Taming an Impossible Rogue (23 page)

Even so, adding his confusion over Camille together with Eleanor’s arrival made it very nearly seem the opportune time for him to leave London again. Except that he hadn’t yet earned his ten thousand pounds, and that he didn’t yet feel like he’d finished with Camille Pryce. Or Eleanor Howard, for that matter.

The most surprising part of the morning hadn’t been the sex or the argument or even the reappearance of Eleanor. No, it had been the realization that the face he’d conjured in his mind, the person with whom he’d most wanted to speak about all this, had been Camille. It was nearly enough to drive a man back to drink.

*   *   *

Camille stopped just short of the door in the dining room to catch her breath, smooth her skirts, and fix the pins in her hair. Then she squared her shoulders, pulled open the door, and strolled into the Demeter Room.

She was late; by the time she’d returned to the club and changed into an appropriate morning dress, it was nearly half seven. For a moment she attempted to convince herself that no one had noticed her tardiness—until she caught sight of the figure standing in her usual place beside the podium.

“Lady Haybury. Diane,” she said, inwardly cursing. “I apologize. I completely for—”

“Here you go.” The marchioness handed her the book with the current seating notes jotted neatly inside. “I don’t require lies or apologies or excuses, Cammy. I only ask that you be here when you’re expected.”

“Yes, my lady. It won’t happen again.”

Nodding, Lady Haybury put a hand on Camille’s shoulder and then walked away to chat with some of her guests. Of course on the one morning she was late, it couldn’t have been Lucille or Sophia or Rachel standing in her place. It had to be The Tantalus Club’s owner and proprietor. And that after she’d been warned the night before to mind her duties.

Even with the additional trouble, though, she kept catching herself smiling at the oddest of moments. Not only had the early morning’s … exertions been exceedingly pleasant, but she’d successfully set Mr. Keating Blackwood back on his heels. He was a practiced rogue, and of course he expected that he would be the one to guide the course of an encounter, to decide where it would occur, how intimate it would be, and when it would end. But not this morning. Not with her.

So perhaps she wasn’t as skilled at seduction as he was. Whatever he’d been telling her about second chances, she’d been listening to some other things, as well. About the freedom of being scandalous. About for once taking action instead of sitting on her stone bench and watching something she wanted pass by. And she’d wanted Keating.

She still wanted him; the general trepidation and mild … annoyance she felt at the gentlemen visiting the club when they muttered and glanced sideways at her was gone this morning. Now she knew what lay beneath the immaculate clothing and intricately tied cravats—and some of them who looked her up and down must have been truly hideous naked.

“What are you smiling about?” Sophia whispered as she glided up behind Camille.

“Just thinking,” Camille returned, mentally shaking herself.

“Well, the next time you mean to pretend not to slip out and spend the night elsewhere, you should at least rumple your bedsheets.”

Oh, dear.
Triumphant thoughts fleeing, Camille turned around to face her friend. “And how do you know I didn’t merely rise before you this morning?”

“Because the gown you’re wearing now was still in your wardrobe when I left the room earlier. And the one you wore last night was nowhere to be seen.” Sophia kissed her on the cheek, her light green eyes dancing. “Was he wonderful?”

A heated blush creeping up from her neck, Camille sent her gaze across the room. “Yes,” she murmured back, unable to keep from smiling again.

“I knew it. But be cautious; you look happy, and that will make everyone suspicious.”

Swiftly stifling her smile again, she nodded at Sophia. “Excellent advice. Now go away and let me see to my duties.”

Before she could do more than take a deep breath and seat Douglas Trevor and his party, she looked up to see the Duke of Greaves gazing at her. Immediately her skin heated again, and she turned away on the pretext of jotting something in the daily book. She’d been at the man’s home last night. Did he know? He’d been polite, if a bit reserved, when he’d taken her and Sophia to see the Tower menagerie, but this was different.

When she turned around again, he’d begun chatting with the Duke of Melbourne, and she relaxed a little. “Your Graces,” she said, walking up to them, “would you prefer to sit beneath the garden windows, or in a more central location?” She and the other ladies had swiftly discovered that some of the club’s founding members wanted mainly to be seen by others, and “central location” had seemed the best term to avoid offending anyone. She used it at least a dozen times every morning.

“The garden windows,” Greaves said. “And a large pot of that very good American coffee of yours, if you please. I had a very restless night’s sleep.”

Oh, heavens.
She nodded, hoping her embarrassment didn’t show on her face. Whatever rebellion she’d been enjoying didn’t include people actually knowing what she’d been up to. Gossip, she’d discovered, she had the backbone to tolerate. But facts … “This way,” she squeaked, and led them toward the far side of the room.

Evidently her newfound bravado still needed a bit of bravery and devil-may-care added to it. Camille took a deep breath. It was odd, treading the line between rumor and fact. And if she still wished to keep hold of a chance for a normal, proper life, she couldn’t allow herself to fall too far toward fact. Because while Lord Fenton might believe that she’d strayed, providing him with proof would very likely cause him both to withdraw his offer and shoot Keating.

She blanched. Keating had already engaged in an armed brawl over another man’s woman. No wonder he’d been so hesitant about last night. Of course she’d already known that, but somewhere between leaving the club last night and returning there this morning, she’d put it aside in favor of what she’d wanted. And that had been him.

But now … Oh, this was becoming far too complicated. Narrowing her eyes, she turned back to the podium—and smacked into Keating’s chest. “Oh!”

He grabbed her elbow to keep her from falling on her arse. “Steady.”

The warm soap-and-leather scent of him washed into her like summer. “My apologies, Mr. Blackwood. I didn’t see you there.”

“I was being sly.”

“Well, my compliments, then.”

At first she didn’t see any indication in his light brown eyes of his mood, until she caught him glancing beyond her at the Duke of Greaves’s table.
Ah.
He knew that the duke knew, then, of their rendezvous. When he returned his gaze to her, his mouth curved, but his eyes flashed. “I thought we might go for a stroll when you’ve a moment later.”

Inwardly she squared her shoulders. “Have you spoken with Lord Fenton, then?” she asked in a lower voice. “He’s agreed to walk in public with me?”

Something crossed his expression. “So you’re all agreement and propriety-minded today, are you?” he murmured back, making her feel as though they were completely alone rather than surrounded by several dozen curious gentlemen. “Ready to don your wedding gown and return to finish the ceremony?”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” From the books she’d read, beginning an argument and leaving before the man in question had had his say—or his fill—was supposed to send him lusting even more strongly after a female. Perhaps she argued too well. He took a half step closer. “Don’t test me, or I’ll have Fenton set a date. Whatever game you’ve decided to play, Camille, keep me out of it.”

He
was
the game. “Don’t pretend you’re more proper than I am,” she retorted in the same hushed tone. “Why shouldn’t I have what I want before I … settle for what’s good for me?”

“It’s not settling if it’s an improvement to your life, ninny.”

“Do not call me a ninny.”

“Then do not take me for a fool.”

She wasn’t certain whether she wanted to slap him or kiss him. Both entailed touching him, which was likely the point. If he hadn’t been so cynical and suspicious, flirting with him would have been much easier, and likely more productive. Of course he faced the very same dilemma that she did; if she happened to fall in love with Keating Blackwood or something equally ridiculous, the more likely she was to want him to have what he required—in this instance, the ten thousand pounds.

Across the room she caught Jenny looking at her. No, glaring at her. “Go away. I was already tardy this morning, and if I’m sacked, I’ll have to live in Hyde Park and eat raw duck eggs.”

His jaw twitched. “No, you wouldn’t,” he said very quietly. “Be on your bench at two o’clock.” With that he went through the Demeter Room to one of the gaming rooms at the back of the club.

Well, that might possibly have been the nicest thing he’d ever said to her, both because it proved that he
was
still interested, and because she now knew for certain that there was one person in the world with whom she could have a disagreement and not be discarded. Returning to the podium, she closed her eyes for just a moment. As long as she refused to consider what the final outcome of all this might be, today had been a rather splendid day.

For the first time she’d discovered the merits of bad behavior. And it would be exceedingly difficult to begin behaving again.

Because she’d been late, she volunteered to stay at her post through most of the busiest luncheon hours, helping Rachel when the queue of men waiting to be seated ran almost out the foyer. Whether it made up for her earlier absence or not, it made her feel better about it.

Of all the rooms in The Tantalus Club only the library boasted a clock, and she had to ask one of the Helpful Men for the time at least thrice. She could of course have declined to meet with Keating in the garden, but since she had decided to seduce him again rather than merely make him angry, that didn’t seem a wise thing to do. After all, as generally amusing and obliging as he’d been with her, he did have a proven darker side. And that part, she had no wish to encourage.

When she finally escaped through the kitchen door and into the garden it was nearly nine minutes past two, and she found herself trotting. For heaven’s sake, if he saw that, he would realize that all—or rather, most of—her aloofness and arguing had only been to draw him closer to her, and that would never do.

Slowing to a walk, she rounded the mass of roses and found him seated on her bench, a book in his hands. For a moment she stopped and simply looked at him. He was tall and lean, his dark brown hair a shade too long and his brown eyes a shade too dangerous, and the long line of his cheek and his hard jaw simply made him look … delicious. And he’d been hers, as much as she’d been his. Of course he’d been with other women before her, and likely would be with other women after she’d gone back to Lord Fenton, but this was now.

“What are you reading?” she asked.

He looked up. “
Pride and Prejudice
. Darcy’s a stuffed shirt, isn’t he?”

“He’s shy. And cautious. Why are you reading that book?”

Keating shrugged. “Because you were. You have a fair sensibility, and generally better taste than any other chit I’ve encountered, so I decided to attempt it. I won’t weep at the ending, will I?”

She grinned, both at his wit and at the idea that he seemed to be attempting to return to her good graces. “You may at that. Wait until you’re somewhere private.”

“Good advice.” With a snap he shut the book and set it onto the ground at his feet. “I need to talk with you for a moment.”

“You aren’t going to lecture me about making poor choices, are you?” she returned, half seriously. “You did just compliment my sensibility.”

“Come and sit.” He rested his palm on the stone beside him.

Hm. He was sounding reasonable. Had he seen through her attempts at being coquettish? Hiding her hesitation, she complied. “Very well, I’m seated.”

He looked down at his hand where her skirt half covered it. “You twist my head around,” he said quietly, his eyelashes still shuttering his brown eyes.

A thrill went up her spine. Whatever she wanted from him, at the moment she was very aware that they were Camille and Keating. Unlikely friends. And that he’d been proving himself to quite possibly be the dearest friend she’d ever had. “I feel a bit spun myself,” she said aloud.

“Yes, but I’m jaded. No one is more cynical than I am.” Finally he looked up at her. “I received a calling card.”

She forced a smile. “What? Someone’s invited you somewhere?”

“Evidently Lady Balthrow is in London.”

Camille snapped her mouth shut again. Ice froze her fingertips. But beyond the shock, and the dismay she felt on his behalf, her keenest emotion was a dark squeezing in her heart. Good heavens, was she jealous? She knew that she had the immediate urge to hunt down Lady Balthrow and slap her. “Goodness,” she finally muttered.

“Not the first word that came to my mind, but yes. Goodness.” He squared his shoulders. “I don’t know where she’s staying, but I will discover that.”

“Is there anything I can do to assist you?”

Swiftly he leaned over and kissed her. “You just did. Don’t trouble yourself, Cammy. I just wanted you to be aware, since I’ve told you more about my … connection with her than I’ve ever told anyone else.”

They sat there in silence for a moment. She knew what he had to be thinking; this would be the opportune time to present Eleanor Howard and their son with a very large fortune. That he would like to be able to feel for once that he’d done his duty as he should have, made all the amends that he could. And there she sat, lusting after him when they both had obligations elsewhere.

She took a breath. “As long as you’re here, would you mind informing Lord Fenton that I had a very agreeable time, and that I would very much enjoy that stroll he mentioned? I will make myself available at his convenience.”

Keating took her hand and kissed her palm. “We’re a pair of sad sacks, aren’t we?”

“Don’t forget the ‘ruined’ bit.”