

“You haven’t had a chance to meet other men,” he said a little desperately.

“I have nothing but men friends!” she retorted angrily.

“Yes, but they don’t have malarial fever.” His voice grew grim even as his grip gentled. He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb as he
sought the right words. “Look, Cammie, I’ve been to physicians, I’ve read all the books about it. I thought I was over it and I wasn’t. The sum of it is that I may recover and I may not. My future’s uncertain.”

“Who’s future is certain?” she demanded. She tugged her hand from his. “Oh, bother! No more excuses. They aren’t necessary.” She drew herself up. “I understand. Let’s just drop this, shall we? How embarrassing,” she said in tones that unconsciously mimicked her sister-in-law at her most acid. Now that she’d actually found rejection she also found she wasn’t going to cry. She supposed a person didn’t cry when they were first shot, the shock and pain probably being too profound. Tears would come later. It seemed that Camille Croft was once again a good fellow, a fine companion, but no man’s idea of a lover, and especially not Eric’s.

She couldn’t read his expression. But his continued silence was eloquent.

She lifted her chin higher. “Don’t worry. I do not pursue where I am not wanted. I will not trouble you again. We can still be friends, I hope. Pretend I never said anything, please.”

“
Damned
if I will,” he finally said with a growl, and pulled her into his arms.

He’d meant to let her leave. He’d resolved to ignore her declaration. It had been stunning, but to take her up on it still would be wrong. Yet in the end it was the way she stood there, proud and strong, filled with hurt pride, unshed tears making
her brown eyes shimmer. It finally broke him. But it was the way her lips met his that swept every last resolution away.

Her fashionable little hat went flying as he cupped the back of her head in one big hand so she could meet his kiss. For one second, as their lips met, she seemed stunned. In the next, she was meeting him, joining him, welcoming him. Her mouth was softer and even sweeter than he’d imagined, her enthusiasm devastating. She didn’t kiss like a shy virgin or a skilled temptress. She kissed with her whole heart, and that disarmed him completely.

She flung her arms around his neck, pulled his head down, kissing him measure for measure, wriggling closer until she was pressed tight against him. It was like nothing he’d ever known. It was exactly right. She wasn’t some fragile creature he was afraid of hurting. She was, as she claimed, fully a woman, responsive and warm. Her body was curved and ripe. When his tongue met hers, she sighed with pleasure. He lifted her with one arm so that he could feel her breasts against his chest. He needed the other hand to stroke her as they kissed.

She twined her arms around his neck, rested completely against him, and kissed him until he ran out of breath. He found he’d rather kiss her than breathe.

For Camille, it was exactly what she wanted and so much more. He was impassioned yet gentle. She could feel his barely restrained urgency. It made her lose all her control, but that was good too, because
she ceded it all to him. She trusted him completely.

But for all his passion, he was experienced, and slowly began to realize their exposed position. He remembered they were in a stable. Anyone could walk in. The groom should have been back before this, which might mean he was somewhere near, waiting for a chance to decently interrupt them. Eric realized that if they continued there wouldn’t be a shred of decency left to them.

So too soon for both of them, he raised his head. He slowly lowered her, setting her down so her feet touched the floor again.

“Lord,” he said. His smile was wry as he looked down into her flushed face. He touched her rumpled curls. Then he took a deep breath. “All right. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. I still think you’re too young for me. I still believe I may yet be too sick to be thinking of marriage. But I can’t deny what just happened. If you’re willing to throw your life away, I’m grateful and eager to catch it. Let’s go in and talk with Miles.”

She’d been trying to collect herself, straightening her riding costume, but she paused when he spoke. She looked up at him.

“What?”

“I said it’s time for me to talk to your brother. It’s customary, you know, as you have no father.”

She waited to hear what else he’d say. He only stood there, smiling fondly at her.

She didn’t smile back at him. He hadn’t said a
word of love. She’d given him her heart but she’d be damned if she’d take his for the sake of propriety. That might be worse than not having him at all, because she’d always know he’d been forced to what she yearned for. She thought she might bear that. But it just wasn’t fair.

“You think that because you kissed me we have to be married?”

His smile faded as he saw her expression.

“What nonsense!” she fumed. “Why, if every man who kissed a girl had to marry her, there wouldn’t be a single man in England!”

“I’m not every man and you’re not every woman.”

“No, indeed. And so I will not let you be coerced into a lifelong commitment because of one moment of…”

He took her hand. “You don’t want me?” he asked, his eyes searching hers. “It was only one moment for you?”

“I didn’t say that,” she said, flustered. “I just think it’s not fair for you to feel trapped, because I swear I’d never have kissed you if I thought I was obligating you.”

“I want to marry you, Camille. I’ve wanted to for a very long time, but I knew my shortcomings. I should,” he said on a gruff laugh, “they’re the only short things about me. Seriously, look at my situation from my viewpoint. I’m as old as your brother is, and though that’s not ancient, it can’t be dis
counted. Aside from that, I have a treacherous ailment. Though I have reason to hope, I don’t know if or when I’ll be completely well.

“Did you think I was indifferent to you?” he asked. “Do you know how hard it was for me to pretend? But I kept asking myself what sort of a husband a man with my problems could be for a young woman like you, so I kept close watch on myself whenever you were around. Still, I wanted to be around, if only to be near you for as long I could. That’s why I was concerned about how you were ignoring me. Then you said you cared for me, and my good intentions crumbled. Are you saying otherwise now?”

“Well, no, but you’re not saying anything about how you feel about me!” she cried in frustration. “I mean,
why
you want me…and such.”

He checked. Then he laughed. She tried to pull her hand away, but he held it tight. “How I feel about you? I feel you’re beautiful,” he began, and couldn’t go on when he saw her freeze.

“Don’t mock me,” she cried, tears spilling down her checks.

“I’m not. Why should you think I am? You’re beautiful. Has no one ever told you that?”