Taming an Impossible Rogue (15 page)

“I don’t know. She seems quite happy here.”

“But I want to chat with you.” Even as he spoke the words he knew he sounded like a raw schoolboy being turned down by a pretty chit at his first soiree.

“Then you’ll have to call on me tomorrow, I suppose.”

She was half turned away, facing the parting curtains on the stage, but he’d studied her contours well enough to know she was smiling. He’d thought that convincing her to listen to his plea on Fenton’s behalf would be the largest stone in his path. He hadn’t realized that convincing himself to step aside in favor of his cousin would be even more difficult.

Chapter Ten

“And that, ladies,” Lady Haybury said, clapping her hands together, “is why I have decided that our experiment over the past winter and spring was a complete success. I intend to keep The Tantalus Club open year-round permanently.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” Sophia whispered, gripping Camille’s arm as they sat at one of the empty breakfast room tables. “I had no idea where I would even stay this year if we closed after Derby time.”

“But didn’t you think it dull?” Sylvie put in from across the table. “I mean, I appreciate that we’ll have a roof and an income, reduced or not, but London is not to be tolerated between August and March—except for the Little Seasons, of course.”

“Lady H said we could go away on holiday if we wanted to,” Sophia returned. “So you don’t have to stay.”

“I’m staying,” Emily put in from beside Sophia. “If Mr. Jacobs and Mr. Smith will be staying on as well, that is.”

Camille looked at her friend. If there was anyone who left the club even less frequently than she did, it was Emily Portsman. But Emily had never spoken of her past or even of anything that occurred before she walked through the club’s front doors.

“Emily?” Lady Haybury called from the front of the room. “Do you have any schedule changes?”

“Yes, I do.” Picking up her notepad, Emily rose and walked over to make her announcements.

“Forget keeping the club open,” Sophia whispered, nudging her elbow. “How was your outing last night? You didn’t even wake me up to tell me.”

“It wasn’t at all what I expected.” Camille didn’t think she’d ever made such a large understatement in her life. Weariness dragged at her; in fact she wasn’t certain she would do any sleeping at all in the foreseeable future.

“How so?” her friend pressed.

“I don’t wish to discuss it yet, Sophia. I have to decipher my own thoughts first.”

“Did someone insult you? Why didn’t Keating thrash them? He seems very proficient at thrashing. Being so very muscular, I mean.”

“Sophia, please.”

“No. I waited twenty years to have a dear friend, and no one is allowed to harm you. I’ll go thrash them myself, if necessary.”

Camille snorted. “Oh, dear. It’s not…” She took a breath. Her friends—these friends, who’d embraced her when the rest of London had turned its collective back—would support her regardless, but the last thing she’d expected had been the offer of a second chance. Especially when she’d begun looking forward for the first time in months. “Keating told me that Fenton is still interested in marriage.”

Sophia’s eyes widened. “After some of the things he’s said about you? To you?”

“Apparently so.”

“What did Keating think about that? He must have been angry, since he’s been pursuing you himself.”

That was the difficult part. Nearly since his arrival in London she’d viewed Keating Blackwood in a certain … carnal manner. It set her back on her heels to think that he hadn’t been looking at her in the same way—except that he’d kissed her. More than once. And that look in his eyes at the theater had made her feel completely naked.

“Keating came to London on Fenton’s behalf,” she said slowly.

Sophia lurched to her feet. “What? That traitor! I’m going to kick him very hard in the man area the next time I set eyes on him.”

“Ladies,” Lady Haybury said, stopping her announcements and walking over to them. “What’s amiss?”

“Keating Blackwood lied to Cammy.”

Camille frowned. “No, he didn’t lie. Not precisely. He merely didn’t tell me all the facts.”

“What did he lie about?” Juliet Langtree demanded, leaving her own table and joining the growing group at Camille’s.

“I knew he couldn’t be trusted.” Pansy Bridger put a hand on Camille’s shoulder. “I tried to warn you.”

“No, no, no.” Camille pressed her hands against the tabletop. “There’s no need for torches or pitchforks, for heaven’s sake. I don’t even know all the details yet. All I do know, in fact, is what Keating told me—that Lord Fenton knows he erred in the way he approached this marriage, and that he’s willing to begin again.”

Among the general shouting and opinions and chaos, a hand took her shoulder and pulled her to her feet. Lady Haybury parted the sea of females with her free hand and led the way toward the private hallway to one side of the room. Once they were alone, the marchioness released her.

“The flowers you’ve been getting. They’re from Fenton?”

Camille wasn’t surprised that Lady Haybury knew about the flowers. She and her husband the marquis seemed to know everything that was afoot. They always had. “I thought they were from Keating, but he said he’d never sent me any. So yes, they must be from Fenton.” Part of her still wasn’t quite ready to believe that, but it made more sense now if Keating was somehow directing the course of his cousin’s courtship. Mr. Blackwood, at least, knew how to properly—or improperly—woo a lady.

“I only wish to tell you to be cautious, Cammy,” the black-haired marchioness said in her low, honeyed voice. “Men for the most part want things that benefit
them.
I may be wrong, but I can’t help thinking that your well-being and happiness are not the first items on Lord Fenton’s list. Particularly given the way he’s behaved over the past year.”

“But you had no objections when you thought Keating might be courting me?” Camille asked, more curious than annoyed.

“Keating Blackwood is a rogue.” She smiled a little. “And so are we all, here.”

“Thank you, my lady. I appreciate your concern.”

“I do wish the lot of you would call me Diane. We’re family now, whether that was what we expected or not.”

One of the hallway doors swung open, and Lord Haybury emerged into the narrow corridor. “Do I need to shoot Blackwood?” he asked, his brow lowered. “Or Fenton?” he asked, gray eyes snapping despite the lightness in his words.

Diane took his hand and kissed his palm. “I’m still determining that, Oliver. Do be patient.”

“No shooting, if you please,” Camille put in, scowling. “Whatever happens, I’ve done it to myself. At least my eyes are open this time.”

“You don’t stand alone, whatever happens,” Diane said forcefully.

“Yes. Evidently we defend our employees to the death,” Haybury seconded. “What’s occurred?”

“I’m not certain. Something about Blackwood lying, and Fenton still wanting to marry Cammy. And sending her flowers. Wh—”

“Keating didn’t lie. For heaven’s sake, I left that church because I wanted to dictate the direction of my own life. Pray don’t begin throwing rocks and shooting people. I don’t know what I’m going to do. I only just heard about it last night, you know.”

She should have kept her mouth firmly closed, at least until she’d sorted out a few points in her own mind. And until she’d decided for certain whether Keating was merely a contrary messenger, or an ally, or something else entirely.

“Very well,” Lady Haybury said, putting a hand over her husband’s mouth when he looked ready to protest again. “Just know that you will have employment and a roof over your head for as long as you want it. I won’t see you forced into reconciliation because you have no other choice. My first marriage was arranged, you know. It was not … pleasant.”

“Thank you, Lady Hay—” Camille stopped herself. “Thank you, Diane,” she corrected. “I’m hoping I’m done with acting before I’ve weighed all the consequences.
All
of them.” With a nod, the marchioness patted her on the shoulder and left the hallway. Lord Haybury, however, remained. “I’m not one for giving advice,” he said after a moment. “I don’t know what Blackwood might be up to, but I’ve never trusted him. Of course back when I knew him, neither of us was particularly trustworthy, so I don’t know how much merit that comment has. Anyway, all I mean to say is that sometimes a particular action is worth facing the consequences over. The trick is knowing which action, and when to take it.”

Well, that hadn’t been at all helpful. Before Camille could find a more diplomatic way to tell him precisely that, however, the club’s employees flooded into the corridor as the weekly meeting ended. Sophia appeared to grab her arm and begin jabbering at her again, which didn’t help the way her head was beginning to throb.

Camille pulled her arm free. “Give me a moment, will you?” she asked, and walked over to find Lucille Hampton flirting with Mr. Jacobs, the captain of the club’s Helpful Men. “Lucille, I’ll be a few minutes late. Will you be able to manage the crowd yourself?”

“Oh, yes,” Lucille returned with an excited smile. “No one ever comes by on Wednesday mornings, anyway.”

That was why they’d chosen the day that Parliament had its earliest session for their weekly meeting. “Very well. I’ll be in shortly.”

“Cammy?” Sophia asked, following her.

“I need a breath of air. I’ll be out in the garden.”

“Do you wish company?”

“I wish the opposite of company.”

She made her way through the large kitchen at the rear of the combined manor house and gentlemen’s club and escaped out to the garden. With a deep sigh she headed for the bench beneath the oak tree and plunked herself down on the chilly stone.

Last night she could still pretend that perhaps she’d misheard, or that what Keating had told her was a large, nebulous cloud without form or substance. Now, with everyone chattering in her ears and throwing brick-shaped pieces of advice and opinion at her, it seemed so much more real. And very frightening.

Another chance. What did that mean, precisely? And how would they go about it? Would everyone who’d been friendly and admiring before be so again? Would they—and could she—forget all the horrid things they’d said and done over the past months?

And what about Stephen Pollard? Had her would-be husband changed from that cold, stuffy man who’d stood at the altar looking as though he would rather have been at one of his clubs than marrying her? And then there was Keating Blackwood. What part did he play in all this? Had he been kind simply so she would listen to him when the time came for him to present Fenton’s terms? What about—

“I thought I might find you here.”

She looked up to see Keating leaning against the tree trunk. “You’ve done your duty,” she said, not having to feign annoyance. After all, she’d found friends and an odd sort of life again. And now Keating had upended everything once more. With an entire sleepless night to consider it, yes, she was annoyed. More than annoyed. “Now go away and let me think.”

“Thinking never did anyone any good,” he returned, coming forward to sit on the bench beside her. “Come driving with me.”

“No. And you needn’t continue being charming. Or is it that you don’t receive your reward until I have Fenton’s ring on my finger?”

“I’m not your enemy, Camille.” He touched his fingers against the edge of her gown, then looked away. “I’m one of those fellows who runs about on the battlefield waving a white flag and offering terms to keep the opposing sides from slaughtering each other.”

“I’ve already been slaughtered. And I was just beginning to mend.”

“Yes, I know. And I apologize for that.”

“Do you?”

Keating blew out his breath. “I know what it’s like to damn the consequences and throw yourself out beyond the ragged edges of propriety. And I’ve spent the past six years attempting to live with what I did. There are days now, more often than not, when I enjoy being a gentleman farmer. But the consequences still remain out there, as I’m reminded every time I step out of doors here. And I’m still paying for them.”

He meant his son. She couldn’t even imagine having a child and not being able to see him—ever. The fact that he continued to send money to Lady Balthrow spoke well for his character, though he would likely argue with that. “Did you love her?” she asked after a moment.

“We’re not discussing my errors. We’re discussing how to make yours vanish.”

Camille lifted her chin. “You’re the one who needs to convince me that this entire ‘friendship’ business wasn’t a fraud, a ruse, and a lie.”

Eyes the color of autumn leaves met hers. “Do I, now?”

She heard the harder edge come into his voice, and while she didn’t relish the idea of facing him down, this was certainly more important to her than his smiles. “If you expect me to listen to any advice, you do.”

“Then no. I didn’t love her. She was pretty, and energetic in bed. As I recall, she was also extremely overdramatic. In all honesty, even if Balthrow hadn’t broken into my apartments and attempted to shoot my head off my shoulders, I’m not certain I would have … visited her again.”

“So it was the challenge you were after?” Fleetingly she wondered how much of a challenge she presented. Not much, considering she’d kissed him after only chatting with him two or three times.

“Did I mention that I was two-and-twenty and had decided that no one would ever order me about or even advise me on anything ever again? It’s quite invigorating to realize that you know everything.” He shrugged. “Until you realize that you don’t, of course. After it’s too late.”

For a long moment she studied his lean profile. “You do a very convincing job of not seeming to care what anyone thinks of you, these days.”

“That’s because I don’t care what they think of me. I did something wrong, and these are the consequences. Do you think that anyone could ever say anything to me that would make me feel more wrong or more guilty than I already do?”

“I hate it when people look sideways at me.”

“That’s because if everyone had been sane and rational, they would have considered that what you did made perfect sense. They can’t very well condone it, however, or there would be mass hysteria. Women only marrying men they love? Expecting kindness and friendship in a mate? Good God, can you imagine the chaos?”