To Tame a Rogue (9 page)

He jerked at her touch, grabbing her hand quickly and moving it aside. “It’s nothing.”

Sternly, he set her away from him and they sat the rest of the trip in silence.

14

Nicholas did not look at her. His thoughts disturbed him. Still, the way she had responded to him puzzled him; there was innocence to her silky, heated kisses and yet a passion that promised so much more. And despite what she was, who she was, he couldn’t deny that he wanted her badly…wanted to rip open her bodice and expose her soft, rounded breasts to the roughness of his hands.

He found himself wishing he were the first to show her the pleasures that could be had between a man and a woman. He had to stop thinking such thoughts or he might end up breaking his promise never to touch her—a promise that was now causing him physical pain for his manhood was swollen beneath the cloth of his trousers. Belatedly, he thought of his mistress Lavinia and realized his night of passion would have to wait.

In the darkness he stared at Camille’s soft profile, the outline of her lush lips, noted the rise and fall of her breasts beneath her flimsy garment as she breathed. She wasn’t a virgin. Perhaps he would take what he wanted, when she was ready. For despite her heated words, she
had
responded to him. There was no denying that.

15

Camille felt dazed and confused by what had happened. Unknowingly, she traced her lips, lips that were slightly swollen from his kisses, with her trembling fingertips. The carriage was stifling, the night air unusually oppressive and humid, and she longed for the comfort of her room—the room she had so graciously been granted as hers and hers alone, though a door connected her room with his.

It was taking a sobering long time to get home! The streets were choked with water from the recent rains and the soil was slippery. In the balmy winds, oil lamps nailed to wooden posts swung haphazardly from their projecting arms.

Obviously, Nicholas was toying with her. He was an arrogant man, a wealthy man, an experienced man who had probably had many lovers. Her embarrassment abated and was replaced by relief at the thought that he really had no desire for her; he was just exposing her to further humiliation. After all, he’d said she wasn’t his type.
 
 

Genevieve had said she was just what Nicholas needed. Why had she had such a thought, when they were so clearly wrong for each other? Camille felt a strange ache in her heart. She was sure she wasn’t Nicholas Branton’s type. She was sure no gentleman would ever want her, would ever have proposed marriage to her in the way she had dreamed about since she was a little girl. There was no sense in conjuring up that dream ever again.

She could imagine the sophisticated, beautiful ladies Nicholas had charmed into his bed. She’d only been kissed once before, and hadn’t found the experience pleasurable. It didn’t sit well with her that she’d discovered it could be pleasurable, and that Nicholas Branton was the one to show her. Well, it wouldn’t happen again. She didn’t need any lessons from him.

They finally arrived at the mansion, the carriage passing down the long, wooded lane. Pinewood and the hot, sharp scent of magnolia blooms lingered on the night air.

As she alighted from the carriage, ignoring the hand he offered to her, she didn’t dare look into those heated gold-brown eyes. She was caught in a world she barely remembered as a child, a world where she didn’t belong. Her husband
thought her a thief and a common whore. Her uncle had successfully ridded himself of her. She had no family to speak of and precious few friends.

She raced up the hulking porch stairs, ghostly white magnolia petals waving behind her in the breeze. She waltzed through the foyer and hurriedly climbed the marble staircase, retiring to her quarters—and he to his.

Both doors slammed, one after the other.

16

Kipp Gresham stood in Nicholas’ study idling twirling the chain of his gold pocket watch around his finger. His light blue eyes looked both amused and concerned. “You look terrible, old chap. Like you slept in your clothes.”

Kipp was one of the few men Nicholas had befriended over the years, one of the few men he trusted. They’d spent a considerable amount of years carousing, gaming, and pursuing some of the
ton’s
most notable and ‘unattainable’ ladies in London—unattainable, that is, until they’d set about seducing them into their respective beds. Because of their obligations and travels, they hadn’t seen each other in nearly a year.

“You look different. Almost like a married man the day after his wedding. I’ve seen you look like that once before....”

Nicholas grunted. “You know damn well too much about me...and always before I get the chance to tell you myself. Don’t tell me it’s already made the gossip columns.”

“Why, yes, old chap, it has. Imagine it. There I was, sitting down to my first breakfast back in the states. I was reading the newspaper
and the most alarming paragraph slaps me in the face!” Kipp pulled the article out of his pocket and gave it to Nicholas. He began to read:

It is strongly rumored that Nicholas Branton, son of international shipping magnate Caindale Branton, wed shortly after his father’s recent death to a woman of unknown pedigree. This is a rather shocking development, as it is well known to the community that Nicholas’ first wife is presumed to have drowned, her body was never recovered. It was also assumed the notable rake would never marry again. It is known that the younger Mr. Branton’s first marriage was not a happy union. Why did he bet on marriage again? Let’s hope this one goes more smoothly for him and his new lady.

 
Nicholas looked up when he was done reading. “Since when do you read gossip columns?”

Kipp ignored the question. “A rather grave loss for ladies the world over, I thought.”

“It’s true. I am married. I was hoodwinked by my own father, from the grave. I was married several nights ago.”

Kipp laughed. “I can’t wait to meet the little filly who managed to corral you. Lavinia will be so disappointed.”

Nicholas frowned. “Actually, my dear chap, I had to marry her. It was a provision of my father’s will. A deathbed request. Well, not really a request. In order to inherit his properties and wealth, I had to agree to the match. However, it turned out to be a rather profitable business transaction. I’ve inherited my father’s properties as well as his ships, so I’ve had the last laugh. I’ve been running his business for the past five years anyway; I’m the one who built it back up after Philip left.” He frowned.

“If Philip reads about Caindale’s death, wherever he is, and comes back expecting to be Lord of the manor, he’s in for a rude surprise.”

Nicholas filled Kipp in on all the details—the urchin’s attempt to have the arrangement called off, her former occupation at the tavern, her uncle’s bold threats, and the unexpected provisions of his father’s will. He told Kipp he and his wife had come to a mutual agreement—the marriage would be in name only—but only they, and now Kipp too, knew that.

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Kipp said, pouring himself a brandy. “Why would your father subject you to that? Did he know the girl?”

“My father never missed an opportunity to ridicule me. First, it was neglect. Then when I started to demonstrate my business acumen, and when Philip humiliated him with his own disappearing act, it turned to ridicule
and
revenge. I have my suspicions about how my father knew her and her uncle, and I’m sure it was his final chance to humiliate me by forcing the marriage to the little whore. Caindale probably owed the man a huge gambling debt and he wanted her off his hands."

"That's a bit harsh, isn't it?"

Nicholas frowned, grabbed a bottle of bourbon and poured himself a liberal drink. "It's true. She's … experienced, if you prefer those terms. And if Philip wasn’t going to inherit, I was my father's last choice. Of course I should have known there would be stipulations.”

Nicholas raked a hand irritably through his hair. “She’s not my type, but she is
attractive. She’s also very good at projecting an aura of innocence—at playing the virgin, which she quite clearly is not. You’ll meet her soon enough.”

“I’m looking forward to it. You could always hire an investigator, you know. To find Philip.” Kipp noted the anger, the gold, glacial glint of his friend’s eyes, his fists as he clenched the newspaper article in one hand and the glass of bourbon in the other.

“She’s had quite an effect on you. What you need, my friend, is a good night of gaming and fighting. What do you say?”

“Make it a night of wenching and you’re on.”

Kipp arched a sandy brow and smiled. “The ladies will be quite relieved that marriage has not changed your rakish ways, Nick.” Kipp poured himself a glass of brandy. “Cheers, old fellow. I see no reason why we can’t get an early start on the evening.”

17

There was another man who was quite intrigued by the newspaper article. He’d almost missed the small paragraph as he scanned the forwarded newspaper, now a week old. He smiled to himself as he watched the trade clouds pile in tumbling heights to the north, their lower ridges scalloped with flame. The ocean sighed and stirred with unhurried speed until it reached the sandy shores.

“What are you thinking about, love?” The man turned his head and took in the vision of loveliness standing before him. She wore a tight-bodiced dress that molded her bosom in youthful maturity; her fiery auburn hair shimmered in the hot sunlight. Her grey eyes were curious, the eyes that had intrigued him from the moment he’d seen her. They were like the depths of the coldest Nove
mber day―brilliant, shaded, and ashen against her hair.

“I was thinking of you, as I always am,” she said. She began to massage his shoulders. He closed his eyes.

“It’s time, my love.” He thought of the opulent paradise where they’d both been living under
false names, the leisurely, sun-drenched days, and the hot, sultry nights of lovemaking. In a way, he would be sorry to leave it. His adrenaline flowed. He opened his eyes and silently handed her the newspaper.

She scanned it, quickly finding the article. Her eyes grew wide.

“Our patience has been rewarded.”

They sat down in the sand. “I can’t believe old Caindale is dead. And I can’t wait to see Nicholas’ expression when you waltz back into his life,” she breathed. She looked toward the sea and absently dug her bare toes into the silky sand. He forced her beneath him suddenly, his eyes growing lustful. “I hope you are not looking forward to it overly much, my dear.” He remembered the first forbidden kiss he’d stolen from her, the way she had eagerly molded her body to his, the way the braid of his uniform had dug into his body as they lay pressed together, her husband only two rooms away.

She laughed wickedly. “Rot his soul. What I look forward to is his demise
.”

“That’s more like it, love.” With savage fierceness, he hungrily took her. They lost all sense of time until the horizon became purple-domed. As the sky splintered into blue-black night and the stars glittered like sharply cut diamonds, he took her again. “This will be our last night here,” he breathed. “We can’t waste time. Tomorrow we set sail for the states.”

His lips curled in agile glee. The last thing Nicholas Branton needed was another complication. “And he thought he was done with us, love. What a bitter surprise he’ll have. A bitter surprise indeed!”

18

“I still can’t believe he married
her
,
”
the maid said, folding a linen napkin just so. The other maid continued polishing the silver to perfection.

“A common tavern maid, a lower station than a maid! And the rumor is she didn’t
want
to marry him! Can you imagine! I heard she has the table manners of a boar and a spiked tongue to boot. None of it makes any sense. I can’t believe he’s going to present her to the world as his wife. She’ll make a fool of herself!”

She looked at her reflection in the shiny spoon she was holding. She fluffed her dark hair with the other hand. “Why
I’m
a better catch.”

“You girls need more to do?”

Both girls snapped to attention as Lucy sauntered into the dining room.

“You don’t know nothin’ ‘bout the girl, so don’t be so quick to judge her. We got lots to do before that party and no time for chit chat.”

Both girls nodded their heads and resumed working in silence. For sure they would pick up their conversation later, and they looked forward to learning every sordid detail of the upcoming ball.