Taming an Impossible Rogue (30 page)

“Abuse me, then, if you wish,” Lady Montshire returned sharply, “but mind yourself in Lord Fenton’s company. I doubt there is an arrangement to be made that would convince him to give you a third chance.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“Ah, there you two are,” her father said, entering the garden from the carriage drive. Lord Fenton walked at his heels. “Having a nice coze, I hope.”

Hm. She doubted she would ever have a nice coze with her mother again. Not for a very long time, anyway. “Good afternoon, Papa, Lord Fenton,” she said, reluctantly offering a curtsy.

“Lady Camille.” Fenton cleared his throat. “Shall we be off?”

“You can’t go without a chaperone,” her mother stated.

Goodness. A chaperone. She’d nearly forgotten about that sort of annoyance. At the same time, she was quite happy not to have to be alone with the marquis. Not until she had no other recourse.

Lady Montshire turned toward the house. “Marie! Come out here at once!”

A muffled door-slam later and eighteen-year-old Marie hurried around the house. “What is it, Mama? I was in the morning room, reading.”

Considering that the middle Pryce sister was already dressed for walking, Camille wasn’t certain who the play was meant for—though it more than likely wasn’t for her benefit.

“Your sister and Lord Fenton are going for a stroll. Be a good girl and accompany them.”

“Of course, Mama.”

When Camille returned her attention to the marquis, he was looking at her. She tried to assess the gaze, to determine whether he was annoyed or interested or curious or angry, but she couldn’t narrow it down at all. On the surface she supposed that was something he had in common with his cousin, but that wasn’t quite true, either. When Keating looked at her, even if she couldn’t decipher his mood, she always knew that she was safe. That no harm would come to her in his company. That she was respected and cared for.

“Shall we?” he said, offering his arm.

Hiding her reluctance, she tucked her fingers around his sleeve and they headed down the drive to the street. A passing phaeton nearly crashed into an oak tree, the driver so occupied with staring at them that only the horse’s abrupt balk saved him.

“You know people will talk again,” she commented, determined not to cringe. “And we’ve already been seen together.”

“I am taking a risk,” he agreed, speeding their pace just a little in chorus with his words. “My reputation as a member of the aristocracy might not have been harmed, but I became a de facto cuckold, a fool, a weakling who couldn’t convince a woman with whom I had a contract to marry me. I will not go through that again.”

He was certain, then, that she would agree to go through with this. And so she would, but not for
his
reputation. Or even for hers. “What if your cousin had been unsuccessful? What if I’d decided never to speak to him?”

He gave a short smile. “Keating is very charming. When he wants to be. I’m actually somewhat surprised, though, at some of the things he’s said. You do know I agreed to pay him for bringing you back to the table, as it were.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Truly?” He lifted an eyebrow, a nearly-as-handsome, if less warm-blooded, version of his cousin. “He told you that?”

“Yes, he did. It was our second conversation, I believe.”

“And you still agreed to meet with me.”

“Shall I speak honestly, or do you prefer that I simply nod and smile?”

For the first time faint surprise crossed his features. “My preferences never seemed to concern you before. I see no reason to begin dissembling now.”

Camille preferred when he became cold and insulting; it made her own anger and determination easier to maintain. “Very well. You offered ten thousand pounds for me. It was the first time you ever went out of your way to gain my company.”

“And now you’ll say that flowers would have been much less expensive.”

“It was too late for flowers.” She glanced over her shoulder to see Marie behind them, close enough to overhear the entire conversation. No doubt she would repeat it verbatim to their mother once they returned.

“Why were you so angry at me?”

Camille blinked. “I wasn’t angry. I was … disappointed.”

His arm beneath her hand stiffened. “Yes, well, I would have preferred a woman with more meat on her bones and less prone to flights of fancy. We all make do, I suppose. Most of us do, anyway.”

“Yes, but if you’d bothered to become acquainted with me, you might have realized that we aren’t compatible, or even that we are, which would have saved the embarrassment at the church.”

“Yes, yes, I should have written you a letter and sent you posies. I didn’t. I’m not going to apologize or tell you I intend to make amends. We’ve both been injured by your actions, Lady Camille. Time to make things right. For my sake, your family’s sake, and your own sake.”

And for Keating’s sake.
“Yes, I suppose it is,” she said aloud, attempting to ignore the rebellious stammering of her heart.

He stopped, lowering his arm and moving to face her. “Then no more of this idiotic faux courtship is required, I assume?”

“No. I don’t see the point in attempting to convince myself that you’re someone you’re not. All I ask, in fact, is that you have as little to do with me as possible after our marriage.”

“I require an heir. And your fidelity. I won’t be laughed at again.”

Her heart jolted again. “Other than that, then.”

“Agreed.” He tilted his head a little. “Oddly enough, if you hadn’t fled a year ago, we would have had the same arrangement.”

“I was more naïve then. I suppose I wanted more.”

Lord Fenton nodded. “I expect you to remove yourself from The Tantalus Club immediately. You cannot work there and prepare for a wedding with me. I won’t have it. And neither will your parents.”

That statement hurt worse than she’d expected. “They have been very kind to me. I daresay if I hadn’t been able to find employment there, my next choice would mean that neither you nor my family would be welcoming me back now.” She took a breath, fighting abrupt panic at the thought of moving back into a hostile household and then into a cold, uncaring one. “I will give my notice, and work until they are able to replace me.” Which wouldn’t happen until the day she married him.

“No.”

She lifted her chin. “Yes.”

The marquis opened his mouth, then closed it again. “Have it your way. But there will be no announcement, and no money will be exchanging hands, until you leave that place. Tell that to your new friend and see how supportive he is.” He took one step closer. “That’s the difference between Bloody Blackwood and me. I am direct and honest. I don’t pretend to be a friend when I’m not one.”

“And yet no one knows he’s your cousin,” she commented, ignoring the remainder of his statement. Only someone who’d never had a friend would think he could sway her away from one with a few biting words. “How direct and honest is that?”

“That’s a matter of him being unable to behave. If he could do so, I would happily tell everyone of our connection.”

This was getting them nowhere, and the more they talked about Keating, the more likely she was to say something in his defense that his cousin couldn’t overlook. And concerned with the appearance of propriety as he was, Lord Fenton likely would take serious issue with the knowledge that she’d had sex with his cousin. And that she fully intended to do so again.

After a moment spent looking about as though he were seeking for something to say and not succeeding, Fenton turned back toward the house and offered his arm again. With a sigh, she took it.

“Your parents and I will make the arrangements for the wedding,” he said, his tone cool and unconcerned once again. “And you will not flee this time.”

“No, I won’t flee. As long as you honor all the things you’ve promised. To everyone concerned.”

“I will.”

They walked in silence for the remainder of their stroll, until he parted from her at the foot of the short drive. “Your father knows how to reach me,” he said. “Good afternoon, Lady Camille.”

“Lord Fenton.”

When he’d vanished back up the street, Camille turned to look up at the house. She’d grown up there, and yet nowhere seemed more foreign and less welcoming. The idea of moving back there—well, she wouldn’t do so. Not until the very last possible moment. She’d never seen more than the front of Pollard House, but evidently she would be its mistress very soon.

“How did you do that?” Marie whispered.

She’d forgotten her sister was there. “Do what?” she asked, turning around to face her.

Marie’s hair was three or four shades darker than her own, and her eyes a much deeper, prettier blue. “You just said whatever you wanted to. I would have died of mortification.”

“I’ve discovered there are things worse than mortification.” Camille cleared her throat, less certain about how to proceed with her sister than she had been with her prospective spouse. But then she didn’t know him. “Have you and Joanna been well?”

“Mama barely lets us leave the house. We almost didn’t come to London for the Season, because she knew we would be laughed at. I hate it. The only thing that would be worse would be if she’d decided I was to miss my debut after all.”

“Everything should be well resolved and forgotten very soon,” Camille offered. “And as a marchioness, I’ll be able to introduce you to a great many handsome young men.”

“They all know you now, don’t they? From The Tan … from that place.”

“It’s a gentlemen’s club, Marie. Not a brothel.”

Her sister’s cheeks turned red. “Don’t say such things. My goodness. We were never raised to act as you have. I don’t understand it at all. I thought … I thought we were friends, as well as sisters.”

“We were. We are. I can’t explain why I did what I did, because in retrospect it seems very silly. But I’ve learned some very important lessons since then.”

“Well, I should hope so.” Marie started up the drive, then slowed when she realized Camille wasn’t following her. “Are you coming inside?”

“No, I don’t think so. I have some things to see to.”

“But Joanna and I have missed you.” Returning, she took Camille’s arm in both of her hands. “We truly have. It’s been terrible having to listen to the things Papa and especially Mama said after you left.”

She didn’t want to know what those things were. “What if I come by tomorrow and take you two to luncheon?” she asked instead. “Then we can chat without Mama frowning at everything we say.”

“I would like that.” Marie kissed her cheek. “And you could tell us about meeting Bloody Blackwood. Did he truly shoot the Viscount of Balthrow?”

“He says he did.”

“He’s so handsome. I can see why Lady Balthrow fell in love with him.” Squeezing her arm, Marie giggled. “Is he deadly dangerous?”

“Not to me.” Not in the way Marie meant, at least. In other ways, he’d stabbed straight through her heart before she’d ever realized it.

Abruptly the need to see him again shoved through her. There might not have been a date set yet for the wedding, but it was inevitable. And then he would leave.

“I’m sorry, Marie, but I really must go,” she said, her voice wobbling a little. “I’m still employed at that place, you know.”

“Not for long.” With a last kiss to the cheek, Marie climbed the front steps and vanished back into the house. Camille watched after her long enough to be certain she was safely inside, then went to hire a hack.

“Where to, miss?” the gap-toothed driver asked as Camille climbed inside.

“Baswich House. On South Audley Street.”

*   *   *

Once Keating realized that Camille was actually heading for Baswich House, he cursed and spurred Amble down a street parallel to the hack.

The walk had been briefer than he’d expected, and even halfway down the street from the conversation he could tell that the meeting hadn’t been cordial. At the same time he hadn’t seen anything to make him race to the rescue, and the devil knew he’d been more than ready for any excuse to do that.

No, she’d kept her head up, her back straight, and whatever she’d said had kept Fenton from looming over her and yelling. In fact, as well as he knew his cousin, he could tell that Stephen didn’t quite know what to do with his bride-to-be.

Another thought struck him. Perhaps she was racing over to the Duke of Greaves’s house to tell him that she’d changed her mind, and she was no one’s bride-to-be. Keen hope tumbled through him, immediately followed by worry. After all, whether she’d considered it or not, The Tantalus Club employed young, lovely ladies. For the moment she could continue there, but it was no way to fund the remainder of her life.

And while he would have been happy, ecstatic even, to offer her a home, it wouldn’t solve anything. He was a pariah and always would be. Even worse, once he’d funded Eleanor, he barely took in enough income to pay his servants and keep his land. With Fenton and his substantial holdings, she could have everything.

As of this morning it had become even more complicated than that. While Eleanor hadn’t outright agreed to introduce him to Michael, she had intimated that she would. That, however, depended on the ten thousand pounds Stephen had promised him.

He cursed again. They all should have left him alone at Havard’s Glen. He would never have met Camille Pryce, never had the hope that he would meet his son, never think he could somehow make amends for what he’d done six years ago.

Amble galloped up the Baswich House drive, and he jumped from the saddle before the gray gelding had managed to come to a stop. “See to him,” he ordered a groom, and ran for the house.

A surprised-looking Hooper pulled open the door as he strode through it. “I’ve been here all morning,” he said, panting, and thundered up the stairs without waiting for an answer.

In his rooms he pulled off his riding boots and jacket and dug into his wardrobe for something a gentleman staying in for the day would wear. What that might be he had no real idea, but when Pidgeon appeared to assist him, at least the valet didn’t faint.

The butler knocked at his door. “Enter,” he called.

“Mr. Blackwood, Lady Camille Pryce is downstairs and wishes to speak to you. She is alone, sir.”