Time After Time

by Elizabeth Boyce

  “Camden,” she breathed, leaning into him. She pushed gently until he was lying on his back, and then she followed him down. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her again. She pressed her hips into him, his hardness pressing back.

  Camden’s hands were on her, tentatively at first. They were warm and firm on her back, and when they started to drift lower, he brought them back up to her waist. It was if he was afraid — of what he would do to her, or she to him, Del couldn’t tell. She straddled him, tugged at his cravat. Now that she had allowed herself to respond to him, she wanted all barriers between them gone. She rocked her hips against him until he growled. In a sudden explosion of movement, Camden rolled over, one arm under her back so she wouldn’t slam against the floor, the other arm holding some of his weight off her.

  He drew back slightly and stared at her. Del saw there was much going on behind his eyes, eyes that were heavy-lidded and hazy with passion and trepidation. She wondered what it was he would say to her, but when she parted her lips to speak, he exhaled roughly and covered her mouth with his. She moved restlessly against him. She was mindless, ungoverned, free. She wanted this, not as a business transaction or a means to an end or a tool to support herself. She wanted Camden’s lips crushing against hers, wanted his hands on her, wanted to feel him, fill her senses with him, connect with him on every level. This kind of wanting was completely foreign to her, and it both excited and terrified her.

  “My God, Del, I don’t — I can’t — bloody hell — ”

  “What is it, Camden?”

  “I don’t — I don’t even know. You — I can’t think properly around you. You’re driving me mad.”

  He sank into her, letting her feel more of his weight upon her. He was hard everywhere, from the lean muscles of his arms, flexed and straining against his coat, to his thighs on either side of hers, pinning her in place, to his stiff cock where he pushed his hips into hers. She moaned and grabbed his waist, trying to pull him closer, though it was not physically possible to be any nearer to her. Every part of her was nothing more than sensation and reaction. Shivers ran through her and gooseflesh rose on her skin wherever Camden touched her. Her nipples were taut and so sensitive that the slightest brush of her silk nightgown against them brought her a touch of pain of the most pleasurable kind. Between her legs, she was engorged and wet, though bereft with the emptiness of not having him inside her. She pulled at him, at his hair to bring him closer to her, tilting his head so she could nip at his neck. At his clothes, trying to pull his coat off him while keeping him pressed against her. At his thighs, loving the feel of his limbs tangled with hers.

  He let her tug at him for a moment, and then, as if emboldened by her passion, he finally found the confidence to take the lead. He ran his fingers through her hair and gently pulled her head back until her neck was exposed before him. He leaned in and pressed his lips to the sensitive skin just below her ear, and then to the hollow of her throat, and then along the plunging neckline of her nightgown. She sucked in her breath from the raw pleasure of it and had to consciously remind herself to let it out again. He reached between them and undid the ties of her robe, pulled the fabric away from her body, and tugged at the silk of her nightgown. She wanted it off, all of it, her clothes and his so she could feel his naked skin against hers and be tormented by the sweetness of it.

  “Tell me what you want,” Camden breathed against her ear. “Tell me what to do.”

  Any last thread of self-control Del may have been clinging to was obliterated by Camden’s request. He wanted to please her, cared about what she wanted and thought and needed. It was more than anyone had ever done for her, and she scarcely knew how to respond.

  “I want you,” she said simply.

  Camden looked at her and smiled. He was about to kiss her again when Del put a hand lightly on his chest, stopping him.

  “What is it?” he said, concern and confusion showing plainly on his face.

  “Someone’s at the door,” Del replied, inclining her head at the faint knocking sound.

  “Ignore it,” Camden said. He leaned down to kiss her again, and she would have forgotten all about the person at the door except the knocking became more insistent until Del was worried the visitor would stand outside until he beat the door down.

  She nudged Camden off her, and he immediately moved back. “I’ll just get rid of whoever it is,” she said, “and then I’ll return.” She licked her lips as she looked at him, disheveled and rumpled and maddeningly enticing.

  “Hurry,” he said, taking her hand and kissing it before helping her to her feet. He took her face in both hands and kissed her again, as if loath to let her go.

  Del smiled and backed away from him reluctantly, slowly disentangling from him. She drew her robe around her and retied it as she walked through the foyer to the front door. She tried to smooth her hair and put herself to rights, but she knew without looking in a mirror that her appearance reflected what she was — kissed senseless and nearly, though disappointingly not completely, ravished.

  She opened the door, ready to quickly dispatch whomever it was at her doorstep, but the door swung wide open and a black-clad figure pushed past her.

  “Ashe.” Del’s heart began to beat quickly and heavily.

  Lord Ashe stood in her foyer, rain dripping from his hat and topcoat and forming puddles on her floor. His brows were knit together in anger, his jawline was rough with uncharacteristic stubble, and his eyes had the rheumy look of someone who had been drinking heavily. Del shut the door, both to prevent the wind-whipped rain from gusting into her house and to give her a moment to turn away from Ashe and gather her wits.

  “It’s not a good time,” she said as the door clicked into place and she turned back to him. She spoke calmly and softly, as if speaking to wild horse that was terrified and furious and ready to bolt.

  Ashe’s expression darkened yet more. “When will it be a good time?” he snapped. “It hasn’t been a good time for nigh on a month now.”

  “I’m not sure, I — ”

  Ashe stomped to her and grabbed her arm roughly, cutting off the rest of her response.

  “Unhand me,” Del said through gritted teeth. “I will not allow you to enter my home and handle me in such a manner.”

  “And I will not allow you deny me any longer.” Ashe squeezed her arm and shook her slightly. “We have an agreement. One I pay you handsomely for. I am not in the habit of throwing away coin and not receiving my due.”

  “Ashe,” Del said, and though she tried to make it a warning, she was dismayed to hear just how much fear was breaking through in her voice. She knew what Ashe was capable of. She’d seen him erupt in anger and lash out at whomever he believed had slighted him. “You must leave. Now.”

  Ashe propelled Del forward until she was pushed against the gilt-framed mirror that hung on the opposite wall of the foyer. He leaned down to her, his face inches from hers, and she could smell the odor of stale alcohol on his breath. “I do not pay you to give me orders, bitch,” he snarled. “I pay you to shut up and take it.”

  Del began to shake, from both fear and fury. Though she usually tried to preserve a cool, unfeeling detachment from any man, allowing herself neither positive nor negative emotions toward them, she hated Ashe in that moment. Hated that he had burst into her house when she wanted no visitors, hated that he remained when she’d ordered him to leave, hated that he had brought up the subject of payment to remind her that he was a wealthy and powerful man and she was just a whore. She should have terminated their arrangement months ago when signs of his temper had first started to appear.

  “Leave now,” she repeated.

  “Do not dare to issue commands to me!” Ashe punctuated his statement by slamming her harder into the mirror, and Del couldn’t stop herself from crying out as she hit the glass.

  “I believe
the lady wishes you gone.”

  Camden stood just inside the foyer from the hallway leading off to the study, though Del scarcely recognized him. He was stiff and tense, which was normal for him, yes, but now there was a thread of something else running through him. Del had seen him trying to keep himself in check before, in their first few meetings when he tried to observe the proper social niceties in the face of an entirely not-proper situation. She had seen him frustrated tonight, when she could sense the anger and irritation in him that almost boiled over. She had thought there was a hint of danger in him earlier, but now she could see what real danger looked like.

  He had spoken calmly to Ashe and there was nothing particularly threatening about his words or even outwardly intimidating about his tone, but still there was something in him that made Del realize how much she had been underestimating Camden. It was there in his stance, how every muscle seemed tense, not with reservation or an attempt at propriety but with righteous power barely leashed. It was in his eyes, watching Ashe; in his clenched fists, promising swift retribution should Ashe make a move toward him.

  “Unhand her,” Camden said, his voice so steady and even it sent a shiver through Del.

  Ashe reddened, furious, and his hands tightened around Del’s arms. “Who do you think you are, whelp?” He turned back to Del. “Is this why you won’t see me? You’ve been too busy letting this lad stuff you?”

  Del realized Ashe didn’t understand the truth of the situation. He looked at Camden and saw merely a young man, barely out of boyhood. He didn’t know Camden well enough to see beyond that to what lay beneath. Even if he had perceived Camden as a physical threat, Del knew Ashe expected his superior social station to inoculate him from any harm. As an earl, it would be unthinkable for anyone — especially a young, common, untitled man — to lay hands upon him. But Del could see what Ashe could not, that Camden was prepared to do the unthinkable to protect her.

  “Unhand her,” Camden repeated.

  Ashe pressed Del into the mirror again before pushing away from her and turning to fully face Camden. “Who are you to order me about?” He took a few steps toward Camden. “None of this concerns you, boy, and it’s time for you to leave.”

  Camden walked forward, bridging the distance between the men. “I will not ask you again to remove yourself from this house and leave the lady be.”

  Camden glared at Ashe, his expression dark and malevolent, and it seemed to Del as though he wanted Ashe to refuse him, wanted an excuse to finally loosen the rigid hold he had on himself and let his baser nature overtake him. But once again, Ashe couldn’t or wouldn’t see what danger Camden held for him.

  “Lady?” Ashe sneered, looking around the room in an exaggerated manner. “I see no lady. I see naught but a filthy whore and whiny puppy sniffing after her like she’s a bitch in heat. A pup that ought to mind his words when speaking to his betters. Now you — ”

  Camden cut him off with an open-handed slap across the cheek. It was an action a father would make against an impertinent child, or a cruel man would make against a hysterical woman. For Camden to do it to Lord Ashe was the ultimate insult, far worse than any punch, and Del knew he had done it to inflict the maximum amount of disrespect and degradation possible.

  “You goddamn bloody whoreson!” Ashe yelled as he staggered back. “I will ruin you! I will see to it you can never show your face in respectable society again! You and that pathetic social-climber you call a father. That’s right, I know who you are, Camden. You’re nothing.”

  Camden stood still through Ashe’s tirade, showing nothing resembling fear or concern. When Ashe finally recovered from the shock of being slapped and lunged at Camden, Camden simply cocked his fist back and punched Ashe with such force he went sprawling across the floor.

  Del gasped and cried out Camden’s name. She wanted to run to him but she was rooted to the floor by the sheer improbability of the scene before her.

  Camden went and leaned over Ashe, still lying crumpled on the floor, and grabbed a fistful of his lapel. “You will do nothing of the sort,” Camden said, his voice finally reflecting his full power and fury. “You will leave this house and never return. You are never to interfere with this lady in any manner ever again, and you will leave me and my family alone.”

  “You — I will — how dare — ” Ashe sputtered.

  “What do you think will happen if ‘respectable society’ learns the truth of your circumstances? If they knew exactly how you obtained your title and exactly how close you are to losing it? What will you do if my father decides to call in your debts? You know you can’t pay and then he will be forced to take possession of your properties he holds title to as collateral.”

  “What? How did you — I’m not — ”

  Camden hauled Ashe to his feet. “You think my father loans money to people without first knowing everything about them? You think he doesn’t dig up every last scrap of truth, rumor, and innuendo against everyone he can? You think he wouldn’t seek any and all leverage against people who could someday assist him in his goals? You think I’m not privy to what he’s uncovered? You are an even greater fool than you appear and I have grown tired of you.” Camden dragged Ashe to the door, and Ashe, out of drunkenness or surprise or fear or some combination of the three, didn’t struggle against him. “Leave,” Camden said as he opened the door and pushed Ashe out into the rain. Closing the door, he leaned into it for a moment, breathing heavily as if trying to gather himself.

  Del still stood pressed into mirror, her breath coming out in ragged gasps. Camden turned to her and his eyes locked on hers. Once again, she was surprised by what she saw in his face. Gone was any violence or anger or fury. His countenance now reflected only concern and tenderness.

  Camden walked slowly toward her. “Del — ” he said, and it sounded like an apology.

  “What are we doing?” Del whispered.

  Camden stopped. “What do you mean?”

  “This — us — it can’t work.”

  Camden looked stricken, as if Del had slapped him as mercilessly and cruelly as he had Ashe. He was about to say something, perhaps tell Del she was wrong, but then he closed his mouth and gave a resigned nod. He stared at her silently for a moment more.

  The longer he looked at her, the more Del’s resolve waivered. She wished he would say something to her, argue with her, take her into his arms and tell her she was being a fool. She wished she had the courage to do any of those things to him.

  In the end, he only nodded again and then disappeared out her door and into the cold rain.

  Chapter Six

  Camden leaned over the billiard table, the heated slate beneath the green baize warming his fingers. He moved the cue back and forth through his left hand as he lined up the shot, calculating the angles and ball speed needed to score his count. He drew the cue back and struck his ball, and then watched as it hit and then bounced off Wittingham’s cue ball and rebounded into the red object ball. He empathized with the balls as they scattered and rolled. Like them, Camden felt as though he were being pushed through life, struck from behind, propelled by choices and demands not of his own making, bumped off course by the various obstacles in his way. As though he had no control over the path his life was taking and at any moment he could veer helplessly into an entirely different direction.

  “Nice shot,” Wittingham said. “Even as distracted as you are, you can still beat me at carom. Must be the advantage of playing on your own table.”

  Camden shrugged as he walked to the sideboard to fetch his brandy, deciding to ignore Wittingham’s mention of his distraction. He leaned against the wall to watch Wittingham take his turn. He had hoped he would be successful in hiding his mood from his friends. He had begged off spending the evening with Farber and Hollingsworth, claiming work but really just unable to endure the prospect of feigning any joviality or enthusiasm fo
r a night spent drinking and gambling. Wittingham hadn’t been as easy to turn away; unlike Camden’s other friends, Wittingham paid attention to matters beyond his own quest for entertainment, and had insisted upon spending the evening with Camden at his townhouse.

  Clearly, Wittingham had sensed something was occupying Camden beyond his usual frustration with his father and the shipping company, and was now trying to get Camden to talk about it. Camden didn’t want to talk about what was bothering him, however. He didn’t want to talk about it, think about it, didn’t want to have the goddamn images running through his mind. He didn’t want to relive his shame, how he had let his anger consume him, how he had behaved in such an uncouth, violent manner. He hadn’t been able to help it. When he saw Ashe handling Del so roughly, when she had cried out in fear or pain or both when the man had pushed her into the mirror — the edges of his vision had gone red and for a moment he had thought himself capable of actual murder.

  Camden especially didn’t want to think about what happened after, how Del had looked at him, anguish written clearly on her face as she had told him it wouldn’t work, that he had essentially ruined any chance of anything happening between them. He had spent his life keeping himself firmly under control in order to achieve everything his father wanted from life, and now that there was something he actually wanted for himself, he had behaved the brute and driven Del away.

  Camden wasn’t about to tell Wittingham any of it, though, no matter how subtly his friend pushed for answers. He wasn’t about to admit his faults out loud, wasn’t going to explain how he had felt when Del looked at him, wasn’t going to say how the whole thing ate at him now.

  Camden heard the snap of the cue against ball and looked up from his brandy to follow Wittingham’s shot. His cue ball hit the object ball but swung wide of Camden’s ball. No count.