However, I’m ever so grateful you did take pity on me and introduced me to Mr. Pennington, as I am now Mrs. Lillian Pennington.
I’d like to extend an open invitation to you to visit Pennington Hall whenever you so desire…
SMILING, CAMILLA FINISHED Lillian Norwood’s—now Pennington’s—letter. She had taken a quick liking to Lillian and had seen a bit of herself in the other woman. No. No, maybe not that much of herself. Lillian hadn’t rejected Mr. Pennington, a man who loved her and wanted to marry her.
Camilla couldn’t say the same.
Mayhap she should visit Pennington Hall. Visit Lillian and several other successes in the area. However, there was no true reason to leave, to visit former clients now happily settled in their new lives.
No reason, except she ran. Camilla looked out the glass doors to the cold, sunny day. The wind whipped through bare branches and along the frozen ground. She ran from problems she needed to face. Problems of her own making
Carefully placing the letter on her desk, she rose and wandered closer to the fireplace. It barely warmed her, though she wore a green wool gown and heavy stockings. Her persistent chill wasn’t the weather’s fault. It was hers.
She never ran, not even when she was a young, foolish girl.
What changed? Between them, she and Gareth? She pressed for an affair, this arrangement, as he so succinctly put it last night.
Camilla rubbed her fingers together, but they remained cold and stiff. Why, suddenly, did she want more?
“What more was there?” she muttered. The sound of her own voice startled her, and she turned sharply from the fire.
Once more sitting behind her desk, she carefully folded Lillian’s letter and set it aside.
“The week’s invitations have arrived,” Margaret stated as she entered with a stack of envelopes. “Since you are up exceedingly early this morning, shall we get started on the schedule?”
Camilla glanced up at Margaret, her young protégée was entirely too chipper at this ungodly hour. And completely contrary to Camilla’s mood today. She wanted quiet. No, she didn’t—she didn’t want to be left with her own thoughts.
And she absolutely did not want to be in the same room with Margaret’s far too astute observations.
“They can wait, Margaret; in fact, perhaps I will decline the first few. Too many new clients this season and not enough time—” She stopped midsentence. No, that was not what she wanted. She needed to keep busy, keep herself occupied. “What am I saying? We shall accept all the invitations.” Camilla nodded decisively, her lips pressed together. “There are still a number of matches to be made.”
Margaret eyed her and set the envelopes on the desk. She backed up a step, still watching Camilla, and didn’t move for a long moment. “Mayhap, a small break would do you good?” she suggested, and the caution was evident in her tone. “A trip to the country perhaps? With special company?”
“Oh, Margaret.” Camilla sighed.
She was all too aware her entire household knew of her affair. No matter how careful she and Axton were or how many times he sneaked down the servants’ entrance to slip into the night, they knew. For the most part, they were discreet.
Margaret was always another story.
Camilla cleared her throat and said in a much stronger voice than she felt, “I am not certain this affair will continue much longer.”
“What?” Margaret screeched and sat up straighter. “Why?”
“Last eve,” Camilla began slowly, not entirely certain why she confided in Margaret. Then again, who else did she have? “I took issue with Axton cooing over Lady Julianna. Why should I take issue? Why should it bother me in the least?” She tossed her head and pressed her fingers into the desktop. “Axton is his own man, and I am my own woman. I don’t like what this tryst has turned me into. I’m suddenly a possessive woman, one who gets jealous. But that is not, nor has it ever been, who I am.”
Margaret tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. “Perhaps who you are has changed. Do you not always tell our young charges that love often changes something of who you are? And usually,” she added with a mischievous grin, “for the better.”
Camilla scowled at her. “Margaret, do not use my own rhetoric against me.”
Margaret only smiled.
Camilla ignored her. “What I tell our charges is for their own good. But I am not that young,” she said confidently, “and most definitely no one’s charge.”
Her fingers pressed harder into the wood desk, but her thoughts remained scattered. Not scattered—focused entirely on Gareth. Damn it. Axton. “I’ve never reacted this way with any love. And I take it as a sign that it is time for this affair to end.”
She nodded in affirmation, but her heart didn’t feel that way. And the cold that continued to grip her fingers spread. She tried to ignore that, too. Naturally, the thoughts she wished to ignore remained forefront in her mind.
Camilla glanced to the side and out the glass doors. She should probably close the drapes, keep the cold drafts from the room. But she liked looking outside, though it offered her no answers for her very many questions.
“Perhaps it’s a sign of something else?” Margaret asked quietly. “Perhaps it’s a sign there’s more between you and His Grace than a casual tryst.”
Avoiding Margaret’s probing gaze, Camilla continued to watch the winter winds whipping through her gardens. “Is that not a weakness for a woman like me?”
Years ago, being in love like this might not have frightened her. Before she accomplished all she had, all she created herself to be. Now, Camilla didn’t want to give up all she’d worked for these last years. Didn’t want to give up herself simply to be a man’s wife.
Even as a duchess, exalted though the title might be, she’d still always be known as Axton’s wife. Not as a woman in her own right.
“I am one of the few women able to navigate society without benefit of a husband,” she said slowly, softly. “Without scandal. Is that not important? That I show society—that I show women—how much can be accomplished alone?”
The irony was not lost on her. Camilla was all too aware her profession was matchmaker to society, to find woman husbands capable of taking care of them.
“You have.” Margaret nodded decisively. “You’ve done it very well. Does that mean you must always stay alone? Do not deny yourself the joy you arrange for others.”
She watched her protégée, her employee, her friend, for a long, silent moment. Her lips curved in the briefest of smiles. “Since when did you become a wise, old woman?”
Margaret laughed, loud and free. “About a year ago,” she confessed. “When we dealt with Lady Bennington-Woods. I think she aged both of us.”
Her own laughter broke free, surprising Camilla with the sound and strength of it.
“Don’t end your affair.” Margaret leaned forward again, in earnest. “Take it to its conclusion and become his duchess.”
Camilla wanted to make a witty comment about Margaret wanting to claim friendship with the Duchess of Axton, but the words caught in her throat.
“What if I no longer can?”
Margaret remained silent to that question.
“Axton’s eye has already wandered,” Camilla said definitively. “He took genuine interest in Lady Julianna. And he’s not spoken of marriage in…in a very long time.”
She cleared her throat and looked from Margaret and from her gardens to stare blindly at the papers littering her desk. The words danced before her gaze and didn’t help her one bit. “It’s possible he wishes to end our affair. Or…” And this was harder to admit. “Or continue with the affair while marrying another. Another far more suited to be Duchess of Axton.”
“No.” Margaret shook her head. “Not the man I’ve seen with you. Not the man who watches you as His Grace does. He proposed marriage already. Why do you not simply accept?”
“Because he must ask again,” she snapped. “I’ve already rejected that propos
al. We’ve enacted this arrangement in its place instead.” Her voice softened. “He must ask again.”
“Then tell him.” Margaret gave her a hard look. “Be honest with him.”
“No.” Camilla stood and walked to the glass doors. She didn’t watch the swirl of dead leaves and rubbish, but her own reflection. “In my experience, and I’ve plenty of experience, the gentleman makes the declaration. Otherwise,” she said softly, “he feels he had no choice in the matter. Asking for my hand…it must come from him once more.”
Margaret gave an indelicate snort. “If there’s any able to finesse that outcome, it’s you. What is it? Do you doubt your own ability?”
Camilla studied her face a moment longer then turned. “I do.” And, oh, the admission hurt. “When you are your own client, it never works well,” she added ruefully. It sounded more sad than rueful. “A fairy-tale godmother grants many wishes. But you never hear of her granting one for herself.”
“Try.”
Camilla studied the other woman for another moment. Finesse it? For others, yes. But for herself? Was she the fairy godmother in this story? Camilla snorted and shoved that thought aside. But it remained, haunting her. Taunting.
Tempting her.
She knew how to make matches that worked both on paper and in the bedroom. Had a talent for it, an eye for those couples. But for herself?
What had she to lose? She already lost her heart to Gareth.
Camilla didn’t even realize she crossed the room to Margaret until she stood before her and squeezed her hand. Margaret offered a half-smile, but it was very real and encouraged Camilla.
“We’ll look at the invitations later,” Margaret promised. Then she turned and left.
Turning herself, back to her reflection in the doors, Camilla wondered if she was strong enough, if she was good enough to do just that. She could finesse the situation and manipulate it between her and Axton for the perfect match.
Margaret was a good friend with many good points to her arguments. But Camilla was not so certain. She could, she supposed, agree to marry Gareth. But then later? What happened later? After the first blush of heat and love faded.
If she walked away now, she did so with both her heart and her dignity intact.
Chapter Fourteen
CAMILLA DRESSED CAREFULLY—her blue day gown not only brought out her own eyes, but reminded her of Gareth’s. Her lady’s maid pinned her hair with her favorite hair combs and curled several locks to lie against the hollow of her shoulders and the base of her neck.
Confident in her appearance, Camilla rehearsed what she wanted to say to him—end the affair now. It was for the best. She had traveling to do, matches to make, and couples who needed her special touch in order to meet.
She had to leave now; work called. She had to leave before she gave her heart to him any more than she already had. If it wasn’t already too late.
The carriage rocked to a stop, and Camilla smoothed her gloved fingers down the wool gown. She bit her lip for a little added color but knew the winter wind would add color to her cheeks. The footman opened the door, and she stepped out.
The wind struck her and she braced against it. Breathless, she tilted her head back and crossed the walk to Gareth’s townhouse.
She hadn’t wished to marry him before because she hadn’t believed he understood what she’d gone through. He hadn’t needed to understand; Gareth simply accepted her.
Now, however, Camilla feared he found another. Or would shortly. That he tired of her as she so often witnessed. She refused to be the one left broken with her heart torn.
She’d leave first.
His butler bowed and gestured for her to wait in the parlor. The room opened to the street, the curtains pulled from the windows to allow in the day’s little light. Camilla stepped away from the windows; she had no desire to be on display for the entire town, and she turned, purposely keeping her back to them. She wanted to watch Gareth enter, though she had no real reason why she wished so.
She heard him on the stairs first, a quick gait to signal his rush. Her heart sped up in time with his pace. Camilla licked her lips and willed herself not to move.
Gareth entered the room, stopped, backed up a step, and closed the doors. Camilla couldn’t help it; her lips ticked up at his actions.
He crossed the room in two steps and gathered her close. His mouth covered hers, hard and hungry, and he swept her up in his passion. She opened to his kiss, pressing her fingers into his shoulders and her body to his.
Slowly he drew back.
“What an unexpected and delightful surprise.” The words were slow and sinful, and sent a shiver down her spine.
Her hand rose of its own accord and caressed his face. “I wanted to see you before I left to visit my clients.”
His warm hand took hers and felt so intimate, it sparked that same warmth in her heart. “Perhaps I’ll come with you.” His mouth curved up, a wicked glint in his eye. “Follow in a service carriage, if I must.”
Camilla chuckled and allowed herself to relax slightly. “What a sight that would be.” She cleared her throat and stepped back just a step, enough to put much needed distance between them. “I’ve come to discuss another matter with you, Axton.”
And she saw it then. How closed off he became. The shuttered look in his beautiful blue eyes, the way his face hardened. He dropped her hand and crossed his arms over his chest. Tilting his head back, he watched her and waited.
“We’ve had quite the wonderful time together, have we not?” she asked.
“Of course.” He waited, then asked, “What’s this about, Camilla?”
“I don’t wish to ever feel resentful of you. Nor do I wish you to ever resent me.”
“That won’t ever happen,” he promised. She almost believed him. Almost.
“It might,” she whispered. “One day when you tire of me and take another lover. Or if my attentions were to be given to another man.”
Not that she ever saw that happening, but it might. Maybe. She cleared her throat.
“I don’t want that to ruin a very treasured friendship.” Camilla paused, but he said naught. “We are intelligent individuals who understand the delicacies involved in an affair. Since we do have this comprehension,” she continued, “we should also both understand when the time has come to step back and release each other. So that we may preserve our friendship.”
She doubted she’d ever be able to return solely to friendship with him, but the words sounded good. Like she meant them. And of course she meant them.
“What the hell are you saying, Camilla?”
She honestly had not expected such forceful anger from him. Camilla expected relief that she did not wish to cling to him, did not wish to trap him in a marriage even if he were the one to originally bring it up, to first propose it. She expected simple acceptance.
No, she had no expected Gareth’s vehement anger. Not at all.
“I’m not stepping back!” The anger darkened his voice, his face. “Did you come here today to end what we have?” he demanded. “Have you found someone else?”
“Axton,” she began.
He stepped closer. “Have you found someone else?”
“No.” The honesty ripped from her. She should’ve lied, but that wasn’t in her. “However,” she said in a clearer voice, or what she hoped was a clearer voice. “It’ll be inevitable you or I will find another—”
“I’ve no interest in Lady Julianna or anyone else.” He spat the words that lay between them. They were open and honest and so real, she didn’t know how to understand them.
“I believed you agreed to give us a chance,” he said between clenched teeth. “For more than an affair, more than secrets behind closed doors. The woman who kissed me, whom I kissed, who slept in my arms, has feelings for me as I for her.”
Axton stepped to her and looked down at her with blue fire blazing in his eyes. He didn’t back down, didn’t agree to her break-up. He fought. And
Camilla, back to the wall figuratively if not literally, tossed her head and fought back.
“Why would you throw what we share away?”
“I’d rather throw it away now before we ruin it,” she snapped. “I value you too much as my friend—”
“We are not friends,” he interrupted. “And never will be. We’re lovers. We are meant to be married.”
Camilla sniffed and snarled. “How do you know this? How do you know we’re meant to be married? What if we drive each other mad? What if we each engage in too many affairs? Make each other miserable?”
His hands wrapped around her arms, gentle for all his anger. “Why are you so afraid?”
“I no longer know.”
The words surprised even herself, with their echoing honesty. Camilla wanted to take them back, but they lay there, between them, and it was too late, far too late.
“Then stop.” His words were quiet, seductive. “Take a leap with me.” His fingers caressed her arms, drew her closer. “We won’t hurt each other.”
She shook. Her hand, when she raised it to his cheek, trembled just enough for her to see. But Camilla was helpless to stop it. He tempted her, his words, the force behind them, made her want to leap. With him.
“Trust me completely.” His promise, his invitation, wrapped around her. “I won’t fail you.”
He meant it; she knew that as surely as she knew how deeply she loved him.
It spread through her, this acceptance of her love. Camilla fought it and held her breath. But she watched him for a very long moment—the fire in his gaze, the set line of his beautiful mouth. The way his hands clenched, not in anger but because he was hurt.
Because she hurt him.
Camilla’s breath caught and she tried to breathe through that realization, tried to ease the band tight around her lungs. This was to be a leap of faith, she thought. A leap of faith they wouldn’t fall prey to the human nature she so often saw in society.
Improper Duke: Scandalous Encounters Page 10