Vines, Ella - Camille's Seduction [Dukes of Desire 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)

Dukes of Desire 1

ELLA VINES

Copyright © 2011

Chapter 1

July 1786, Covent Gardens

Three sets of eyes stared at her, and her luscious bust pressed against her silken mint-green evening gown. Her long, nearly white-blonde hair was half-up, half-down in ringlets and surrounded a heart-shaped face with long-lashed, gray eyes and a full, pink mouth. She had a resemblance to Marie Antoinette, but she was much lovelier. Even corseted, no other woman in the gardens looked like her. Her waist boasted a tiny span, and her hips curved out in a way that made all three men think thoughts they could not voice in polite society.

“She will do nicely.” Titus Tremont looked at his brothers across the table at Covent Gardens as fireworks exploded, and the crowd
oohed
.

“I think so. She is a right sweet dish.” Mort Tremont nodded and sipped his Port.

“Good. Then how shall we get her to the castle for our grand experiment?” Knoll Tremont raised his dark brows at Titus.

“Leave that to me. I’ll have a letter on the way to her when we get back to Tremont Hall. Her mother wishes her to marry a duke, and the idea of dining with me is one she will love.” Titus curled his lip in assurance.

“To be sure,” Knoll agreed, his golden-brown hair falling in his eyes.

“So you won’t tell her about us?” Mort asked, his lips curving.

“No. You two will be a surprise. After all, she won’t expect my brothers from far-off dukedoms to be here.”

“But we are, and we will be for the next month.”

“Yes.” Titus finished his glass of Port.

“And tomorrow, she will join us for dinner.”

“And dessert,” Mort said, shifting in his seat.

They smiled and finished their dinner, not taking their eyes off her.

* * * *

“They’ve been staring at you all night.” Jolie Marsh shivered, her eyes dancing.

“Nonsense.” Camille Capria shook her head.

“They have better things to do than chase down a girl like me with few prospects.”

“Pshaw. You don’t need them. Look at you.” Jolie’s dark eyes were full of envy.

“Mother will see that I’m set up with some nobleman, even though our ties to nobility are so scant as to be nonexistent.” Camille smirked at the thought.

“I wager the Duke of Cambridge will be the one,” Jolie said, nodding toward Titus Tremont.

“Ah, you do dream.” Camille laughed, but her eyes slid toward the three men, known throughout London as the most eligible bachelors in their early twenties.

“Dreams come true sometimes.”

“Not for me.” A shadow slipped over her friend’s face, and she touched Camille’s arm.

* * * *

When she returned home, Camille found a letter waiting for her on the silver salver by the door. It had been hand delivered. Curious, she ripped it open.

Dear Miss Capria,

I request your presence at my dinner table tomorrow evening at seven. A few select friends including married ladies and my mother, the duchess, shall join us, and you will be well chaperoned. The festivities will go well into the night, so prepare to stay at Tremont Hall until morning. I shall send a closed carriage for you before the house is due. You may send your acceptance if you wish before tomorrow afternoon.

Fond regards,

Titus Tremont

Camille gasped for breath. The idea of spending an evening overnight at the Hall scandalized and excited her. She wondered if her mother would agree, but knew in a moment’s reflection she would.

She approached her in her bedroom, and she wrote the letter of acceptance herself, dispatching a footman to take it at that moment.

“You must not miss such an opportunity, my darling. I know and the duke knows you are the loveliest girl in society at the moment.”

“Oh, mother.” Camille blushed.

“Just be sure you do nothing to compromise your reputation. You know all that business with...” Ada Capria’s brow knit, and she gave her daughter a meaningful look.

“Yes, mother, I know. Of course not.” Camille shuddered at the thought of talking about the past and about what her mother intimated. The Tremont family had a certain reputation and rumors, but so far the dukes had not fallen into the category of rakes. However, they were still all young.

“You must get your things ready. Shoo.” Her mother kissed her cheek and held her close for a moment. Camille sensed she was loath to let her go.

* * * *

Her valise packed, Camille waited on edge in the sitting room. She wore a peach silk de chine gown with full panniers and her hair in a complicated style, half-up and half-down. Beads dotted the top of her blonde locks. She pinched her cheeks, hoping they looked healthy. Jolie had fretted over her for hours as soon as she had heard the news. Camille longed for her friend to join her, but only she had been invited. The thought excited and frightened her a bit. A carriage pulled up outside the city residence, and Camille made her way toward it. Ornate trim and plush seats relaxed her as they journeyed through the city to the Hall. Night fell around them, and the winking lights of the massive structure made Camille’s heart skip a beat. Her hands grew clammy as servants met her at the door. When she entered the stone hall, Camille looked around. Out of the shadows, three men stepped. Camille recognized them as the three dukes. Alarm filled her.

“Good evening, Miss Capria.” She curtsied, not able to speak a word to the tall, blond man in front of her. His limpid, brown eyes fastened on hers. “You may call me Titus. I don’t care about titles and that posh.”

“Yes, your—”

“No. Just Titus. I insist.”

“Yes, thank you, Titus.” The second man stepped forward, and his size and muscles left Camille breathless. Where Titus was blond, fair, and lithe, this man had hulking girth and tanned skin. His black eyes penetrated hers, and a shiver ran through her. She read his desire there as she had other men’s, but never had she read it as such a naked warning.

“I’m Mortimer. Call me Mort.” Camille recalled he was the Duke of Cornwall. She curtsied low. He took her hand, holding it tight in his and tracing fire over it with his tongue. The kiss took her breath away, inappropriate and salacious as it was. The third man stepped forward, muscular and bronzed as well.

“I’m Knoll. The pleasure of meeting you is all mine, Miss Capria.”

“You may call me Camille.” She blurted the words out, her face blooming crimson.

“Thank you.” Titus bowed low in front of her, and he led the way to an opulent dining room. Camille heard little as dinner progressed, and she was unsurprised when she found herself the only guest.
What do they have planned for me?
She knew her virtue was at stake unless there really was a companion there to make sure all was well before she went to bed. Camille knew there wasn’t. They had brought her here to seduce her. Anger ran through her as she finished a delicate filet of sole. “I must be going now. It’s quite late.” She rose, her eyelids half closed.

“But we do not wish you to leave.” Titus spoke, leaning back in his chair, a small smile on his face.

“I must insist. There is no companion here, no suitable chaperone. You lied about...”

“I apologize.” Titus spoke again, his voice smooth and seductive.

“I accept your apology, but I still must leave.”

“No. Let’s retire to the drawing room.” Mortimer stood and was at her side in a flash. His size alone intimidated her, and she swallowed, taking his arm as he steered her out of the room. His thigh brushed against hers, and she wondered about his strength.

“We mean you no harm, Camille.” Mortimer deposited her on the love seat.

“The truth is, sweet, lovely Camille”—the words caressed her—“we mean to make you our own. You are the loveliest woman in England, and we want you with us.”

“What in God’s name?” His words were unfathomable, and her head spun.

“I mean, I want you in my bed, as do my brothers, and we will do what it takes for that to happen. We may keep a look of propriety, but we will have you.” Titus’s eyes burned like brown leaves on fire.

“I will not be part of your twisted, sick...” Camille broke off, knowing her resistance was of no use. They outnumbered her three to one. If they did as they wished, she would be ruined, but she could tell no one.

“I assure you, it is nothing of the kind. It is simply that we are all taken with you. I first saw you months ago, and I’ve thought of nothing but you. My brothers have wanted us to share a woman, the woman whom I’d choose as my wife. They do not wish to marry. When I saw you, my decision was made.” Titus crossed the distance between them and sat beside her.

“Be that as it may, I have not similarly decided upon you.”

“You will.” Knoll spoke, his tongue running over his lips in a way that made warm heat flood through Camille.

“I won’t.”

“Give us tonight.” Titus spoke.

“We shall tell no one of this if you agree to marry me within a week.”

Camille gasped, tears filling her eyes.

“I cannot.”

“Why not? Your widowed mother will be overjoyed. Will she not?” He smirked at her, his body close to hers.

“Yes.”

“Then that’s enough. Do not fear, we shall leave your maiden status intact in the strict sense of the word until our wedding night.” Titus’s voice shook with lust.

“Now, may I have the pleasure of accompanying you to your chamber? It is the finest in the castle.” Mort spoke as he stood, towering over her.

“Yes.” Camille knew resistance was futile. Her mother would be overjoyed, and if the men broke their promise, even they would not tell everyone in England about it. They had too much power and need for respect. Mort led her up a long, dark staircase and down a hall with several turns. Her arm in his grew warm from the heat of his body. Soon, Camille was lost, and she couldn’t have left or found her way out if she had tried. The realization made her panicky.

“Be calm, Camille. We’re not monsters.”

“How could I think otherwise? What you are doing is beastly and immoral!”