Cheryl Holt (18 page)

Not to be outdone, Camilla slinked over, rested her forearms on the grass, her breasts pressed together to accentuate her glorious cleavage.

“I’ve been dying to stop by Bristol Manor,” Camilla declared, “but I didn’t think I ought.”

His father and hers were enemies, and when he was younger, Stephen had begged to wed her, but both men had refused the match, and he’d ended up relieved by the decision. She’d married another, had been widowed straightaway, so he’d had plenty of subsequent opportunity to sample her charms. She was clever and beautiful, amenable to any sexual antic, but she was also cunning and vicious. Had she visited Bristol, his father would have chased her off with a stick.

“Probably not.”

“Especially with that fierce Scotsman guarding you.”

Charles loathed her. “He can be difficult.”

“Couldn’t you have told him to let me in?” She slid her tongue across her ruby lips. “For old times’ sake?”

The other women tittered, and Anne flushed. “You shouldn’t be up, Lord Chamberlin,” she admonished. “Let’s get you inside.”

Camilla studied them, much more interested than she should be. “It’s been rumored that you were terribly injured, darling. Is Mrs. Smythe making you all better?”

Her associates shimmered with curiosity, as Anne glanced around. Three of them were now posing on the lawn, while he pretended not to notice, and her fury was palpable.

“Ladies! You forget yourselves! Into the water! At once! Captain Chamberlin! Into the house!” Spinning him around,
she gripped his elbow so hard that he winced. “Kate! Kate!” she shouted toward the barn, and Kate appeared, wiping her hands on a soiled rag. “Lady Camilla’s appointment is over. See to it that she departs. Immediately!”

As though he was a recalcitrant toddler, she dragged him inside, towing him much faster than he could walk. She hauled him to his room, deposited him on the bed, slammed the door and the window, then whirled around.

“Your mistress?” she hissed. “Your mistress is out there in my pool?”

“I have no mistress.”

“Oh, shut up!” She grabbed a brush off the dresser and threw it at him. “You despicable wretch!”

“Calm down.”

“Are you mad?” she shrieked. “How dare you flaunt yourself in front of my guests! Do you have any idea of the damage you’ve wrought?”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“Well, I don’t want to talk to you!” Pacing, she peeked out the window to discern if Camilla had obeyed her dictate, but she was arguing with Kate and hadn’t budged. “What is it with you aristocrats? Do you suppose that you can ruin my business? I’ve worked all my adult life at this enterprise. How could you do this to me?”

“Do what?”

“Gossip will spread that I’m operating a lewd establishment, some sort of debauched bathing facility, where you and your female companions can romp in the nude!”

“I wasn’t
romping
with them.”

“This tale is so juicy. Will anyone pause to ensure that the details are correct before they’re disseminated?” She shuddered. “I’m not about to end up in Willie McGee’s little gaol on a public obscenity charge!”

“Who is Willie McGee?”

“My neighbor, who revels in arresting people. And the charges don’t have to be true.”

“I’d never let him harm you.”

“How would you prevent it? You’ll be off in London—where you don’t have any fiancées
or
any mistresses!”

“I’ll be here for a while.”

“No you won’t,” she muttered.

They glared at each other, an expanse as vast as an ocean dividing them, and a chill crept down his spine. “What are you saying?”

“You’ll have to go. Today. I can’t afford such risks.”

“But I don’t wish to leave.”

“Did you hear me asking what you desire?”

“No.”

“Then be silent.” She moved away. “Lady Eleanor can’t be too far down the road. I’ll have someone ride and fetch her.”

“Anne—”

“A maid will be in to pack your things.” She frowned at him, no hint of fondness apparent.

“Just like that?”

“Yes. Just like that.”

“But we’re . . . we’re . . .”

What were they? He couldn’t describe their acquaintance. Friends, certainly. Lovers, in a lopsided fashion, with himself unable to fully participate in any carnal activity.

He couldn’t envision Eleanor’s arrival, getting in the coach and traveling to Bristol Manor. His world seemed inextricably bound with Anne’s, and he didn’t feel as if he belonged anywhere else.

“We’re what?” she goaded, echoing the question that was ringing through him.

“Friends,” he answered, deeming it a safe response.

“So?”

So, indeed. “You mean everything to me.”

“Do I? You have a funny way of showing it.”

“I came outside because I missed you. Is that a crime?”

“No, you did it because you were demanding attention, and I wouldn’t oblige you. You’re like my father, naught but a spoiled child.”

“I’m nothing like your father,” he felt compelled to maintain.

“You’re exactly like him. You’re selfish. You’re overbearing. You believe you’re God’s gift to mere mortals. I can’t abide that type of arrogance.” She opened the door. “I’ll have Kate keep you posted on your departure. It may be tomorrow before we can arrange it. Make ready.”

She left. Without a fare-thee-well, a hug, or even a pat on his shoulder.

Stunned, he listened as she trudged down the hall, then climbed the stairs to her room. The floor was quiet, then she went to the bed and lay down, the frame creaking with her weight.

As if he could force his thoughts through the wood, he stared at the ceiling.

Don’t do this to me, Anne,
he pleaded.
Don’t send me away from you.

Would she? Could she?

Bleak, exhausted, he reclined and closed his eyes, needing to regain his strength so that he had the stamina to fight her. Despite her edict, he couldn’t return to Bristol.

Strangely, his sentiments where she was concerned had become entangled with his health, the two connected in a manner he daren’t sever. He sensed it to the marrow of his bones. She was a part of him, a portion of the whole, and splitting from her would be akin to chopping off an arm or a leg. If they separated, he’d never recover.

He’d hurt her, had angered her, too. She labored under burdens he didn’t understand, had to worry about hazards he
didn’t comprehend. As a nobleman’s son, he was insulated from social peril, never having had to deal with the situations that harried her, so he had to be more sympathetic to her plight.

She’d called him arrogant, spoiled. Was he?

Yes
, he was embarrassed to admit, but he could change. For her. For her, he could do anything.

He’d always been adept with the ladies, and he would have to use his renowned silver tongue to soothe her. There had to be a way, and he was determined to find it. He couldn’t leave her. Not yet.

 10 

Anne sat at the desk by the window in her room. Night had fallen, and she stared out at the stars.

The letter she’d penned to Lady Eleanor, requesting that she retrieve her brother, was before her. She couldn’t muster the resolve to dispatch a messenger, so she’d procrastinated, and the delay had ensured that delivery would be postponed until morning.

Despite their bitter quarrel, she couldn’t do anything to hasten Stephen’s departure. Yet, she couldn’t have him wreaking such havoc. Once he left, she would be shattered, and her spa had to be thriving so that she could immerse herself in her work. She would need to slave away, not allowing herself a single second in which she could rue or regret their affair.

Having spent the day hiding and grappling with her unruly emotions, she was restless, unaccustomed to inactivity.

The pool beckoned, as did the quiet darkness. When she swam, her adversities were never too difficult to handle, and her worries floated away, so she stripped off her clothes, donned a robe, and tiptoed down. Sneaking out, she ignored the lure of Stephen’s door. She couldn’t face him, not when
she was so confused, so perplexed about what she wanted.

As she inhaled the refreshing air and strolled across the grass, Kate exited the barn, where she’d been toiling at one of her mechanical projects. Anne had skipped supper, claiming she had the woman’s headache, but Kate had been dubious as to her suffering any ailment.

“Are you feeling better?” Kate queried as she approached.

“I was never under the weather.”

“I didn’t think so.”

“How is our illustrious guest?”

“Fed. Bedded down, but surly as an old goat. He summoned you a hundred times over.” She glanced toward the house. “From the instant his sister pulled into the yard, we knew he was trouble.”

“Yes.”

“Will you let him stay?”

They’d been acquainted since they were girls, since Anne’s mother—a disgraced trollop with two bastard children—had moved in with Widow Brown. It was useless to conceal her thoughts. “Would you suspect I was mad if I said I can’t bear to make him go?”

“Oh, Annie . . .” Kate sighed and patted a consoling hand on her shoulder. “Nothing good can come of your attraction.”

“I know.”

“Then there’s not much for me to tell you, is there?”

“No.”

“Are you in love with him?”

Was she? She mulled the question, trying to decipher her wild swings of sentiment. As she was hopelessly devoted, insanely attached, what other word besides
love
could describe her condition?

“I suppose so.”

Gently, Kate pointed out, “He’ll leave soon. Whether you cast him out, or he goes on his own.”

“I never presumed he’d do anything else.”

“Even if he considered remaining, his family would pressure him into it.”

“His fiancée, too.”

Kate was aghast. “He’s engaged?”

“She was the younger one who visited with Lady Eleanor.”

“Oh, Lordy, Lordy.”

“And I’m smitten regardless. Aren’t I pathetic?”

“You’re destined for heartache.”

She gazed at her friend. As an adolescent, Kate had had a beau, but her parents had forbidden the marriage, had plighted her instead to a sadistic, perverted swine. He’d beaten and abused her, and when she’d defied his tortures, he’d committed her to an asylum.

But occasionally, if she was waxing nostalgic, she’d refer to her first swain.

“Was it worth it?” Anne queried.

“Worth what?”

“You were in love, and the ending was painful, but at least you have your memories. Do you wish it had never transpired? That you’d never met him?”

Wistful, Kate smiled. “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. It was the only really grand thing that ever happened to me.”

After Stephen had gone, would Anne say the same? “I can’t
not
do it, Katie.”

“I understand.”

“I’m so weak of character. Don’t be angry with me.”

“Ah, girl,” Kate scolded, “as if I could be
angry
at you for finding some joy in your lonely life.” She started toward the barn. “Just remember: He could abandon you with a babe nestled in your belly. You should probably decide up front if that would be a blessing or a tragedy.”

Currently, pregnancy was an impossibility, but it might
not always be. As his health improved, his functioning could return. What if it did? What about a babe?

It wouldn’t be such a terrible dilemma. With her being out in the country, and away from so many meddling neighbors, there were fewer people to judge, many methods by which to ease a child into her existence without creating a huge scandal. She’d have a piece of Stephen that would be forever hers.

The notion was thrilling and scary, but she didn’t need to chaw over it. Such a dire prospect would likely never be a problem.

“I’ll ponder it,” she replied.

Kate nodded. “By the way, I ran into Prudence McGee in the village. She’s been feeling poorly, so I suggested she take the waters.”

Prudence was Willie’s shy sister, and Anne winced. She didn’t want to have any reason to be in closer contact with him.

“How could Willie approve?”

“We can have her over when he’s out of town, and he won’t be any the wiser. He’ll never have to know.”