To Tame a Rogue (16 page)

They continued to walk through the flower-ribboned paths to the house.

“Are you excited about the annual Branton summer soiree?” he asked.

Camille pretended to know about it. “The Brantons are very fond of parties, aren’t they?”

“You haven’t seen anything yet, Camille. Just wait. Four hundred guests, fireworks, horse racing, dancing, the most spectacular spread of foods you will ever see in your life. Not to mention the most handsome bachelors, like myself.” He winked.

His charm was infectious. Camille caught herself wondering what Nicholas was like in his unguarded moments.

“Indeed, why hasn’t a charming man like yourself found a bride-to-be yet?”

“Because he’s a rogue of utter proportions.” Both heads turned at the sound of the deep voice. Nicholas stood in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. “Trust me, he wouldn’t make a good groom.”

Camille was struck by his dark, good looks. He looked refreshed, his skin golden tan, his eyes dancing with mischief, his shoulders impossibly wide. As usual, she couldn’t read his mood. And she knew it could change in a second.

“Speak for yourself, old chap.”

“I still haven’t found the shotgun,” Nick said.

“No matter,” Kipp replied. “I didn’t come to see you.”

Nick frowned, clearly puzzled. He looked from Kipp to Camille.

Genevieve pushed her brother gently from behind and stepped around him.

“Ready Kipp?”

Nicholas looked disturbed. “Oh no, now wait a minute. That’s my little sister.”

The carriage was brought out and Kipp helped Genevieve inside. “Don’t worry old chap. She’s in good hands.”

“She better come back with every single hair in place.”

“We’ll see, old chap. We’ll see.”

Camille was smiling triumphantly. She’d guessed right. Kipp had a soft spot for Genevieve. Maybe she was the woman who would tame his rakish ways.

“What are you smiling about?” Nicholas said, clearly annoyed.

Camille ignored his remark. She crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot impatiently. “And just when were you going to tell me about the four hundred guests we’ll be having?”

“Bloody hell. I was getting around to it.”

She held her chin high as she walked around him into the house. But she couldn’t hold back. “You know, Mr. Branton, you can’t tell someone not to fall in love with your sister. It doesn’t work like that.”

“And you would know about love, wouldn’t you, my dear?”
 
 
 
 
She stopped, turned and glared at him. “You uppity, arrogant, conceited, goat-headed, vainglorious cock!”

She felt her cheeks flame. He was at her side in two long strides.

He pulled her roughly against him. “Maybe you shouldn’t give advice about things you don’t understand.”

Arabelle came dancing into the room and they quickly separated.

“Which dress should I wear for the party, the green one or the blue one?” she asked. She held them up and looked expectantly at Camille.

“You would look positively stunning in either,” Camille said, “but I think I prefer the green. It brings out your beautiful dark eyes.”

Nicholas chose that moment to escape.

34

 
At dinner that night, it was just the two of them. Quite uncomfortable. Genevieve was dining in the city with Kipp; the girls had eaten earlier.

“Where did you learn to ride?” Nicholas asked Camille.

“A kind old man who owned a stable taught me. He let me ride with his daughters sometimes.”

“You ride passably well,” he remarked, taking a hunk of bread and slathering butter on it.

Camille took a sip of wine to steady her nerves. Nicholas’ dark hair fascinated her as well as the gold light in his eyes. His shoulders filled out his dark navy jacket and his rugged jaw looked like it could be hewn of stone. It was a strong chin; it could harden in an instant.

“I know a lot about horses,” she said. “You’d be surprised.”

“Ever race one?” he asked.

“Race one? Heaven’s no. But I know it takes a special person to tame one. Horses aren’t troubled by a whole lot. They don’t care about how they fill their time. All they care about is their appetite and trust. They can smell fear.”

Nicholas put down his fork and came to stand beside her. He placed his hand on hers.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said. “That maybe we should start over. Start…again.”

Camille tipped her head to look up at him. “What?”

His fingers were warm and pleasant.

“I mean, I haven’t been…very pleasant to you. I’d like to get to know you a little better.”

He reached out and brushed a tendril of smooth hair from her cheek.

Camille wasn’t sure what to think. She blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Why?”

He laughed and gestured for her to stand. She stood and he took her by the arm to the wide windows overlooking the gardens and several pastures. “I’d like to call a truce.”

“Mr. Branton, this is unexpected. I….”

“You could start by calling me Nicholas. Actually, I prefer Nick.”

Camille stared out the window, focusing on the beautiful green pastures viewed from this part of the mansion, the wide blue sky. “I guess that wouldn’t be too hard, if we could talk about me getting my own room, so I don’t have to go through your room every time…. I mean….”

He frowned. “That can be arranged. Though it will make the servants talk unless we convince them it is because you need a bigger room.”

An older stable hand led a beautiful white horse into the pasture. In her excitement, Camille gripped Nicholas’ arm. “Oh my God! What a beautiful horse! I didn’t know you had an Arabian.”

“I didn’t. Until yesterday. She’s a new addition to the stable.”

The horse was so white she was almost silver under the smoky blue sky. “What’s her name?”

Nicholas smiled. “I think you should name her.”

“Me? But….”

“She’s yours, after all. A gift. I’ve never given my wife a gift.”

Camille swallowed, feeling the hot ache of joyful tears in her throat. “A gift? I can’t possibly accept it.”

“Well, I can’t give her back. Someone has to ride her.”

The horse was as pale as powder, her eyes dark as ash. “I’ll call her ‘Passion.’”

“I like it.”

They returned to the table and Camille talked shyly for the rest of the meal. She didn’t know the man sitting across from her, his many moods, his many faces. She drained a glass of wine and then summoned her courage.

“I know you hate me for ruining your life. I know you didn’t want to marry. You wouldn’t have had to if it wasn’t for your father’s will.”

He put his glass of wine down and looked into her eyes. His eyes darkened. “My life was ruined a long time ago, and not by you.”

“But now you’re even more…miserable.”

He laughed. “How do you know I wasn’t
always
this miserable?”

She took a deep breath. “I don’t think you’re that kind of man.” Inhale. Exhale. Again. “In the short time I’ve known you I think you are the type of man who wouldn’t appreciate anything unless he had to fight for it.”

He stared at her. His eyes were clear and direct. “I think you are far more miserable than I.”

She fingered the edges of the lace napkin in her lap. “You must hate me.”

“Truly, Camille, I do not hate you.”

He looked at her face. Her skin was flushed; her eyes were a darker blue than he’d ever seen before. “We haven’t tried to make this situation more…tolerable, have we?”

She shook her head.

“Perhaps we should,” he said.

“But…I’m not any of the things you would ever find desirable in a…wife.” She had trouble getting the word out and over her lips.

This was crazy, insane. She was no different than Marlena, his head admonished.
They did not suit
.

“I would be willing to try,” she said softly. “If it would mean a more peaceful household,” she added quickly, feeling happier than she had in a long time. “There are the girls to think of.”

“OK then. Would you consider riding with me tomorrow? You could ride Passion.”

Camille grinned. “I accept your invitation.”

Nicholas would be racing in a few days, as part of the gala summer celebration. He had hoped that Camille would be there cheering him on.
The heart is a funny thing
, he thought.
Why should he care?

35

The massive, rambling house was now full of handsomely dressed guests; there were heavily laden food boards, good talk, and laughter. Camille had a feeling that the Branton family would go on for a long time in this way.

As guests arrived in the great hall, they would pull off their hats and gloves. They seemed to be spilling out of every crevice of the house.

The hall was slashed deep into the big house and double doors opened off it at regular intervals along each side. It was high-ceilinged; the walls were of light-colored wood, beautifully grained and softly polished, and the floor was now covered with a rich, red carpet that shimmered like the folds of a gown.

The fireworks display would begin later, and the children were at peak excitement. Arabelle had told Camille all about it—there would be small Chinese crackers, cannon crackers, skyrockets, and Roman candles.

Camille felt radiant, maybe for the first time in her life. She felt light and joyful, and found herself looking for Nicholas in the throngs. Her hair was as polished as a piece of gold satin; it was carefully imprisoned with small jeweled pins that held it back from her face, but the rippling, waving mass escaped in a pile of curls at the back of her head. Her skin glowed, her cheeks were highly flushed. Her eyes were blue-green and heavily lashed, her lips full and sweet.

Her gown, of gleaming, rustling, very fine raspberry silk, was made for her white-skinned beauty, or so Genny had told her. She and Genevieve had become friends and Camille enjoyed using her nickname.

A black velvet ribbon ran through the lace edging about the low necklines of Camille's dress. Her small waist, above the flaring hoopskirts, was tightly laced and also encircled by a black ribbon. She wore small black satin slippers beneath the wide skirt.

She found herself wondering if she would meet with Nicholas’ approval. She moved out into the crowds gathered on the vast, stretching green lawns, greeting guests and occasionally stopping to talk to someone. There was still no sign of Nicholas.

Camille moved off to the side, near the base of a wide old oak tree. She scanned the crowd and her eyes rested on Nicholas. For an instant their glances crossed and she lowered her lashes. He crossed the distance between them quickly, carrying two glasses of champagne in his hands.

He offered her one and she took it. “Thank you.”

He stared at her. She was a completely different woman than the one who had stood in his study that first day, dirty and tattered. She was innocence and sensuality, and dangerously lovely.

“You are…captivating.”

Camille blushed. “And you are….” She laughed. “I don’t know who you are.”

He smiled. Then he took both glasses and set them down. His eyes traveled leisurely down her form. “I’m looking forward to being the first to dance with you tonight.”

Camille didn’t know what to make of it. He stood close to her, so close she imagined she could feel his muscled chest.

They had attracted attention. “We’re being watched,” she said shyly. Her gaze caught his.

“Let’s give them something to talk about then,” he replied.

Music floated in the jasmine-scented air and he took her in his arms and began to dance.

Camille felt giddy. She laughed lightly.

This was dangerous. She should be careful. It wouldn’t do to lose her heart to a man who had promised never to truly desire her.

“Were you always drawn to the sea?” she asked.

He leaned close, his breath a hot whisper against her ear. “There will always be men who follow the sea,” he answered. “The best seamen love a fast ship. I’ve seen clippers take tea cargoes out of Chinese ports for England because they're fast, while British ships wait at the docks for weeks on end. I’ve always loved the water, the open sea. I want to control the triangle trade—west to north to south, then south to north to England. But it’s difficult to secure crews for coasting vessels.”

“You plan to…sail again soon?”

“I need to take a short run to Charleston, yes.”

His lips brushed her ear. “Will you miss me, my sweet?”

Liquid threads of heat spindled through her body.