Never a Bride (19 page)

“I see you haven’t forgotten a morsel about that time, Albert.”

“How could I? There hasn’t been a bigger scandal in Town since.”

“No doubt because good friends like you keep that one alive.”

Albert’s chin dropped. The pink in his cheeks flamed red.

“But don’t give it another thought, Albert. That’s all over now,” Camden said when what he really wanted to do was ram his fist in Albert’s face. “I have a perfect lady now who is simply the toast of the
ton,
and I refuse to let this breath of scandal sully her spotless character. What are you drinking these days, old chap? Port, ale or brandy? I’m buying.”

“Port, but I can’t stay. Truly. I was on my way out the door.” He laughed. “The wife, you know, gets worried if I stay out too late. She swears she can’t sleep until she hears me come into my rooms.”

Albert clapped Camden on the shoulder and it took all his willpower not to throw off the offending hand.

“Yes, the wife. Something I have to look forward to, no doubt.”

“To be sure. They do like for their husbands to keep certain hours. It’s such a bore. I’m not sure you’ll look forward to it, if you know what I mean.” He winked at Camden. “Enjoy yourself while you can, old man.”

“I shall.”

“I find it’s quite difficult to divide my time between a wife, a mistress, and the clubs. But I do try hard to be fair to all.”

“I’m sure they appreciate your efforts.”

Albert smiled broadly. “They seem to.”

“My regards to the countess.”

Camden watched his old friend walk away and wondered if he was the one who had changed or if the new earl had changed. What had happened? He and Albert used to stay out until sunup and share a pint of ale and a loaf of bread before going home. Camden heard a clock strike three. He supposed a man with a wife and family should be home by three in the morning.

Refusing to let Albert sour him completely, he picked up a glass of brandy at the bar and decided to watch a game of billiards. Surely there would be enough noise in there to drown out Albert’s words from his mind. If he was lucky, no one would approach him, and he could sit and enjoy his drink before he went home.

He found a dark corner and sat down. Now he knew why Mirabella went home early. She probably did have a headache. No doubt she was harassed by someone the way Albert had just troubled him. Why was he so worried about her? She had brought all this on herself. She had to know that though everyone broke the rules, Society was only unforgiving when you were unfortunate enough to get caught and have your indiscretion talked about among the
ton
or in the scandal sheets.

Camden took a swallow of his drink. Over the rim of his glass, he saw a young man walk through the doorway and immediately thought he was too young to be in the club. He couldn’t stop watching the youth. There was something vaguely familiar about him, but Camden couldn’t bring a name to mind.

The lad made his way slowly around the first table, looking each man over carefully. That was odd. Most spectators looked at the table, not the players. The youth was so unobtrusively clever, not one of the gamesters noticed him. It was odd to say the least. Was he a young man whose tastes leaned toward older, wealthy men? The hair on the back of Camden’s neck spiked. This club was no place for the likes of him and his feminine ways.

Camden started to tell Charles to question the lad, but decided to handle the interloper himself. He’d put a scare into the youth, and he wouldn’t be back to prey on anyone in this club.

Camden followed him out the doorway and, at the dark, shadowy end of the hallway between the card and billiard rooms, he called to him.

“Hey there. You. Young man.”

The stranger turned around. When he saw Camden, he could have sworn the lad swallowed his tongue. He turned and fled. Camden gave chase and reached out and caught him by the arm, yanking him around just before he made it inside the card room.

They stood in the dimly lit hallway. The young fellow kept his face down and didn’t meet Camden’s eyes. Camden was sure the lad was trembling. He hadn’t meant to scare him so badly.

Feeling a bit of remorse Camden politely said, “Just a moment please. You look lost. May I help you?”

“No,” came the raspy reply.

He must have been a surly, ill-bred youth. He didn’t look up to speak. Camden didn’t even know why he was bothering with the chap. Dealing with the likes of him was Charles’s job.

“I’ve watched you walk around the tables. You seem to be looking for someone. Maybe I can help you.”

“No. Thank you, sir. I need to go.”

He turned quickly to walk away and, when he did, Camden’s heart slammed against his chest. He clearly saw the lad’s profile as he passed under the gas jet. He looked like Mirabella.

Mirabella?

Camden felt like a rock landed in the pit of his stomach as he watched the lad hurry through the doorway. He didn’t know which hit him first, shock or denial.

“Mirabella?” Camden whispered. Why did the young man look like Mirabella?

“No.” She wouldn’t!

Mirabella hurried down the hallway as fast as her faux masculine stride would take her, frantically searching for a doorway that would take her out of the club.

Camden!

What was he doing at this club? And at this hour of the morning!

Merciful heavens! He must have recognized her. But how? She didn’t recognize herself dressed as she was.

She ducked inside the taproom, refusing to look back, lest she see Camden on her heels and break out into a full run to escape him. She quickly scanned the room and saw Charles standing by the door leading outside. Her heart quickened. She was going to make it.

Suddenly a hand clamped around her upper arm and swung her around. Mirabella’s hope spiraled down to her toes. She refused to look up. She didn’t need to, in order to know it was Camden who held her. She knew his touch. Her heart beat so fast she thought she might faint. She took a deep breath to calm herself. She had to think fast.

“What’s your hurry, young man? Let me buy you a drink before you leave.”

Mirabella buried her chin so close to her chest she felt as if she were choking herself with her neckcloth. Her body froze with tension. Obviously he hadn’t figured out who she was. Yet. She had to try to keep it that way. Her whole plan would be doomed if she did not get away before he recognized her.

“No, I have to go,” she mumbled as low and raspy as she could. She tried to pull her arm out of his grasp, but his hand didn’t budge.

“Nonsense. Every young man needs an older gentleman to show him around a club. A drink is what you came here for, isn’t it? And maybe to step outside for a smoke? Perhaps you would like to try your hand at cards, too?”

“No, sir. I need to go.” She shook her head as she spoke, but he paid no attention to her. He continued to usher her toward the back of the room. She was forced to follow him or create a scene.

“Come on. Just one drink. Let’s sit over here in this corner.”

Corner? She prayed it was a dark corner. Keeping her head low she walked with him to a table and blessedly it was dark. She took the chair farthest away from the light on the wall.

“Brandy for two,” Camden said to someone that Mirabella couldn’t see. “You look familiar. What is your name?”

“Adam Moore, sir,” she said, using the name she had given the man at the door.

“Well, no wonder you look familiar. You must be a nephew of Sir Henry Moore from up near Lancaster?”

Mirabella had no idea who Henry Moore was, but she couldn’t very well say that to Camden, so she simply kept her head low and nodded. She had to think of a way to get away from him before she did or said something that would make Camden realize who she was. Her disguise was good, but she knew Camden would not be fooled for long.

“Well, Moore, do you live in Town or are you visiting from the country?”

“Just here for the week, sir,” she answered, not wanting to be trapped into stating an area.

“In that case, we’ll try to see that you have a good time. Tell me, were you fortunate enough to attend any parties tonight?”

“The Windhams’,” she answered, cleverly thinking to say a name where she knew a party had been held, but also one that she and Camden hadn’t attended because she had pleaded the headache.

“I’m sure it was the toast of the evening. I had to miss that one. My fiancée became ill.”

Her heart sounded like thunder in her throat and in her ears. Was he going to talk about her? What would she do?

Two glasses of a dark amber liquid were set on the table in front of them. Mirabella swallowed past a tight throat. She had had a glass of sherry from time to time and a glass or two of champagne at parties, but she had never had more than a sip of brandy. It was much too strong a taste for her.

Camden picked up a glass and extended it toward her. She quickly took hold of the glass from the bottom, wanting to make sure her fingers didn’t touch his, or that he didn’t have time to look too carefully at her hand.

“You’ve shown some courage in stepping out on your own, Moore, but you are too shy. Look up and let’s toast to your week in Town.”

Mirabella felt as if her throat had closed, but she had no choice if she were to remain incognito. She lifted her head only enough to see how to clink her glass on his.

“That’s the way. Go on, drink up. It will make you relax. You seem a bit goosey.”

A bit?
She was frantic! Maybe she did need the drink to calm her. She needed to think of a rational way to get away from Camden, short of jerking off her wig and revealing she was Mirabella.

She put the glass to her lips and drank. It was far stronger than she remembered. She coughed a couple of times but managed to keep the burning liquid down. She took a stinging breath and quickly took another sip.

“There’s only one thing that calms a man more than a brandy. Do you know what that is, Moore?”

Mirabella shook her head and took another drink.

“A woman in your bed.”

Startled, Mirabella looked up and for the first time her eyes met Camden’s. She quickly realized her mistake and lowered her gaze to the glass. She hadn’t expected him to say anything like that, but she had to remember he thought he was talking to a young man.

“Oh, yes,” he continued, “a woman in your bed can make you forget everything but the way she feels beneath you.”

Mirabella drank more of the brandy, but did not look up again or speak. She knew her face was flaming red. Ladies enjoyed talking about gentlemen, too, but not in such intimate detail. There wasn’t much brandy left in the glass. Maybe she could make her leave once the glass was empty.

“Perhaps a cigar would help make you more comfortable. You do smoke, don’t you, Moore?”

“No, sir.”

“I can see your uncle has been lacking in his duties of educating you in the ways of being a man. You must learn to smoke or take snuff. A young man learning his way around a club for the first time should try it all. We’ll have to step outside to smoke, but I’ll get one for you.”

She was glad she appeared to be an inexperienced young man. Her disguise was working too well. It was like Camden to want to help. She remembered the first night they met. He would not leave her to find her way back to the party. Just as he would not leave Adam Moore on his own in the club. Why did he have to be such a gentleman at all the wrong times?

She raised her head a little more and looked at Camden. He rose and turned his back to her, but didn’t leave the table. He spoke with one of the servers about bringing over a cigar. He didn’t appear angry or shocked when he looked back at her. There didn’t seem to be any recognition of her in his eyes.

Mirabella remembered her reflection in the mirror. She had astonished herself at how different she looked with her white powdered wig and face, and the dark, full eyebrows. She raised her head a little more. She was tempting fate. She had to get out of the club.

Camden sat back down. “So you were at the Windhams’. Lovely people. No doubt you had a partner for every dance.”

Mirabella nodded and sipped the brandy again. Maybe the drink was making her more relaxed, but it was also making her hot. Heat seemed to rise up from her stomach and chest and settle in her neck and cheeks.

“Tell me, were you able to slip outside with any of the young ladies tonight?”

In shock, her gaze met his again, and she saw a wicked glint of light in his eyes. He was trying to jolt the young man he believed her to be.

“I beg your pardon, sir?” she managed to say.

“Well, surely your uncle told you that one of the things bachelors do at clubs is talk about the young ladies and interesting widows. Specifically the ones who are, should we say, free with their affections.”

“Oh, yes, sir. I mean, no, sir. I didn’t—”

“Are you telling me that you didn’t persuade a single young lady to accompany you onto the patio, so that you might steal a kiss or get under her skirt?”

“No, sir,” she mumbled and took her last sip of the brandy, although she felt as if her cheeks were on fire.

“Well, you are young and just learning the ways of a grown man. There’s time for you to master all you need to know about seducing a lady.”

“Yes, sir.” This had to stop. Mirabella set the empty glass on the table. “I should be going home now. Thank you for the drink.” She rose from her chair and a strong familiar hand clamped down on top of her shoulder.

She looked up at him and a grim smile touched his lips. “Not yet, Moore. Here comes the cigar. After a smoke you can try your hand at a card game. Come on, Charles will bring the cigar to us. I’ll walk out with you.”

Yes, if she could get outside the door she could get away from him. She walked beside him as they made their way out the door and into the night. She purposely walked over to the darker corner.

Mirabella’s breath came thickly. Charles stepped outside behind them. She was trapped. She could do nothing but stand in stunned silence and watch Camden take a cigar and a long, thin piece of burning wood from the tray the server held. He put the cigar between his teeth and lit it with the flame. When smoke came out of the end, he blew out the flame on the stick and handed it back to Charles.

Camden took a comfortable draw on his cigar and blew the smoke out his mouth. “Why smoking this is considered more vulgar than snuff, I don’t know. Here, you try it.”

She looked at the smoke and at Camden. His eyes had turned dark and brooding. A deep-set frown marred his expression.

A quiver of doubt surged through her. Did she dare take it or should she take off running? Mirabella seldom ran from anything. Slowly she reached for the cigar and put it to her lips where Camden’s had just been.

“Take a deep drawing breath, and then blow out the smoke.” His voice had lost its friendliness.

Mirabella sucked in deeply on the cigar, but wasn’t prepared for the rush of smoke into her mouth. In trying to expel it, she swallowed it. She started choking and coughing uncontrollably. She felt as if her lungs were on fire and she was strangling.

Camden took the cigar from her and handed it to Charles, then clapped her on the back. She tried to tell him she couldn’t breathe, but couldn’t speak as tears sprang to her eyes.

“He needs some fresh air,” Camden told Charles. “He’s not used to smoking. Bring some water outside for him.”

Mirabella had never been more thankful to be out in the predawn air. She felt as if she needed a cold, wet blanket to bathe her throat and chest. She staggered away from Camden and flattened her hands against the wall to support herself. She coughed, feeling as if her insides were going to come up at any moment.

“Are you all right?” he asked, in a voice laced with concern.

“Yes,” she finally managed to say—and didn’t have to worry about trying to make her voice raspy. Her throat was raw and ached. Her stomach churned.

“You weren’t supposed to swallow the smoke,” he scolded her.

“I knew that and certainly hadn’t planned to.”

“ ’Ere’s the water. Do ye think ’e’ll be all right?”

“He’s fine, Charles. I’ll handle this if you’ll hail a hackney for me.”

She felt Camden’s warm touch on the back of her shoulder. And for a moment, she hated the reassuring feeling of comfort it gave her.

“Here, drink this,” he said.

Mirabella grabbed the tin cup and downed the water quickly, keeping her back to Camden.

“I guess you’re not ready to smoke.”

“That’s a remarkable statement of the obvious, sir.”

“’Ere’s yer coat and hat, Lord Stone’urst. The young man’s, too.”

“Thank you, Charles. I’ll take him home.”

She felt Camden’s hand on her arm. She wanted to turn into his arms and pour out her heart to him, but she couldn’t. “No, I’ll walk.”

“You’ll ride with me.” He took the cup from her, and started pulling her along. He handed the cup and a coin to Charles as they passed him.

“But no, you don’t understand, I can’t.”

Mirabella was about to bolt when suddenly Camden forced her inside the carriage by grabbing her under the arms and lifting her into the coach. He stepped in after her.

“Drop us at the corner of Lowberry and Wiltshire,” he said to the driver and slammed the door behind him as he took the seat beside her.

Mirabella gasped in outrage. Lowberry was her street. Had he seen through her disguise? The carriage started with a jerk. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, then opened them to stare through the darkness inside the coach into Camden’s intense and smoldering brown eyes.

She froze. Her ploy was over.

“You know who I am,” she whispered in resigned frustration.

“Mr.
Mirabella Whittingham, I suppose.”

With a tiny moan of protest she said, “Yes, my lord.”

Camden grabbed her up close to him, held her tightly, but she felt no fear. She knew he was not going to harm her even though fury shook him.

“Did you think I wouldn’t know you?”

His voice was so earnest it staggered her. She was incapable of speech.

“How could you think I wouldn’t know those tempting lips, your beautiful green eyes, your slender neck? Not even this coat could disguise your softly rounded shoulders, nor could the trousers hide your walk. I know you, Mirabella.”

At any other time his words would have thrilled her, but not now. She had been caught. “Wait.” Suddenly she gasped. “Did you know it was me when you gave me the brandy and the cigar?”

His mouth tightened. “I knew you almost from the moment I saw you.”

Her brow puckered into a frown of disbelief. “How could you be so cruel? My head is spinning from the strong liquor you made me drink, and I thought I was going to die, my throat and lungs burned so badly.”

“You weren’t supposed to swallow the smoke.”

The tautness in her body increased. “I couldn’t help it. You should be ashamed of yourself, Lord Stonehurst, for treating me so shabbily.”

“Me? Ashamed?”

“Yes.” She was so miffed she could hardly speak. “That was an irresponsible thing for you to do.” She drew in her breath with a sharp gasp. “You—you talked intimately about things only men talk about.”