“Worthless cads,” Wittingham pronounced for the second time that evening.
Camden laughed. “You will have to come up with some new insults. You are starting to become repetitive. Wouldn’t want anyone to think your biting wit was going soft.”
“It’s just that it’s so apt,” Wittingham said, and although the light was low, Camden could have sworn the man was smiling. “But enough of them. I am going to enquire as to what lengths a man must go to procure spirits of some kind. I certainly need the fortification. You coming?”
“Excellent idea,” Camden said, but as he turned to follow his friend, something caught his eye that rooted him to the spot, and he barely noticed that Wittingham had moved on without him.
Standing in the shadows across the room was the blonde beauty he had stumbled across the night of his birthday, and saw again a few weeks later. She looked tonight as tempting as she ever had — more so, perhaps. She was in a dress of red silk, a shock of color in the dim room. She seemed finer, more delicate, more beautiful — more
alive
— than anyone else in the room. Her hair was gathered and pinned up, exposing the long, delicate lines of her neck. A neck that Camden wanted to press his lips against before moving down to the hollow of her collarbone, and then down yet more to the soft mounds of flesh straining against a plunging neckline. Camden’s pulse pounded in his ears, and his cock stiffened painfully against his trousers.
“Stunning, isn’t she?” asked a voice beside him.
Camden jerked slightly, startled at the sudden intrusion into his thoughts, and saw that Jane had come to stand beside him. “I — she — er — who — ”
“Del,” Jane said with a nod toward the blonde sylph. “The most mysterious woman in London.”
Though he tried to avoid it, his attention turned back to the woman — Del — though he knew he must look the fool, gaping after her stupidly. “And who is she, exactly?” he asked Jane.
“I’m not entirely sure,” Jane replied. She caught the perplexed look on Camden’s face. “Oh, I’ve known her many years, dined with her, sought amusement with her, but I can’t say that I really know her.”
Camden never took his gaze from Del, but he knew his expression must have reflected his reaction to Jane’s words, how little he cared for such cryptic speeches.
“I see you are not satisfied with such an explanation. I shall simply have to introduce you to her then, so you can see for yourself.” Before Camden could stop her, Jane caught Del’s attention and gestured for her to join them. Camden watched as the smile of recognition that lit Del’s face as she saw Jane froze as she realized who was standing next to her. Caught, she began to move toward them, for she couldn’t ignore the summons of her hostess without giving unpardonable offense.
Camden panicked. “No, really, I don’t want to trouble … that is, I must find my friend Wittingham … he was off to find a drink, and I … ” Camden began to turn, hoping to execute a hasty exit, but Jane’s firm hand on his arm stopped him.
“Nonsense,” she said. “What sort of hostess would I be if neglected to make the proper introductions between my guests? Ah, Del,” she said, giving her friend a quick embrace as she joined them. “Adele Beaumont, I’d like you to meet Rhys Camden.”
Del hesitated for a moment, the slightest of smiles touching her lips. “Mr. Camden and I have met before, although it was an all too brief encounter.” Del turned her full gaze upon him, and Camden noticed for the first time the startling color of her eyes. They were hazel flecked with green — emeralds bathed in whisky — and Camden wanted to drown in them.
“Have you?” Jane said, eying Camden suspiciously. “I was under the impression you did not know each other.”
“We — it was as Miss Beaumont said. A brief encounter on the street — ” Camden blanched as he heard the coarseness of his explanation. “I did not even catch her name at the time.”
“Quite so?” Jane asked archly, her eyebrows raised.
Camden reddened under Jane’s inquiring look. He thought back to that night, what he had witnessed with Del, and realized Jane, knowing under what circumstances her friend normally met with men, imagined
he
had been the one with Del. He reddened more as he began to imagine the same thing, summoning decadent visuals of himself locked in a rocking embrace with the beauty before him. He abruptly cut off his thoughts when he realized both women were looking at him quizzically.
“It was nothing, Jane,” Del said, as if she sensed Camden needed rescue. “A chance encounter several weeks ago. Camden was under the mistaken impression I needed assistance finding my way home.”
“Oh?” Jane infused that single syllable with such skepticism that Camden knew she didn’t believe the encounter had been that simple at all.
Camden was about to defend himself when Del spoke. “You will have to forgive me, Jane,” she said, “but I find I am unusually fatigued tonight. I’m afraid I must beg my leave. Thank you, though, for a lovely evening. Your parties, as always, are full of surprises.” Before either of them could protest, Del gave a quick kiss on the cheek to Jane, a quick nod to Camden, and then she turned and left the room.
Camden knew he should let her go, that chasing after her would be the height of madness, that it would serve only to fuel suspicions of others. He should forget her, this strange woman who seemed to appear suddenly like an apparition, the mere sight of her stirring up lust, curiosity, and something else, something he couldn’t identify or name.
Hadn’t he always been told that ungoverned passion was a sign of weakness? It was undisciplined, uncouth, unworthy of a man of his current station — and certainly of the station his father hoped the family would one day occupy. A man’s entire person, his thoughts, his actions, his emotions, should be kept firmly in check. He should never take rash action, never give careless expression to his feelings. He had been told that often enough. Indeed, he could hear his father’s voice now, in his head, telling him those very things.
He couldn’t say what it was then, what unseen force pulled him or what unheard of stroke of rebellion pushed him to abruptly turn from Jane and nearly run out of the room after Del.
• • •
Del’s chest constricted as she struggled to get air. She was furiously working to locate her pelisse, reticule, and gloves from the pile of outerwear in the front hall, thinking that if she could just leave the townhouse and step out onto the street, she would be able to breathe freely again. She heard footsteps behind her and she knew without turning who was coming after her.
“Mr. Camden,” she said without turning around, pleased that her voice sounded calm and even. “Have you forgotten something? Come to say good-bye, perhaps?”
She waited for his response, and when none came, she frowned. Perhaps it hadn’t been Camden who had followed her into the foyer. But no, turning around, she saw it was indeed the young Mr. Camden who stood just inside the hall, his face slightly flushed, his hands fisted at his sides.
Neither of them spoke for several ticks of the longcase clock standing in the corner. That audible passage of time mixed with the pounding of her pulse in her ears to create the only sound in the room. Del felt strange, uncomfortable. How disconcerting it was that every time she laid eyes on this stranger it should affect her so. She had always thought herself so calm, so poised and in control. And yet here she was, practically panting for breath and fighting an urge to turn and run from the house.
“Miss Beaumont,” Camden said finally, “I — I wanted to speak with you.” He shifted his weight, clenched and unclenched his fists. “I wanted to tell you — ”
Del took a step toward Camden. Whatever he meant to say to her caused him obvious discomfort, and it piqued her curiosity.
“I just wanted to say I can assist you,” Camden said in a rush. “I can help you with your — er — situation.”
“And what ‘situation’ would that be?”
Camden reddened. “With the men — what I saw that night — I — I have money. Money and a few connections. If you need anything — ” He broke off, looked away from her.
Del wasn’t sure how to react to his statements. It certainly wasn’t the first time a man had offered to “save” her. Yet this was different. He didn’t know her, didn’t have any arrangement with her, and, unlike every man who had come before him, he didn’t seem to be making his offer solely in exchange for exclusive rights to her.
“Mr. Camden,” Del said slowly, “you are very kind. But I meant what I said to you that night we first met: I am not in need of any sort of rescue. I’ve chosen my life and I’m happy with it as it is. I am not looking for you or any other man to save me from it.”
“But no woman chooses that!” Camden looked at her again, his confusion showing clearly on his face.
Del smiled. “I assure you, I have. And why should that be so difficult for you to believe? Why are you so concerned?”
Camden looked startled that she should even pose such a question. “It — it is a sin! An affront to God!”
“God?” Anger rose in her breast. “God abandoned me long ago when He took my parents from me as a child, left me with no one but cruel or indifferent relatives who passed me around — ” Del broke off, surprised and angry that she let her emotions overcome her, that she would so recklessly blurt out her secrets. She took a deep breath, deliberately calmed herself. “I am not so concerned with God’s judgment. It seems He has already done His will.”
“And society? Have you written that off as well?”
Del laughed outright at this. “Again, Mr. Camden, I am hardly able to rouse myself to care about currying favor with a society that has so completely left me to fend for myself.” She said this simply, without bitterness or rancor. “Well, I am doing just that: taking care of myself through the only means available. And society seems to care little, so long as I am discreet.”
“But there are rules — right and wrong — societal dictates to be followed lest chaos ensue — ”
“Oh? But even you, Mr. Camden, do not always follow said dictates. Come now, don’t look so shocked at the suggestion. That night we first met, when you came to my aid, you know you had no right to interfere in a domestic spat between a man and a woman, whether it’s his wife or mistress.”
“But that was different! I was drunk, and you were struggling, trying to get away.” Camden stepped toward her. They were only a few inches away from each other now. “I know Ashe and what type of man he is; I couldn’t have very well left you.”
“But that is exactly what society says you should have done. So you see, Mr. Camden, we all do what we think we should, what we are compelled to do, what circumstances demand we
must
do.” Del took a step back, his nearness as unsettling as his questions. He looked at her so earnestly, as if he genuinely cared what she had to say for herself, as if he really wanted to help. It confused and distressed her.
He looked at her so intently, his soft brown eyes locked on hers. She wondered what he must think of her now that he knew for certain what she was, what she did. Then she wondered why should she care, when no one’s opinion had mattered to her before. Why now? Why this man? Del slid her gaze from his and focused on the longcase clock ticking in the corner. She had hoped breaking eye contact would also break the strange, breathless hold he seemed to have on her, but she could still sense his gaze upon her, feel his body next to hers. Suddenly, Del wanted — needed — to get away. Away from the party and its noise and boisterousness. Away from the leering gazes of drunken men. And most importantly, away from the disconcertingly concerned and generous Mr. Camden.
“Forgive me, I — I was just leaving and I — ” Del turned her gaze back to Camden, but she kept it hovering in the vicinity of his chin. She couldn’t bear to see disbelief and worry and disapproval mingling in his eyes, and she cursed herself for her cowardice. Many years ago, when she decided to take charge of her own fate, she had promised herself she was done with cowering, with evading and disassembling in an attempt to apologize for who she was and the fact that her existence placed such a burden on her long-suffering relatives. She had vowed to look away from no man, and yet here she was, standing in a foyer listening to the gonging of a clock and the slightly hitched breathing of a young stranger, and she could not meet his eye.
Del moved toward the door, her gloves still off and her pelisse draped over her arm. Camden’s hand was suddenly on her elbow, causing Del to freeze as she sucked in her breath. She had been touched by dozens of men, in manners far more familiar and salacious, and yet
this
touch, by
this
man, was far too intimate.
“Mr. Camden, please — ” Del forced herself to look him in the eye. “I really must be leaving.”
Camden looked at her, his brows furrowed, and Del knew he wanted to say more to her, that he struggled with whether to give voice to any affirmation or reproach that might be swirling in his head, or whether to remain silent and let her leave. Del decided to make the choice for him. She wrested her arm from his hand and was out the door before Camden had a chance to react.
“Blakely came to see me, you know,” Jane said as she linked her arm with Del’s.
Del stumbled just then, though surely it was on a bit of loose gravel on the path and not because of Jane’s words. Jane’s arm stiffened as she helped to steady Del, but she continued walking without comment.
“Oh?” Del hoped her voice sounded casual, that it belied none of the intense curiosity she actually felt.
Jane gave her a sideways glance and Del knew her attempt at nonchalance had failed.
“It seems he is quite worried about you.” Jane’s eyes scanned the path. She seemed almost bored with the present conversation, and appeared instead to be intently studying the other pedestrians enjoying the sunny afternoon in Hyde Park. Del knew, however, that Jane was thoroughly enjoying her playful torment.
“Worried about me?” Del said with a soft laugh. “Whyever for?”
“He said it has been weeks since you — how shall I put it? Been
in flagrante delicto
, and days since you have entertained him at all. He pleaded with me to make you see reason.”