“You may be able to keep men at a distance with your deft dissembling, my dear, but not me. Never me. Who is he?”
Del hesitated, wondering just how much she should divulge to Jane. And, really, what was there to tell? Rhys Camden was nothing more than a man — a young, innocent, idealistic man — who’d spotted her on the street and tried to intervene when he thought she needed saving. Tried to help again when he thought she needed to escape her life. It was no different from a dozen other young men who had tried to “save” her, who had offered Del their protection in exchange for exclusivity. Except Camden hadn’t demanded her services as payment for his heroism. He didn’t seem to want anything in return for helping her.
And now Del couldn’t get him out of her head.
The images came to her unbidden, his sweet earnestness when he came to her aid that night with Lord Ashe. How he had looked at her, a mixture of interest and desire and innocence and awe showing so plainly on his face. How he had touched her, so gently, with hesitation and something akin to reverence. How his wish to help her had battled with his aversion to what she did, what she was, when he came to her at Jane’s party and offered her a way out.
She saw him everywhere. She would catch a glimpse of a tall blond man on the street, and her heart would jump until she looked closer and realized it wasn’t Camden. Someone would call her name on the street, and when she felt a surge of disappointment upon seeing who it was, she knew she had been hoping it had been him. It was his face she saw in her mind, late at night, when her body ached for another person’s touch, and when she finally fell asleep, frustrated and alone, she dreamt of him.
It terrified Del, this preoccupation, this wanting that she couldn’t seem to control. Men had always been a means to an end for her, a way for her to escape the indentured servitude of a penniless orphan dependent on the goodwill of merciless or indifferent relatives. She had always been able to keep men at a distance, to use them as they used her. Even Blakely, whom she was genuinely fond of, had been thus far unable to penetrate her defenses, though he seemed intent on trying. So what was it about Camden that made him affect her in such a manner? What made him take over her thoughts and dreams and desires? She was so consumed with Camden since seeing him outside her townhouse she had been unable to be with anyone else. She knew she risked everything by putting a hold on her arrangements. The men would soon tire of waiting for her and would turn their attentions to someone else. Someone younger and more pliable, more easily dealt with. But still she could not bring herself to see anyone.
Del was struggling with what to reveal to Jane and how to put her confusion into words, when a strangled gasp escaped her lips as she suddenly spotted the object of discussion. Rhys Camden was just ahead on the path, mounted atop a large chestnut stallion, as if her thoughts about him had conjured him into being right before her. He was dressed as properly as ever, with a conservatively cut tailcoat and impossibly snug nankeen breeches, but his cravat was loosened slightly and his hair was a bit disheveled. He was wearing an expression Del had never seen on him before: carefree contentment. His gloved hands held the reins loosely and his bearing was relaxed. The breeze tousled his hair, causing the longish strands to curl around his high collar. Del saw the hard lines of his muscles flex against his breeches as his thighs gripped the horse. He looked almost happy, and it was such a stark contrast to his usual stiff and formal demeanor that Del almost gasped again.
Del realized she had stopped walking and now stood in the middle of the path gaping stupidly at Camden, Jane still hanging on her arm. If she did not move, Camden would ride right past them, seeing them, and Del could think of nothing she wanted less than to converse with him right now, especially with Jane studying her every expression.
“Oh, Jane, I just remembered I wanted to show you the new roses in Kensington Gardens,” Del said as she turned around abruptly, dragging Jane with her. “They’re just back this way.”
Jane glanced behind them, and with a sly smile she withdrew her arm from Del’s and stopped walking. “Oh! I seem to have a bit of gravel stuck in the sole of my walking boot. I’ll just be a moment to fish it out.” She bent down to her shoe, her skirts billowing out behind her, and inspected her — suspiciously unobstructed-looking — sole.
Del tugged at Jane’s arm, desperate to get away from Camden. She thought they still might be able to escape his notice if they hurried, but then she heard the jangle of the horse’s bit right behind her and knew it was too late.
“Mr. Camden,” Jane said warmly as she rose to her feet. “What a happy surprise to see you.”
Camden reined in his horse, stopping so close that Del could feel the beast’s breath on her still-turned back.
“Ma’am,” Camden said, and Del heard the bewilderment in his voice. He seemed not to remember Jane and must be wondering why she addressed him by name.
“I was just asking Del when we might see you again,” Jane said.
Del had no choice but to turn around and acknowledge him now. She curtsied as he nodded to her. She noticed with perverse satisfaction that he was blushing fiercely, which seemed only right since her own heart pounded and her breathing was uneven. Good that he was as discomfited as she.
“Miss Beaumont,” Camden said, his voice sounding slightly strained. “I hadn’t expected to see you again.”
If it weren’t the height of rudeness, Del would have informed him she hoped that had remained the case. She wanted this man out of her thoughts and out of her life so she could carry on as usual, without emotional embroilment, unwanted attachments, or impossible desires. But she couldn’t very well forget about him if he kept popping up everywhere she went.
“Mr. Camden,” Del said in what she hoped was a friendly yet disinterested voice, “this is indeed an unexpected meeting.”
Camden looked as though he wanted to say more to her, but he glanced at Jane and remained silent.
Jane clearly understood his reluctance to speak to Del in front of her. “Oh goodness!” she exclaimed. “It quite slipped my mind that I was to meet with my dressmaker for a fitting this afternoon. You wouldn’t mind seeing Del home, would you, Mr. Camden? I really must go.”
Jane was already hurrying down the path away from them, giving Camden hardly any choice but to agree. He dismounted the stallion and gathered the reins in his right hand, motioning to Del with the other to show him the way. His familiar rigid formality was back in place; that glimpse of a more joyous Camden so brief and so completely replaced, Del wondered if she had imagined it.
Del forced herself to walk calmly beside Camden, and she fought the urge to run down the path away from him, as if fleeing some great horror. She told herself to stop being ridiculous. He was a man and nothing more, certainly not anything to engender such wild impulses. She couldn’t seem to stop feeling unsettled and vulnerable whenever he was around, and it was that — that ungoverned feeling of anything — Del suspected she was actually trying to run from.
“I am glad to have crossed paths today,” Camden said, finally breaking the awkward silence. “I have been thinking of the last time we met, at the party.” Camden cleared his throat, and Del could tell how uncomfortable he was. “I must apologize.”
Del’s head snapped up. She looked at Camden closely for the first time since they started walking. “Apologize? For what?”
“For what I said to you, for presuming you needed or wanted my help.” Camden glanced at her quickly before returning his gaze to the path before them. “It wasn’t my intention to cause you discomfort.”
“Mr. Camden, I — ” Del realized with some astonishment that she had absolutely no idea what to say. She tried to recall the last time a man had apologized to her or shown concern for her feelings, much less regret for upsetting them, but she drew a blank. “I assure you there is no need to apologize. The entire incident is hardly worth mentioning.”
“Thank you,” Del murmured, though she wasn’t sure Camden heard her, because the sudden gleeful shriek of a child running across the path caused his stallion to snort and stomp sideways, drawing Camden’s attention.
“Whoa, gentle, Sebby.” Camden laid a calming hand on the horse’s muzzle.
“He seems rather spirited,” Del said.
“Yes, he is,” Camden said as he stroked the horse. “He’s barely civilized. In fact, most days it is a question of whether he deigns to allow me to pretend I am the master and ride him at all.”
Del smiled at the note of playful affection in his voice. “You seem almost more at ease with the horse, belligerence and all, than you do with people.” She had only meant to tease him, but he nodded earnestly.
“Quite so,” Camden said with a laugh. “His motivations are far easier to understand: eat, sleep, run, mate, perhaps fight the other stallions to demonstrate his strength and secure his position.”
“Ah, but that doesn’t sound so very different from most men of my acquaintance.”
Camden laughed again. “Perhaps not, but at least the horse doesn’t lay pretense to loftier ideals.”
“True,” Del said, “men often claim they are motivated by honor and conscience and a desire to achieve a greater good, when really they all seem to be nothing more than rutting beasts fighting for a bit of power.”
“You don’t seem to carry a very high opinion of the male sex.”
“It seems no lower an opinion than you hold for them.”
“Perhaps not.”
“Then tell me, Mr. Camden, what has so tainted your esteem of your fellow man?”
Camden shrugged, and though the gesture was casual enough, Del detected a hint of tension in the action. “People will look for any advantage over you, and go in for the kill the moment they can. A smart man will strike first and give them no opportunity to best you.”
Del looked up at him, her eyebrow raised. “Strong words, but you don’t sound completely convinced of them.”
Camden shrugged again and looked straight ahead. “I have been told those words often enough, I may as well believe them.”
Del wanted to press him further, but his tone told her he wasn’t eager to remain on the subject. She was curious, though, as to who’d drilled such a harsh sentiment into him and what part it all played in forming his stiff reserve, if any. She would get no answers today though, she knew. They walked along companionably, and Del began to feel more at ease. They exited Hyde Park and turned down the street that would bring them to Del’s townhouse, though they were still some blocks away. Camden walked in the street, leading Sebby, pressed against the curb to allow mounted riders and carriages to pass him while Del stayed on the sidewalk.
“Your house is just this way, if I recall,” Camden said.
Del nodded in affirmation. She realized Camden had not asked for further direction since leaving the park. It surprised her that one chance encounter in front of her townhouse weeks ago had left enough of an impression on him that he could lead her home now with no hesitation.
“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Mr. Camden.”
“How so?”
“You know so much about me — where I live, my associates … what I do.” Del could practically hear Camden’s nervous gulp at the mention of her profession. “And yet I know nothing about you.” It wasn’t until Del said it that she realized how uncomfortable this inequity made her. She was used to thoroughly vetting any and every man she came in contact with, all the while carefully guarding her own privacy.
“What is it you wish to know?” Camden asked.
“Well, let’s see. You told me when we first met that you are twenty-one. I also know that you like horses more than people and you enjoy offering to rescue ladies in distress. Don’t blush, Mr. Camden, I’m only teasing you.”
“I’m not blushing,” Camden said as he turned a darker shade of red.
Del decided not to embarrass him further. “What do you do, Mr. Camden? For a profession.”
“I serve as factotum for my father’s shipping company.”
“And what does that entail?”
“Anything and everything my father needs. I am learning all the details of the business since my father hopes I will take over the company when he is gone.”
“He hopes? It doesn’t sound as if you are overly eager to fulfill his wish.”
“I will do my duty,” Camden said, and Del noticed how clenched his jaw was after he spoke and how tightly he gripped Sebby’s reins.
Del guessed from his reaction that Camden had a tense and complicated relationship with his father, and she wanted to know more. She could hardly pry into such an intimate arena, however, no matter how brightly her curiosity burned. “Navigating family ties can be difficult.” Del kept her tone sincere yet light, hoping to simultaneously convey her understanding and deflect some of the tension. “I suspect my great-aunt Mrs. Tiddles would be similarly demanding, if she weren’t made up.”
“Indeed. Wait — what?” Camden stopped walking and looked at her, clearly perplexed.
“Mrs. Tiddles, my great-aunt and benefactor with whom I live. I made her up.”
“Why would you invent a fictitious relative?” Camden asked as he began walking again.
“Well, I can’t very well force society to acknowledge reality, now can I? The grand dames of London would rather live as peasants — can you imagine the horror? — than have to admit there is an orphaned whore living and supporting herself among them. Mrs. Tiddles allows everyone the comfortable fiction that I am a respectable woman living off the proceeds of a generous relative. Oh, Mr. Camden, you are blushing again. Have I positively scandalized you?”
“No — well, yes,” Camden said, laughing. “But I could do with a bit of scandal. I’m just a bit taken off guard. You are terribly candid, aren’t you?”
“I don’t see the point in prevarications. I am sorry if I have shocked you.”
“I should be shocked, and yet I find you — refreshing. Most of society, myself included, spend their lives gossiping and scheming, saying only what others want to hear, what will achieve their aims and desires. And here you are, utterly forthright and without pretention. I find you very intriguing.”
Del’s cheeks grew warm, and it seemed it was her turn to blush from embarrassment. She saw with relief they were approaching her townhouse and she would soon be delivered from Camden’s presence. The conversation was veering into entirely too uncomfortable territory, and she was grateful for escape. She removed her house key from her reticule and started up her front steps.
“Thank you, Mr. Camden, for escorting me home. You have again proven yourself a gentleman.”
“Miss Beaumont, I — ” Camden shifted, clearly uncomfortable.
“Yes, Mr. Camden?” Del asked, wondering what, exactly, he meant to say. It wouldn’t be a proper Camden encounter unless he said something surprising to her.
“I was hoping I — that is — I would like to see you again,” he said. “Not for — I mean, not as a — ” Camden cleared his throat as he struggled to come up with the properly delicate phrasing.
Every impulse Del had screamed at her to mutter her apologies and then flee into the house, forever shutting the door on Camden and the complications he represented. She didn’t need this, didn’t need the uncertainty and confusion and awkwardness that swelled within her whenever he was near. Instead of running, though, she found herself saying, “This Friday. Jane is playing Miss Maria Dorrillon in her theater’s production of Wives as They Were and Maids as They Are. You may come round at seven to collect me.”
Camden smiled as he bowed to her. “Until Friday then, Miss Beaumont.” He mounted his horse and trotted off, m
elting into the heavy traffic of the street and disappearing from view.
• • •
Del flicked her wrists, the delicately carved ivory blades of her fan clicking together as she desperately tried to create some small relief from the theater’s stifling, muggy heat. The lobby was a sea of muslin and silk, satin and kerseymere, the women and men inhabiting the materials scarcely distinguishable in the crowd. Camden’s hand was strong and warm on her back, anchoring her to him so they wouldn’t be separated as everyone jostled to get into the gallery before the play began.
She saw a few familiar faces around her. She smiled warmly and tipped her fan to her friends and acquaintances, and she politely pretended not to see or know the several former “suitors” who were there with their wives or new mistresses. It was this adeptness at both gracious acknowledgment and serene detachment — either so easily given depending on what the situation required — that had helped secure her position as a sought-after companion of the wealthy and powerful men of London. One such man caught her eye, and her face froze as she quickly brought her fan up higher to obscure her expression before her celebrated composure left her entirely.
Lord Ashe stood not ten feet from her, his tall, broad frame allowing him — along with Camden and a few other men — to rise above the heads of the generally shorter crowd. Del stiffened with surprise and discomfort. She hadn’t seen Ashe in weeks, not since that night when Camden had tried to rescue her from him, and she was unprepared to see him now. Ashe had tried to contact her since then, sending increasingly demanding missives to her house practically ordering her to accompany him to some event or another. He knew, of course, that Del did not respond to demands or orders, and any hint of such only strengthened her resolve to ignore them and the person issuing such insults to her autonomy.
She tried to ignore him now, but he was a handsome, imposing figure whose bearing and demeanor drew the attention of even the most reluctant observers. He stood near one of the lobby’s large, ornately turned columns, wearing a coat of deep blue crushed velvet, a chateau bras tucked smartly under his arm. He took a few steps forward as he walked along with the crowd, and his companion, previously obscured by the column, came into view, causing an inexplicable sense of ire to swell within Del. She recognized the woman clinging to Ashe’s arm as Sarah Wilson, the courtesan most recently taking London by storm. She was young, barely eighteen, and though attractive it was supposedly her wit and vivacious charm rather than any unmatched beauty that drew men in. She had been on the scene for barely a year, but she had already secured her reputation as alluring, magnetic, and feisty, with acumen for the business of seduction far exceeding that of any of the other much more seasoned courtesans currently working the salons and opera houses of London.
Time After Time Page 33
