by Lisa Kleypas
“The pain that kills pain acts as medicine,” Win translated.
“That would make sense only to a Roma,” Amelia said, and Cam grinned.
He took her shoulders in his hands. “You’re in charge now, hummingbird. I’m leaving for a little while.”
“Right now?” she asked in bewilderment. “But … where are you going?”
His expression changed. “To find your brother.”
Amelia stared at him with mingled gratitude and concern. “Perhaps you should rest first. You traveled all night. It may take a long time to find him.”
“No it won’t.” His eyes glinted with irony. “Your brother is hardly one to cover his tracks.”
Chapter Twenty
Approximately six hours after his search for Leo had begun, Cam knocked at the front door of a prosperous manor farm. A piece of tavern gossip had led to someone who had seen Ramsay with someone else, and they had gone to another place, where their plans had been overheard, and so forth, until finally the trail had led to this place.
The large Tudor house, with the date 1620 inscribed over the door, was located almost ten miles from Stony Cross Park. From the information Cam had gathered, the farm had once belonged to a noble Hampshire family, but had been sold out of necessity to a London merchant. It served as a retreat for the merchant’s dissipated sons and their playmates.
Hardly a surprise that Leo had been drawn to such company.
The door was opened, and a trout-faced butler appeared. His lips twisted disdainfully as he saw Cam.
“Your kind isn’t welcome here.”
“That’s fortunate, since I don’t intend to stay long. I’ve come to collect Lord Ramsay.”
“There is no Ramsay here.” The butler began to close the door, but Cam braced a hand on it.
“Tall. Light eyes. Ruddy-complexioned. Probably reeking of spirits—”
“I have seen no one of that description.”
“Then let me speak to your master.”
“He is not at home.”
“Look,” Cam said irritably, “I’m here on behalf of Lord Ramsay’s family. They want him back. God knows why. Give him to me, and I’ll leave you in peace.”
“If they want him,” the butler said frostily, “let them send a proper servant. Not a filthy Gypsy.”
Cam rubbed the corners of his eyes with his free hand and sighed. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Frankly, I’d rather not go through unnecessary exertion. All I ask is that you allow me five minutes to find the bastard and take him off your hands.”
“Begone with you!”
After another foiled attempt to close the door, the butler reached for a silver bell on the hall table. A few seconds later, two burly footmen appeared.
“Show this vermin out at once,” the butler commanded.
Cam removed his coat and tossed it onto one of the built-in benches lining the entrance hall.
The first footman charged him. In a few practiced movements, Cam landed a right cross on his jaw, flipped him, and sent him to a groaning heap on the floor.
The second footman approached Cam with considerably more caution than the first.
“Which is your dominant arm?” Cam asked.
The footman looked startled. “Why do you want to know?”
“I’d prefer to break the one you don’t use as often.”
The footman’s eyes bulged, and he retreated, giving the butler a pleading glance.
The butler glared at Cam. “You have five minutes. Retrieve your master and go.”
“Ramsay isn’t my master,” Cam muttered. “He’s a pain in my arse.”
* * *
“They’ve been in the same room for days,” the footman, whose name was George, told Cam as they ascended a flight of carpeted stairs. “Food sent in, whores coming and going, empty wine bottles everywhere … and the stench of opium smoke all through the entire upper floor. You’ll want to cover your eyes when you enter the room, sir.”
“Because of the smoke?”
“That, and … well, the goings-on would make the devil blush.”
“I’m from London,” Cam said. “I don’t blush.”
Even if George hadn’t been willing to lead Cam to the room of iniquity, he could have easily found it from the smell.
The door was ajar. Cam nudged it open and stepped into the hazy atmosphere. There were four men and two women, all young, all in various stages of undress. Although only one opium pipe was in evidence, it could have been argued that the entire room served as a huge pipe, so thick was the sweet smoke.
Cam’s arrival was greeted with remarkable unconcern, the men listlessly draped across upholstered furniture, one coiled on cushions in the corner. Their complexions were cadaverous, their eyes filmy with narcotic dullness. A side table was littered with spoons and pins and a dish filled with what looked like black treacle.
One of the women, who was entirely naked, paused in the act of lifting a pipe to a man’s slack mouth.
“Look,” she said to the other woman, “here’s a new one.”
A drowsy giggle. “Good, we need him. They’re all at half-mast. The only stiff thing left is the pipe.” She twisted to look at Cam. “Gor, what a pretty man.”
“Oh, let me have him first,” the other one said. She petted herself invitingly. “C’mere, love, I’ll give you a—”
“No, thank you.” Cam was beginning to feel slightly dizzy from the smoke. He went to the nearest window, opened it, and let a cold breeze into the room. A few curses and protests greeted his actions.
Identifying the one in the corner as Leo, Cam went to the quiescent figure, lifted the head by the hair, and stared into his future brother-in-law’s puffy face. “Haven’t you inhaled enough smoke lately?” he asked.
Leo scowled. “Sod off.”
“You sound like Merripen,” Cam said. “Who, in case you’re interested, may be dead by the time we return to Stony Cross Manor.”
“Good riddance to him.”
“I’d agree with you, except that agreeing with you probably means I’m on the wrong side of the argument.” Cam began to tug Leo upward, and the other man struggled. “Stand up, damn you.” Cam hoisted him with a grunt of effort. “Or I’ll drag you out by the heels.”
Leo’s bloated bulk swayed against him. “I’m trying to stand,” he snapped. “The floor keeps tipping.”
Cam fought to steady him. When Leo had finally gotten his bearings, he lurched toward the doorway, where the footman waited.
“May I escort you downstairs, my lord?” George asked politely. Leo responded with a surly nod.
“Close the window,” one of the women demanded, her naked body shivering as the autumn wind swept through the room.
Cam glanced at her dispassionately. He had seen too many of her kind to feel much pity. There were thousands of them in London—round-faced country wenches, just pretty enough to attract the attention of men who promised, took, and discarded without conscience. “You should try some fresh air,” he advised, reaching for a discarded lap blanket beside the settee. “It promotes clear thinking.”
“What do I need to do that for?” she asked sourly.
Cam grinned. “Good point.” He draped the blanket over her shivering white body. “Still … you should take some deep breaths.” He bent to pat her pale cheek gently. “And leave this place as soon as you’re able. Don’t waste yourself on these bastards.”
The woman lifted her bloodshot eyes, staring in wonder at the black-haired man, who was as swarthy and dashing as a pirate prince with the glittering diamond at his ear.
Her plaintive voice followed him as he left. “Come back!”
* * *
It took the combined efforts of Cam and George to load the grumbling, protesting Leo into the carriage. “It’s like hauling five sacks of potatoes all at once,” the footman said breathlessly, pushing Leo’s foot safely inside the vehicle.
“The potatoes would be quieter,” Cam said. He
tossed the footman a gold sovereign.
George caught it in midair and beamed at him. “Thank you, sir! And may I say you’re a gentleman, sir. Even if you are a Gypsy.”
Cam’s smile turned wry, and he climbed into the carriage after Leo. They started back to Stony Cross Manor in silence.
“Do you need to stop?” Cam asked midway through the trip, seeing that Leo’s face had turned from white to green.
Leo shook his head morosely. “I don’t wish to talk.”
“You owe me an answer or two. Because if I hadn’t had to spend the day searching through half of Hampshire to find you, I could have been in bed—” With your sister, he thought, but instead said, “Sleeping.”
Those curiously light eyes turned toward him, the color of icicles when blue twilight shone through them. Unusual eyes. Cam had seen someone with eyes like that before, but he couldn’t remember who or when. A distant memory hovered just beyond reach.
“What do you want to know?” Leo asked.
“Why do you bear Merripen such ill will? Is it his charming disposition, or the fact that he’s a Roma? Or is it because he was taken in by your parents and raised as one of you?”
“None of that. I despise Merripen because he refused the only thing I ever asked of him.”
“Which was?”
“To let me die.”
Cam pondered that. “You must mean when he nursed you through the scarlet fever.”
“Yes.”
“You blame him for saving your life?”
“Yes.”
“If it makes you feel any better,” Cam said dryly, settling back in his seat, “I’m sure he’s had second thoughts about it.”
They were silent after that, while Cam relaxed and let his mind wander. As darkness fell and Leo was cast in shadow, the unnerving eyes flickered silver-blue—
—and Cam remembered.
It was in childhood, when Cam had still been with the tribe. There had been a man with a haggard face and brilliant colorless eyes, his soul ravaged by grief over his daughter’s death. Cam’s grandmother had warned him to stay away from the man. “He’s muladi,” she had said.
“What does that mean, Mamì?” Cam had asked, clinging anxiously to her warm hand, which was comfortingly gnarled and tough like the buttressing roots of ancient trees.
“Haunted by a dead person. Don’t go near him, he’s upset the balance of Romanìja. He loved his daughter too much.”
Feeling pity for the man, and worry for his own sake, Cam had asked, “Will I be muladi when you die, Mamì?” He had been certain that he loved his grandmother too much, but he couldn’t stop feeling that way.
A smile had appeared in his grandmother’s wise black eyes. “No, Cam. A muladi traps his beloved’s spirit in the in-between because he won’t let her go. You wouldn’t do that to me, would you, little fox?”
“No, Mamì.”
The man had died not long after that, by his own hand. It had been a horror, and yet a relief for the entire tribe.
Now, as Cam looked back on it with the understanding of an adult rather than a small boy, he felt a chill of apprehension, followed by searing pity. How impossible it would be to relinquish a woman you loved. How could you stop yourself from wanting her? The seams of your heart would rip open with grief. Of course you would want to keep her with you.
Or follow her.
* * *
As Cam entered the manor with the unrepentant prodigal at his side, Amelia and Beatrix hurried toward them, the former frowning, the latter smiling.
Amelia opened her mouth to say something to Leo, but Cam caught her gaze and shook his head, warning her to be silent. To his surprise, she actually obeyed and swallowed back the sharp words. She reached out for Leo’s coat. “I’ll take that,” she said in a subdued tone.
“Thank you.” Both avoided looking at each other.
“We’ve just finished supper,” Amelia muttered. “The stew is still hot. Will you have some?”
Leo shook his head.
Beatrix, missing the seething undercurrents in the air, launched herself at Leo and wrapped her arms around his thick waist. “You were gone so long! So many things have happened—Merripen is ill, and I helped make a potion for him, and—” She stopped, making a face. “You smell bad. What—”
“Tell me how you made the potion,” Leo said gruffly, making his way to the stairs. Beatrix chattered without stopping as she accompanied him.
Cam looked over Amelia carefully, not missing a detail. She was disheveled, her hair cascading down her back, her eyes tired. She needed to rest.
“Thank you for finding him,” she said. “Where was he?”
“At a private home with some friends.”
She drew closer to him, sniffing gingerly. “That smell … it’s on both of you…”
“Opium smoke. Your brother’s taken up an expensive new habit.”
“We couldn’t afford the old ones.” Amelia scowled, her foot beginning a restless staccato beneath her skirts. She was so small and fierce and adorable that Cam could barely restrain himself from snatching her up and kissing her senseless. “The only reason I didn’t murder him just now,” Amelia continued, “is because he looked too numb to feel it. But when he sobers I’m going to—”
“How is Merripen?” Cam interrupted, running a gentle hand from her shoulder to her elbow.
The tapping stopped. “Still feverish, but better. Win’s with him. We changed his poultice … the wound looks a bit less disgusting than before. Is that a good sign?”
“It’s a good sign.”
Her concerned gaze chased over him. “Shall I get you something to eat?”
Smiling, Cam shook his head. “Not before I have a good, thorough wash.” There were many things they needed to discuss, but it could all wait. “Go to bed, monisha—you look weary.”
“So do you,” Amelia said, standing on her toes. Cam held very still as she pressed her lips to his cheek. A long hesitation, and then she asked tentatively, “Will you come to me tonight?”
The shy invitation nearly undid him. Here was an opening—a sign of acceptance—but he cared too much about her to take advantage when she was obviously tired. “No.” He took her into his arms. “You need to sleep more than you need my groping and fondling.”
She flushed a little, and leaned harder against him. “I don’t mind your groping and fondling.”
Cam laughed. “What a testament to my lovemaking skills.”
“Come to me,” she whispered. “Hold me while we sleep.”
“Hummingbird,” he returned, his lips brushing her brow, “if I hold you, I don’t trust myself not to make love to you. So we’ll sleep in separate beds.” He looked down at her with a smile. “Just for tonight.”
* * *
It took three soapings and rinsings for Cam to remove the taint of opium from his skin and hair. After toweling his hair dry, he donned a black silk robe and walked through the darkened hallway to his room. It was storming outside, the rain and thunder sweeping in on an easterly, battering the windows and roof.
The hearth in his room had been replenished, the blaze shedding warmth and light. Cam’s eyes narrowed in curiosity as he saw a small shape beneath the covers.
Amelia’s head lifted from the pillow. “I’m cold,” she said, as if that were a perfectly reasonable explanation for her presence.
“My bed is no warmer than yours.” Cam approached her slowly, trying not to feel like a predator, trying to ignore the heat that had ignited in his blood. His body had gone hard beneath the black silk, all his muscles tightening in anticipation. He knew what she wanted from him … and he would be more than happy to provide it.
“It would be warmer if you were in it,” she said.
Her hair fell over her shoulders in dark ripples down to her hips. Sitting close beside her, Cam touched one of the shining locks, following it over her chest, the tip of her breast, down to the end. Amelia drew in a quick breath. He wondered if the blush
on her face had spread to the skin he couldn’t see.
Restraining his urgent need, Cam held still as she reached out to him with hesitant fingers, stroking the black silk that covered his shoulders. She rose to her knees and impulsively kissed his ear, the one with the diamond stud, and touched the damp, slightly curling locks of his hair.
“You’re not like any man I’ve ever known,” she said. “You’re not even someone I could have dreamed. You’re like someone from a fairy story written in a language I don’t even know.”
“The prince, I hope.”
“No, you’re the dragon, a beautiful wicked dragon.” Her voice turned wistful. “How could anyone have a normal everyday life with you?”
Cam took her in a safe, firm grip and lowered her to the mattress. “Maybe you’ll be a civilizing influence on me.” He bent over the slope of her breast, kissing it through the muslin veil of her gown. “Or maybe you’ll get a taste for the dragon.” He found the bud of her nipple, wet the cotton with his mouth, until the tender flesh pricked up against his tongue.
“I th-think I already have.” She sounded so perturbed that he laughed.
“Then lie still,” he whispered, “while I breathe fire on you.”
The women he had slept with in the past had never worn this kind of prim white nightgown, which struck Cam as the most erotic garment he had ever seen. It had intricate little folds and tucks and lace trimmings, and it went from the neck to the ankles. The way it lay over her, like a layer of pale, crisp icing, made his heart pound with primal force. He followed her shape, searching for her scent, her heat, through the cotton, lingering whenever she arched or shivered. The front was held closed by a long row of covered buttons. He worked at them while her hands slid restlessly over his silk-covered back.
He kissed her, his tongue searching the sweetness of her mouth. The top of the gown slipped open, revealing the gleaming rise of her breasts, the tempting shadow between. He pulled the garment lower, lower, until her arms were delicately trapped and her chest was exposed. His head lowered and he took what he wanted, licking a taut nipple, prodding with his tongue, making it wet and deep pink. Amelia sighed deeply, her eyes half-closed, her body lifting helplessly as he bent to her other breast.