Captive Embraces (24 page)

And when, at the last, Stephan had led Lady Langdon down the stairs and into the carriage, Camilla had hated him. Hated him for the times he had spoken bitterly to his wife. Hated him for the cries in the night that had awakened the little girl from her sleep. Hated him for always being a kind, loving father, yet a bitter, cruel husband to the gentle Lady Langdon.

When Camilla looked into the street again, her coach had begun to move and the cart from Bridewell had passed on. Surprised to find her cheeks stained with tears, Camilla searched in her reticule for a handkerchief. The pain was still there, the loneliness of a child missing her mother was still able to come up from the bottom of her soul and engulf her in a black web of helplessness.

Camilla loved her father, Stephan Langdon, in the emotional, all-encompassing way an only child loves her sole surviving parent. She blinded herself to his shortcomings, turned a deaf ear to his outrages and attributed to him all the endearing qualities of a storybook prince. Even their constant financial difficulties she did not really blame on his penchant for gambling and his inbred lack of responsibility. Rather, she believed him when he decried his bad luck. Even being hungry did not daunt her affection for him. If there was no food, they starved together. If they were besieged by creditors; they banded together; if they were homeless, they were homeless together. The only thing she had ever come to count upon in life was his true affection for her, and she rewarded this with her loyalty.

And yet, whenever confronted with a reminder that there was such a place as Bedlam, Camilla experienced a deep-seated hatred for Stephan. It had become the fashion among the gallants and popinjays to pay a penny and tour the asylum to gawk at the miserable inmates. Camilla always constricted with fear and dread as she listened to these tales with a macabre interest. To this day, she did not believe Stephan was
forced
to commit her once lovely mother to that institution. She harbored the niggling belief it was because Stephan wanted his wife out of the way.

As Camilla squeezed her eyes shut again against the boiling brew of mixed emotions which welled up inside her, she had the familiar recurring memory of Lady Langdon laying in her husband's arms without protest as he carried her to the waiting coach, her eyes vacant and staring. Camilla remembered thinking how easily her father had lifted her mother. How delicate and thin she had been, a mere shadow of the lovely, bright-eyed girl whose portrait hung over the mantle in the parlor. And, at the last, when Stephan had closed the carriage door and turned back to the house, Lady Langdon had turned to look at her daughter who was standing in the open doorway, tears running down her face. For the first time in months, Camilla saw her mother make a voluntary movement. Slowly, ever so slowly, the thin, skeletal hand reached up to wave good-bye.

Stephan must have seen a change in Camilla's expression, for he immediately asked, “What is it? What did you see?” and quickly turned to look back at the carriage. For a reason she'd never been able to explain, not even to herself, Camilla looked at Stephan. and said, “Nothing, Father. I saw nothing!”

But her little girl's eyes had followed the vehicle down the drive and into the street, waiting for her mother to turn back and look after her. She never did.

By the time Camilla's hackney turned onto New Queen Street, she had made the necessary repairs to her appearance. All traces of tears were gone and she had smoothed and straightened her deep-brown velvet gown. Tyler loved her in dark, rich colors; she had worn the gown expressly for him.

Tyler happened to be looking out his window down onto New Queen Street when Camilla arrived. He was surprised to see her out on such a rainy afternoon. He knew Camilla abhorred thunder and, from the looks of the sky, thunder seemed more than likely. Sourly, he thought to himself, the only thing that could drag Camilla out on a day like this was the need for cash. Tyler mentally calculated how much he could spare her and took a quick glance into his billfold. Since turning that quick bit of profit by selling van der Rhys back his own cargo, it was a good deal more than she would ever expect. Aware of her suspicious nature, he decided he would only give her ten or twelve pounds. It wouldn't do to have Camilla or her sly father poking about in his affairs. All it would take was the smell of money and they would delve into his activities like gophers in a turnip patch.

It was only a minute before he heard her enter the outer office. He smiled to himself as he opened the door and saw his clerk, Whipple, stammering and gawking at Camilla, trying to speak intelligently. Whenever Camilla came to the office, Whipple acted like an ass.

“Hello, darling,” she breathed when she noticed Tyler. “Have I come at a bad time for you? Now, you haven't been overworking sweet Mr. Whipple, have you? The poor dear seems overwrought.” She smiled in Whipple's direction and the young man's pimples glowed fiercely beneath his blushes. Camilla knew full well the effect she had on the skinny clerk and she reveled in it.

“Not at all, sweetheart,” Tyler said, motioning her into his office. As he closed the door behind him, he laughed, “Tell me, Camilla, do you come in here to practice your charms on unwitting Whipple? It's a blasted sin what you do to his nerves. The youth's complexion will never clear if you keep at it.”

Camilla laughed, the sound light and girlish and tinkling with gaiety. “Don't be silly, darling, how could little me have such a devastating effect?” she pouted, her eyes sparkling.

“You little pagan, you know you love it when I accuse you of being a
femme fatale,”
Tyler smiled affectionately.

Sighing, Camilla kissed Tyler lightly on the cheek. “You know me so well, dearest, it's a wonder you still like me.”

Roughly, Tyler pulled her into his arms, kissing her sweet mouth with savage earnestness. Then, holding her away from him, he teased, “Now that you've gotten what you came for, get away with you and let me be on with my accounts.”

Undaunted, Camilla patted her hair back into place and adjusted the brim of her flowered hat. “Tyler, you know why I'm here. Don't make a muddle of it. Father's been having a turn of ill luck at the tables and I'm near to starving! Can you spare me enough to buy a good meal!”

Tyler laughed aloud. “Really, Camilla, from the bloom on your cheeks I wouldn't say you were starving!”

“That's only because I've not taken to eating my red Spanish paper. The bloom you see, dear, is artificial, applied with a deft hand. Believe me, Tyler, I'm starving!”

“Don't burden me with your affairs; go tell your Dutchman. He's more able to fatten you up than I am.”

“Darling,” Camilla pleaded, “you're not going to be tiresome and have me beg, are you?”

“No, sweetheart, I'm not. Will ten pounds see you over? It's all I can spare right now. It's near the end of the month and Whipple tells me he's taken up the nasty habit of eating right along with the rest of us. It would be a shame to stint the chap of his earnings.”

“Ten pounds?” Camilla asked, obviously not caring whether Whipple received his salary or not. “Can't you do better than that? I'm telling you, Tyler, the larder is empty!”

“Twelve pounds, then.”

“Fifteen, not a penny less!”

As Tyler pulled the extra five-pound note out of his pocket, he said seriously, “Camilla, sweet, do you always get what you want?”

“Whenever I set my mind to it,” she replied, snatching the fiver out of his fingers and looking with interest at his half-opened billfold.

“I think that's what I admire most about you. You set your sights on something and you go after it.”

“Father's training,” Camilla murmured as she poked the notes into her reticule. “You're certain you can't spare any more, Tyler. My seamstress is badgering me for payment.”

“I'll feed you, Camilla, but I won't clothe you. In a matter of weeks van der Rhys will see to both,” he scowled.

“Darling, you're jealous!”

“Bloody well right I'm jealous! If your dear father hadn't such an influence over you, things might be different between us. Mother never objected to the fact that you were penniless, Camilla, only to the fact that you're a little schemer and you'd do anything for your father. Even to the point of selling every one of us Sinclairs down on pauper's row.”

“Not
all
the Sinclairs, darling, even a white slaver wouldn't have the Baroness and I doubt the wisest Jew could profit a penny from your doddering old father. Only you, sweet, would bring a handsome profit. I can see you being set loose in the streets of Verona and making your fortune as a gigolo to an Italian Countess.” She tossed her yellow curls and giggled, “Remember, I can speak for your talents, darling.” She stepped closer to him and trailed her hand down his chest, feeling his heart beating wildly beneath her touch. His hand came up and imprisoned hers and they looked into each other's eyes with a world of longing between them.

Suddenly, a low rumble sounded outside the window and a flash of lightning streaked the sky. Camilla stiffened and buried her face in Tyler's chest, clinging tightly. His arms went around her, feeling the trembling slimness of her, the childlike framework beneath her budding womanhood. At last, she raised her head, tears glistening in her eyes and Tyler was drowning in the droplets skimming down her cheeks. They kissed, tongues touching, breaths mingling, urgent needs blending. And they were lost in one another as they had been when they were little more than children.

Masterfully, Tyler led Camilla to the wide, leather couch in a dim corner of the room. He had not lit the lamps before the start of the storm and the gray halo of light penetrating the windows gave a feeling of intimacy and solitude to the spacious office.

Somewhere between hungry kisses, Tyler had removed his vest along with Camilla's light jacket. And she, impatient with her cumbersome skirts, had slipped them to the floor, leaving on only her chemise and petticoat.

Claiming his lips with her own, she pushed him down on the couch and settled herself in his lap. Under the warm pressure of her thighs, desire was renewed in Tyler. Her tongue slowly followed the outline of his mouth, moistening it, penetrating it. A tremor passed through her to Tyler and she seized his hand, which was resting on her knees, and brought it against her breast.

He could feel the perfect symmetry beneath his fingers. His left arm made a support for her back and Camilla arched herself toward him. The purity of her breasts when he pulled her chemise to her waist astonished him. It had been so long since they were together like this. Not since immediately before Regan came to London. Her skin was a glowing white that seemed almost luminous in the dimness of the room. Slowly, very slowly, despite his lusty impatience, which he was having difficulty restraining, his fingers grazed her satin skin. Her petticoats rocked up and Tyler was excited by a glimpse of a creamy thigh above her stocking.

Fiercely, Tyler cupped her face and kissed her with breathtaking swiftness. Beneath her legs Camilla was aware of his passion for her and of the building need within herself for Tyler. He felt the change in her, felt her rosy crest stiffen beneath his palm, felt the heat from her loins and knew a sense of power over her. He could never get enough of her. The freshness of her skin, the delicate paleness of her hair, the sweet spareness of her breasts and torso; all of her was created to entice him, fever his desires, quell his want for any other woman. And when she was beneath him and her legs clung fiercely to his hips, he knew a sense of coming home. Of a familiar welcome, of a path much traveled and greatly loved. His brown eyes burned with exaltation when he entered her and she trembled beneath him, opening herself to him. Camilla moaned softly, relishing the weight of him. Loving it when he talked to her, whispered to her, told her how he enjoyed her, loved her body, the feel of her. And Tyler knew her almost better than she did herself. Others could be confounded by her unpredictability, but her moods were like phrases in an often read book to Tyler. He loved her in spite of herself.

He crushed her mouth beneath his, savoring the fullness of her lips, tasting the nectar of her passions. And when he leaned near her ear, he whispered in throaty tones intimate things, bawdy phrases, sultry words.

He withdrew from her, and entered again so forcefully, she cried out and raked his back with her nails, knowing what his next move would be. Tyler rolled over onto his back, bringing her with him, both still firmly joined.

Camilla's heart pounded violently, her tumultuous breathing heaving her breast. “Oh, Tyler, we are made for each other; we are like hand in glove.” She looked down at him, at the adoration there in his face. She was aware of his hands, possessing her, driving her to the brink of ecstasy. She felt his muscular torso between her knees and the heat where their flesh joined. And when they both approached the apex of desire, Tyler gently laid her under him once again. He covered her mouth with his as she began to cry out for fulfillment. and together they soared and spun out beyond the stars, seeing the moon with rapture in their eyes.

 

The rain was pelting against the windows as Camilla fussed with her hair and completed the buttons on her jacket. Another sudden clap of thunder unnerved her. If the sky had opened up and lightning had rained down upon London when she and Tyler were locked in each other's arms, she had not been aware of it. She didn't care for the thought of traveling across town in a hired hack while the elements still crashed, but there was no help for it. If she was to get home in time to pay Cook and lay in ample provisions, she would have to leave immediately. Her innards were already growling in protest over the scanty breakfast she had had.