Taming an Impossible Rogue (26 page)

“We’ve found a kinship, yes,” Camille agreed, though that seemed an utterly inadequate description for the deep satisfaction she found in his presence and the keen longing she felt when he was elsewhere.

“No. He
likes
you, Cammy. And you like him.”

Her heart flip-flopped. “I admit that I am becoming very … fond of him.”

“And you’re going to marry his cousin. The man who couldn’t be bothered to send you a flower in twenty-one years.”

“He needs the money, Sophia.”

“This is awful.” Her friend turned around again. “But you … were with him,” she whispered. “Weren’t you?”

“You said I should have a bit more fun with my reputation.”

Finally Sophia quirked a grin. “And did you?”

“Suffice it to say that Keating is extremely wicked.”

And now that she considered it, she couldn’t come up with a decent reason she should stop being with him. At least until the marriage. She couldn’t very well be more ruined. If she was going to marry that stuffed shirt Fenton, she wanted something for herself first. She wanted someone for herself.

With a deep sigh, Sophia shook her head. “I do not understand you.” Walking over to the wardrobe they shared, she pulled it open. “But if I’m to meet your parents, should I attempt to be proper, or more scandalous so that you look better in comparison?” She held up two gowns, one light blue and demure, and the other dark burgundy and very low-cut.

Camille laughed. “I do love you, you know.”

“And I’m glad that you’re finally happy. I hope Fenton doesn’t ruin that for you.”

Sobering, Sophia shifted to gaze out the window. This was a ladies’ evening, and the regular employees of The Tantalus Club weren’t required. Lady Haybury had discovered very early on that the thing that made the club so popular with the gentlemen also worked for the ladies. Every available man under the age of thirty who was employed at one of London’s other gentlemen’s clubs took this evening off—to work at the Tantalus.

If she married Fenton, she supposed she could attend the twice-monthly ladies’ nights. As a guest. Perhaps she could even hire Sophia as a companion, and she could bring her friend to grand balls and soirees. She knew a great many ladies who had very little to do with their husbands, so she could do the same with Fenton. They could have separate bedchambers and separate lives. Of course she would be expected to bear an heir, which would mean the marquis would touch her and be inside her as Keating had. Her heart thudded again.

Previously her complaint about Fenton had been more about intangibles; did he care about her, was he romantic, did he even want to be married to her? Now she had answers to some of those questions, but thanks to Keating she had a completely new set of concerns.

Sophia was still looking at her, her expression shifting from amused to concerned. Camille mentally shook herself. “Please wear the demure gown,” she said aloud. “I do have younger sisters, and I suppose I should worry about them being led astray.”

“Very well. But if your parents or anyone else is mean to you, I think I’ll have to speak up. And I
know
Keating will.”

“Please don’t make me even more nervous. I’ve only just found the courage to leave the club at all, if you’ll remember.”

“I remember. And I’ll behave. But you’d best have a word with Bloody Blackwood.”

She wanted more than a word with him. “I shall,” she replied, knowing Sophia expected a response. With a glance at the side table and the small clock they’d purchased, she took an unsteady breath. “I suppose it’s time to dress for dinner.”

However much she’d wished for Tuesday never to come, it had. And now she could no longer put off the moment when she set eyes on her parents again. She donned a simple green-and-brown silk evening gown, but her hands were shaking so much that Sophia had to assist in putting up her hair. Thankfully Keating would be escorting them to the house, and she kept her attention on that moment while she did everything in her power to keep from thinking of anything past that point.

When she couldn’t put off the time any longer, she and Sophia went down the back staircase and outside through the servants’ entrance. The proper ladies in attendance tonight intensely disliked having the scandalous chits of The Tantalus Club anywhere in sight, much less in their midst, and Lady Haybury had actually gone as far as putting a gate into the back fence to allow her girls, as she called them, to enter and leave the premises without having to go down the front drive.

On the street just beyond the gate, the Duke of Greaves’s grand black coach sat waiting for them. Keating Blackwood leaned against the door, smoking a cheroot and looking the very portrait of strong, dark masculinity. A delicious shiver went through her, much more welcome than the nerves that had been assaulting her for the past three days.

As he saw them, he dropped the cheroot, grinding it out with his boot heel as he straightened. “You both look far too lovely for a private dinner,” he drawled, taking Camille’s hand and brushing his lips against her knuckles. “What say we go to the theater, instead?”

“Don’t tempt me,” she returned, belatedly retrieving her hand.

“That’s why I’m here. If you don’t wish to go, say the word. If you wish to leave once we arrive, tell me. You may feel the need to be diplomatic because you are thoughtful and … nice, but I am not.” He gave her a wicked grin. “And I’ve never been happier to be a rogue.”

She wanted to kiss him. There, on the street, where anyone and everyone could see. The expression in his eyes changed, and he took a half step closer. The heat of him seemed almost palpable. When they’d first met, she’d never expected him to become a friend and a lover, someone whose company and opinion she valued more than she felt comfortable expressing.

“If we’re going, we likely shouldn’t be late,” Sophia said from the depths of the coach.

His jaw muscle jumping, Keating straightened again. “Damned chaperone,” he muttered under his breath, taking Camille’s hand again to help her into the carriage.

“I heard that,” Sophia commented. “Do as you will, but Cammy would be embarrassed if you mauled her in public.”

The coach lurched into motion. “We’re not in public now.”

Before she could say anything, Keating leaned across the short distance dividing them in the coach. His warm mouth caught hers in a deep, swift kiss that left her breathless. Looking extremely self-satisfied, he sat back and crossed his arms over his chest.

“That should do me for a short while.”

“The two of you confuse me,” Sophia commented, her expression amused and troubled at the same time.

Camille knew precisely what she meant. Before long, she and Keating were going to have to have a serious chat. She had the feeling that she wouldn’t like the outcome, however, and as nothing had been decided with Fenton, no wedding date set—or set again, rather—she preferred to be able to kiss the man presently gazing at her.

Considering how alone she’d felt after her parents had thrown her out of the house, it was genuinely surprising to arrive at their front door only fifteen minutes after leaving The Tantalus Club. She supposed there were longer distances than those bridged by roads. Rubbing her hands together, she attempted to warm her abruptly chilly fingers.

“Wait here,” Keating said, rising. “I’ll make certain Fenton’s already arrived.”

As soon as he left the coach and closed the door, Sophia grabbed her arm. “I want to be kissed like that,” she whispered, giggling.

“Hush. Don’t encourage him.” She smiled, grateful for the momentary distraction. “Leave that to me.”

“Oh, you’re naughty! Good for you.”

The door opened again, and Keating leaned inside. “He’s here. Arrived ten minutes ago. I would imagine they’re going over battle plans. Showing a united front and all that.” He cocked his head at her as he helped her to the ground. “Do
we
have a battle plan?”

“I’m going in there, and I’m going to be polite. I think the remainder of my plan depends on their plan.”

And for a moment she wondered what would happen if they refused to allow her back into the house, much less back into the family. Undoubtedly Fenton wouldn’t want her then—he didn’t seem the sort to marry an unredeemably ruined chit. She sent a sideways glance at the tall man walking beside her. He would lose the money he needed, but nothing would prevent them from doing as they chose.

The front door opened as they topped the granite steps. “Smythe,” she said, nodding at the butler, and supremely thankful that her voice remained steady.

Holding the door wider, the butler stepped back. “Lady Camille. Do come in, my lady. Lord and Lady Montshire are upstairs in the drawing room.”

“And my sisters?”

“Lady Marie and Lady Joanna are also in the drawing room.”

“Thank you, Smythe.”

She hesitated at the threshold. Had it only been thirteen months now since she’d last been inside this house? It felt like years. Inside Pryce House she’d lived a different life, been a different person. Clearly she could never be the old Camille Pryce again. Since meeting Sophia and Emily and Lady Haybury and most definitely Keating, she wasn’t certain she wanted to be her old self again. But her parents were inside, waiting. They’d been furious when she’d run away from her own wedding. She could only imagine what they must think of her present employment and her new friends.

A hand touched her arm. “I imagine you’ve already anticipated anything they might say to you,” Keating said quietly. “And if—or when—you leave here, you won’t be alone this time.”

“Not alone,” Sophia affirmed.

“You’re going to make me weep,” Camille said, her voice quavering a little. “And I know how that disturbs you.”

Keating grinned. “I’ll manage.”

“And don’t punch anyone.”

He sighed. “Anything else?”

“No.” She wanted to lean into his shoulder, breathe deeply of the scent of him, and sternly stopped herself. For heaven’s sake, her fiancé—or whatever it was she was supposed to call Lord Fenton now—was just inside. “Just thank you.”

“You’re welcome, my dear.”

With a deep breath she put one foot forward. Then one more, and she was inside Pryce House. Screaming banshees didn’t come shrieking out of the walls, and no small children began wailing, but from the way her heart was pounding ghouls and goblins might well have been parading all around her.

Up the stairs,
she ordered herself. The stairway seemed twice as long and twice as steep as it had once been, and if not for Keating’s warm presence at her back, she might have reconsidered her decision not to flee. It helped to remind herself over and over that she wasn’t a coward any longer, that she was learning how to stand up for herself and not be so afraid of what other people thought of her, and she kept reciting the words as she climbed.

Stopping outside the closed drawing room doors would only make things more ominous, so she kept walking. She pushed open the doors and took two solid steps into the room. Then she looked up.

Stuart and Victoria Pryce, Lord and Lady Montshire, stood side by side in the center of the room, Lord Fenton directly to her father’s right. Her sisters stood behind them, half hidden and clearly expected to remain silent.

Then her mother sighed. “Really, Camille. You return home after months and months, and you choose to bring … these people with you?”

Oh, thank goodness.
Of all the things her parents might have said or done at this moment, her mother had chosen the one thing guaranteed to make her angry. To make her brave. “Lord Montshire, Lady Montshire,” she said, her voice low and calm and steady, “may I present my dearest friends, Miss Sophia White and Mr. Keating Blackwood? Sophia, Keating, my parents.”

To her left, Sophia curtsied neatly. On her right, Keating remained unmoving, a formidable, beautifully sculpted statue. Before a glaring contest could begin, Lord Fenton stepped between the two groups.

“I suggested she leave her companions behind, but they are part of the problem we need to address. Perhaps it’s beneficial to have them here.”

Part of the problem.
“I believe the main part of the problem was my actions,” Camille said, shifting her hands behind her back so she could clench her fists. “If you wish to fault people for befriending me at the worst moments of my life, well, I think we may all be wasting our time here.”

“I don’t think debating anyone’s presence will accomplish anything this evening,” her father finally put in. “Let’s sit, shall we? Smythe, please fetch the wine.”

“Right away, my lord.”

The door closed behind them. From his position at Camille’s shoulder Keating saw her spine stiffen, and he stepped forward, offering his arm. “I never refuse a glass of wine,” he drawled, taking her fingers and placing them over his sleeve when she didn’t move.

“Yes. Of course,” she blurted, then swallowed.

It was a damned shame she’d ordered him not to punch anyone. Both Fenton and Lord Montshire seemed prime candidates for a nose-bloodying. “I assume you’ve told the viscount and viscountess all about Lady Camille’s friends and activities since her departure, Fenton?” Keating asked, taking a seat on the low couch between Sophia and Camille.

As little practice as he’d ever had at being a protector or a guardian or whatever might be necessary this evening, he’d meant what he’d told her. No one was allowed to hurt her. If they did wish a fight, he would be more than happy to stand as an opponent. At the same time, Camille had stood her ground so far. He felt … proud of her. Her bravery also made him want to rip off all her clothes and have his way with her, but that would cause her sisters to faint. Fenton likely wouldn’t appreciate it, either.

“So.” Her parents sat on the smaller, facing couch, while Fenton took the chair at one side. The silent sisters took seats on the opposite side of the room, apparently content to stay out of matters. “Stephen tells us you’re amenable to marrying him, after all,” Lord Montshire commented.

“I’m amenable to discussing it,” she corrected.

Something tore loose in Keating’s heart and began flopping weakly and painfully in his chest. He’d almost forgotten that this wasn’t simply a reconciliation before Cammy and her parents. Apparently their reacceptance of their daughter truly did hinge on whether she would do as they insisted or not.