Time After Time (41 page)

“You don’t seem to carry a very high opinion of the male sex.”

“It seems no lower an opinion than you hold for them.”

“Perhaps not.”

“Then tell me, Mr. Camden, what has so tainted your esteem of your fellow man?”

Camden shrugged, and though the gesture was casual enough, Del detected a hint of tension in the action. “People will look for any advantage over you, and go in for the kill the moment they can. A smart man will strike first and give them no opportunity to best you.”

Del looked up at him, her eyebrow raised. “Strong words, but you don’t sound completely convinced of them.”

Camden shrugged again and looked straight ahead. “I have been told those words often enough, I may as well believe them.”

Del wanted to press him further, but his tone told her he wasn’t eager to remain on the subject. She was curious, though, as to who’d drilled such a harsh sentiment into him and what part it all played in forming his stiff reserve, if any. She would get no answers today though, she knew. They walked along companionably, and Del began to feel more at ease. They exited Hyde Park and turned down the street that would bring them to Del’s townhouse, though they were still some blocks away. Camden walked in the street, leading Sebby, pressed against the curb to allow mounted riders and carriages to pass him while Del stayed on the sidewalk.

“Your house is just this way, if I recall,” Camden said.

Del nodded in affirmation. She realized Camden had not asked for further direction since leaving the park. It surprised her that one chance encounter in front of her townhouse weeks ago had left enough of an impression on him that he could lead her home now with no hesitation.

“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Mr. Camden.”

“How so?”

“You know so much about me — where I live, my associates … what I do.” Del could practically hear Camden’s nervous gulp at the mention of her profession. “And yet I know nothing about you.” It wasn’t until Del said it that she realized how uncomfortable this inequity made her. She was used to thoroughly vetting any and every man she came in contact with, all the while carefully guarding her own privacy.

“What is it you wish to know?” Camden asked.

“Well, let’s see. You told me when we first met that you are twenty-one. I also know that you like horses more than people and you enjoy offering to rescue ladies in distress. Don’t blush, Mr. Camden, I’m only teasing you.”

“I’m not blushing,” Camden said as he turned a darker shade of red.

Del decided not to embarrass him further. “What do you do, Mr. Camden? For a profession.”

“I serve as factotum for my father’s shipping company.”

“And what does that entail?”

“Anything and everything my father needs. I am learning all the details of the business since my father hopes I will take over the company when he is gone.”

“He hopes? It doesn’t sound as if you are overly eager to fulfill his wish.”

“I will do my duty,” Camden said, and Del noticed how clenched his jaw was after he spoke and how tightly he gripped Sebby’s reins.

Del guessed from his reaction that Camden had a tense and complicated relationship with his father, and she wanted to know more. She could hardly pry into such an intimate arena, however, no matter how brightly her curiosity burned. “Navigating family ties can be difficult.” Del kept her tone sincere yet light, hoping to simultaneously convey her understanding and deflect some of the tension. “I suspect my great-aunt Mrs. Tiddles would be similarly demanding, if she weren’t made up.”

“Indeed. Wait — what?” Camden stopped walking and looked at her, clearly perplexed.

“Mrs. Tiddles, my great-aunt and benefactor with whom I live. I made her up.”

“Why would you invent a fictitious relative?” Camden asked as he began walking again.

“Well, I can’t very well force society to acknowledge reality, now can I? The grand dames of London would rather live as peasants — can you imagine the horror? — than have to admit there is an orphaned whore living and supporting herself among them. Mrs. Tiddles allows everyone the comfortable fiction that I am a respectable woman living off the proceeds of a generous relative. Oh, Mr. Camden, you are blushing again. Have I positively scandalized you?”

“No — well, yes,” Camden said, laughing. “But I could do with a bit of scandal. I’m just a bit taken off guard. You are terribly candid, aren’t you?”

“I don’t see the point in prevarications. I am sorry if I have shocked you.”

“I should be shocked, and yet I find you — refreshing. Most of society, myself included, spend their lives gossiping and scheming, saying only what others want to hear, what will achieve their aims and desires. And here you are, utterly forthright and without pretention. I find you very intriguing.”

Del’s cheeks grew warm, and it seemed it was her turn to blush from embarrassment. She saw with relief they were approaching her townhouse and she would soon be delivered from Camden’s presence. The conversation was veering into entirely too uncomfortable territory, and she was grateful for escape. She removed her house key from her reticule and started up her front steps.

“Thank you, Mr. Camden, for escorting me home. You have again proven yourself a gentleman.”

“Miss Beaumont, I — ” Camden shifted, clearly uncomfortable.

“Yes, Mr. Camden?” Del asked, wondering what, exactly, he meant to say. It wouldn’t be a proper Camden encounter unless he said something surprising to her.

“I was hoping I — that is — I would like to see you again,” he said. “Not for — I mean, not as a — ” Camden cleared his throat as he struggled to come up with the properly delicate phrasing.

Every impulse Del had screamed at her to mutter her apologies and then flee into the house, forever shutting the door on Camden and the complications he represented. She didn’t need this, didn’t need the uncertainty and confusion and awkwardness that swelled within her whenever he was near. Instead of running, though, she found herself saying, “This Friday. Jane is playing Miss Maria Dorrillon in her theater’s production of
Wives as They Were and Maids as They Are
. You may come round at seven to collect me.”

Camden smiled as he bowed to her. “Until Friday then, Miss Beaumont.” He mounted his horse and trotted off, melting into the heavy traffic of the street and disappearing from view.

• • •

Del flicked her wrists, the delicately carved ivory blades of her fan clicking together as she desperately tried to create some small relief from the theater’s stifling, muggy heat. The lobby was a sea of muslin and silk, satin and kerseymere, the women and men inhabiting the materials scarcely distinguishable in the crowd. Camden’s hand was strong and warm on her back, anchoring her to him so they wouldn’t be separated as everyone jostled to get into the gallery before the play began.

She saw a few familiar faces around her. She smiled warmly and tipped her fan to her friends and acquaintances, and she politely pretended not to see or know the several former “suitors” who were there with their wives or new mistresses. It was this adeptness at both gracious acknowledgment and serene detachment — either so easily given depending on what the situation required — that had helped secure her position as a sought-after companion of the wealthy and powerful men of London. One such man caught her eye, and her face froze as she quickly brought her fan up higher to obscure her expression before her celebrated composure left her entirely.

Lord Ashe stood not ten feet from her, his tall, broad frame allowing him — along with Camden and a few other men — to rise above the heads of the generally shorter crowd. Del stiffened with surprise and discomfort. She hadn’t seen Ashe in weeks, not since that night when Camden had tried to rescue her from him, and she was unprepared to see him now. Ashe had tried to contact her since then, sending increasingly demanding missives to her house practically ordering her to accompany him to some event or another. He knew, of course, that Del did not respond to demands or orders, and any hint of such only strengthened her resolve to ignore them and the person issuing such insults to her autonomy.

She tried to ignore him now, but he was a handsome, imposing figure whose bearing and demeanor drew the attention of even the most reluctant observers. He stood near one of the lobby’s large, ornately turned columns, wearing a coat of deep blue crushed velvet, a chateau bras tucked smartly under his arm. He took a few steps forward as he walked along with the crowd, and his companion, previously obscured by the column, came into view, causing an inexplicable sense of ire to swell within Del. She recognized the woman clinging to Ashe’s arm as Sarah Wilson, the courtesan most recently taking London by storm. She was young, barely eighteen, and though attractive it was supposedly her wit and vivacious charm rather than any unmatched beauty that drew men in. She had been on the scene for barely a year, but she had already secured her reputation as alluring, magnetic, and feisty, with acumen for the business of seduction far exceeding that of any of the other much more seasoned courtesans currently working the salons and opera houses of London.

Del felt another twinge of emotion, and though she would never admit it to anyone, she knew it to be jealousy tinged with fear. It wasn’t that
she
wanted to be the one murmuring in Ashe’s ear — she had been studiously avoiding that lately — it was that she didn’t want
Ashe
to want someone else on his arm. She hated seeing the evidence of her replaceability, hated being reminded of the tenuousness of her life. She had worked hard to ensure a measure of independence for herself, supporting herself the only way she could, but seeing Ashe now demonstrated how easily her fortunes could change. All it would take was the distraction of the newest ingénue, and like a once shiny object stripped of its luster, Del would be discarded in favor of the new toy and soon forgotten. And what would become of her then?

Her disquieting thoughts were interrupted when Camden leaned down to her, his lips brushing against her cheek. “You are stunning this evening,” he said against her ear.

Del shivered, she couldn’t stop herself. His breath was warm on her neck, his husky voice like a caress, and it sent every one of her nerve endings buzzing. “Do behave yourself, Mr. Camden,” she said with a playful swat of her fan against his arm.

“What? I merely paid you an innocent compliment,” he said teasingly.

“Yes, but the
way
you said it was anything but innocent.” She gave him a devilish smile.

Camden pulled her against him. “I confess my motivations are perhaps not completely pure. Something about you makes me want to be a bit wicked.”

Del’s pulse quickened. She was used to flirting with men — it was her livelihood, after all — but she normally did it in a rote, automatic manner, with no attached feeling or even overly great interest. Flirting with Camden, however, was completely different. This was far from the mechanical exchanges she normally engaged in, exchanges carefully designed to pique the interest and desire of the client. She found herself responding to him quite against her will. When he touched her, her skin heated; when she felt his breath against her ear, she shivered. And when the young, guileless, and normally reserved and ever-proper Camden looked at her with a glint of hunger in his eyes and told her she made him wicked, her heart pounded. It made her quite forget herself — her past, her future, her present surroundings.

She had almost completely forgotten Ashe and his new companion until she caught a glimpse of him from the corner of her eye. He was staring at her now, irritation tinged with anger showing plainly in his dark expression. He must have seen the exchange between her and Camden, must have seen the way he stood so close to her, his arm snaked protectively around her waist. Ashe would have also seen how Camden made her react, how she blushed at his words and leaned in closer to him. Maybe Ashe could sense the crackling electricity flying between them, maybe when Del’s heart jumped and the attraction flared, it produced visible lightning bolts for everyone to see. It certainly felt as though it could.

Del knew Ashe well enough to know why seeing her with Camden made him angry. She had been refusing to see Ashe, avoiding him without explanation, and now here she was, at the theater with another man. Ashe was accustomed to having his demands met, his desires catered to, and it was an unpardonable affront to his position and power for Del to ignore Lord Ashe in favor of the young, untitled, and comparatively unimportant Rhys Camden.

Ashe pulled away from Miss Wilson and took a step forward, looking as if he was determined to fight his way through the crowd and confront Del and Camden. Ashe was aggressive and impetuous; he would think nothing of creating a scene or even engaging in a physical altercation in the middle of the theater. Del moved toward the gallery doors in earnest, no longer content to drift along with the crush of people heading toward their seats. She was eager to put more distance between them and Ashe, though the crowd made forward progress difficult.

“In a hurry, are we?” Camden asked.

“I don’t want to miss the beginning,” Del said. Camden clearly hadn’t noticed Ashe glowering at them from across the room, and Del wanted to keep it that way. “Jane would never forgive me.”

Nodding, Camden stepped forward, grasped Del’s hand, and led them into the gallery. He didn’t jostle or push anyone, he merely drew himself up to his full height and claimed space around them, seeming to effortlessly clear a path to their seats. Del glanced behind her and was relieved that Ashe was no longer visible. The crowd had swallowed them, and there would be no confrontation this evening.

Camden found their row and led Del to their places, carefully stepping around the patrons already in their seats. Suddenly, he stopped short, and his hand clenched around hers. His abruptness caused Del to bump into his broad back, and she was about to ask him what was wrong when he nodded stiffly to a gray-haired gentleman seated before them.

“Mr. Hutchence,” Camden said in curt acknowledgment.