by Diana Quincy
“It is only when compared to my wayward brothers that I appear virtuous. I assure you, I am but an ordinary gentleman.” Sebastian regarded his brother with cool green eyes. “One, for example, who would never forget Miss Livingston is a lady who should be treated in a most honorable way.”
“I went riding with the lady.” Cam scowled at his brother. “I didn’t ravish her.”
Chuckling, Basil bottomed out his glass. “Besides, if Cam was of the mind to ravish someone, I doubt it would be Miss Livingston, of all people.”
“I’m of the mind to thrash you.” Grinding his teeth, Cam resisted the urge to pummel his youngest brother. “We are speaking of a lady. I’ll remind you to keep a civil tongue.”
Sebastian’s mouth quirked. “Now you worry about protecting Miss Livingston’s reputation?”
“What do you know about anything? I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you so much as look at a lady.”
Even though Sebastian’s inscrutable expression didn’t alter, Cam regretted the words as soon as he uttered them. Everyone present knew precisely why his brother showed no overt interest in females.
“That is outside of enough.” Willa tilted a stern look at him. “What in the world is wrong with you?”
Basil nodded. “You are behaving most unusually.”
“Perhaps my brother’s intentions toward Miss Livingston are not as honorable as they should be,” Sebastian said, with only his dark curls visible from behind the newspaper.
Blatant disbelief stamped Basil’s face. “Surely not.”
“I don’t think Cam has any intentions, honorable or otherwise, towards her,” Willa said. “He seems to find Charlotte rather uninteresting.”
“To the contrary.” Sebastian’s dark-lashed gaze peered at her from above the top of the newspaper. “His actions suggest my brother finds Miss Livingston far more intriguing than he cares to admit.”
An odd emotion tugged at Cam’s gut. “Leave off,” he growled, his face burning as he stormed from the room.
…
The remaining days of the house party passed in a sleepy haze for Charlotte, who spent most of that time resting and occasionally dreaming of a certain amber-haired gentleman in snug breeches. Gradually, her confusion cleared and the only ringing she heard came from church bells in the nearby village.
On the final night of the house party, the Duke and Duchess of Hartwell hosted a farewell dinner and dance for their guests. Still confined to the sickroom, Charlotte didn’t attend even though her headaches had receded and she grew more restless with each passing day. Thinking of the lively activities from which she was excluded highlighted her boredom.
Music drifting from below stairs, she plopped down into a chair with a book, but it was hopeless because she couldn’t concentrate. Thoughts of Camryn intruded.
Her mind kept returning to the memory of that kiss, to the potent press of his lips against hers. Even now, just replaying it in her mind sent bright sparks of pleasure raining down her spine.
Although she’d always held herself aloof, Charlotte had felt a powerful attraction to the marquess from the moment she’d first set eyes on him months ago in town. But she hadn’t expected to take pleasure in Camryn’s company, which she had, even when they were sparring. And he’d shown such tenderness after she’d been thrown from her mount. She’d felt safe in his arms and in his fierce concern for her.
The very idea that she could actually be drawn to the entire man, and not just to his obvious physical attributes, unnerved her. The Marquess of Camryn was a rakehell and an industrialist. He exploited people. Camryn stood for everything she disdained in a man.
Sighing, she pushed to her feet and walked over to crack the door open. Leaning her forehead against the cool wood, she listened to the strains of music and chatter emanating from the farewell dance. On the morrow, he would be gone and in all likelihood, it would be months before they crossed paths again. Which was just as well, she tried to tell herself, because Camryn clearly saw the world through different eyes.
What was he doing at this precise moment? Perhaps he stood in the garden receiving a special farewell from Mr. Fitzharding’s lady wife. She flushed at the memory. She’d been returning from a walk with Nathan when the strange murmurs and muted groans drew her attention. The carnal nature of what she’d chanced upon still shocked her, even now. It wasn’t as if she was completely ignorant of the intimacies between a man and a woman, but seeing Mrs. Fitzharding perform such an unthinkable act on Camryn stunned her.
It had also done strange things to her body. At first, the mechanics of it held her spellbound. The moonlight had cast a glow on the lady’s back-and-forth movements, highlighting the startlingly expert actions of her mouth and tongue, as well as the knowing, satisfied expression on her face when the marquess undulated against her.
Then there was the kingly way Camryn had stood against the tree, the noble majesty with which he accepted the pleasure she offered, as though it was his right. He’d looked arrogant and graceful even then, his imperious hand resting atop the head of the woman who pleasured him, his green eyes reflecting the moonlight, infusing them with an otherworldly glow.
She’d never seen a grown man’s private bits before. Camryn had been clothed but his breeches were open, allowing his prodigious male appendage to jut out from a thicket of tawny curls. Illuminated by the moonlight, it had been proud and hard, thick and long, much more substantial than she would ever have imagined could fit in a man’s snug breeches. Or in any feminine orifice.
When Camryn had closed his eyes and shuddered, her own heart had convulsed, the heat in her body surging. Afterward, she’d been startled to witness his bored satisfaction and bland politeness. The lack of intimacy between two people who’d just engaged in a deeply sensual act had baffled her. It still did.
She’d been undeniably mesmerized once his lover left him, unable to tear her eyes away as the sublime creature tidied himself, deftly recreating the illusion of gentlemanly civility he usually showed the world. It did no good where she was concerned. The image of Camryn preening lazily up against the tree flaunting his virility with a careless confidence, branded itself upon her mind.
The memory had a hot impact on her as she leaned up against the open door and listened to the strains of music. Her cheeks warmed and the lowest part of her belly twitched with anticipation. She groaned. How in the world could she react to Camryn in this way? Smart, sensible Charlotte Livingston mooning over a man who appeared to have little respect for females and even less for the common man. She forced a deep breath and shook out her shoulders, determined to put him out of her mind.
“Miss Livingston?”
Startled, Charlotte peered around the open door to find the flesh-and-blood object of her musings standing outside her bedchamber. “Oh, Lord Camryn!” she said, the heat rising in her cheeks again.
“I’m sorry to intrude.” He was dressed in dinner attire, his deep blue, superfine tailcoat, and underlying dark paisley waistcoat, hugged the clean, taut lines of his body. Pale grey breeches clung to the defined curves of his strong thighs like a besotted lover. The clothing’s formal, restrictive elegance somehow enhanced the untamed, earthy quality that radiated from the marquess.
Tugging at his snowy cravat, he said, “I, well, ah, take my leave tomorrow and wished to ascertain for myself that you are recovering.”
“I am quite well, thank you.” She tried to ignore the thrill that shivered through her. “Except for the interminable boredom that comes with being in the sickroom, but there it is.”
Camryn grinned in a radiant, full-toothed way which made her heart stumble. “I am so relieved to hear it.” He fell silent and she couldn’t think of a thing to say. All she knew was that she didn’t want him to leave. He turned to go. “Very well then.”
“I could use a walk in the garden.” The words tumbled out in the rush to stay his departure. “If you would be kind enough to escort me.”
“Of course.” H
is face brightened. “It would be my pleasure. I shall await you at the end of the corridor.”
Spinning around, Charlotte grabbed her shawl and dashed over to check her reflection in the mirror. She pinched her cheeks before grabbing a bonnet and rushing to the door. Halting, she forced herself to step out of her chamber in a graceful manner, attempting a ladylike glide toward Camryn, instead of galloping down the corridor like a thoroughbred at Newmarket. Reaching the marquess, she took the arm he extended. “Thank you for taking pity on an invalid.”
“Are you certain it is wise to move about? Willa said the doctor ordered complete bed rest.”
“A serene walk about the garden will not jangle my brain.” She quickened her step, urging him along before he changed his mind. “And the invigorating fresh air will no doubt speed my recovery.”
“As you wish.” The lines of concern on his forehead eased. They walked in silence, making their way through the cavernous house toward the garden. The cool night air and pungent scent of blooming flowers greeted them as soon as they stepped outside.
“These gardens go on forever,” she said, breathing in the crisp air.
“Hart says there are seven acres of garden. One could get lost.”
“Then I am fortunate to have you as my guide. Are you very familiar with the paths?” Her cheeks flamed as soon as she asked the question, suddenly remembering the last time she’d seen him in the garden.
He appeared not to notice. “My brothers and I have spent some time here visiting Willa since she married. Hart and I were old friends at Cambridge, so the visits are quite amiable.” They were silent for just a moment, strolling at an easy pace.
“How many brothers do you have?”
“Sometimes I think too many,” he said with an easy laugh. “Four. I am the eldest of five.”
She recalled meeting two of them before her fall. “Willa mentioned having a cousin at war. I understand he serves with great distinction.”
“That would be Edward.” Camryn’s eyes seemed to darken, even in the moonlight.
“You were against his choice to fight?”
“His reasons for doing so concern me. Edward became enamored with the daughter of an earl. As my brother was a second son with no grand prospects, her father rejected his offer. Not long after, Edward went off to join the fight.” He stared out into the darkness. “My brother has fought with great valor and is a brilliant strategist. He’s even been knighted for his services. He’s Sir Edward Stanhope now.”
“You must be very proud.”
“Indeed, I am. Enormously so. It’s just that it is so unlike him. Edward is a talented musician, an artist. I would never have guessed he would excel in military endeavors.”
Charlotte answered with a sneeze. It must be something in this garden, she thought, sneezing again.
Camryn froze beside her. Sensing the change in his demeanor, she peered up at him, dread rippling through her. His face flushed and tightened, a look of shocked comprehension washing over it. She went very still when that hardened leonine face stared down on her, his round pupils reflecting the moonlight much as they had that night.
“It was you,” he said.
Chapter Four
Cam’s head pounded with disbelief. It couldn’t be. He searched Charlotte’s face and, even in the torch-lit garden, could discern the deep crimson staining her cheeks. The crisp garden air suddenly felt thick and oppressive. Finally, she raised her eyes and met his gaze. “Yes.”
Something in his chest jerked. A jumble of emotions tumbled through him as he fully realized Charlotte had witnessed the coarse act. He was ashamed she’d seen him participating in it. Yet he admired the way she’d answered him. Not in a simmering, silly, or bashful way, but with shocking honesty.
“I see.” He looked away from her, his face and chest burned with mortification. “Are you always so truthful?”
She resumed walking. “I’m afraid so. Be careful of what you ask me. You might hear something you’d rather not.”
He already had. “Thank you for your candor.” Cam fell in step beside her, still pulsing with disbelief.
No gentlewoman should be subjected to such vulgarity. But more than that, it distressed him that the episode had no doubt caused him to plummet even further in her esteem. Now she probably saw him as both an uncaring tyrant and a depraved degenerate.
“I apologize for the insult to your sensibilities.” The muscles in his face were so taut with strain he thought they might snap. “I am beyond chagrined that a gently raised lady should witness such a disgusting display. It astonishes me you would deign to be in the same company as me.”
“I did not think it disgusting.” Charlotte’s eyes popped wide open. Her hand flew to cover her mouth as if the words had slipped out on their own accord.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I did not think it was disgusting,” she whispered, taking a sudden interest in staring at her silk slippers.
“I see.” In reality he didn’t. Not at all. Cam was at a loss for words. This frank talk was most inappropriate, but he felt compelled to know more. “Whatever to do you mean?”
Her head jerked up. “Beg pardon?”
His question seemed to shock her as much as it did him. So she wasn’t as unflappable as she’d have him believe. He halted, compelling her to stop as well. “I know it is beyond the pale. But there is something about you, Miss Livingston, that compels me to dispense with propriety and speak quite plainly.” His gaze held hers. “You have said you never lie.”
Admiration rushed through him when she turned to face him, cool and unafraid, allowing her frank gaze to remain steady with his. “You should not ask me such a thing.”
“You would be well within your rights to slap me for my impudence.” His heart thumped in his head. “However, I find I cannot help myself.”
She held his gaze as rising tension tightened the air between them. “I would rather not say.” She finally mustered the words. “As a gentleman, you should accept my response.”
He looked at her for a moment, then smiled with reluctant resignation, allowing the pressure of the moment to ease. “When you put it that way, you leave me no choice. I can only hope the unfortunate incident has not lowered me too greatly in your esteem.”
She remained silent and walked on ahead, clearly signaling her desire to end the conversation. There was nothing to be done for it. Holding his tongue, he followed, wondering how he’d managed to botch things so completely with the first woman to rouse his interest in a very long time.
…
“Charlotte! You look wonderful.” Willa embraced her friend. “I’m so pleased you are finally returned to town. These last two weeks have been dreadfully dull without you.”
Handing her wrap to the waiting footman, Charlotte returned Willa’s embrace, her mood buoyed by the chattering sounds streaming down the corridor, emanating from Hartwell House’s salon.
“It is so good to be in London again. I came as soon as Mother allowed me to make my escape.” Charlotte hadn’t seen Willa since leaving Fairview Manor to recuperate at home in Leicestershire under her mother’s watchful eye. “I dread the thought of the Season ending and retiring to the country again.”
“Perhaps she will allow you to spend the summer at Fairview.” Willa’s soft, dreamy smile held a sharp, secretive edge. “Although I can’t promise the usual coterie of interesting guests.”
She eyed her beautiful friend. “You look lovely as usual. One could even say you are glowing.” Her gaze moved down to her friend’s midriff. “Willa, are you—”
“We are not announcing it as of yet, but yes, I am increasing.” The duchess’s enormous, velvety-brown eyes shone with happiness. “Hartwell is thrilled. We both are.”
“Willa, how wonderful.”
“I’ll enter my confinement once the season ends. Please say you’ll consider spending my lying in with me at Fairview.” She looped her arm through Charlotte’s. “I won’t press you for
an immediate answer. Come, the guests are already gathered.”
They entered the large parlor where the guests had gathered. Disappointment flashed through Charlotte to see no sign of Willa’s cousin. She’d not seen Camryn since their walk in the garden almost three weeks ago. Shaking off the feeling, she tried to remember she had no business being interested in the marquess. She forced herself to picture him at one of his dingy factories driving the downtrodden workers with impossible demands.
The Duke of Hartwell approached and Charlotte felt a twinge near her heart at the loving look the two exchanged before the duke’s sharp-cut features focused on her.
“Miss Livingston. I am gratified to see you have recovered fully.”
“Yes, Your Grace, I have. Thank you.” She never felt at ease with Willa’s dark, enigmatic husband. Already an imposingly tall man, he wore unrelenting black except for the bright white of his cravat. She wondered why he still wore his hair long, tied back in a queue. It was quite out of fashion and made his bold features appear all the more severe.
After exchanging a few pleasantries, she moved about the room, soon settling into a conversation with Jonathan Martin, a wealthy man of business and Robert Gibbon, who shared Charlotte’s interest in social reform.
“Miss Livingston, have you heard the dreadful news from Crosland Moor?” Gibbon inquired.
“I’m afraid not,” said Charlotte. “I have been at home in Leicestershire quite removed from the news.”
Martin, the man of business shook his head. “It’s most distasteful, but not unexpected. It seems the Luddites have struck there again.”
“Only this time, they’ve really done it,” interjected a crisp, resonant voice that made Charlotte’s heart jump. “They ambushed and murdered a mill owner in Marsden.”
She turned to see the Marquess of Camryn approaching them, his gilded presence as radiant as the candles illuminating the room around him. Dark, formfitting evening clothes showed his lithe, lightly muscled form to extreme advantage. Her stomach tightened at the way his sculpted thighs flexed and slid beneath snug breeches.