To Tame a Rogue (19 page)

She shook herself free of her thoughts and began circling among her guests. It was a beautiful summer evening with the faintest of breezes, and Camille looked lovely in pale green silk, like a ripple of ocean. She even smiled once in a while. Well, it’s a start, Josephine thought.

43

The dance ended. No sooner had it ended then a gentleman she’d never seen before asked her for the next. Wearily, she agreed. He introduced himself and Camille thought for sure she hadn’t heard him correctly.

“I’m sorry, I’m feeling a bit flushed this evening from the heat. What did you say your name was?”

“Philip. Philip Branton.”

One hand possessively at her waist, Philip led her onto the floor and twirled her around her aunt’s ballroom until she was dizzy. “You’re my brother’s wife. Curious.”

Camille felt dizzy.

“I see you’re confused. Let me fill you in. I just got back into town. I’ve been reading the papers. It’s a shame you and my brother haven’t been getting along.” He traced a finger boldly across her collarbone. She stepped away from him. He laughed. He had golden hair, blue eyes, and a pointed chin.

“Really, my dear, no need to be so frosty. Am I not more pleasant to look at than my brother? I can assure you I am much better in the bedroom. At least, his first wife told me so. I meant to surprise my brother at one his lavish parties but this is even better.”

Camille was too shocked to reply. Philip chose that moment to look past her and pull her roughly into his embrace. The room went deathly still. Several dowagers grasped. “He’s….here!” someone gasped.

Camille pulled away from Philip again, almost slapping him. She took a glass of fizzing champagne from a tray to steady her nerves, unaware of what was transpiring behind her.

“It’s him!” someone said.

“Who?” another girl asked.

“Her
husband
.”

Camille whirled around. Her heart lurched. She very nearly dropped the glass of champagne.

“He’s coming this way,” someone whispered. “I wouldn’t want to be in
her
slippers right now!”

“He does look rather jealous.”

Nicholas bore down on them. Camille felt warm. Judging from the expression on his face, she guessed he wasn’t jealous at all. He was merely livid. The anger in his eyes was naked, primitive.

“Camille,” he said, his smile devastating, “I see you’ve made the acquaintance of my brother Philip.”

He turned glacial eyes on Philip, eyes that were as cold as frozen bricks of gold. Camille’s stomach twisted into a knot. “I wondered when you would show your wretched face again. I'm not surprised you choose this moment.”

Philip laughed. “Your wife is lovely. A shame you share separate residences.”

The crowd gasped. Nicholas’ arm came about Camille’s waist, tightening like a cord. He growled. “She’s coming home with me tonight, where she belongs.”

“Excuse me.” Someone tapped on Nicholas shoulder. “I believe Camille promised the next dance to me….”

Nicholas turned. “I’m afraid you’re out of luck. As I said, my lovely, enchanting wife is coming home with me.”

He turned back to Camille and the red-faced suitor slunk away. Camille’s mouth turned down, her lips set in a frown.

“I don't recall promising to come home with you,” she said quietly.

“Have you forgotten your wedding vows so soon?” he mocked.

Camille felt furious. How dare he treat her this way in front of her guests! Her grandmother! Why must he always have his way? She wriggled free of his grasp. “I’m not going anywhere tonight.”

He smiled, a dazzling flash of white teeth. Then, without another word, he hoisted
her
over his broad shoulder like a sack of flour.

“Put me down!” she screamed, batting at his back with her small fists.

He strolled across the floor, creating a scandal in his wake. “Dear brother, I’ll be calling on you soon,” Philip
 
called. Nicholas ignored him.

When they were home, he deposited her on a settee in the parlor and closed the doors. He removed his coat, dropping it onto the back of a chair. He proceeded to undo the top buttons of his shirt.

“What are you doing?”

He’d made no secret of his distaste for her…for what he thought she was.

“Tell me, Camille. Is my brother a charming dancer? Entertaining?”

Her temper flared but she held it in check. She could feel the anger in him.

“Mr. Branton, I hadn’t met your brother until a few moments before you so rudely threw me over your shoulder and hauled me out of my grandmother's home. I didn’t have time to form an opinion.”

“Well, let me form it for you.”

“No need,” Camille said. “I found him incredibly arrogant, forward, and distasteful. There. Are you satisfied?”

The merest surprise crossed his features. “I thought you said you hadn’t formed an opinion. Ah. You must be overly tired. You should go to bed.”

“I’m not going to bed here. I’m going home. So please, say what it is you have to say.”

Nicholas stood and scratched at his chin, his hair. For the first time in her life, Camille wanted to be treated like a wife…like a woman. A woman desired by this man before her.

He looked tired. She understood again that her husband was a man who would not easily reveal himself. “Have you annulled the marriage?”

“No.”
 

Her smile slipped. Her fingers were icy, clasped in her lap.

“If you would like me to look into it…I could do so tomorrow. I’m afraid my grandmother has kept me insanely busy.”

He was silent for a few moments. Gone was the man whose kisses burned her soul, whose arms crushed her in their steely, heated embrace, whose passion overwhelmed her.

“No,” he finally said.

“Can you honestly say you want me to stay here, live here, as your wife? That you won’t humiliate me, take mistresses out in public view? Is it the money? Because my uncle
went through most of it….”

“Camille, I don’t know what I want. I….”

“I’ll go then,” she said quickly. A pang swept through her. She had been hoping for…for what? For the man to love her? Cherish her? Treat her as if he desired her, worshiped her?

Bloody hell yes.

This could not go on. It seemed there was only one choice.

He didn’t stop her. She returned to her grandmother’s lavish home and paced most of the night in her bedchamber. She felt an unbridled passion, a need so strong she didn’t understand it. What was
wrong
with her?

44

Two days later, Meagan sat in the parlor talking with Camille, her dark copper hair curled about her nape and looking lustrous again. Her bruises were nearly healed. She smiled and even laughed once in a while, and Camille felt a great joy to see her, to talk with her, to see she was doing better.

She’d told Meagan everything and Meagan had come to the same conclusion as Josephine. Camille, for all her denials,
felt
something for Nicholas Branton. And though she didn’t know it, she was miserable without him.

They sipped soothing tea and nibbled on the delicious tea cakes and ginger nuts her grandmother always had around, afternoon sunshine pouring through the tall laced windows.

 
“I’m surprised you’re not at the lavish party at the Brantons. Especially surprised since Nicholas will be racing against his brother Philip.”

 
“What?” Camille said, dazed. “When?”

 
The race will probably begin in about an hour or so. It’s all over town. You didn’t know?”

 
Camille looked bemused.

 
“Philip showed up at a party, challenged Nick in front of all the guests. Nick didn’t back down.”

 
“Why would Philip want to challenge Nick to a race?”

 
“Philip, the long lost son returns home after his father dies and finds that Nick’s inherited everything. I’d say it was pride. And the winner gets the Branton estates.”

 
“Dear sweet Jesus. Get your jacket, Meagan. We’re going to that race.”

 
Meagan smiled to herself.
Mission
accomplished.

 
 
 
45

 
“We’ll never make it in time if we take the carriage,” Camille said. “How do you feel about horses?”

 
Camille and Meagan were soon riding at a breakneck speed on a horse from Josephine’s stables, hooves eating up back roads with fury. Meagan, who’d never been on a horse, held on to Camille for dear life. Secretly, she was thrilled with the adventure they were having.

 
Camille had an uneasy feeling in her stomach. Something just wasn’t right. Yes, Philip was arrogant, vain, spiteful. But something else was wrong. Why did she feel such a sense of urgency?

 
Nicholas had talked about the races. She’d seen the racing course on the Branton property, close to the main river road in front of the mansion. It was a mile course with curves, and wide enough for horses to pass each other, mud flying off their tremendously thundering hooves.

 
She was sure people had flocked to the levee, an excellent place to watch, nearest the finish line.

 
“Hold on,” she called back to Meagan as the mansion came into view. “We’re taking a short cut. If we go along the river bank, we’ll emerge up by the trees, behind the finish line.” She could see the colorful, elegantly dressed guests in the distance, people she knew would be betting on the race.

She saw, for the first time, little bands of romantic-looking gypsies. She'd heard they sometimes camped on the levee for the night, selling nostrums and telling fortunes. She also knew that sometimes mansions changed hands on the outcome of a race.
Dear God, Nicholas, no. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone! The man’s damnable pride!

She spurred the horse on, and in no time they were up above the track and the finish line and the people. She slowed the horse, knowing they were not visible behind the thick line of oaks. She had no idea what to do next.

 
“Are you alright?” she asked Meagan.

 
“Let’s do it again!”

 
Camille laughed, squinting through the tangled arc of branches and leaves and tree trunks. Then she froze. Chills raced over her. “Oh my God,” she whispered.

 
“What? What is it?” Meagan asked.

 
“Don’t talk,” she whispered again. “There’s a man. A man with a rifle, crouching in those bushes over there. When those horses come down the track, before they get to the finish line….oh my God! We’ve got to stop him!”

 
“Hold on!”

 
Meagan squeezed Camille’s waist and closed her eyes for a brief moment as they horse shot out from the brush on a straight line toward the man with the rifle. At the same time, they heard two horses getting closer, thundering down the track.
Please God, please, let me make it to him before Nicholas does!

 
Keeping the man in her sights, guiding the horse through the tangle of trees, Camille plunged on. They were far enough away that the man hadn’t heard their approach yet.

 
Nicholas and Philip were neck and neck atop powerfully muscled, sleek quarter horses. With alarm, she realized Nicholas was closest to the man with the rifle, and the man had lifted the horrid gun and was aiming it at Nicholas!

The thundering of the racers crowded out any other sounds. Just as he squeezed the trigger, Camille bounded into the brush, knocking the man and the gun to the ground.

 
The crowd gasped as Nicholas was flung back, off of his horse.

 
Kipp and a few other men quickly surrounded Nicholas. The man with the rifle was now lying dazed in the brush.

 
Camille vaulted off the horse and ran to Nicholas, who was lying unconscious in the middle of the racing lane, blood seeping beneath his white shirt. “My God, Nicholas, no,” she breathed as she bent over him.

 
Soon others were bent over him and while several men apprehended the shooter, Nicholas was carried into the house. In the great commotion, everyone forgot about Philip.

46

The doctor, a man of robust frame, keen and energetic in appearance with remarkably piercing black eyes, quietly closed the door to Nicholas’ chamber.