Time After Time

by Elizabeth Boyce

  Camden frowned. “Perhaps I should make my way home, if I am that bad off. I’ll never hear the end of it if I don’t show up on time looking presentable.”

  “Nonsense,” Wittingham said. “It is your birthday and your last night of freedom. Beginning tomorrow morning, you are forever cursed to the drudgery of employment. You might as well stay out the entire night and report to your father from here. Daddy will understand.”

  “Indeed,” Farber said. “There is still so much to be done tonight.”

  “What more is there to do? You’ve lost all your money,” Hollsworth pointed out.

  “Yes, but I haven’t lost Camden’s money yet, so the night is not over.”

  Wittingham laughed. “Ah yes, how lucky were are that our friend has some of the deepest pockets in London. When we have gambled almost all his purse away tonight, we can spend the rest on whores and liquor.”

  “Let’s not wait on the liquor,” Farber said as he peered into his empty tumbler. “I am in dire need of more brandy. As is the birthday boy.” Farber grabbed Camden’s glass from his loose grasp and turned it upside down. “See?”

  “Oh, no, Farber, no more brandy — ”

  “Right then. First, we get more brandy,” Wittingham said, as if Camden hadn’t spoken. “Then it’s back to the hazard tables.” He led the way through the crowd, Farber and Hollsworth close behind.

  Camden stumbled along for a few steps but then stopped as a wave of nausea hit him. He had been drinking with his friends since early that evening, and had probably consumed more alcohol in that day than in all the rest of his life. His head pounded and his mouth was horribly dry, as if he had tried to swallow a bundle of cotton rags.

  He suddenly wanted nothing more than to be out of Belford’s club. It was too crowded and too loud and too chaotic. Too full of groups of drunk and bloated men laughing and yelling as they gambled and fought and chased the club’s whores around the floor. He looked around, squinting, trying to find his friends in the blurry mass of black coats, but they had already disappeared into the crowd. It was just as well, he supposed, that he snuck out without telling them. They would never let him leave while the hazard tables were still open and there was still brandy to drink and women to grope. He would have to slip out the side door.

  He changed course and pushed his way through the crowd. He pulled out his watch as he lurched along, bumping into furniture and men in his dizziness. He took the watch from its chain and brought it nearer to his eyes, but no matter how hard he squinted, he couldn’t make out the time.

  “Need some help, love?” a soft feminine voice asked from behind him. Camden turned to find a demimondaine sidling up to him. She was a garish creature, heavily made-up, with a thick coat of powder highlighting the lines of her face and two bright spots of rouge on her cheeks. Her lips were thin and dry, and when she spoke he could see she was missing teeth. “I can give ye the time,” she said huskily. “I’ll give ye all night.”

  Camden backed away from her. “Just tell me what that says.” He took another step back and put his watch in front of her.

  “Almost five,” she answered, stepping close to him again.

  “Dammit, Hollsworth was wrong. I have only three hours.”

  “Plenty o’ time,” the woman breathed. She backed Camden up against the wall, hitched up the skirts of her frayed and crumpled gown, and straddled one of his legs. She rubbed her breasts into his chest, running one of her hands along his torso, stopping coyly near the waistband of his trousers. His watch clattered to the floor.

  “I — I must go.” Camden pushed past her, not stopping until he reached the side door, and then he burst out onto the street. He stood still for a moment, trying to regain his balance and remember which way to his new townhouse. The residence was a birthday gift from his father, and he had barely moved in. He began walking down the empty street, realized he was going the wrong way, and turned around.

  He had only three hours to get home, catch a little sleep, clean up, and report to his father’s shipping office at eight. Contrary to what Wittingham thought, his father would most definitely not understand if he showed up looking anything less than impeccable and eager to work. Not the father who had once punished him for showing up at dinner with his cravat slightly off center. Not the father who drilled him daily on the importance of appearance and the necessity of increasing the Camdens’ social standing to match their great wealth.

  Camden quickened his gait, his boots making a sharp clipping noise against the cobblestones, and the sound echoed eerily through the empty streets. It seemed there wasn’t another soul out tonight, nothing around him except the faded yellow glow of the gas streetlamps and the cold tendrils of an early morning fog. He heard a loud commotion behind him, a strange thumping punctuated by an otherworldly shriek. He whipped around to see two cats clawing and hissing at each other. He was about to turn back around and continue on his way when another struggle caught his eye. Further down the street, pressed into the shadows, a man clutched at the skirts of a woman. She slapped at him, crying, “You mustn’t!” as she backed away. The man grabbed her by the upper arm and pulled her toward him, and Camden could just make out his low growl telling her he could and he would.

  Camden was drunk, his vision was blurry, and he had the sensation he was moving through water. He was slow to react to what he saw, and by the time he began to walk toward them, the woman had already broken free. One of her slaps had connected soundly with the man’s face and he had released her as he stumbled to the ground. She came running down the street toward Camden, passed him without noticing him, and turned down a dead-end alley. Camden glanced at the man, expecting to see him pursuing her, but he hadn’t yet regained his feet. Camden decided he would first find the woman and offer her his assistance before dealing with the man.

  He turned into the alley, searching the shadows until he caught movement off in the corner. She was there, standing in a dim halo of gaslight, leaning against the brick wall of a sooty building, one hand against her chest as she struggled to catch her breath.

  “Madam,” Camden said as he hurried to her.

  The woman went still. “You aren’t Lord Ashe,” she said.

  Camden startled at the name. He hadn’t realized the man she was struggling with was Lord Ashe. He knew the man — knew of him, at least. Ashe was an aggressive and pompous earl who had business dealings with Camden’s father. He was a man of dark temper and dark secrets, and Camden wondered how such a beautiful woman had become tangled up with him. “No, I’m Camden — Rhys Camden.”

  “What is it you want, Mr. Camden? Why have you followed me here?”

  Camden stood a few feet from her. He stepped forward and reached for her, but stopped when he saw her draw away. “I’m not going to harm you,” Camden said, and though he was trying to be reassuring, his voice sounded thick and strange to his ears. “I’ve come to rescue you, actually.”

  He expected a dramatic reaction from the woman; perhaps she would cry in relief or throw herself into his arms in gratitude. He never expected her to laugh. Her slender shoulders shook slightly, causing the fine silk of her gown to tremble, and the loose tendrils of her golden hair to bounce and sway. Camden did reach for her then, his fingertips lightly touching the smooth, cool skin of her arm.

  “I’m not in need of rescue,” she said.

  “But I saw you struggle with Ashe. I saw you slap him and run away. Do not be frightened, madam. I will protect you from him.”

  A slight smile touched the woman’s lips. Camden knew he should be concentrating on assisting her, but he couldn’t help but notice how lovely she was. Even in the dim, hazy light of the streetlamp, he could see how the golden curls of her thick hair framed the fine, high cheekbones of her face. His gaze traveled over her plump lips the color of claret, then along the delicate bones of her neck and shoulder, and down
to her full breasts. Every part of her telegraphed an ethereal, sensual beauty.

  “I assure you,” the woman said, bringing Camden’s attention back to the present situation, “that I am not in need of any protection.”

  “But surely — I mean, you cannot — ” Camden broke off, confused.

  “It is merely a game between Lord Ashe and me, one we often play.”

  “A game? I do not understand.”

  “Lord Ashe chases me through the streets, and I struggle and run until I let him catch me.”

  “What is the point of such a game? To be running through the streets at this hour — ”

  “The point is pleasure, Mr. Camden.” She leaned in closer to him, as if she were going to tell him a secret. “Have you never done anything for pleasure?”

  “What can possibly be the pleasure in that?” She was so close to him now that he could feel the heat of her, smell the light scent of lavender on her hair.

  The woman laughed again, and she brought a hand up to his arm, her long fingers resting lightly on his coat. There were layers of clothes between his skin and hers, yet a shiver went through him at her touch. “You are so young, Mr. Camden, so innocent,” she whispered.

  “I’m twenty-one,” Camden said, indignant, and he drew himself up to his full height, towering over her by at least a foot. “And I’m not so very innocent.”

  “Yet your cheeks go red at my touch,” she said, and when he started to protest, she stepped closer, until the tips of her silk-covered breasts were touching the wool of his coat. Camden hardened and his face grew hotter. He tried to step back. His erection would be apparent to her if he didn’t put some distance between them, but she tightened her grasp on his arm and he found he couldn’t move.

  She was mesmerizing, this delicate beauty who talked of pleasure and radiated a dangerous sexuality. He was seized with the desire to kiss her, to take her plump lips in his and see if they tasted like wine. He started to lean down to her, and she watched him expectantly, lips slightly parted, until something behind him caught her attention.

  “I must go,” she said, dropping his arm and stepping past him. “I thank you for your concern, but I am in no need of your help.”

  “Wait,” Camden said, not sure what to say, but knowing he didn’t want her to leave.

  The woman hesitated for a moment, then turned back to him, stood on her tiptoes, and pressed her lips to his cheek. He reached for her, but she was already moving away from him, her skirts swishing through the fog.

  He watched her walk down the alley to the connecting street and then disappear around the corner. He followed her, nearly running down the alley to the corner. He paused, looking up and down the street until he spotted Lord Ashe chasing the woman. Even though she had told him it was just a game, he wanted to go to her and save her from her pursuer. He started to move toward her but then sank back into shadows when Lord Ashe caught her about the waist and turned her around. They were far enough away that he couldn’t make out the expressions on their faces, but he could see now from the way they moved with each other that she truly didn’t need his protection. She shrieked and slapped at Lord Ashe when he grabbed her, but she leaned in closer to him as she did so. Lord Ashe took her by the arms, holding her firmly, but Camden could see that there was no real roughness in his touch.

  Camden knew he should leave them. They were standing down the street in the opposite direction he needed to go, and he could slip away without drawing their notice. But he found himself rooted to the spot, intrigued by this strange game played in the empty streets before dawn by a beautiful woman and a powerful man.

  Lord Ashe backed the woman against a building, and said something to her in a low, husky tone. Camden saw one of Lord Ashe’s large hands run up the bodice of the woman’s gown, saw him run a finger along the neckline and over the curve of her breast. Camden drew in his breath, shocked that the couple would engage in such behaviors in the middle of the street, even if there were no one about. Then Camden saw Lord Ashe’s bring his mouth to the woman’s neck, kissing her almost aggressively.

  Camden felt a strange mixture of horror and curiosity as he watched Lord Ashe thrust his hips toward the woman, lifting her off the ground. He was not completely lacking in experience with women, but none of his admittedly few encounters had prepared him for the sight of a man and woman engaging in illicit behavior on the street, in plain view of anyone who happened to come along. As an overly reserved and proper young man, he’d never thought to conduct himself in such manner; before tonight, it hadn’t occurred to him that anyone would think to do it.

  He stiffened again, shamefully aroused at the sight of the woman, at the sound of her sighs and moans as she clutched at her lover. Camden ached to touch the woman as Lord Ashe touched her, to sink himself into her, to taste her, to hear her cries against his ear — even as he was horrified at the very thought of fondling a woman in the street. The couple’s movements became more frenzied, until Camden wondered if he would take her right there, but then Lord Ashe backed away from the woman, setting her gently on the ground. He removed his coat and put it around her, then leaned down to her, and Camden thought Lord Ashe said, “Let’s finish this at your townhouse,” as he put an arm around her waist and propelled her down the street.

  Camden stood in the shadows of the street, his erection throbbing, his head pounding. He shouldn’t have watched them, shouldn’t have been aroused at the sight of their passion, shouldn’t stand here thinking about her until he burned with unmet need. But the image of Lord Ashe and the nameless woman was still seared in his mind, and it wouldn’t let him go. The couple had disappeared, yet still he stood, staring down the empty street until he became convinced it had all been just a drunken dream.

  Chapter Two

  Adele Beaumont brushed a stray curl from her eyes, smoothed her gown, and slipped a gloved hand around the arm of her companion, John Blakely. Blakely smiled down at her and then pulled her closer to him so they would not collide with another couple passing them on the sidewalk.

  “Jane Montel always has the best supper parties, don’t you think, Del?” Blakely asked as they walked along.

  “Her parties are always exciting, and this one was no exception,” Del said. “I think it must be because she is an actress. It gives her the ability to make every gathering a production, complete with drama and intrigue.”

  “I think you’ve got it. Always some grand conflict unfolding, some dark secret revealed, or some such thing. I’ve come to rely on it. But I never would have guessed Mare Winschel and William Hawkins were having an affair. Quite a shock when Mrs. Hawkins walked in on them in the study, wouldn’t you say?”

  “How could you not know they were involved in an affair? They’ve been carefully ignoring each other in public for months, yet they always seem to disappear at the same time at every party. It was so obvious.”

  Blakely laughed. “So their lack of interaction with each other was a sure sign of their relationship?”

  “To anyone with eyes it was,” Del replied, rolling her eyes in mock exasperation. “You men miss the most blatant clues.”

  “And you women are forever reading epics into the smallest looks or gestures. It is like some secret code or something — one that no man has the hope of ever deciphering.”

  Del smiled mischievously. “Oh, so now you would blame your complete inability to comprehend society on the entire female sex? How typical, to deny that any of the confusion is due to your own shortcomings.”

  Blakely stopped walking. “There is nothing short about me,” he said as he swung Del around to face him. He drew her to him, his green eyes glinting wickedly as he pressed against her. “You should know that by now.”

  “Do behave yourself, Mr. Blakely, we are on a public street. I would positively faint from mortification if anyone were to see us in this unseemly embrac
e.”

  Blakely laughed again, not fooled in the slightest by Del’s seemingly earnest warning. “You’ve never given a damn what people thought, and you never will. And the day I see you faint is the day the world stops spinning on its axis. But here, I will unhand you. We are approaching your townhouse anyway, and I would much rather grope you in there than out here.”

  “Take heart, Blakely. If the world were to stop spinning on its axis, it would finally be free to start revolving around you instead, as you’ve long believed it should.” Blakely began to reply to her comments, but Del cut him off. “As to my townhouse, let me find my key, and we will see what transpires.”

  Del opened her reticule and began to search for the brass key that unlocked her front door. She had a habit of putting as many things in the reticule as it could hold, and the small key seemed to always be hiding among the various objects. Blakely moved behind her as she searched, slipping an arm around her waist and pulling her closer to him. He nuzzled her, pressing light kisses along her neck.

  Del looked up from her reticule. “Blakely, please, you are not making it any easier to find my key. If you would just — ” She broke off, her gaze locking with that of a young man across the street. He was staring at her, unmoving except for his dark blond hair that stirred in the breeze. He looked at her with the same sort of confused expression on his face that she knew was showing on hers — and Del knew they were both trying to place each other. She recognized that angular face, that tall, lanky build of a young man who had not yet completely filled out, but she couldn’t remember where she had seen him.

  “If I would just what, my dear?” Blakely said as he ran a fingertip along the low neckline of her gown.

  “If you would just — ” Del didn’t notice she had trailed off; she wasn’t really paying attention to what she or Blakely were saying. She had finally remembered that the young man across the street was the Mr. Camden who had tried to rescue her from Lord Ashe several weeks ago. She remembered how earnest he had been when he came to her, how innocence and the smell of brandy had clung to him like palpable entities.