As Rich as a Rogue (15 page)

“Tell Mr. Camden that I shall be looking elsewhere for a candidate.”

Bloody hell. She'd mucked it up completely, and now Mr. Camden would bear the brunt of her ill temper. This appointment would have been the making of him, and she'd destroyed his every chance. But far from spurring her to apology, she tossed aside everything and let her anger boil over. “I shall tell him that a fool and his money are soon parted. Your greatest wealth is your family and friends, and yet your nephew is wild, your son won't remain in the same vicinity as you, and your cronies are fast disappearing. You are waning, Lord Rossgrove, and since your friends and family are gone, your gold will soon disappear as well.” She shook her head. “You have failed this interview, my lord. I wish you well, but I doubt it will come to pass.” And with that, she opened the door herself and sailed out straight past the shocked Fletcher.

Mr. Camden had been sitting at the bench, worrying his hat into a frayed state. He jumped to his feet when he saw her, and his eyes widened. “Miss Powel?” he asked, his voice a high squeak.

She bit her lip and shook her head. She'd harmed him. She'd destroyed his chances with Lord Rossgrove, and she didn't know what she could say to fix that. In the end, she just squeezed his hand.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I tried very hard. I really did, but…”

She watched Mr. Camden's face pale. His skin blanched white, and his eyes shone bright. But only for a moment, then the look was gone. He grabbed their things from the side table and wordlessly held open the door.

“You might be able to fix things,” she offered softly. Then honesty forced her to say the truth. “I don't know how, though. Not with me as your bride.”

He shook his head. “Never mind that now. There are other patrons, other seats in Commons. Come let us walk in this fine weather. Your maid can take the carriage home.”

He was being nice to her when she'd just destroyed his future. “You are very kind, Mr. Camden.”

“Not at all, Miss Powel. Not at all.” He took her hand, placed it on his arm, and they began walking away. They were barely down the first step when Fletcher closed the door with a ponderous thud. Mari tried not to mind. She was busy looking at a lovely white cloud in the sky as pointed out by Mr. Camden. He said it looked like a bird.

She tried to see it. She truly did. She told him emphatically that it was a magnificent cloud bird, but in truth, she felt too miserable to see anything but a dark, hulking cloud.

“Winner! Winner!”

“Shut up, you bloody bird,” Peter groused. But then when the creature tilted its head and appeared confused, Peter relented and fed him a bit of carrot.

“Winner, winner,” Greenie confirmed, and Peter sighed.

It had never occurred to him that he'd fail to win his choice of bride. Naturally, when he was in India, he had worried that Miss Powel would marry someone else, but at the time he had more pressing concerns. But now that he was home and she unwed, he had never expected that she would be reluctant. Worse, that she would still think so little of him.

What is your plan?

Bloody hell, just because a man didn't bellow his thoughts far and wide didn't mean he wasn't thinking of them. Or working toward that end. In truth,
she
was critical to his plan, and she was proving to be quite difficult.

Besides, he got the distinct feeling she was simply putting up obstacles out of obstinacy. Which meant that no matter what he said to her, she would find some objection. He knew the root of the problem. She had been told from the cradle that the only way a woman could succeed was to be caged in, restrained, and hampered. She was so used to others putting obstacles in her way, she didn't realize it had become a habit for herself as well.

That, of course, was the real reason she'd remained unwed. Between her father's vigilance and her own misunderstanding of what she really needed, she was left setting boulders all around herself. Few men would brave such a thing. But then few men knew exactly what fire lay behind all those barriers. He had kissed her. He knew.

But he was getting damned tired of boulders.

Which led to his current question and the source of his ill temper with Greenie. Was Miss Powel worth the effort he was investing in wooing her? Ash was right that he hadn't looked around at the current crop of bride-hopefuls. Surely any number of them would be an eager substitute for Miss Powel.

Except he didn't want anyone else. They all seemed pale to him. Less vibrant, less interesting, less everything than Miss Powel. Which was ridiculous, he knew, and yet he couldn't shake the feeling.

Logic told him to start looking for someone else. Emotion told him to stay the course, because Miss Powel would eventually realize that there was more to life than endless rules and restrictions.

“Winner, winner!”

He sighed and fed Greenie another bit of carrot. As a winner, he knew that when one direction was blocked, he had to move around the obstacle, adjust his thinking, or even change his target to something else. He was a man of reason, damn it, and he would not be swayed by emotion. As important as Miss Powel was to his ultimate goal, she wasn't indispensable. Another woman could grace his bed, wear his title, and give him children he'd love.

Which meant he would give her up, he decided, and his heart sank to his gut and soured his mood.

“Happy sodding day!” the bird squawked, and immediately, Peter's attention sharpened.

How perfect that the moment he decided to give up Miss Powel, fate brought her to him. She was behind him right now, presumably come for her time to train the bird. Well then, perhaps he should win her favor in some small way.

“No, no, Greenie,” he said. “Happy day. You're supposed to say ‘happy day.'”

He heard her soft exhale. “Do not think me so easily gulled, my lord,” she said. “You have not been teaching that bird my phrase. You did it just because you knew I was at the door.”

He smiled. He knew she was smart. That was one of the reasons he liked her so well. “True,” he commented, “but I thought to help you get your hour with Greenie started.”

Then he turned around, and immediately his expression darkened. She was standing beside Lady Illston's butler, and everything about her screamed repressed. Her hair was pulled back until her eyebrows neared her hairline, and her dress was the most boring beige he'd ever seen. That was bad enough, but when he looked at her amber eyes, expecting that sparkle of animation he'd come to love, he saw red rims and a flatness that had him cursing under his breath.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice low and threatening.

She pulled up short, and her gaze flicked to his. “My lord?”

He glanced at the butler and made a tiny gesture with his chin. The man bowed himself out, closing the door behind him, which required Miss Powel to step farther into the room. Peter went to her side immediately, reaching for her hands, which he lifted into his. She barely resisted him, and he grew even more alarmed.

“I insist, Miss Powel. Something dreadful has occurred, and I must know what it is.”

She shook her head, and a telltale sheen of tears glossed her eyes. “It is not something to concern yourself with. I've just done something terribly stupid, and someone else has paid the price. I feel quite angry with myself and…” She shrugged. “Well, there is nothing to be done but to learn from my mistake and beg pardon.” She looked away. “And to wish I would learn once and for all.”

He drew her deeper into the room and pulled out a chair for her. She sat down across from Greenie, who greeted her in the usual way.

“Happy sodding day.”

Miss Powel cast a dark look at the bird then held up a bit of apple. “Happy day,” she said with emphasis. If ever a phrase did not fit the tone, that was the one. Nevertheless, she fed the bird some apple while Peter studied her listless expression.

“What happened?” he said softly. “I will not stop pestering you until I know all.”

She did not look at him, but spent her time staring at Greenie. Peter saw the classic lines of her profile, the uplift of her nose at the very tip, and the oblong shape to her ear. Her skin was porcelain clear, but the freckles intrigued him more. The slightest dots, mostly along her nose. And a mole just short of her hairline, exposed only because her locks were drawn back so harshly.

“Miss Powel…” he began, then he touched her cheek. He knew she longed for someone to caress her. “Mari, please tell me.”

She swallowed, and when he feared she'd pull away, she pressed her forehead against his stroke. A moment, nothing more. That was progress, but also a sign of how deeply distressed she was.

“Do you know why I have hated you for six years?” she asked, her voice low.

“Because you thought I was responsible for your lack of suitors?”

“Because you accurately named the flaw in my character.” She looked to him, and the amber in her eyes was very clear. Bright brown ignited by emotions. “I am wayward. I long to laugh out loud, to dance wildly, and I say things, my lord. Oh, you have no idea the things I want to say that I hold back. And sometimes, no matter how hard I try, I say them anyway.”

“What did you say?” He could tell she did not want to admit her words to him; she was that deeply ashamed. But again he touched her cheek, using what she most needed to encourage the confidence. “You cannot think I will condemn you.”

She snorted, then pressed a hand to her mouth. “Of course you will. I condemn myself.”

He gently drew her hand away from her face and lifted it to his lips. “I swear to stand your friend.”

She looked into his eyes, and he held his breath. Everything between them hung poised in the balance. If she could not talk to him when they were in private, when she was so clearly distressed, then there would be no honesty between them ever. So he held her gaze and prayed that she could find it in herself to trust him.

“I was unspeakably rude to Lord Rossgrove,” she said. The words were quiet but reverberated with dismay. “He was to stand patron to Mr. Camden, and I thought to be bold and powerful.” She looked up at him. “You told me that. He values power, so I…”

“You
are
powerful, Mari. Just not in a way he respects.”

“I called him a fool who would soon be parted from his money. I told him his children couldn't stand him and his friends had abandoned him. I told him he was waning, and now he will not help Mr. Camden.” Her eyes swam with tears. “I could bear it if it were just me who suffered. Heaven knows I have done stupid things in my life, but this was Mr. Camden's future. He had a chance at that seat, and he would be diligent in his efforts in the House of Commons. He is a good man, and I have ruined everything for him merely because I could not hold my tongue.”

The tears were trembling at the edge of her lashes. He'd watched them form and hold there. Even in this, she could not allow herself to break free. So he knelt before her and brushed his thumb across them, smearing the wetness across her cheeks.

“Lord Rossgrove is an ass.”

She snorted softly, and he counted that a victory. “I cannot tell every ass exactly what they are. Not if I want them to help me.”

But it wasn't help for herself that she'd been looking for. She'd been trying to help that annoying sapskull Camden. He couldn't fault her heart, even if he damned her choice of men.

Meanwhile, he tried to stroke his fingers into her hair, but the pins had pulled everything hard to her head. With a muttered curse, he started tugging them out. He couldn't stand it when she tied herself down like this.

“What are you doing?” she gasped.

“You have restrained everything to punish yourself, and I will not abide it. Rossgrove is an ass who deserved every word you said. Probably more.”

She gave him a wan smile. “Much more, but we needed him.”

“There are other patrons.”

“No—”

“Hush.” He pressed his fingers to her lips. “Listen to me.”

She quieted, and he took the opportunity to release all of her pins and fluff out her hair. She let her head drop back, her mouth parted on a sigh of delight, so he took the time to knead her scalp. He rubbed her in his own clumsy way and then felt his groin tighten painfully when she released a low moan.

“You have such large, wonderful hands,” she murmured. Then she abruptly straightened up. “Good God, there I go again.”

He pulled her hands down and held them still with one hand. He wasn't going to let her cover her words. “I enjoy your thoughts immensely. I dislike it when you wear ugly colors and pull your hair back like that. And I hate that you tie back the best part of yourself.”

“My hair?”

“Your everything.” He held her hands in her lap, but that didn't stop her from shaking her head.

“I speak without restraint, and Mr. Camden loses his patron.”

“Lord Rossgrove would be a nightmare of a patron.”

“I said something stupid in India as a child and cost my father a great deal of money.”

“Your father should not have let a child know important things.”

“He didn't. I snooped.” She bit her lip, and he felt a surge of lust at those even white teeth on the dark pink of her lips.

His eyes widened. “Do you know all your father's secret places, then? Where he hides his important things?”

She nodded, clearly pleased with herself. “I even know where the secret ledger is, the one with the most important numbers written in his own sloppy hand.”

He frowned. “You have been in his offices that much?”

She grinned. “He doesn't keep it there. It's not even in the library at home, but in his bedroom underneath the chair he sits in when he reads. He pulls it out at night when he can't sleep.”

He released a slow whistle of admiration. “Clever girl.”

“Bored girl.” She sighed. “Wayward girl.”

“Shall I tell you a secret?” he whispered. “Being wayward is not a flaw. Some might even say it was attractive. Mesmerizing.” The last word came out on a sigh.

They were eye to eye now, with him drawing closer by the second. She didn't pull back. Indeed, she didn't do anything but look into his eyes and part her lips. It wasn't an invitation. The woman was too innocent to know what she looked like with her hair tumbled about her shoulders and her eyes liquid with emotion. But he took it as one anyway.

He cupped her face in his hands, and he tilted her to just the right angle. Then he pressed his mouth to hers, needing to taste the sweetness there.

She sighed against his lips, her breath tart with lemon. That was a surprise. It was likely from a drink she'd had recently, and he told himself he was simply exploring how deep the new taste went. He pushed his tongue between her teeth, thrusting just enough but no more. She met him there, and they played, tongue to tongue.

It was a quiet kiss. A sweet one that did not ask too much of an innocent girl. But then he lost himself to her. He felt the roar of hunger build in his blood, and his thrusts into her mouth became bolder. His hands were cupping her head, holding her to him as he plundered between her teeth.

She released a sound somewhere between a mew and a groan. Was it desire? He couldn't tell, not with his heart pounding in his ears and her hands clutching him.

She was holding onto him, he realized. Gripping his shoulders and pulling herself closer. Yes, that was permission. So he let his hands shift. He abandoned her hair to cup her shoulders, to slide down her arms, and then he molded her breast between his fingers.

She gasped against him, pulling back with her eyes wide. She didn't need to speak. He knew the sight of a startled virgin. But he also saw hunger in her eyes and a need that echoed his own.

“There is pleasure in being wayward,” he rasped. “I can show you.”

She shook her head. “I shouldn't.”

Not quite a denial.

“I won't take your virginity. No one else will know.”

He saw the struggle in her eyes. Passion against prudence. He dropped his forehead to hers.

“What I show you can be done alone too,” he said. “Something to pleasure yourself when no one else is looking.” He tilted her chin up. “Do you know about this thing? Has your mother never told you?”

She shook her head. “But my sister…” She bit her lips.