To Tame a Rogue (6 page)

Rain and wind hammered against the sides of the house and the roof. Her heart hammered in her chest. She knew she was baiting him. Despite the fear that leapt in her soul she did it anyway.

“Everything that is mine is at your disposal, of course. The stables, so there is no need to
steal
a horse, the seamstress should you desire a new wardrobe. Whatever you may need. As my wife, you shall receive a handsome allowance every month, to use as you see fit.

“Therefore, from this day forward, you will not slave tables in a tavern. All I ask is that you act the part of lady. As it does for all women, acting seems to come naturally for you.”

Her shoulders came up. Too late, she realized what her pride had cost her. He was so close she could feel the long, lean hardness of him, the contours of his muscled thighs pressed against the soft, feminine curves of her own. As if he sensed her discomfort, he moved even closer.

“The other condition?” she asked quickly, alarmed by the hard heat of his body.

His warm breath brushed her ear as he bent closer to her face and sent dangerous shivers down her spine. His voice was a gruff whisper. “In future, urchin’, you will refrain from flinging peas at my backside.”

“Oh, if I must,” she whispered. Nicholas almost laughed.

He backed away, allowing her to precede him into the hallway. He walked behind her, his hand gently guiding her, his large palm pressed into the curve of her back. The sight that greeted Camille in the sun parlor made her gasp in surprise.

8

Josephine Huxley was, as usual, impeccably dressed. She wore a white muslin walking dress with a spencer of lilac sarcenet, diamonds glittered on her long, graceful fingers, and her silvery-grey hair was swept up tidily. Sparkling ear pendants of a prodigious length hung from her dainty ears.

She looked, for all intents and purposes, as if she were about to jaunt off to one of her famous garden parties, flitting between her guests like a honeybee sampling the sweet nectar of the spring flowers. Only it was five o’clock in the morning. And she was smiling.
Smiling!

Henree was sure she had gone completely mad. Summoned, he now stood uncertainly in the doorway to her bedchamber. It took him a moment or two to realize the sound he was hearing was laughter.
She placed the single eyeglass she wore, suspended from a long golden chain around her neck, to her eye. She arched a delicate brow.

“Why Henree, you
do
look uncomfortable. Whatever is the matter?”

“Madame, I…nothing is the matter.”

For a woman just turned sixty, Josephine was still quite handsome. Henree had been her steward for thirty years, so he knew her quite well and had always admired her beauty from a distance. It was a cold, stern sort of beauty that had always intrigued him. Her late husband had never appreciated it.

“Shall I wear my white scarf with the embroidered flowers, or the green one?”

“The white,” Henree replied. “White looks lovely on your flawless skin.”

“You have impeccable taste. Now I want you to relax.”

Henree started to perspire. He hoped she wouldn’t notice.

“I want you to tell me what the servants are saying about me.”

“Madame?”

“Come now, Henree. How long have you known me?”

“Thirty years this Christmas, madame.”

Josephine sighed.

“Thirty years, Henree. And in all that time, I’ve been a heartless, thoughtless bitch.”

Henree nearly gasped. “Madame, certainly you have not…”

“Bah, Henree. Don’t deny it. For thirty years, everything in this house has had to be just so. I’ve had to be the perfect hostess, the stodgy and dignified Josephine Huxley. I’ve demanded perfection from myself and those around me. I was so concerned with manners, with what others thought of me, with trying to impress my father—who wasn’t happy about my marriage and never thought I’d amount to anything. Well, I tell you, I am not that woman anymore.

“So tell me. What are the servants saying?”

Henree fidgeted. “They are saying…they are saying you are not yourself.”

Josephine sighed and rolled her wide green eyes heavenward. “You can do better than that, Henree. There’s twenty dollars in it for you.”

Now Henree was positively convinced the woman had gone silly. She counted every coin and spared no extra, unless she was acquiring the newest evening gowns trimmed with satin rouleaux, corkscrew gauze, or frills of blonde lace to impress her well-to-do guests. She had always had an eye for fashion.

“Loosen up old chap, or I’ll find a new steward.”

Henree’s jaw dropped.

“That was a joke, Henree. You have served me faithfully and well, and I fully intend to make up for my years of stinginess. Now tell me what they are saying.”

Henree cleared his throat.

“They are saying you should have…should have fallen on your arse a long time ago.”

Josephine laughed so hard that tears threatened to spill down her ruddy cheeks.

“I should thank that old, crotchety horse,” she remarked, “for dumping me on my backside. Henree, I saw my whole life flash before my eyes.” She looked away for a moment, tiredness having leapt into her eyes. “And it was empty.
Empty
.”

Josephine had always been an avid horsewoman. The fact that she had fallen off a horse one week ago had been a shock to everyone, but not nearly as shocking as her subsequent behavior.

Fortunately, she had only suffered bruises, for the rains had made the ground soft. She’d landed in a huge puddle, a tangled mess of velvet and mud.

Josephine let the eyeglass drop softly against her chest.

“Where are my white gloves?” she asked absently.

“Madame, you do realize the time?”

“I am not mad. Of course I realize the time. It’s just that I can’t afford to lose another minute. I’ve just had the most exciting news.” She took a deep breath and the corners of her gracefully sculpted mouth lifted again, the smile returning to her eyes.

“I have a granddaughter.” It bubbled out of her.

“A…granddaughter?” Henree asked.

Josephine’s own daughter had died in her early twenties. She rarely talked about her. Henree wasn’t sure why.

“I hired someone last week, after my...fall...to look into matters. You see, I did not approve of my daughter’s choice of a husband. I wanted her to marry Simon Wethersby, but she would have none of it. I thought he was the most suitable choice. Ha! He’s nearly in debtor’s prison now. Has a brood of nine and can barely feed them. Shows you what I know about character. Not a thing!”

Josephine’s eyes misted.

“I treated her like my father had treated me. Alexandra…ran off when she was eighteen. So young. I never saw her again. I pretended I never even had a daughter. It was cruel of me. I felt she owed me something since I had sacrificed so much to make her into a dignified, proud, educated woman. But what did
I sacrifice?

“I didn’t realize I was squelching her spirit, for she was very much like me. Determined. Stubborn. I pushed my pain aside and went on with my life. I was very proud. Too proud. I should have been there for her. I had no idea she was carrying a child then.” Josephine’s shoulders slumped slightly, uncharacteristically.

“I should have forgiven her. But I didn’t understand. She was in love. I had never been in love. Still haven’t been to this day. Lord, but we didn’t marry for love.”

“Madame, you are too hard on yourself. You always have been.”

Josephine looked at Henree as if she were seeing him for the first time, the tall elegance of the man, the strength and loyalty of his spirit, the hard, sculpted muscles beneath his shirt. She quickly looked away.

“Everything had to be just so, just so, or I was sure I would be positively ruined if it was not. I did not talk of my daughter’s...indiscretion. Summers passed and I began to search for her. Nobody knew anything.” Josephine dabbed at her tears with a linen handkerchief.

“Oh madame, I am so sorry....”

Josephine put up her hand. “It’s all my fault. Yes, I finally found out what I wanted to know, after all this time. And then to discover she was dead. I can’t talk about that right now, but with bad news came good. She had a daughter, and she put her in an orphanage. That much I know. My granddaughter is eighteen now, if she is alive and well. I hope and pray that she is, and that I will find her.”

“Congratulations, madame,” Henree said, smiling. “You’ll make the perfect grandmother.”

“Oh, I hope not, Henree. I hope I will be interfering, meddling, and overbearing. I hope I will be doting, give unwanted advice often, and make her throw her arms up in loving disgust. Anything but perfect
.
I’ve had about damn enough of perfect.”

Henree nodded his elegant silver head in understanding, not used to hearing swear words coming from Josephine’s lips.

Josephine retrieved her gloves from a drawer lined with linen and scented with jasmine, snapping them on crisply. She placed the white silken hat ornamented with flowers atop her head.

“I need an escort into town to talk with the detective. Are you coming?”

Henree grinned. “Absolutely, madame.”

“I don’t know her name, or where she lives, or anything at all! But I know Mr. Spencer will find out everything I need to know.”

“And then what will you do, madame?”

Josephine took one more look at her reflection in the long, oaken dressing mirror, adjusting her hat to just the right angle. Then she turned a devilish smile on Henree.

“Why, spoil her rotten, of course. That’s what grandmothers do, you know.” She headed into the hallway, Henree trailing behind. “I just hope I’m not too late.”

9

Lighted candles flickered softly on the mantle above the scalloped aqua hearth, and Genevieve, Harold, and Martha waited expectantly. Penley kept glancing at his pocket watch; Harold held a Bible on his lap.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say someone was getting married tonight,” Camille said, her voice rising unsteadily. Dear God, she was even wearing white. She felt her knees go weak. She was greeted by looks of surprise. There was no sense in hanging on to her tavern speech now, for she wasn’t going to fool anybody anymore. There was no reason to. And it was quite obvious that the guests had been informed of her decision by Nicholas.

“Camille will explain later,” was all Nicholas said to the curious looks.

Genevieve was the first to congratulate her. “I knew you would accept my brother’s proposal.” She hugged Camille fiercely. “He can be very persuasive, you know.”

Proposal? There had been no proposal…only the threat of physical violence if she didn’t comply! But of course, Genevieve couldn’t know about that. Could she?

Genevieve leaned closer, whispering so that only Camille could hear. “My God, but you are unexpected. You are exactly what my brother needs. I knew there was something about you...something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.”

What about my needs?
Camille thought. She was in a state of shock. She was getting married. Tonight. Now. The next few moments were a blur. She balled her hands into fists at her sides, her stomach a tight knot. She concentrated on the pictures of Branton ancestors hanging above the fireplace. The dark, winged brows, the stern glances, the eyes which looked down on her with haughty disdain. She felt herself begin to sway and closed her eyes. Nicholas’ hand was firm upon her arm. “Open your eyes, my sweet. I wouldn’t want you to miss anything.” He didn’t attempt to hide the anger in his voice. The muscles in his jaw were taut and there was something cruel about his mouth.

The vows she and Nicholas spoke barely registered in her mind. Martha dabbed a hanky at her eyes, sniffling loudly and sighing about how romantic it was. Nicholas slipped a shiny, gold band from the pinky finger of his left hand and placed it on her finger. They were pronounced husband and wife shortly before midnight. The brief touch of his lips to hers broke the trance, the merest shiver of unexpected warmth from the hardness of his mouth.

Soon after, with much revelry, they were escorted upstairs, to the doorway of his room. Without warning, he swept her up, the backs of her knees pressed intimately against his arm. “Tradition has it I must carry you over the threshold, Mrs. Branton.” He shouldered the door open and closed it with a booted foot.

“Put me down!” she cried.

“As you wish.” He complied, taking his sweet time about it, letting her slide down the hard length of him. She quickly put distance between them.

“You’re quite sure of yourself, aren’t you?” she demanded.

“Consider it a character flaw. I have many.”

“What if I’d said no? You had the ring on your finger. You had the preacher to dinner. Everyone seemed to know I was getting married tonight but
me! And I came here to
avoid
marriage.”