An Affair Without End (40 page)

He reached out and gripped her shoulders, pulling her to him, and kissed her thoroughly. “Vivian . . . ,” he murmured, leaning his forehead against hers. “Don’t you see it won’t work? You are far too beautiful to be a boy.”

“I’m not finished.” Vivian reached in her other pocket and took out two small bags. The first one held several small rounded objects.

“What the devil are those?” Oliver peered at them.

“Plumpers. Haven’t you ever seen an old lady wearing them? They make their cheeks look fuller and therefore younger.”

She carefully placed them between her cheeks and jaw, filling out the delicate lines of her jaw. Then she opened the other bag and smeared some of the dirt inside it over her forehead and cheeks. She turned to Oliver again, posing.

“Now you look like a dirty pretty woman with odd lumps.”

“You are impossible.” Vivian slapped at his arm playfully. “The tavern will not be well lit. No one will be able to see me well enough to tell.”

“Do you need some clothes?” Vivian asked. “I got some larger things for you, as well.”

He shook his head, silently unbuttoning his coat and opening it to show Vivian the rough work clothes he wore underneath.

“You came prepared. You intended to take me with you all along, didn’t you?”

“Only if you were planning to go without me.” He paused. “Would you have gone if I had not dropped by?”

Vivian smiled. “I knew you would come. And if you had not, I would have gone to fetch you.”

“I feared you might invite Cam to go with you.”

“I thought about it. But if it were discovered, it would hurt her reputation. Besides, I decided that your size was more imposing.”

“Thank goodness for that.” Oliver started toward the door, stepping back politely to allow her through first.

“What is Cam doing tonight?” Vivian asked as she walked past him. “At a party with Eve?”

He shook his head. “No. She was tired and decided to stay home. So thankfully she is in bed, and I don’t have to worry about her.”

Camellia inched her bedroom door open and peered out. The hall was empty, the house quiet. Eve and Fitz had left an hour before for a soiree and hopefully would not be back for several hours. The servants had finally gone up to their rooms.

She turned back and threw on her cloak over her white dress. It was a trifle warm, but the black cloak with its concealing hood was much better for blending into the background than her fashionable new cloak, which was lighter in both weight and color and had a distinctive edging of pale blue braid. Picking up her pistol from the dresser, she slipped it into the capacious pocket of the cloak, then bent to check that the small scabbard belted around her right
calf was still in place, the knife inside it easy to slide out. She pulled a small bag from her dresser and stuck it in the other pocket. Turning, she cast a last glance over the room. The pillows looked realistic enough under the bedcovers, the nightcap stuffed with a nightgown peeking just above the cover—or at least hopefully they would look so with the room dark.

Camellia blew out the candle, plunging the room into darkness, then opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. Her heart thumping, she tiptoed to the stairway and peered over the rail to the wide expanse of the entry hall below. A footman was seated on the bench by the door, head tilted back against the wall, catching a few winks while he waited for the occupants of Stewkesbury House to return home. She would have to take the longer route by the back stairway.

Camellia started quietly down the hall, pushing aside her guilt at deceiving everyone. She hated to lie to the people she cared about, and she had felt low and guilty telling everyone at supper that she was tired and wanted to retire early. It had been doubly aggravating since she had, for once, actually wanted to attend the party Eve and Fitz were going to. She had hoped that Lord Seyre might be there. Not, of course, that she was interested in him the way all the other young women were. It was absurd to think that there could be anything romantic between her and a man who would someday be a duke. But he was nice and easy to talk to, with interesting things to say, unlike most of the men she met. And if she was honest about it, she would have to admit that he wasn’t hard on the eyes, either. She liked his dark brown hair, warmed by red highlights, and she found it somehow charming that it always looked vaguely mussed. His eyes, so green and thoughtful, crinkled at the corners when he smiled. His long, lean form was pleasant to look at, as well.

But that was neither here nor there. However guilty she might feel, however much she might have liked to see the marquess, she had more pressing problems to attend to. Yesterday when they had returned from Richmond Park, she had seen Cosmo lurking about near the house. She had gone over to send him away before anyone saw him, and he had pressed a note into her hand.

“Come meet me, Cammy,” he had whined. “Please, you have to. You know I don’t want to do anything to hurt you. But I gotta give him something. He’ll kill me. You gotta help me.”

Camellia had little liking for Cosmo Glass; she had despised her stepfather almost from the moment she met him, and nothing she had seen of him since had changed her opinion. But real fear had been in Cosmo’s face yesterday, which she found hard to ignore. Besides, she knew what Cosmo was like when he was scared; he might very well tell everyone Camellia was his daughter instead of his stepdaughter, simply lashing out in his desperation. That would embroil them all in a scandal, including Oliver and Lily, and she could not let that happen.

So Camellia had decided that she must meet him tonight as he had asked and do whatever she could to keep him from spreading his lies about her. This afternoon she had asked a few careful questions of one of the maids and spent some time poring over a map of the city, and she was reasonably certain that she would be able to find the address Cosmo had written on the note. But even though Camellia was not easily frightened, she did wish that the man had set the time for this afternoon instead of after dark. If nothing else, it would have made getting out of the house easier.

Camellia paused at the servants’ stairwell, listening for any sound from above or below. When she heard nothing,
she started down, hoping no squeak of the boards would betray her.

She made it down to the kitchen without any noise and let out a sigh of relief when she saw that the kitchen was empty. She started toward the back door, then froze. Whirling, she saw Pirate, the earl’s dog, happily trotting out from his favorite spot when the earl was gone, the little space beneath the back staircase where he liked to hide his dubious treasures. He wagged his little stump of a tail vigorously and bounded forward, his mouth open and his tongue lolling out in that way that looked as if he were maniacally smiling. Perhaps he was, Camellia thought; Pirate seemed to have a nose for getting into trouble.

“No, Pirate!” Camellia hissed, and waved her hand toward his den beneath the stairs. “Go back. You can’t come.”

The animal ignored her words, trotting up to her and rearing up on his hind legs to plant his front paws firmly on her knee, still wagging and grinning enthusiastically. Camellia tried to shoo him away, but then he went into a little dance in which he jumped back and forth in front of her, his hindquarters going up in the air and his front legs bowing down. His eyes gleamed in the dim light. Camellia had seen this dance often enough to know what would come next—he would start to bark merrily. Hastily, she opened the door and slipped outside, but Pirate squeezed like an eel between her and the doorjamb and shot out into the back garden.

“Blast! Pirate!” Camellia hissed.

The dog sniffed the air and trotted off to mark his favorite spots. Camellia stood for a moment, assailed by indecision. If she tried to chase Pirate down and force him back inside, it might very well make enough noise to wake one of the servants. But if she left him alone here in the garden, he would doubtless become bored and start barking to get back
in, which would definitely wake the servants. Still, on the whole, that seemed the wiser course. Even if someone had to get up and let the dog in, wouldn’t he simply assume that someone had forgotten to let Pirate in earlier? They wouldn’t go check her room to make sure she was there.

She eased over to the back gate and opened it, easing quietly out. Even though he had been a good thirty feet from her the last she looked, suddenly Pirate shot past her. He stopped and whirled around to face her, wagging.

“Pirate!” Camellia hissed, afraid to raise her voice. She did her best to shoo him back, but it didn’t work, so she reached out to grab him. He darted away, and she ran after him. He stopped at the end of the walkway, regarding her expectantly, but as soon as she bent to pick him up, he scampered away. They proceeded halfway down the block in this manner before Camellia stopped with a sigh.

“All right, you little beast.” She pulled up her hood to cover her head and started forward. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to have company on her trek, even if it was only a dog. “But I won’t carry you.”

As she walked, she became aware of the sound of steps behind her. Pirate, bounding ahead of her to sniff all about and pounce on shadows, did not seem aware of the sound at all. Camellia slipped her hand into her pocket, taking a grip on her pistol. She had not expected trouble to start so soon. The steps were growing nearer.

She whirled, whipping the pistol up to train on the man behind her. “Stop right there. Why are you following me?”

The figure froze, then said mildly, “I say, Miss Bascombe, it’s only me.” He took a half step forward out of the shadows and lifted his hat politely.

“Lord Seyre!” Camellia relaxed in relief, lowering the pistol. “Whatever are you doing here? You scared me half to death!”

“I’m sorry. Truly, I didn’t want to frighten you. I would have called to you, but, well, I had the feeling you wouldn’t want me trumpeting your name.”

“No! Thank you. I am glad you didn’t.” She slipped the gun back into her pocket, but regarded him somewhat suspiciously. “Why are you here? Why were you following me?”

“Oh, well.” He paused and glanced about. “I was, um, just walking by.”

Camellia raised an eyebrow. “You aren’t a very good liar. You expect me to believe that you just happened to be walking by right then? Were you spying on me?”

“No!” Even in the dim light, she could see the blush that spread across his cheeks. “It isn’t so odd, really. We don’t live far apart. I frequently walk along this street.” When she continued to stare at him skeptically, Seyre went on, “And when I saw you sneaking out, I—”

“I wasn’t sneaking,” Camellia protested.

“Of course not. When I saw you, um, walking the dog . . .” Seyre came closer. “I thought you might enjoy some company.”

Camellia’s mouth tightened in frustration. She would, in fact, appreciate the company, especially his. But she had no desire for him to learn what she was doing. “Actually, I would prefer to be alone. It is just a little walk, really, and I won’t be gone long.”

The corner of his mouth twisted, and he looked decidedly uncomfortable. Camellia could not help but think that he also looked rather adorable, which, she knew, was excessively foolish, but there was simply no getting around it. She wondered if all the girls who sought him out in their mad pursuit of his title even realized how good-looking he was in his own sweetly shy way.

“The thing is, I just can’t,” he told her. “I know you
probably wish me at the devil, but I cannot in good conscience abandon you here. I realize you don’t wish to tell me where you are going, but if—if you are meeting a man, I have to tell you that he isn’t a gentleman or he would not ask you to meet him this way.”

“I’m not meeting a man!” Camellia gasped. “I mean, well, I guess I am, but it’s not what you think. And he isn’t a gentleman, that’s something I’m certain of.”

“Must you meet him, then?” Seyre asked carefully.

Camellia sighed. “Yes. I really must. I know it isn’t proper for me to be walking about the city alone at night like this.”

“Well, no, I suppose not, but that’s not the problem. The thing is, London is dangerous for a woman alone at night, and I don’t think your dog would be much protection.” He cast a doubtful glance at Pirate, who was standing and regarding them both with doggy good humor, his rear end wiggling in anticipation.

Camellia chuckled. “You haven’t seen Pirate in action.” She sobered and said, “And, remember, I have my pistol.” She leaned down and raised her skirts enough to show him the knife in its scabbard strapped to her calf just above her ankle. “As well as this.”

“My.” He bent down. “What a cunning device.” He straightened. “Perhaps I could walk along with you then, and you could protect me.”

Camellia could not help but laugh. She turned and started on, and Lord Seyre fell in beside her.

“I think you’re supposed to tell me how very unladylike my behavior is,” she told him.

“Am I? But I really have no desire to.”

“You are a very different sort of man, Lord Seyre.”

“So I have been told. But perhaps you could call me Gregory—I mean, now that you’ve threatened me with a pistol, it seems that you could use my given name.”

“All right. Gregory. And I am Camellia.”

“Camellia. It’s a beautiful name. Beautiful flower. I’m rather partial to horticulture, you know.”