The Glass Orchid (2 page)

“I assure you,” the woman said, bringing Camden’s attention back to the present situation, “that I am not in need of any protection.”

“But surely — I mean, you cannot — ” Camden broke off, confused.

“It is merely a game between Lord Ashe and me, one we often play.”

“A game? I do not understand.”

“Lord Ashe chases me through the streets, and I struggle and run until I let him catch me.”

“What is the point of such a game? To be running through the streets at this hour — ”

“The point is pleasure, Mr. Camden.” She leaned in closer to him, as if she were going to tell him a secret. “Have you never done anything for pleasure?”

“What can possibly be the pleasure in that?” She was so close to him now that he could feel the heat of her, smell the light scent of lavender on her hair.

The woman laughed again, and she brought a hand up to his arm, her long fingers resting lightly on his coat. There were layers of clothes between his skin and hers, yet a shiver went through him at her touch. “You are so young, Mr. Camden, so innocent,” she whispered.

“I’m twenty-one,” Camden said, indignant, and he drew himself up to his full height, towering over her by at least a foot. “And I’m not so very innocent.”

“Yet your cheeks go red at my touch,” she said, and when he started to protest, she stepped closer, until the tips of her silk-covered breasts were touching the wool of his coat. Camden hardened and his face grew hotter. He tried to step back. His erection would be apparent to her if he didn’t put some distance between them, but she tightened her grasp on his arm and he found he couldn’t move.

She was mesmerizing, this delicate beauty who talked of pleasure and radiated a dangerous sexuality. He was seized with the desire to kiss her, to take her plump lips in his and see if they tasted like wine. He started to lean down to her, and she watched him expectantly, lips slightly parted, until something behind him caught her attention.

“I must go,” she said, dropping his arm and stepping past him. “I thank you for your concern, but I am in no need of your help.”

“Wait,” Camden said, not sure what to say, but knowing he didn’t want her to leave.

The woman hesitated for a moment, then turned back to him, stood on her tiptoes, and pressed her lips to his cheek. He reached for her, but she was already moving away from him, her skirts swishing through the fog.

He watched her walk down the alley to the connecting street and then disappear around the corner. He followed her, nearly running down the alley to the corner. He paused, looking up and down the street until he spotted Lord Ashe chasing the woman. Even though she had told him it was just a game, he wanted to go to her and save her from her pursuer. He started to move toward her but then sank back into shadows when Lord Ashe caught her about the waist and turned her around. They were far enough away that he couldn’t make out the expressions on their faces, but he could see now from the way they moved with each other that she truly didn’t need his protection. She shrieked and slapped at Lord Ashe when he grabbed her, but she leaned in closer to him as she did so. Lord Ashe took her by the arms, holding her firmly, but Camden could see that there was no real roughness in his touch.

Camden knew he should leave them. They were standing down the street in the opposite direction he needed to go, and he could slip away without drawing their notice. But he found himself rooted to the spot, intrigued by this strange game played in the empty streets before dawn by a beautiful woman and a powerful man.

Lord Ashe backed the woman against a building, and said something to her in a low, husky tone. Camden saw one of Lord Ashe’s large hands run up the bodice of the woman’s gown, saw him run a finger along the neckline and over the curve of her breast. Camden drew in his breath, shocked that the couple would engage in such behaviors in the middle of the street, even if there were no one about. Then Camden saw Lord Ashe’s bring his mouth to the woman’s neck, kissing her almost aggressively.

Camden felt a strange mixture of horror and curiosity as he watched Lord Ashe thrust his hips toward the woman, lifting her off the ground. He was not completely lacking in experience with women, but none of his admittedly few encounters had prepared him for the sight of a man and woman engaging in illicit behavior on the street, in plain view of anyone who happened to come along. As an overly reserved and proper young man, he’d never thought to conduct himself in such manner; before tonight, it hadn’t occurred to him that
anyone
would think to do it.

He stiffened again, shamefully aroused at the sight of the woman, at the sound of her sighs and moans as she clutched at her lover. Camden ached to touch the woman as Lord Ashe touched her, to sink himself into her, to taste her, to hear her cries against his ear — even as he was horrified at the very thought of fondling a woman in the street. The couple’s movements became more frenzied, until Camden wondered if he would take her right there, but then Lord Ashe backed away from the woman, setting her gently on the ground. He removed his coat and put it around her, then leaned down to her, and Camden thought Lord Ashe said, “Let’s finish this at your townhouse,” as he put an arm around her waist and propelled her down the street.

Camden stood in the shadows of the street, his erection throbbing, his head pounding. He shouldn’t have watched them, shouldn’t have been aroused at the sight of their passion, shouldn’t stand here thinking about her until he burned with unmet need. But the image of Lord Ashe and the nameless woman was still seared in his mind, and it wouldn’t let him go. The couple had disappeared, yet still he stood, staring down the empty street until he became convinced it had all been just a drunken dream.

Adele Beaumont brushed a stray curl from her eyes, smoothed her gown, and slipped a gloved hand around the arm of her companion, John Blakely. Blakely smiled down at her and then pulled her closer to him so they would not collide with another couple passing them on the sidewalk.

“Jane Montel always has the best supper parties, don’t you think, Del?” Blakely asked as they walked along.

“Her parties are always exciting, and this one was no exception,” Del said. “I think it must be because she is an actress. It gives her the ability to make every gathering a production, complete with drama and intrigue.”

“I think you’ve got it. Always some grand conflict unfolding, some dark secret revealed, or some such thing. I’ve come to rely on it. But I never would have guessed Mare Winschel and William Hawkins were having an affair. Quite a shock when Mrs. Hawkins walked in on them in the study, wouldn’t you say?”

“How could you not know they were involved in an affair? They’ve been carefully ignoring each other in public for months, yet they always seem to disappear at the same time at every party. It was so obvious.”

Blakely laughed. “So their lack of interaction with each other was a sure sign of their relationship?”

“To anyone with eyes it was,” Del replied, rolling her eyes in mock exasperation. “You men miss the most blatant clues.”

“And you women are forever reading epics into the smallest looks or gestures. It is like some secret code or something — one that no man has the hope of ever deciphering.”

Del smiled mischievously. “Oh, so now you would blame your complete inability to comprehend society on the entire female sex? How typical, to deny that any of the confusion is due to your own shortcomings.”

Blakely stopped walking. “There is nothing short about me,” he said as he swung Del around to face him. He drew her to him, his green eyes glinting wickedly as he pressed against her. “You should know that by now.”

“Do behave yourself, Mr. Blakely, we are on a public street. I would positively faint from mortification if anyone were to see us in this unseemly embrace.”

Blakely laughed again, not fooled in the slightest by Del’s seemingly earnest warning. “You’ve never given a damn what people thought, and you never will. And the day I see you faint is the day the world stops spinning on its axis. But here, I will unhand you. We are approaching your townhouse anyway, and I would much rather grope you in there than out here.”

“Take heart, Blakely. If the world were to stop spinning on its axis, it would finally be free to start revolving around you instead, as you’ve long believed it should.” Blakely began to reply to her comments, but Del cut him off. “As to my townhouse, let me find my key, and we will see what transpires.”

Del opened her reticule and began to search for the brass key that unlocked her front door. She had a habit of putting as many things in the reticule as it could hold, and the small key seemed to always be hiding among the various objects. Blakely moved behind her as she searched, slipping an arm around her waist and pulling her closer to him. He nuzzled her, pressing light kisses along her neck.

Del looked up from her reticule. “Blakely, please, you are not making it any easier to find my key. If you would just — ” She broke off, her gaze locking with that of a young man across the street. He was staring at her, unmoving except for his dark blond hair that stirred in the breeze. He looked at her with the same sort of confused expression on his face that she knew was showing on hers — and Del knew they were both trying to place each other. She recognized that angular face, that tall, lanky build of a young man who had not yet completely filled out, but she couldn’t remember where she had seen him.

“If I would just what, my dear?” Blakely said as he ran a fingertip along the low neckline of her gown.

“If you would just — ” Del didn’t notice she had trailed off; she wasn’t really paying attention to what she or Blakely were saying. She had finally remembered that the young man across the street was the Mr. Camden who had tried to rescue her from Lord Ashe several weeks ago. She remembered how earnest he had been when he came to her, how innocence and the smell of brandy had clung to him like palpable entities.

Del saw recognition dawn in Camden’s eyes, saw a blush creep up his neck, and she found herself wanting to laugh, to go to him, and to scurry into her townhouse all at the same time. She saw his eyes flick to where Blakely’s hand rested on her gown, and then up to Blakely’s face, and when Camden’s blush intensified she knew he had just realized that it was not Lord Ashe who was embracing her. A strange sensation rippled through her, and it took her a moment to realize it was the unfamiliar feeling of embarrassment. But why should she care if Camden had seen her with both Ashe and Blakely? He was nothing to her, this tall stranger with the last traces of childhood still clinging to his lean frame and soft eyes. She would simply turn away from him and break the piercing gaze that seemed to root her to the ground, as soon as —

“Del? What’s wrong?” Blakely’s voice finally caught her attention.

“What? Oh, nothing — just searching for my key — ” Del looked down at her reticule, saw the glint of fading sunlight off brass, and triumphantly held up her key as she turned around to face Blakely. She tried to focus only on him, but the hair at the nape of her neck rose, and she knew Camden still stared at her. “Let’s go inside.”

Blakely searched her face for a moment and then looked beyond her to where Camden was surely still standing across the street. Del took Blakely’s arm, drawing his gaze back to her, and she led him up the stone stairs to her townhouse. “You may wish to stand on the sidewalk all evening, but I am going inside,” she said.

Del fumbled as she hurriedly tried to fit her key in the lock. She felt strangely exposed there on the steps, like her deepest secrets had been unearthed. With a sigh, she told herself to stop being ridiculous. She finally managed to unlock the door, and quickly ushered Blakely inside, eager to shut the door on Camden and his unsettling stare.

“What has gotten into you?” Blakely asked. “You seem so distracted. Is it something to do with the man — ”

“Nothing has gotten into me,” Del said as she peeled off her gloves. She threw them and her reticule onto the mahogany side table. “I am going to go change out of my gown. Why don’t you go into the study and pour us some brandy? I need something to wash the taste of Jane’s gin from my mouth.”

Del started up the stairs before Blakely could respond. By the time she reached her bedroom, she had already removed the pins from her hair, and was shaking the blonde curls loose until they fell down around her shoulders. She struggled out of her gown, corset, and chemise, and then slipped into a red silk robe. She turned to go back downstairs, carefully avoiding the full-length mirror that stood near the door of her bedroom. She didn’t want to catch a glimpse of herself, didn’t want to see how the passage of time had stamped fine lines around eyes dimmed by too much experience. She wasn’t exactly in her dotage yet — she was only twenty-eight — but the weight of a difficult and complicated life often made her feel much older than her actual years.

Del slowly descended the stairs, the marble risers cool against her bare feet. Although she tried to confine her thoughts to the fact that Blakely and brandy were waiting in the study, she found they kept drifting to the look on Camden’s face when he recognized her. But why should he be stuck in her mind? Why should she be thinking of this young man — this mere child — when an old friend sat waiting just down the hall? Del shook her head as if to physically wipe Camden’s image from her mind, and went to the study.

Blakely was indeed waiting for her, sitting on the settee, holding a brandy tumbler in one hand while the other idly plucked at the burgundy upholstery. He shifted when he heard her come in, and then leaned casually against one of the settee’s arms. Del walked over to the sideboard, took the glass of brandy Blakely had poured for her, and went to sit in the wingback chair opposite the settee. She took a long sip of the brandy, peering at Blakely over the rim of the tumbler.

This
was the man that should be occupying her thoughts. Blakely was everything Camden was not: he was broad shouldered, with steely muscles that flexed and strained against the fine wool of his coat. He had none of Camden’s gawkiness, none of that golden innocence. Blakely moved with cool assuredness, radiating power and grace and a wealth of experience. Where Camden’s mien was a reflection of his guilelessness, Blakely’s dark hair, gleaming green eyes, and the ever-present hint of stubble that lined his hard jaw telegraphed a mysterious sense of danger that Del had always found exciting. Yet it was Camden, this young man she didn’t even know, that she was suddenly picturing underneath her, with his large hands running over her naked body.