Taming an Impossible Rogue (20 page)

“You slept with my wife!”

“Did I? I don’t recall. There were so many, though.” Keating ducked another blow, and landed a lightning-fast punch on the earl’s chin.

“I found the letters! Don’t deny it!”

“I’m not denying anything. Perhaps you could describe her to me.” Another punch, and then he flung all his weight, shoulder first, into Rendale’s gut. The surge lifted the earl off his feet and put him down onto the ground again. A third punch bloodied and likely broke the man’s nose.

“Keating, stop it,” Camille hissed.

He straightened, stopping the next blow he’d been about to deliver. She had both hands to her mouth, her expression both mortified and horrified. “Whatever I did, Rendale,” he panted, “it was seven years ago. And I apologize for it.”

Lord Haybury and two of the club’s large footmen charged out of the building and stepped between the two combatants. “As much as I enjoy a good fight,” the marquis said in his usual deep, dry voice, “this is not the place for it. Rendale, you were on your way out. Pray continue. And Blackwood, deliver your companions and leave.”

Generally being ordered to do something would only spark another brawl, but very aware of the chits behind him, Keating pulled his anger back in and nodded. “Of course.”

“He didn’t begin it, my lord,” Camille said, leaving the barouche for the second time.

“Yes I did. It merely took him seven years to respond.” Inclining his head, he stepped back into the carriage. “Good day, Lady Camille, Miss White. I’ll send you word.”

“I’ll be waiting, Keating.” Camille took a step back in his direction. Back toward the chaos and infamy that he represented. That small movement nearly did him in, and he snapped at the driver to leave before he could do something even more foolish and kiss her. Because apparently even with the evidence of his past sins splattered on the ground around her feet, she still liked him. And that wasn’t supposed to happen.

Chapter Thirteen

Camille didn’t need to see Sophia attempting to catch her eye every three minutes to know that her friend wanted to speak with her. Since their return from luncheon Sophia had been attempting to arrange a moment in private, and Camille had spent the same amount of effort to avoid being anywhere alone with her dearest friend.

She wanted to think. And conversely for her, standing at her podium and seating gentlemen in the Demeter Room was the best time for her to take a minute for herself. After all, she need only smile and say something mildly flattering, and no one required anything more. And after Lord Haybury had ordered the two brawlers of earlier off the club’s grounds, no one was likely to overtly insult her—or any of her friends—this evening.

“That’s two fights you’ve witnessed since I’ve been here,” Lucille whispered during a momentary lull. “Both involving your new friend. Does he scrap often?”

“Evidently,” Camille replied, wishing Lucille hadn’t made the same arrangement to trade with the evening greeter’s assistant that Camille had with Patricia Cooper. The other girls might engage in chitchat, but Lucy’s naïveté continued to rankle.

“I heard that during the last Ladies’ Night here, they opened a new page in the wagering book over who would bed him first. They have to supply proof of some sort. A ring of his, I think. Some of the ladies were writing down their own names. And then they started a second wager about who would be the one to shoot him. Now they’ll have to change the odds on Lord Rendale, because he was only at eight-to-one before. I don’t know if Bloody Blackwood would have to be killed or merely be wounded for anyone to win the wager.”

“Lucille, do shut up,” Camille snapped. Waving a hand at Jenny Martine standing toward the rear of the large dining room, she started in the coproprietress’s direction.

“Is something amiss?” Genevieve asked in a quiet voice, her French accent somehow making her sound older than Camille knew her to be.

“I need a breath of air.”

Jenny frowned, her light-colored brows dipping. “No.”

“No?”

“We are a scandalous place, you have a scandalous reputation, and you have befriended a very scandalous man. Either change one—or all—of those things, or … make yourself a thicker skin, Cammy.”

Camille blinked. In the past both Jenny and Diane had been so patient and understanding with her. What had happened? Or was it rather a question of
who
had happened? She’d become friends with Keating Blackwood, and now they’d decided she was simply asking for trouble. She gave a tight nod. “I understand.”

Evidently even her new, more tolerant friends had limits to their patience and understanding. The realization was like another blow to her heart. And abruptly the idea of leaving The Tantalus Club and returning to Society didn’t seem such a far-fetched or unreasonable one.

Before Camille reached her podium again, Sophia swooped in to grab her arm and drag her through one of the private doorways. “I want to talk to you.”

“I don’t want to hear it.” Camille rubbed her face, attempting to convince herself that the wetness on her palms was sweat rather than tears.

“Well, then, don’t listen. I’m still going to talk.”

“I need to return to my station, Sophia.”

“While you were in the coatroom at the inn arguing with Keating, I kept an eye on Fenton, you know. He got up once to leave, then changed his mind and sat down again. Then he looked right at me and said, ‘How many men has she taken to her bed? Not that I expect an honest answer from a duke’s by-blow, but give me some idea.’”

Listening in spite of herself, Camille lowered her hands again. “And what did you say to that?”

“I said, ‘If you think the answer is a number other than none, why are you sitting here speaking with her?’ And he said, ‘None of your damned business, except that I’m tired of the lot of you having a laugh at my expense. I didn’t run from the church, and I’ve never received a note or a posy from her. And yet I’m the one who’s been punished for it. She owes me a marriage.’”

“How has
he
been punished for it?” Camille asked, scowling. “While I concede that perhaps people laugh behind their hands at him—which
isn’t
his fault—he’s still invited to soirees and his friends still talk to him, and he hasn’t been ordered to leave his home and been put out on the streets. I expected some sputtering, but it sounds as if he genuinely expects me to apologize to him.”

“I don’t think he considers his lack of … tenderheartedness to be a fault.” Sophia leaned closer. “Nor does he expect that you’ll return a virginal young miss.”

“But I
am
a virginal young miss.”

“A fact he will never believe, whatever you do.”

Camille gazed at her friend. “And what is it you’re suggesting I do? Sneak out of The Tantalus Club and go waylay Keating somewhere? That’s what you’re intimating, isn’t it?” She attempted to sound offended and cynical all at the same time, but her heart had begun pounding so loudly she couldn’t tell how well she’d managed that particular feat. Heat spun down her spine at the mere thought of putting her hands on his warm, bare skin.

“I meant to speak a bit more subtly than that. But you’ve caught onto my meaning, so I’ll return to my duties.” Mindful of Jenny’s comments, Camille immediately returned to the Demeter Room, as well. She supposed that Sophia’s suggestion should have shocked her, and would have shocked the young lady she’d been a year ago, but she’d been thinking endlessly about a naked Keating for better than a fortnight. Everyone—including Fenton—thought her ruined both socially and morally. Apparently in her would-be betrothed’s mind he preferred that things look proper rather than actually be proper.

Whispering, muttering, giggling—it had all been flung in her direction for months, and she’d cringed every time. Every blasted time. At least people didn’t come running out of the shrubbery to attack her like they did Keating, because she likely would have sunk into the earth rather than face the looks that would come after something like that.

He’d fought. He’d punched and torn a sleeve of his coat, and then he’d apologized to the man who’d attacked him. Impossible rogue or not, he seemed to genuinely regret what he’d done in the past, and she’d seen every indication that he meant not to repeat his mistakes. No one else seemed to believe that, if the wagers in the Ladies’ Book here were any indication. At the least, the wager of who he would bed still remained open.

A small smile tugged at her mouth, and she flattened it again before anyone could notice. All the proper ladies who gathered at the club every other Tuesday night wagered over who Keating Blackwood would take to his bed. And these same ladies looked askance at her. Well, wouldn’t it be amusing if
she
was the one he took to his bed, and none of them knew it? They could all pant after him, and she would know the truth of it.

His second chance and her second chance seemed very much at odds with each other. Damnation. Shaking herself, she attempted to attend to her duties and not end up stacking gentlemen ten deep at the same dining table. For the entire evening, however, all through the lull of the theater and then the renewed crowds directly afterward, she couldn’t help thinking about where she wanted to go. With whom she wanted to be.

Finally Jenny nodded at her, and with a rehearsed smile she vanished through the private doors at the side of the club. Weariness and frustration pulled at her with equal strength. Considering that she had an early morning and her regular schedule ahead of her in a very few hours, logically she should retreat to her bedchamber and find some sleep. Not that that would be an easy task in itself.

“Did you see Lord Burkis tonight?” Sophia asked as Camille stepped into their darkened room and shut the door behind her. “He keeps offering to purchase me a small house in the country where he might come and call on me.”

Camille made a face in the dark. “Oh, now I shall have nightmares.”

Sophia chuckled, her bedsheets rustling as she turned onto her side. “It’s especially amusing given how he pretended not to know me when I crossed paths with him on Bond Street the other day. He nearly fell over a dog, he was trying so hard to avoid looking directly at me.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

“As I keep telling you, I’ve been notorious for my entire life. Everyone knows who my father is, even if Hennessy would never acknowledge me. And they all know who my mother is, because the duchess made such a show of sending her off to the country and then sacking her. None of it, however, is my fault. So yes, from time to time I very much wish to spit on people and demand that they look me in the eye for once, but my life isn’t so terrible. Not any longer. I like it here.”

“As do I, most of the time.”

“No, you don’t. You like having a roof and an income. That’s different from looking forward to being in the room with all those handsome, wealthy men or happily chatting away with them even knowing they would cut you in public.”

Camille sank down on the edge of her bed. “Yes, I suppose so.”

“Lucky, then, that you have a way to reclaim your life. Do you mean to make use of it?”

“Of Fenton, you mean?” Gazing toward the curtained window, Camille slipped her toes in and out of her shoes. “He’s … stuffy, and I certainly don’t love him, but I suppose I need to decide whether that, when weighed against what he does have to offer, upsets the balance in his favor or not.”

“You sound so logical.”

“I’m attempting to be logical. To make a wiser decision, and a better thought-out one, this time. I seriously doubt I’ll have a third opportunity to alter the course of my life.”

“True enough. Just don’t forget the details.”

Camille looked over her shoulder at her friend. “Which details would those be?”

“Keating Blackwood.” Sophia rolled over again, putting her back to Camille. “Now stop talking to me. All of your logic is going to give
me
nightmares.”

“Very well. Good night, Sophia.”

“Sweet dreams, Cammy.”

Rather than remove her pretty mauve gown and climb into bed, Camille sat where she was for several long minutes. Once Sophia’s breathing leveled out and a soft snoring began, she stood up again. Below them she could distantly hear the sounds of the club; after all, The Tantalus never closed its doors.

Slipping her feet back into her shoes, she pulled her gray wrap from the hook on the wall and left the room, shutting the door quietly behind her. A hard heartbeat shuddered through her. Swiftly she reminded herself that she wasn’t up to anything. She felt restless, and it was chilly. If she decided to go out-of-doors, then she would do so.

Inside the common room Lily Banks lay curled up on the large, deep sofa beneath the window. Camille didn’t know if that meant Lily’s roommate Emily Portsman was entertaining a gentleman again, but it certainly wouldn’t have been the first time. And she certainly didn’t think any less of Emily for inviting a gentleman or two up to her bedchamber. Quite the opposite. Emily might never have left the club’s grounds since she arrived, but at least she wasn’t terrified of her own shadow.

She descended the back staircase and wandered into the kitchen. At this late—or rather, early—hour only one cook and two helpers were present, and with a nod she walked past them and out the rear entrance of the club. The predawn air had a heavy, damp chill to it, and she unfolded her wrap to cover her head and down past her shoulders.

An owl hooted, and she jumped a little. In the dark her sanctuary of the garden didn’t seem quite so safe or comforting. The streets of Mayfair would be even less so—if she chose to stroll down one or other of them, that was. Skirting the carriage drive and stable yard, she stepped over the low stone wall that bordered the far edge of the garden and found herself alone on Vigo Street, around the corner from the club.

Well, not entirely alone. A smattering of carriages passed by, the coaches with their curtains tightly closed and a phaeton driven by a man who looked vaguely familiar and who stared at her until he was out of sight. She shivered again. This was a very poor idea for a large number of reasons, not the least of which was the fact that she’d been offered a second chance and this seemed to be the very best way to ruin it.