Wicked (12 page)

“Shelby could just bring me by my own home,” Camille protested. “Please, Mrs. Prior, ask him if he will be so kind as to make such a stop.”

“I’m afraid that this will be a very grand gala, Miss Montgomery. It will be my deepest pleasure to see that you are fittingly attired.”

“Lord Stirling—”

“How is your guardian doing this evening? You did stop to see him, I believe?” the earl said pleasantly.

Camille gritted her teeth. “He’s doing well,” she said icily.

“I shall find Shelby,” Mrs. Prior said, leaving them. The door closed.

Camille remained very still, seething as she stared at Lord Stirling.

“Hungry?” he asked pleasantly.

“You really are a monster, and it hasn’t a thing to do with the mask,” she told him.

“Be that as it may, dinner is served,” he told her, indicating the table with its snowy white cloth and silver-domed plates. “I may be a monster, but that doesn’t change the fact that one must eat. Pray, tell me, why is it that I’m such a monster because I’d be pleased to see you well dressed?”

“I don’t take charity.”

“No, but your guardian does take…well, other people’s belongings.”

“Did you actually catch him stealing anything?” she inquired. “Were the goods in his hands?”

“Actually, no.”

“Then how do you know he didn’t just fall over the wall. Perhaps he was simply curious, looking in upon your property.”

“Please, let’s not insult the both of us, Miss Montgomery.”

“Why not? You have no difficulty insulting me.”

“How on earth is that? I’ve invited you to an affair. The gown is not for you, but for me. Therefore, it isn’t charity.”

She let out a cry of exasperation, then decided that, if nothing else, she was going to have dinner. She headed for the table.

He was capable of swift and agile movement and was there to draw back the chair for her before she could industriously do so herself. She kept silent, her jaw locked, as he pushed her in and walked around to the other side.

He poured her a glass of red wine, then lifted the silver heating dome from her plate. That night, the fare appeared to be lamb, tenderly broiled, served with peas and new potatoes. At the aroma she felt an instant stab of hunger.

He disposed of the heating domes and lifted his glass to her. “Please. To the museum, Miss Montgomery.”

“So, your sudden revitalized interest in the museum is real?” she inquired pleasantly, lifting her glass, taking a sip of wine.

“I have never lost interest in the museum, my dear. Never.”

“Well, I do believe you have quite fooled those others who find it to be their passion.”

“Yes, the others,” he mused, watching his wine as he swirled it in his glass. Then his eyes fell directly upon her. “How were the others today? I could almost hear their whispers and protests all the way down the street.”

“What were you expecting?” she asked.

“Ah!” His eyes widened. “That they would be in horror,
of course. You are their ingénue, admired and coveted by many, protected by a few, and sheltered in that domain where they would tease and flirt and hope you remain one of them. Then in walks the wolf, the beast with a title and money! Let’s see, I can tell you how it went. Sir John, good fellow, would simply want it all to go about easily and with no confrontation. He’s looking at you through new eyes, wondering just how you’ve drawn my attention to such a degree. Of course, he knows he’s harboring a beautiful young woman, but…well, in the young, beauty is a common enough commodity. Still, if it’s what would please me, he’s delighted. On the one hand, he’s trying to discover just what is so amazing about you. On the other hand, he doesn’t want to look this gift horse too deeply in the mouth.”

“Your flattery will go to my head,” she said.

“There is no offense intended. I am simply telling you what I’m sure went on after I left. Lord Wimbly is actually not going to comment, given that I mentioned to him the fact that I’m bringing you. A number of my colleagues are quite convinced that I should be looking for a wife, you see, but from the right class. And they believe that my wealth and title will enable me to find such a pillar of virtue—despite the mask. Then there is Alex, ever aware of his humble birth, yet a man who has thought himself right for you. Not a persistent or eloquent fellow, he is surely deeply dismayed. And last but never least, there is Hunter. I’d almost wager he was so stunned and appalled that you’re my guest that he was willing to offer his own services—dare I suggest so far as
marriage?—
just to get you from my side!”

She hoped that no flicker of her expression betrayed just how correctly he had assessed the reactions of the others to his appearance and announcements.

“I would never marry Hunter,” she told him, not allowing her lashes to slip over her eyes.

“Aha! So he did make such a suggestion.”

“I didn’t say that. I said that I would never marry Hunter.”

“Oh? And why not? The fellow has looks and charm. And, I dare say, he has that certain dash that makes him appear to be a man’s man, an adventurer, the sort to make many a fair maid of good breeding swoon.”

“Are you mocking him?”

“Not in the least. I’m just curious as to why the fellow would have no appeal for you. But then, you didn’t say that he didn’t have his appeal. You merely said that you wouldn’t marry him.”

“Just what are you implying?”

“I’m implying nothing. I’m trying not to put words in your mouth, since you are so quick to correct me.”

“Oh, Lord Stirling, you are making implications. Of the worst kind.”

“Well, would you consider a liaison with the man?” he asked bluntly.

She was tempted to toss the very excellent wine right into his face, but she somehow managed to refrain.

“Quite frankly,” she said, her tone pure ice, “it’s none of your affair.”

“I do apologize, Camille. But I consider every aspect of your life my affair at this time.”

“I do not.”

She saw his slow smile beneath his mask, and found that a strange tremor swept through her. He was rude, a total boor. A beast. Yet…even as he angered her, he made something within her quicken. His eyes, that slow smile. She wondered what the man had been like before life—and death—had so embittered him.

“I am the Earl of Carlyle,” he reminded her. “And I am escorting you to a fund-raiser. Tongues will wag. It’s rather important that I not appear the fool in such matters.”

“Well, Lord Stirling, you should have thought of that before announcing that you intended to go to the gala with me on your arm.”

“But we have an agreement.”

“We have no agreement. You are bribing me, or threatening me. Or both.”

“Both, I believe. I am doing a service for you. You are doing one for me.”

“It’s a
service
that you not prosecute a man? Think, Lord Stirling. A court might well deem him not guilty.”

“Oh, I doubt that. And so do you,” he told her easily.

She sat back, folded her arms over her chest and tried for a look of dignity and disdain. “You created this charade.”

“Yet I am still assessing my actress.”

“It seems that you assess everyone in your path—as you did the gentlemen at the museum today.”

She was startled when he suddenly launched a new assault. “Tell me, Camille, and tell me the truth. Where did you gain your knowledge of history and Egyptology, and how on earth did you learn to read hieroglyphs?”

She was startled by the question, barely breathing for a minute. Then she said simply, “From my mother.”

He frowned, sitting back. “Your mother?”

“When I was a child, we went to the museum on a daily basis.”

“Is that how you came to work there? Did she know Sir John?”

Her lashes fell at that. “I’m weary of this third degree, Lord Stirling.”

“Then talk to me. And end it.”

“You’re worried about what relationship I have with Hunter MacDonald? Well, there is none.”

“I already gathered that,” he said.

She jumped up. He was toying with her, and she was suddenly so angry that she was determined he would know the truth he was seeking—all of it. “Hunter, My Lord, is the least of your worries where I am concerned. You want the truth about me? Well, here it is. My mother was an East End prostitute. Oh, she didn’t start out that way! But few women, sir, are born whores. She was the seventh child of an Anglican minister up in York, and therefore well educated. I was led to believe that my father was a man of some prominence or title, but even in this great age of enlightenment, that cannot change the fact that I am a bastard. My mother, knowing that she would be cast out, hurried to London, hoping to obtain a respectable job with her education. But her effort to gain such while carrying a child proved futile. Yet, despite her own sad circumstances, my mother wanted a better life for me.”

Camille paused a moment, wondering at the desperation her mother must have felt to enter into such a profession. And she wondered to what lengths
she
would go for her family.

“She did her best to hide the ugliness of her life from me. By day, she taught me. She read, she sang, she took me to museums. We spent hours and hours in the Victoria and Albert, learning about history and language and…ancient Egypt. She read, so I read voraciously. And I taught myself much of what I know. You don’t want to be made a fool? Well, My Lord, press this far enough and trust me, someone will discover the truth! If you’ve any brains behind that mask of yours, you will stop this ridiculousness right now. And if you’ve a shred of mercy left behind those claws, you’ll somehow let it all slip back into enough normalcy that I can maintain my employment!”

By the end of her tirade she had planted her palms on the table and leaned toward him. She was shaking and all but yelling. Fury raced through her in an avalanche, and it was only when all the words were out that she began to rue the fact that he had goaded her into speaking them.

But he didn’t recoil in horror. He merely watched her. Once again, she was startled to see the hint of a smile beneath the mask, a light of brightness and not just amusement, and maybe even admiration in his eyes.

She pushed away from the table, stepping back. “Say something,” she murmured.

“You taught
yourself
hieroglyphs?” he demanded.

“Did you hear what I said?” she cried out, exasperated.

“Perfectly. And I am amazed. You were able to teach yourself hieroglyphs?”

She threw up her hands, totally at a loss. “You’ve missed the point, you fool!” she cried. “My mother was a prostitute! If anyone starts delving around, that fact will come out.”

“She must have been quite an amazing woman,” he murmured.

Her jaw nearly dropped. “Have I not said enough for you to stop this idiocy?” she demanded.

He rose then, as well, and she was reminded again of his height and muscled physique. She refused to acknowledge that he towered over her, yet she found her fingers knotting into her palms, and she took another step backward.

“I will thank you not to call me a fool in the future,” he said flatly. “Ever!” He swept out an arm, indicating the table. “I will leave you, Miss Montgomery, since I’m quite certain you need the sustenance, and my presence, beastly as it is, keeps you from your repast.”

He turned and strode across the room, ready to exit.

“Stop!” she found herself all but shrieking.

He turned, and she felt the piercing blue anger in his eyes as they fell upon her.

“What now, Miss Montgomery?”

“Let me give you the rest, Lord Stirling, since you’ve insisted this far! There is little in the world I will not do for Tristan Montgomery. He saved me, expecting nothing in return. He has given me the best of whatever he has had these many years. So I will play out your charade. I will do my best to humor you in any way. I will be what you want me to be, and go where you want me to go. But I will not abide a meal in this house with you again if you insist on believing that I would find any man hideous just because of his looks. Besides, it is not your appearance that makes you a beast!”

“A lovely speech,” he said, but she could not tell his emotion.

“It is your constant suspicion and your cruelty in manner that make you a horrid monster. So if you would have my cooperation in any way, you will stop with your insinuations and suspicions where I am concerned.”

He took a long stride toward her, and for a moment, she was tempted to back away again. She had pushed him too far. She was about to find out about the violence that seemed to lurk beneath his well-dressed facade, always leashed, always there, like a current of electricity.

He walked around her, arms crossed over his chest. And when he had circled her he said, “Sit, Camille. Please.”

She did so. Not really because he had invited her, but because she was afraid that her knees were going to give.

He leaned over, an arm on either side of her. She breathed in the aroma of his soap and cologne, a faint
scent of leather and good pipe tobacco. She felt the sharp, stinging blue of his eyes, and the combustible heat that lurked ever beneath the surface.

“What?” she managed to say, breathlessly.

“I have a name.”

“Lord Stirling, the Earl of Carlyle.”

“Brian. You will use it, please.”

She swallowed. “I will gladly do so, if…”

“If? More conditions? Who is bribing and threatening whom here?”

“You must quit being such a monster!”

For a moment he was very close. And to her horror, she was warm, flushed and fascinated. Then he moved away.

“Your meal will grow cold,” he said.

“As will yours.”

“I mean to leave you in peace.”

“You invited me to dinner. Therefore, it would be exceedingly rude of you to leave.”

He laughed out loud, walked around the table and took his seat. He didn’t immediately pick up his fork, but continued to stare at her. “Your lamb,” he said.

“I will eat when you do so,” she said.

“There is no shame in your birth, you know. The sins of the parents do not fall upon the offspring.”