The Glass Orchid (3 page)

She grew warm at the images in her mind, her nipples hardening until they chafed against the silk of her robe.

“Rather introspective tonight, aren’t we, dear?” Blakely asked.

The picture of Camden dissolved and vanished at the sound of Blakely’s voice. “My mind does seem to be wandering,” Del said.

“Come, sit next to me,” Blakely said as his gaze traveled to where Del’s robe gaped open, revealing the curve of one breast and her nipple still hard from imagination. “I’ll banish all wayward thoughts and replace them with dark and wicked ones.”

Del sat silent for a moment, watching Blakely’s gaze rove over her body. Then she stood, and murmured “not tonight” as she walked over to the sideboard to pour herself more brandy. She heard him approaching her, and then he pressed against her, pinning her against the sideboard. One of his large hands snaked around to her belly, untying the sash of her robe and pulling it open, exposing her bare skin to the cool evening air. Without thinking, she spread her legs and arched her back, and Blakely thrust against her until she could feel him harden.

“My God, I want you,” Blakely said against her ear as his hands cupped her breasts, lifting and squeezing until they ached from pleasure.

Del felt him pull away from her, and she realized he was fumbling to open his breeches. Her body reacted instinctively with anticipation. She began to pull her robe up to her hips, and was about to murmur his name when she froze, letting the silk fall back around her ankles.

It hadn’t been Blakely’s name about to tumble from her lips at all, but Camden’s. Dear God, why could she not get him out of her head?

“I can’t do this tonight, Blakely,” Del said, her voice raspy, as she quickly retied her robe. She grabbed her brandy from the sideboard and went back to the chair to sit down.

“Bloody hell,” Blakely spat, panting in frustration, his brows furrowed and his hands fisted at his sides. “I want you.”

“That’s most apparent,” Del said, looking pointedly to where his erect cock still strained against his breeches. “But you know our arrangement, what you agreed to before you ever decided to consort with me. You know that I am not obligated to have sex with you if I choose not to.”

“Not that — well, yes that,” Blakely said as he adjusted his breeches. “But that’s not what I meant.”

Confused, Del looked at him, her gaze following him as he walked stiffly back to the settee and sat down on its edge. “What did you mean, then?”

Blakely leaned forward, and Del knew he wanted to come to her, to touch her or sit next to her. But he didn’t, and Del could see how hard he struggled to keep himself in check. “I want you to myself,” he said, his gaze steady. “I want you to give up all the others.”

Del blinked, taken aback. “Blakely,” she said, and her tone made it sound like a warning. “You know that is the last thing I want.”

“I could offer you security,” he said quickly. “I could you give you all the financial support you need, whatever you want.”

“But I notice matrimony is not on the table.”

Blakely paled, swallowed hard. “If that’s what it takes … ” he said, his voice strangled.

“Oh my.” Del laughed. “The consummate bachelor Blakely is actually proposing marriage? Don’t scowl at me, Blakely, engagements should be a joyous occasion.”

“Dammit, Del — ” Blakely started to rise from the settee, but Del raised a hand to stop him.

“I can’t — I won’t put myself at the mercy of any one person.” Del’s tone had turned serious. “I’ve worked too hard, struggled too much for my independence and freedom to just throw it away. To put myself in the one situation I’ve spent my life trying to avoid.”

“Blast you and your damned independence. Is it really worth so much that you will cling to it at the exclusion of all else?”

Del bristled. “What else is there that matters?”

“How about security? How about companionship? Or love?”

“You know I love you, we’ve been dear friends for almost a decade now.”

Blakely gave a rueful laugh. “We’re friends, yes, but I doubt you even know what love is. You are so careful to keep people at a distance, with all of your stupid ‘arrangements.’ And you will
never
let anyone in, will you? You hide here in this damned townhouse, all alone, no servants or anyone about, only taking visitors on your own terms, and pushing anyone away who tries to get too close.”

“I am not alone,” Del said, carefully schooling her features to appear light and flippant. “I always have Mrs. Tiddles to keep me company and keep me out of trouble.”

Blakely’s face darkened. “There you go, making stupid jests to avoid any uncomfortable conversation.” He squinted at her for a moment, looking as though he wanted to shout at her and only the barest thread of self-restraint stopped him. “Your imaginary great-aunt does not actually count as a companion,” he said finally, his voice soft and carefully controlled. “Though how you’ve managed to fool everyone with that silly ruse and convince them you are merely a respectable woman living with her aunt is beyond me.”

“I manage to fool everyone because people
want
to be fooled. They see what they want to see and believe what they want to believe.” She sounded almost angry, or perhaps it was just a note of practical resignation that had turned her voice hard. “Denial must be the most powerful force on earth; it makes all unpleasant truths disappear. It makes the poor and sick invisible, it makes the nobility useful, and it makes whores into respectable women.” Del gulped her brandy, coughing and wiping the sticky liquid from her lips. She shifted in her chair, only now noticing the silk robe had fallen open, exposing her long legs up to the thigh. “In any event, society does not concern itself so much with a twenty-eight-year-old spinster who keeps to herself, not when there are so many more important rich and titled children to keep track of.”

They regarded each other in silence for a moment, both frustrated, both wary.

“You will never allow it to happen, will you?” Blakely said, his voice low and quiet.

Del arched a brow. “Allow what?” she asked.

“You will never allow anyone to love you. You will never let your defenses down.” Blakely got up with a jerk, and walked over to the side table to pour more brandy. He grabbed the decanter with a clenched hand, brandy sloshing over the rim of the tumbler as he poured it.

“You are so untouchable,” he said as he returned to stand in front of Del’s chair. “Like an orchid under glass. Beautiful, exotic — and forever out of reach. But someday, someone will come along who will shatter the glass, who will ignore the jagged edges and reach inside and grab you. And you will be powerless to stop it.” His gaze slid from hers, and he peered into the tumbler, as if searching for some elusive answer marinating at the bottom. “God knows I’m not brave enough to attempt it.” He gave a sort of helpless laugh, and then anger seized his features. He threw his tumbler against the far wall and stalked out of the study while the shards of glass still rained down to the floor.

“Why I let you drag me to these low-class soirees of yours, Farber, I will never know.” Wittingham smoothed his wool coat as he walked, picking at an invisible speck of lint and straightening his already impeccable cravat.

“Because deep down in that snobby little heart of yours, you know you love them,” Farber said with a laugh as he poked Wittingham, causing his friend to frown and smooth his coat yet again. “You enjoyed the other party you attended at Jane’s. And you are as eager as I to force Camden here to have a bit of fun.” He gave Camden a playful shove.

“I am the epitome of fun,” Camden said sardonically.

“Not since you started your employment,” Hollsworth piped up from behind the group. “You haven’t gone out a single night since you started working for your father. Not very nice of you, really, to leave Farber without funds to lose at the hazard table.”

Farber turned to scowl at Hollsworth. “I have been doing just fine in the funds department, thank you,” he said, not quite mustering up any plausible indignation.

“Yes, you have been doing quite well since you took up with that silly chit of an actress,” Wittingham said. “What’s her name? Millie? Mary?”

“Mare,” Farber said.

Hollsworth laughed. “Yes, since you’ve been riding — ”

“No, don’t do it,” Wittingham admonished. “I cannot abide any poorly crafted allusions to Farber and his activities with his equine-monikered mistress.” Wittingham turned to look at his friend, and when it looked like he was about to say something else, Wittingham raised a hand to cut him off. “I mean it, Hollsworth, enough with your bad puns and horrible jests.” Once satisfied that Hollsworth wasn’t about to spout out another one of his famously cringe-inducing jokes, Wittingham turned back to Farber. “Really Farber, I should be quite used to your antics by now, but to allow some woman to support you … that seems too base for even you.”

“I may allow her to give me a shilling here and there, but I give her plenty in return,” Farber said as he cupped the front of his breeches. “Almost more than she can handle,” he added with a smug a laugh. Behind him, Hollsworth snorted gleefully at the innuendo.

“You do realize that makes you a common prostitute, don’t you?” Wittingham said, the edges of his lips curling up in a poorly concealed smirk.

Farber’s expression was suddenly devoid of smugness. “I — I’m not — ”

“You’re a whore!” Hollsworth yelled, laughing louder. He gave Farber a shove, causing him to stumble before he shoved Hollsworth back.

Leaving the two men to scuffle harmlessly behind them, Wittingham turned to Camden. “Worthless cads,” Wittingham muttered, but Camden heard the note of brotherly affection in his tone that belied his harsh words and haughty demeanor.

“They’re just young, and too fun-loving for their own good,” Camden said with a glance back at their friends. Farber now had Hollsworth’s head under his arm, clamped tightly to his side, and Farber mussed his hair while Hollsworth yelled, “Let go!” and, “Ouch, dammit!”

“I suppose we were like that once,” Wittingham sighed, slowing his pace so Farber and Hollsworth wouldn’t fall too far behind. “But then things happened to make us abandon our carefree ways — like you becoming employed and me being older than ten.”

Camden grinned. “You can’t fool me, Wittingham. You aren’t nearly as priggish as you pretend to be.”

“No, I’m far worse. I suspect it is my advanced age — ”

“You’re only twenty-five!”

“Yes, but sometimes those six years that separate me from them — ” Wittingham made a vague gesture in the direction of Farber and Hollsworth, “ — seem more like decades.”

“Really, Wittingham, you’ll have yourself in the grave before you’re thirty.”

“And perhaps it will be not a moment too soon. Ahh, I believe this is the townhouse.” Wittingham said before Camden could respond. He stopped walking and turned to Farber, who was still scuffling with Hollsworth. “Stop that, man, and tell me if we’ve found the place.”

Farber released Hollsworth from a headlock and squinted up at the townhouse. “This is it,” he said. “This is Jane’s house.”

Farber leapt up the stairs and rapped on the door. It opened a moment later, noise and cigar smoke seeming to tumble from the house and pour out onto the street.

“Jane!” Farber said in greeting to the woman who stood in the doorway. “You’ve missed me, haven’t you? Fear not, I have finally come, and look, I’ve brought Wittingham, Camden, and Hollsworth.”

“And now the party can finally begin,” Jane said flatly. There was the sound of breaking glass, and the voices behind her swelled into raucous laughter, as if the people inside were in on the joke.

“Perhaps the party has already begun,” Farber said, unfazed by Jane’s sarcasm, “but at least now it can get
good
.”

Jane turned her gaze from Farber and looked over his friends. Camden felt strangely exposed by her inspection. She was an unsettling creature — one who seemed to reside in the twilight of unclassification. She was attractive, yet none of her features taken singly would be pleasing in themselves. Her eyes were too large, her nose too long, her jaw too severe — yet it all added up to an arresting whole. She was poised, almost regal, but as an actress, Camden knew she couldn’t have come from well-bred stock. Her voice was slightly too high pitched to be strictly pleasant, yet she spoke with such seductive authority that Camden thought there would be few who would hesitate to obey her every command.

“If you are the missing ingredient to a perfect party,” Jane said, drawing her gaze back to Farber, “then I suppose I should not deprive anyone of your presence for a second longer.” She stepped inside the doorway, and gestured for the men to come inside, taking coats and hats and canes as they passed.

Camden followed his friends through the hallway in to the main parlor, his eyes nearly tearing up from the thick smoke. There were clusters of people throughout the house, talking, drinking and laughing. Nearly all the men — and not a few of the women — were smoking something, a pipe, a cigar, what appeared to be pieces of rolled up paper filled with tobacco. There were card tables throughout the room where animated foursomes played whist or vingt-et-un. A few couples danced a most scandalous waltz to the slightly discordant sounds of a rather inebriated-looking quartet folded into a dark corner of the parlor. Other couples were pressed into the shadows, pressed into each other. Camden caught glimpses of exposed flesh and roving hands. In all, Camden thought the party seemed pungent, loud, crowded, a bit shocking — and horribly fun. The kind of fun Camden hadn’t experienced in the month he had been in his father’s employ.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Farber asked, and Camden saw he was grinning stupidly and rubbing his hands together, as if the party were some great feast he was about to tuck into. “And to think, Wittingham, that you complained about coming. What you would have missed.” Farber turned his idiotic grin on his stoic friend, who only raised an eyebrow in return. “Ah, look, there’s Mare. Come, Hollsworth, and I’ll introduce you to Mare’s pretty little friend.”

Camden watched as his two friends disappeared into the crowd in pursuit of more titillating attractions than either he or Wittingham could provide.