To Tame a Rogue (18 page)

She caught her reflection in the mirror before she left. The soft helpless femininity of the gown she wore encased a stubborn and determined spirit. Her color was high in her cheekbones; her eyes sparkled.

38

A fire burned brightly in the hearth on the first floor of Nicholas’ townhouse. A stark, blinding fury had come over him after Camille had left his study, after she had refused to join the party. The lilting music around him had all sounded the same, the crush of faces and voices a blur. He fingered the glass of brandy he now held tightly in his hand then set it down.

His head ached, his whole body ached, his thoughts were erotic, betraying him. The woman was getting under his skin; she had openly defied him. Even Lavinia had never gone that far.

A door slammed and he looked up to see Kipp laying his dark, expensive cloak on a chair. Kipp liked to keep up with the latest fashions while Nicholas preferred older, more comfortable articles of clothing, things he had molded to his body.

“I say, chap, no one’s seen you about for quite some time. Thought maybe the Missus was keeping you entertained in the bedroom.”

Nicolas scowled. He jutted out his jaw. “You know it’s a marriage in name only,” he said.

“Yes, and I think it’s killing you old chap.”

Kipp filled a glass of brandy and took a swig. “Awful stuff,” he said, and put it down. “This is ridiculous, you know.”

“What’s ridiculous?”

“You. Her. Both pretending not to be attracted to each other! It’s so, well,
obvious
to everyone but the two of you.”

“I am not attracted to that
twit
.” The firelight shone on Nick’s thoughtful face.

“I’ve also heard that the tavern girl turns out to be an heiress," Kipp said. "This is quite a pickle. Her ‘uncle’ is being investigated for rifling through a good part of the girl’s fortune. He’s disappeared, gone into the swamps for all we know. Must be some truth to the rumor.”

Nicholas snapped his head in Kipp’s direction. “Can we please change the subject?”

Kipp sat in a chair, leaning back and watching flames dance in the wide marble hearth. “Sure. What do you want to discuss? The state of dry goods, hardware, food? It’s a steady market.”

“Sweet Jesus,” Nicholas said.

“No? How about the
England
to
Australia
run? I hear it’s busy and there’s always a demand for Chinese silks. And the ship you’re thinking of buying?”

Nicholas just grunted.

“Your pardon, captain, but the Chinese vessel? I know she was mishandled and the cargo badly chosen. She’s the prime example of what happens when a good ship is supplied with a lacking crew. They were a bad lot of men who were dangerous to the ship’s success. You’d have to select the crew personally.”

“I intend to.”

Kipp looked at him sharply. “That hasn’t been done in these parts in a long time—if ever. And good men are harder to find now.”

“I know the men I want. They’ll work for me.”

“You would be taking a big risk to antagonize those who supply crews. Perhaps you could manage it for one voyage—but what happens after that, if men are still scarce?

“Men have more opportunities now—inland shipping; they’re going to go west in greater numbers than before. Unless wages aboard ships are raised, it will be difficult to get them and keep them for long voyages.

“There will always be men like me, men who follow the sea,” Nick said, thinking of Camille, of the lavender smell of her hair and skin.

“Unless there is something to keep them home, something like a beautiful woman with golden blonde hair and intriguing lips….”

“Bloody hell, shut up already!”

“Am I interrupting something?” a feminine voice crooned from the doorway.

Lavinia filled it with her wide white skirts, tapered upward; the stiff brocade curved, cupping her ample breasts, swept into long tight sleeves that left her creamy shoulders and throat bare. Over her arms she carried the scarlet cloak and her rippling b
l
ack hair glistened in the light from the fire.

Black and white and scarlet, and cheap looking, Nicholas thought for the first time. The stones in her hair were glass. There were tiny lines of fatigue beneath her grey eyes.

When had he become indifferent to her?
He knew when
. When that blonde-haired waif with green-blue eyes had caught him up in marriage.

“I was just leaving,” Kipp said, rising from his chair.

“No you weren’t. We have business to discuss.”

“OK, I wasn’t leaving,” Kipp said, sitting back down.

“Nick…I thought maybe we could spend some time together this evening. It’s been a long time, you know, since we’ve had any
fun
.” She all but threw her full lips into a pout, tracing a finger over the lush curves of a breast in bold invitation.

Nick wasn’t even looking at her. “I’m not in the mood, Lavinia.

”You arrogant son of a bitch! Now that you have a little wife, you’ve suddenly developed morals? This isn’t the last you’ll see of me!”

She turned on her slippers, slamming the heavy oak door on her way out.

Kipp laughed. “This is more serious than I thought.
”
Nicholas just growled.

“You know, they say her real name is Victoria.”

“Camille, Victoria, she’s no different than Marlena," Nicholas growled.

“How can you be so sure?" Kipp asked. "I mean, you hardly know the girl.”

Nick’s mouth turned down. He was reminded of how Camille had responded to his kisses—with fire, innocence, sensuality. It was baffling. She had told him she was a whore, stood in his very study and taunted him with the knowledge.
And yet he still wanted her.

“Well, chap, you can deny it all you want, but have you considered that if what the gossip columns say is true, she might leave you, have the marriage annulled?”

Nicholas damned himself for giving in to his fury even as he damned his errant wife for causing it. “Have the carriage brought around, good chap.”

39

Home.
Could it be?

Camille stepped out of the carriage and looked up at the home with the ornate iron grillwork, the scalloped white corners, the beautifully tended gardens. She wanted to hope, wanted to believe…and yet, she couldn’t. Not yet. What did this woman have to gain by claiming she was her granddaughter?

Home, she thought with a pang. She no longer knew where that was. She’d been foisted off on Nicholas, a man who clearly didn’t want her, who’d married her simply because of a man’s dying wish. A man who didn’t play by any rules. A man who was handsomer than he had any right to be.

She thought of him now, his shoulders impossibly wide, the muscles of his arms dark and smooth; his chiseled jaw. Her mind ran wild. His bare chest, the dark curling hair that covered it, disappearing beneath the waistband of his breeches. His cool and unsmiling regard. She climbed the steps and raised a white-gloved hand to knock.

A moment later it was opened so forcefully Camille thought it would be torn from its hinges. She stared at the silver-haired woman, and the silver-haired woman stared back, jaw agape. Then Camille was crushed in the tiny woman’s embrace.

40

She pulled Camille quickly into a sun parlor and sat down, patting the cushion beside her. Tears ran freely over the woman’s face. She was a handsome, elegantly dressed lady with clear blue-silver eyes.

She pressed Camille’s hand warmly. “My God, there can be no doubt, no doubt,” she said. She stood, walked over to a desk, and pulled something out. She returned and sat down next to Camille and handed her a miniature portrait.
 
 
 
 
“You are the spitting image of your mother, Alexandria. The spitting image!”

Camille sucked her breath in. My God, she
did
look like the woman in the portrait. The green eyes. The blonde hair. The same oval face.

She looked at Josephine Huxley, curiosity in her eyes. Her throat felt full of tears.

“I have other proof, my dear, but after all these years, I’m so glad I found you. I called her Alex. Everyone did. That foul man who raised you…in a tavern of all places. He’s disappeared but I will find him my dear. He will pay for his lies. He wasn’t really your uncle.”

“My parents…my father? I had memories…flashing memories from long ago. My uncle…he’s not my uncle
?
He told me they were just the fancies of a poor girl and nothing more.” Camille started sobbing and they fell into each other’s arms. It was a long time later, when the street lamps burned with oil, that Camille finally understood what had happened, finally knew who she really was. And there was no doubt.

41

When she got home…when did she start thinking of Nicholas’ mansion as her home?…it was very early in the morning. The house was asleep. She wearily climbed the stairs to her chambers and was thankful no one was about.

She didn’t remove her cloak, just started to pack a few things. There wasn’t much to pack. Then she quietly descended the stairs. She wished she would have time to say goodbye to Damaris and Arabelle, but for now, she needed to leave, needed to gather her thoughts.

She felt an odd ache in her chest as she set the suitcase in the foyer and quietly rang for the carriage.

“Going somewhere?”

The deep, timbered voice slid from the darkness of the study. Nicholas was standing in the doorway, a scowl on his much too handsome face.

Camille was suddenly not so eager to leave. She didn’t know why. Her heart bounded to her throat.

“I’m going…home. The rumors…they are true. My mother…Josephine showed me a picture of her Nicholas, and I look just like her!”

Nicholas was silent. She hadn’t meant to use his first name. It just slipped out, intimately.

Silence mounted, thick and heavy. “I think we should discuss this matter further.”

“There's nothing to discuss. I’ve checked into…matters.

If I annul the marriage, you have still fulfilled your obligation and your father’s wishes. I understand that you also married me so that you wouldn’t lose your family estates.” She steadied herself, feeling the ache of sadness spreading throughout her being.

“I don’t judge you for that. This has always been your home. I probably would have done the same thing, if I’d had a home like this.” Her voice trembled.

“It’s funny,” she said. “Now that I know who I am…I don’t really feel like I know who I am. I do know I am the wife you didn’t want. That’s the only thing I’m sure of…and I will be happy to free you from this troubling marriage.”

She let her eyes rove over his rugged face, the deep dark gold of his eyes, the slant of his brow, the strength of his chin. She remembered the feel of his lips, hot and eager, searching hers. “Goodbye Nicholas,” she said abruptly. “I am truly sorry if I caused you any pain.” She lifted her small luggage and left him there, in the slanting darkness of the vast hallway. He didn’t try to stop her, and she cried all the way to Josephine's…to her grandmother’s house.

42

To keep Camille’s mind off of matters—she’d sobbed her heart out to Josephine but hadn’t gone so far as to say she was in love—Josephine threw parties. Lots of parties. She and Camille had decided it would be best to call her Camille, as that had been her name for most of her life until now.

Josephine proudly introduced her to young men and women and soon, Camille had a small circle of friends. Still, Josephine could see that the terrible ache had not gone from the girl’s soul. She was in love with her husband, even if she couldn’t yet admit it to herself.

 
She’d also had another reason for keeping the girl distracted. She’d done some snooping about town, and believed that her husband may have been falling in love with Camille when she left. She had to keep Camille so busy that she wouldn’t have time to meet with the lawyer about getting her marriage annulled. Not just yet, she thought. Maybe a little time. Let’s see what develops. Josephine chided herself.
Hopeless, old romantic.

 
Josephine was keeping herself busy too, if she was honest. Henree had left her employ several weeks after she’d made a fool of herself. She didn’t blame him. She didn’t want to think about the smile dancing in his eyes, the way she’d felt when she had fallen into his arms, when their lips were so close. Could a woman her age fall in love for the first time? Had he gone to the woman he’d said he’d loved for so long?