To Tame a Rogue (5 page)

She sighed with relief, a bit too loudly. She did not see the hard frown that crossed his features. She studied the broad expanse of his back, his wide shoulders, his lean hips.

“Were the ill manners and…charming…speech deliberate?” he asked.

“I… Yes. I hoped you would take one look at me, be appalled by my manners, and send me away.”

“I wish it were that simple, Miss Hardison, but it’s not. Logic…doesn’t play into it.”

He continued to present his back. “I’m curious though; with the improvement of your station through marriage to me, I’m surprised someone like you wouldn’t jump at the chance."

Someone like you?
Camille fumed.

“It’s simple,” she replied. “As for
someone like me
jumping at the chance to marry
someone like you
, well, I wish to marry for love, not money, Mr. Branton. And despite the fact that my ‘station’ is lower in life than yours, it would seem I have the higher ideals.”

He turned and pinned her in his dark gaze. “Do your higher ideals include lying about who and what you are, Miss Hardison, to get what you want?”

Camille blushed. “I did what I needed to do. Nobody was hurt. I knew you would call it off the moment you saw me, the moment you heard me speak. It just took a little bit longer than I expected.”

“Who said anything about calling it off?”

Camille felt as if someone had sucked all of the air out of the dimly lit room.

“You can’t be serious...after everything....”

“Oh, I’m serious, Miss Hardison. In fact, I see no reason why the ceremony can’t be performed posthaste. Marriage is, after all, just a piece of paper, and it would be a quiet, simple ceremony with no frills. No planning would be necessary.”

“Posthaste? Are you mad, sir?” Frantic, she decided to humor him. “And where might we find a preacher at such short notice?”

“Harold is a preacher. He’s performed quite a few impromptu weddings over the years.”

Camille sat down on high-backed chair. “Good God, you are daft as a donkey. That’s it, isn’t it? You’re mad? That’s why you aren’t married, that’s why your first wife....”

She stopped, his eyes like dark sparks.

“You would be wise not to mention my wife…ever again.”

Camille nodded her head slowly, feeling like a caged animal.

“We don’t need to make this complicated. The last thing I want or need is a wife.”

“What are you saying? I don’t understand. You said you had no wish to marry….”

“It was my father’s dying wish that I marry you. I doubt I will ever understand his reasoning, but I intend to honor his wishes. It will be perfectly legal—I will be your lawfully wedded husband; you will be my ‘loving’ wife. No one has to know that the marriage is a sham. What I am saying, madame, is that you do not need to share my bed. It will be a marriage in name only.” He paused. “Unless, at some point, you find you cannot resist. Women tend to leave my bed heartily satisfied.”

Camille felt the hot blush on her cheeks deepening. “How noble of you, sir. But let me assure you, I have no desire to…I would never find pleasure in your
bed.”

Camille had never been with a man, so she didn’t really know what pleasures were to be had, but he didn’t have to know that. She’d heard enough tales from her best friend Meagan, who also worked at the tavern, to know that it was generally the man who found pleasure, not the woman. And she hadn’t even known his father, so why would he wish the match between them? None of it made any sense. How had her uncle known this arrogant man’s father?

Camille thought of her childhood dreams, the lavish wedding she’d always wanted, a doting husband, small children to love and cherish...saw them all slipping away the same way so many other things in her life had slipped away.

“That is most fortunate,” he finally said, “for I have no desire to sleep with a common tavern maid who’s been pawed by more men than she can count on both hands.”

Dear God, but he was crude, and his words stung. She felt tears brimming but thrust her chin up. Well, what could she expect? Her uncle had always told her that no well-bred gentleman would ever desire her, not even as a mistress. Mistresses were exotic, sultry, and much desired. And she wasn't about to correct his assumption about her morals.

“Fortunate indeed,” she said, “for I have no desire to sleep with a horse’s ass. Tavern maids and
horses’
asses
do not make a good match.”

In the darkness, she did not see the sensual smile tugging at his lips.
 
 
 
 
“Touché, madame. We understand each other. We are completely unsuited. I prefer a more sophisticated lady and you, I imagine, dream of a gentleman with higher ideals, one who is quite out of your reach. You are obviously not sophisticated and I am by no means a gentleman with higher ideals. Nor will I ever be.”

Camille did not raise her eyes to look at him.

“Yes,” she said quietly, thinking of how he had carelessly tossed her in the river to get his way. “We understand each other. But I haven’t consented to this match. Why should I marry you?”

“Because, my dear, you have no choice.” The pair turned, startled, to see Penley Hardison filling out the doorway to the study like a crude blob of jelly. He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. Nicholas wondered just how long he had been eavesdropping.

“I came as soon as I heard you’d left for Legacy Oaks, my dear.” He shook his fat finger at Camille. “Meagan told me what you were about.” Camille couldn’t believe Meagan had betrayed her trust. She stared suspiciously at Penley.

The rain and wind had played havoc with his appearance. His single strand of limp gray hair was wrapped around his bald head in a most unbecoming manner; his garish clothes were wrinkled and stretched tautly across his ample paunch. Gaudy, gold rings danced clumsily on his fingers, catching the light from the fire in the hearth.

“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.” Nicholas’ acerbic tone was lost on the man.

Penley walked over to Nicholas and extended his hand. Nicholas’ arms remained crossed over his chest, his eyes hard and unyielding.

“Penley Hardison. I knew your father quite well, quite well indeed.”

Nicholas looked at him with disdain. “I can’t imagine what you and Caindale had in common, though I can guess it had something to do with gambling. My father had a penchant for that sort of thing. And I’m sure you were eager to take his coin.” Penley drew up his short frame.

“I came to make sure you would honor your word, sir.
”

“I fully intend to honor my word—for the sole purpose of fulfilling my father’s last wishes.”

Penley’s boldness returned. “See that you do.”

The look that crossed Nicholas’ features was cat-like and murderous. Camille jumped in.

“Excuse me, but we are discussing
my
future, and I have decided against this marriage, should anyone care to notice.”

“I would have a word with my niece,” Penley said.

“Certainly. I’ve had my fill of her company—as well as yours,” Nicholas replied, leaving the two alone.

Camille tried to stand, but Penley had crossed the room and pushed her forcefully back into her seat. He lowered his voice.

“You ungrateful chit! What do you think you are doing? I took you in, fed you, clothed you. I would see you comfortably settled, and this is how you show your gratitude? By trying to get it called off? Why in God's name would you prefer the tavern to all this wealth?” He gestured with his stubby arms and fat fingers at the room and luxury surrounding them.

“You never wanted me, uncle. I have clearly been a burden to you since I was a child. You’ve made that clear. Everything you’ve given me has been given begrudgingly, and you have never spared extra for my needs.” Camille thought of Christopher’s smiling eyes, his kindness, her promise to wait for him, and her courage returned.

“There is nothing you can do to make me agree to marriage with that man.”

Penley rocked back on his heels, scratching his rotund chin. His eyes were as cruel and black as a raven’s.

“It’s true I never wanted to take you in. Why would I want a mouth to feed, a sniggling brat to deal with? But what else could I do? Leave you to the streets? You are...kin.”

“Come now, uncle, you’ve never done anything that wasn’t to your benefit. Though I am grateful you gave me a roof over my head, I’ve had to earn my keep. Since I was twelve, I’ve fallen into bed every night exhausted from the tasks you set me. I never had a childhood. As far as I’m concerned, we’re even. I’ll say it again. I will not marry him.”

Penley leaned over her, placing one stout arm on each side of her, forcing her back in the seat. He lowered his voice so only she could hear.

“That’s where you’re wrong, my dear. How do you think I got Meagan to spill her guts? Even now Meletios waits outside in the carriage. His knuckles are still sore from the beating he gave her, but he will gladly use them again to convince you of the error of your ways.”

Camille paled. Meletios was a huge man, a well-known thug her uncle hired out when he had gambling debts to collect. He would do anything for the right price. Her uncle, in fact, was not a poor man. He owned a string of taverns. He profited from a lot of unsavory activities. And those he employed usually suffered for it.

“It’s your choice. You can get married, in fact, why not tonight, or you can come with us and be convinced what’s best for you. You are grown now; I don’t have any further obligation to you.”

Sweet God, did Nicholas know about Meletios? He had seemed generally surprised to discover the man eavesdropping at the study door was her Uncle Penley, so maybe he didn’t know. Nicholas didn’t seem to be the kind of man who would allow a woman to be beaten, but she didn’t know him at all. And he was determined to wed her. Perhaps he knew of her uncle’s threats and simply didn’t care.

Camille shivered. She tried to keep the tremor out of her voice. “There will be no need for that, uncle. Though I must wonder at the urgency. There must be something in it for you.”

“It’s a business transaction, m’dear, the details of which do not concern you. Caindale needed to settle a debt with me. Now, I will have your answer.” Penley stepped away and waited, tapping his boot-clad foot. Camille stood up. She mustered as much dignity as she could.

“Give Meletios my condolences,” she managed, her throat a tight, achy knot from the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks. “For he will not have an opportunity to beat another woman this evening.” Camille hoped he would never have another opportunity.

 
“I knew you would come to your senses,” Penley replied. “I’ll inform Mr. Branton, and the others, of your decision. Now chin up, girl.”

Penley strode toward the door, arrogance in his stride.

“Uncle.” He stopped but did not turn around.

“This isn’t over,” Camille said softly. “One day you’ll pay for the way you’ve mistreated me...for what you’ve done to Meagan. And the other girls.” Thunder clapped outside and jagged streaks of lightning cavorted in the dark sky.

He laughed. “You’re a bold wench, Camille. But that’s all you’ll ever be. Somebody’s stupid wench.” He paused. "If it wasn't for our blood relation, I would've humbled you too, long ago, with the prick between my legs."

He strode out of the study chuckling and closed the door, closeting her in the lonely darkness with her thoughts. She sat down, feeling weak and emotionally drained.

She stared out the window for what seemed an eternity, listening to the staccato tapping of rain on the roof, for the storm clouds had opened up like flowers in the spring. Exhausted and defeated, she pulled the pins from her hair, letting them drop to the floor. She was tired of the charade. She had lost. In that moment, it was as if all her dreams drifted away like parchment on a stiff winter wind. An aching sadness settled over her soul, warring with her anger. And Nicholas was to blame for agreeing to
this match. Camille had truly never hated anyone as much before, not even her uncle, until that moment.

“I see no reason to wait. Are you ready then?” Camille hadn’t heard Nicholas come in. She continued to look at the floor, determined not to show him the hurt in her soul.

“You will...not change your mind and demand your husbandly rights?” she asked.

“As I stated before, madame, we are completely unsuited. I do not desire you in the least, nor would I take an unwilling woman to my bed.”

She stood on shaky legs. “I will agree to this marriage...this sham...with the condition that we never share a bed,” she replied. “As for the ceremony, I suggest we get it over with as quickly as possible. I’m tired. I wish to go to bed. Alone,” she quickly added, heading toward the door. Just as she was about to reach it, he barred her exit with his arm. He was too close now, and she found the faint scent of brandy clinging to his masculine form not unpleasant. She stared at his chest.

“Miss Hardison, I have a condition or two of my own.”

“You would demand more of me? Pray tell, Mr. Branton, what might those conditions be?”