Taming an Impossible Rogue (27 page)

He didn’t like that. Almost as much as he didn’t like the idea that she was willing to discuss marriage to Lord Fenton. It wasn’t as if he would make her a better husband than Stephen, however; God knew he had no right even thinking about … marriage. He’d destroyed too much, ruined too much to ever risk involving someone else so closely in his life. No matter how fond he might be becoming of her.

“Explain to me why this was unacceptable to you before, and now it isn’t,” the mother said, her own expression tight. Keating wasn’t certain whether she was holding in her desire to embrace her daughter again, or if she was simply annoyed at having to discuss this mess in front of strangers.

“I’ve learned some things since then.”

“Enlighten me.”

Camille frowned. “Do you want me to regale you with how frightened I was when you threw me out of the house?” she asked, her voice unsteady for the first time since she’d entered the room. “How my supposed friends wouldn’t open their doors for me? How I cleaned the floors and shared a bed with two other maids in Aunt Douglass’s house? Or are you more interested in how I came to find employment, friends, and a place to live?”

“Your vitriol is unbecoming, Camille. Surely you know that I have friends who’ve visited that … club of yours. Do you have any idea of the embarrassment you continue to cause your mother and me? Your sisters?”

“Then perhaps you should have let me remain at home. Otherwise, I find that my interests lie in finding a way to stay alive. I am not about to apologize for that.”

Good for you,
Keating cheered silently. He’d been more than prepared to step in and have just this conversation on her behalf, but she was managing it exceedingly well all on her own. She might think herself timid and a coward, but tonight Camille was a lioness. He looked at his cousin’s pinched, annoyed expression. Fenton didn’t deserve her. Whether the marquis realized how difficult tonight was for her or not didn’t signify, because he didn’t care. He wanted to marry her so people would stop laughing behind his back. Period.

“And yet if you’re so proud of how you’ve managed to claw your way to survival, why succumb to propriety now?”

“I believe, my lady, that the point of this meeting is Camille’s willingness to return to propriety. Demanding to know the hows and whys seems … counterproductive.” Fenton cleared his throat. “If I may, of course.”

“Yes, yes, of course you’re correct, Fenton,” Lord Montshire said with a nod. “The match was beneficial to all parties concerned before; Camille’s actions have made the same match now even more necessary.”

That was enough of that.
“And of course Lord Fenton is going to exert himself enough to become acquainted with Lady Camille so that she has a reasonable expectation of happiness—if a marriage is to occur.” Keating allowed himself a slight scowl for effect; he knew most noblemen at best felt uncomfortable around him, and at worst feared him outright. If he could use that reputation to aid Camille, he had no hesitation in doing so. None.

“Interesting choice of sides,” Stephen observed, gazing at him coolly.

“I’m not choosing sides. I’m ensuring that—if anything is to go forward—no one is placed at a disadvantage. I’m contrary, as you’ll recall.”

“Why so concerned with my daughter’s well-being?” Montshire asked stiffly.

“Because she is my friend.” That was all she was allowed to be, as long as he could be assured that a union between her and Fenton was to her benefit. That it would allow her to regain the things she most missed, and that it would give her happiness.

“After less than a month she is your dear friend. You. Who never met a female whose skirts you wouldn’t lift and whose husband you wouldn’t kill.”

Clearly Fenton didn’t realize that if not for Camille sitting straight-backed beside him, Keating would have been across the room thrashing his cousin for what he’d just said. Keating took a slow, steadying breath. “Perhaps you should keep that in mind, if you’re to be married.”

“Keating,” Camille said under her breath, the sound disguised beneath the squeaking of the other females and the offended rumbling of the males in the room. “Stop it.”

“I won’t see you attacked,” he returned in the same tone.

“I embarrassed them. To Fenton and my parents, their own discomfort is more significant than mine. Let them scratch at me. I want to know what the end result will be.”

And now she was more circumspect than he was. Was her heart not becoming as tangled as his? The realization was like a slap in the face. Had he fallen to the point that he cared more for her than she did for him? How the devil had that happened? He was the jaded one. The one whose past continued to send him calling cards to remind him that he’d put nothing behind him, and that he had no right to do so. “Then perhaps I should go.”

She sent him an abrupt glare. “Don’t you dare.”

Well, that made him feel better. “As you wish.”

Of course she was most likely utilizing him to make herself look better in comparison. As he’d meant to do the same thing if required, he wasn’t offended. If his damned reputation could do someone—her—some good, then so be it.

“Mr. Blackwood does make a good point about my wish for happiness,” Camille said once the offended uproar had quieted. “I’m in a position where I’m able to support myself. I have a roof over my head, employment, and friends. What are the benefits I would receive if I decided to marry Lord Fenton after all?”

“Don’t be so mercenary,” her mother snapped.

Keating saw the flinch of her jaw, but only because he was directly beside her and looking for it. To anyone else, she likely looked utterly impassive. “I’ve learned a great deal in the past months. With no one else to look after my interests, I’ve had to do it myself.”

“We would welcome you back into the family,” Lord Montshire said. “You would once again be the beloved daughter of a viscount.”

“You would be a marchioness,” Fenton took up, sitting a little forward. But then he’d always been better with logic than with emotion. “With my declaration that you were only timid, and that we’ve reunited as a result of a love match, you’ll be seen as romantic. And we will be welcomed back into Society. Soirees, luncheons, assemblies, outings will all be open to both of us once more.”

“How in the world could you guarantee such a thing?” Camille queried, her voice skeptical.

“Because that is how it’s done.”

“It
is
how it’s done, Camille.” Her mother gestured across the room at the still silent sisters. “Think of Marie and Joanna, if nothing else. Marie has had such a time this Season. One prospective suitor actually asked her if she’d visited you at that club. And if she could procure him entrance! Joanna will be out next Season, and by then it may be too late to salvage anything. Heavens, what if no one proposes to her at all? It would be your fault. You’ve dragged us into the mud with you.”

Quiet, girlish sobbing began, giving the entire evening the feeling of some torrid gothic horror. Next the batty grandmother would begin growling up in the attic. Before he could say any of that aloud, Camille’s fingers brushed briefly against his. “Don’t do it,” she breathed.

“You’re thinking it, too.”

On her other side Sophia made a choking sound. “Might I have some water?” she squawked.

“Yes, of course.”

By the time a footman arrived with a glass, Sophia’s coughing fit had subsided, but it had served its purpose. The line of argument had been broken, whatever annoyances the family had been ready to utter, interrupted. A moment later they moved into the large dining room. Miss White was a cleverer chit than she let on. He’d already known that about her, but this confirmed it.

He handed her into a chair himself. “Well done.”

Sophia nodded. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Dinner was stiff, silent, and awkward. Keating would have attempted to engage the silent sisters in conversation, but they’d been pointedly seated as far from him as the table allowed. Accustomed as he was to being seen as a pariah, tonight he was at least as annoyed as he was amused. And it gave him a new appreciation of just how unique Camille Pryce was. Wherever she’d learned her gentleness and compassion, it hadn’t been from her family.

“So we’ll meet here on Thursday afternoon to go for a drive,” Fenton was saying, and Keating snapped back to attention again.

“Pick her up at the Tantalus. That’s where she lives.”

“Stay out of this, Keating. The idea is to return her to propriety, not to deepen the scandal around
me
.”

“You’d be surprised how many of your fellows you’ll find at The Tantalus Club. I think you’re only embarrassed because you’ve been barred from entry.”

The marquis glanced at Camille. “That was not my doing.”

“Yes, I will meet you here on Thursday,” Camille interrupted. “But I’ll wait outside. I’m not going to stand about and be yelled at.”

The evening ended fairly swiftly after that, and Keating had to concede that the speed was more likely due to his presence than to Camille’s. Her parents simply didn’t want him under their roof. Briefly he wondered what they would think if they knew he’d been under their daughter’s skirts. That he’d become obsessed with her.

The coach stopped on the street backing up to the club, and he stepped down to hand the two ladies to the cobbled ground. “I apologize if I was less than helpful,” he said, holding Camille’s fingers a moment longer than he needed to. If everything continued as it was, he wouldn’t have many more opportunities to touch her. “Obtuseness aggravates me.”

She nodded. “Sophia, I’ll meet you upstairs in a few moments. I need a breath of air.”

“I’m going to find us a bottle of brandy,” Sophia said, heading around to the servants’ entrance of The Tantalus Club.

“Would you like company?” Keating asked, still gripping her warm fingers.

“Certainly.”

At least she didn’t seem angry with him for his less than diplomatic outbursts earlier. He offered his arm, and she tucked herself up against his side. “Was it what you expected?” he asked, as they stopped beneath the garden’s central oak tree. The light scent of roses hung low in the crisp air.

“I’m still attempting to figure out if it’s them or me who’s changed so much. I never felt unloved, you know. Not until the night they sent me away. Is love that easy to give and deny?”

“I don’t think so.” He shrugged. “Though I’m not an expert.”

Shifting away, she faced him squarely. “I’m going upstairs to the back sitting room. I think you should join me.”

“Weren’t we just negotiating your future marriage?”

“I’m not married, yet. And I want to be with you. Unless you don’t wish to—”

Keating closed his mouth over hers. Heat flooded down his spine all the way to his cock. Whether she cared for him or not, at least she still desired him. “I wish to,” he murmured.

Chapter Seventeen

The two of them slipped down the hallway, the subdued sounds of women talking and the more distant sounds of the club with its weekly supply of aristocratic ladies laughing and chattering surrounding them. For a moment Keating felt like he was sneaking into a nunnery.

The Tantalus Club, however, was nothing close to being a cloistered sisterhood. He’d heard the rules; the employees were allowed “visitors” as long as their presence didn’t interfere with the running of the club. Previously one or two of the ladies, Camille’s fellow hostesses, had even asked him upstairs for the evening.

He’d refused, of course, at first because he’d come to London determined not to make trouble, to earn his ten thousand pounds and leave again. Later, he’d declined because another chit had lodged herself into his thoughts and refused to be dispelled.

“The door doesn’t lock,” she whispered, leading the way into the small sitting room. Luckily it was deserted; most of the female employees seemed either to have gone to bed or made themselves scarce on ladies’ nights at the club.

Deftly he took a wooden chair and lodged it beneath the door’s handle. “Now it does.”

In a very short time Camille had become quite the seductress. She swept up to him, planting her hands on his chest and leaning up to kiss him again. This time she wasn’t tentative. Camille knew what she wanted, and afraid or worried or not, she went after it. And that was only one of the things he loved about her.

Love
. Blinking, Keating grabbed her shoulders and pushed her out to arm’s length. Light blue eyes narrowed as she gazed at him, no doubt wondering whether he’d lost his mind. Her soft, cream-colored hair was drawn up in a simple, neat knot, a few straight strands escaping to brush against her cheek.

“What? Is something wrong?” she asked, plucking at his sleeves with her fingers.

“No. Nothing is wrong.” He tried to steady his swirling thoughts, no easy task when most of his blood had already fled downward. He could never tell her what he’d just realized, hard as it had struck him. It didn’t take much sense to know that she was near to striking a bargain that would benefit her much more than he ever could. “I like looking at you.”

She smiled. “I like looking at you. I believe some ladies even consider you to be handsome.”

Slowly he drew her in again, sliding his hands down her back to her waist. “Is that so?” He pulled her closer, knowing she could feel his growing arousal against her front. “I consider you to be exquisite.”

“Oh, tell me more,” she purred, slipping her hands beneath his jacket and pushing it to the floor.

Keating laughed, remembering at the last moment to keep his voice down. “You’ve become a tigress. A lioness.”

“I’ve been learning some things from you about courage and speaking my mind.” Twisting around, she took his hands and pulled him to the low couch at the back of the room. Letting her lead the encounter was very different for him, the man who knew what he wanted, took it, and left again in pursuit of other amusements. Watching her unbutton his waistcoat, her clumsy efforts at unknotting his complicated cravat, aroused him to an astounding degree.

“Doesn’t what—who—I am bother you?” he asked, running his palms under her skirt and slowly up her thighs. Her skin was warm, soft, and utterly intoxicating.