“You thought the slightest outburst of emotion would cause me to turn my back on you. You keep a very tight rein on yourself, don’t you?”
“An ungoverned man is a weak man.”
“I have heard you make similar pronouncements,” Del said, “but it never sounds like you talking. It’s your father who believes such things, isn’t it?”
Camden’s expression grew cloudy, and Del worried she had pushed him too far, that he would put up a wall between them she would be unable to breach. He looked away from her, watched the ripples of water lap at the rocky edges of the pond. “Yes.”
“And do you agree with him?”
“I thought I did. But now — ” Camden sighed and shifted his weight, stretching his long legs in front of him on the blanket. “Now I don’t know what I think.”
“What’s changed?”
Camden returned his gaze to Del, his eyes fixed on hers. “You,” he said simply, and Del’s breathe hitched. “You live your life on your terms, and you don’t seem to give a damn what anyone thinks of it. I envy you.”
“I’ve merely followed the only option available to me.”
“What do you mean?”
Del bit her lip. Once again, she was having an internal struggle with how much to tell him, how much of herself she could expose. She looked at him, his face showing patience and concern, and she took a deep breath and decided to plunge ahead. “My parents died when I was five,” she said, and she had to look away from his expression of empathy and regret before she lost her nerve or broke down sobbing. “It was an illness that took them, and I could do nothing but sit and watch for weeks as they suffered, weakened, and finally — perhaps mercifully — died. I was powerless to do anything for them, to help them or cure them or even mitigate their pain. I could only watch their slow decline and know there was nothing I could do.” Del took a sip of whisky, thankful for the sense of warmth and fortification it gave her. “I was sent to live with my mother’s sister after. They weren’t close, and I had only met her once before. She wasn’t a cruel woman, exactly, but she was flighty and selfish and prone to alternating fits of extreme energy and deep melancholy. She had little concern for me beyond the money that came with me for my care, and once that was gone she sent me to live with a distant cousin. That woman was cruel and — ” Del broke off. She bit the inside of her cheek and pressed the heel of her hand into her mouth to keep from crying.
She silently cursed herself. After all the years that had gone by, after everything she had done to free herself of her past, it could still bubble up and overtake her, making her feel as though she were once again a small, helpless child, alone and bereft and in no more control of her own fate than a feather floating on a strong wind.
“Del, I’m sorry,” Camden said, and Del could see he meant it. He wasn’t mouthing an empty platitude; she could see it pained him to hear her story.
“After years of being passed around to different relatives, of living in circumstances ranging from merely lonely to actively miserable, I became determined to never depend on another for my well-being. But what could a young girl do to make her own fortunes?”
“Surely marriage or — ”
Del scoffed. “I was an orphan with no dowry, no connections, no access to society high or low. I had no means to find a husband of any sort, let alone one who would take as dismal a prospect as I presented. Besides, marriage would have given me no more power over myself than what I had previously. I would have been beholden to my husband, some man I had become tied to for expedience and necessity rather than any kind of affection or desire. I would have had no property, no money, no independence. Marriage would have amounted to trading in one kind of servitude for another. I longed to be free of my bondage, not trade it in for a prettier, more socially acceptable kind.”
“And so you did what you had to do, and I cannot fault you for it,” Camden said solemnly, and Del could hear in his voice that he truly understood her and did not judge her for her choices.
“Yes,” Del said. “I found my independence and made my fortunes the only way I could, and I make no apologies for it.”
She wanted to add more, but she wasn’t yet able. She didn’t know how to tell Camden that lately, since meeting him, she was beginning to question whether she truly possessed the independence and power she had always sought. For as much as she had gained, she was beginning to think she was losing almost as much. She had her own house and her own income, but she had no one close to her to share it with. She was not dependent on anyone else’s benevolence to meet her needs, but there was no one with whom she could share her wants and desires. She knew countless people, but no one she could call a true friend, save Jane. She had sex but no intimacy. She conversed for hours at a time with various people, but no one knew who she really was. They knew nothing of her thoughts or feelings, likes or goals.
“I do sometimes miss the closeness a good match could have brought,” Del said. It was a deliberately vague statement, but it was all she could give at the moment.
“Indeed,” Camden said, and in that one word, Del knew that he had, as he always did, heard beyond her simple statement and understood what she was really trying to convey.
Camden poured them both more whisky. “My father grew up poor,” he said, and though it seemed a non sequitur, Del knew he had taken her gift of self-exposure for what it was, and was now returning it in kind. “Grindingly poor. His mother was weak and sickly, and his father was a sot and a bully who drank and gambled away whatever money the family happened to earn. My father would wake up some mornings to find a sibling gone, sold for work or — other unpleasantness.” Camden shook his head, as if it were all unspeakable. “He wouldn’t really talk about it, just a few comments here and there that hinted at a wretched childhood. He developed an all-encompassing drive to better himself, to create a means to escape his circumstances since none was going to just present itself. And he succeeded. He not only clawed his way out of the dire conditions of his youth, he became massively wealthy. He built a thriving business out of nothing, amassed properties and carriages and all manner of material goods. And he did it on his own, with nothing but sheer determination and stubbornness. It’s positively unheard of. But it’s not enough for him, he always wants more. Not just more money, but a title, and if not that then at least greater social respectability.” Camden shrugged and gulped his whisky. “The thing is, I’m beginning to think it will never be enough. That no matter what wealth or social position he achieves, it won’t fill the hole inside him because that’s not what he’s really seeking.”
“And your father has made his goals yours as well, hasn’t he?” Del asked.
Camden nodded. “If we are just driven enough, he tells me, disciplined enough, ruthless enough, we can make privileged society accept us as one of their own. But they can sniff it out you know, that he doesn’t belong. His accent, his manners, he is like a small child in his father’s clothing, trying to pass himself off as man. He only succeeds in looking ridiculous.” He gave a weak smile. “He’s become increasingly frustrated over the years as his wealth has increased but his social standing remains far below where he thinks it ought to be, and he now thinks it’s up to me to secure our social position.”
“You don’t seem overly concerned with such things, though.”
“I’m not, though I don’t think my father could even conceive of such a notion. I’m a man of legal age with an immense inheritance poised to take over an enormously successful business, and yet I don’t want any of it. I feel no more in control of my life than you did. Independence, freedom, control. I sometimes think it’s all an illusion.”
“What do you want?” Del asked.
Camden seemed surprised at the question, as if no one had ever asked him that before. “What do you mean?”
“If you could go anywhere, do anything, what would it be
?”
Camden looked thoughtful. “I’m not even sure.”
“Hmmm,” Del said, sizing him up. “I could see you breeding horses on a small, quiet farm up north.”
“What makes you say that?” Camden looked a bit spooked, as if she had read his thoughts.
“It’s the way you look when you ride Sebby, the way you talk to him, handle him. You are usually the most reserved, guarded person I have ever met, but when you are around horses you seem — joyful.”
“As I’ve told you before, horses are so much easier to understand than people. They have no expectations, place no demands — save a clean stall and plenty of food, of course.”
Del laughed. “It’s more than that, though, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Camden said softly, “it is. I’m not sure I can explain it — when I am riding Sebby, I can feel his power and it is simple and pure and raw. It is as close to real freedom I think I will ever get, the feeling that I could gallop away to anywhere, jumping any obstacle in my way.” Camden looked down at his hands, flexed as though they were even now holding the reins. “I suppose I sound positively idiotic.”
Del laid a hand lightly on his arm. “Not at all. I understand the desire to escape, to leave it all behind.”
Camden covered her hand with his and met her eye.
Del’s breath caught.
Her surroundings suddenly shrank to include only her and the man sitting beside her. She could hear his breathing, deep and even. She could hear her own pulse in her ears, rushing and slightly erratic. His hand on hers was large and warm and her skin was hot where they touched. It was as though every nerve, every feeling and sensation were concentrated where their hands met.
It was the whisky, Del decided, that made her bold and temptatious. She wanted to lunge at him, to tug at his shirt until it fell away and beg him to do the same to her, until nothing stood between them. She laughed and shook her head, as if she could shake the wanton thoughts from her mind. She began to pull her hand away, but Camden’s fingers tightened, stopping her.
“Del.” He brought his other hand up to her face, gently rubbed his thumb along her cheek, but he said no more.
She saw the stark wanting on Camden’s face, but she also felt his hesitation and knew he was leaving it up to her. If she withdrew from him now, he would let her go, and her life could return to the way it was: simple and predictable and without pesky complications.
It was a lie, though, and she knew it as soon as she thought it. Things would never be simple again. She had met Camden and he had breached all of her defenses and now she was raw and exposed, like a nerve jutting through a bloody, jagged wound. She could go back to London and never see him again, but she wouldn’t be the same. The truth was, she didn’t want to be without him. It terrified her to think it, however, much less communicate it to him through either word or action.
Leaning into him now would be a declaration, one she couldn’t take back.
“Del,” Camden said again, and Del could hear the warning in that simple utterance. Take me or leave me, it is your choice to make, but you must decide now, he was telling her.
A thousand panicked thoughts raced through her mind, and Del knew she was in danger of being overwhelmed by them. She had to take control of herself, to choose a course of action before he slipped away. She shut off her mind and took a deep breath, like a diver about to plunge into the ocean. “Camden,” she said, leaning into him just a bit.
He smiled. She had given him the answer he needed.
Camden brushed a few stray tendrils of her hair from her eyes and then cupped her face with both hands. He stared into her eyes for a moment, gauging her, before leaning in to brush his lips against her forehead. He pulled away slightly and his hands dropped to rest on her arms, and Del knew he would not ask anything more of her.
But she wanted so much more.
Now that she had taken the plunge she wanted to go the full depth, and she was not content with a sweet and gentle — but entirely too chaste — kiss to the forehead. She grabbed a fistful of Camden’s shirt and pulled him to her. His eyes widened in pleased surprise. He brought a hand to the back of her head, his fingers tangled in her hair, and he pressed his lips to hers. The contact sent waves of heat through her body. She was electrified, entranced, and desperate for more of him. She touched his cheek, ran a thumb along the roughness, reveling in all the tactile sensations he presented.
She pushed into him until he was lying flat on his back, covered by her body, her skirts flowing around them. She kissed him hungrily, and he let her, until she could feel his intensity increase and he rolled over and their positions were reversed. Del clawed at him, greedy and impatient, but he drew away.
“You are so beautiful,” Camden said, his voice low and barely audible.
He looked at her as though she were a sacred miracle unfolding before his eyes, and it took her breath away. He didn’t see her as lesser, as a merely a vessel for his prurient desire, as a creature who owed it to him to be available for his needs but then should be shamed and discarded because of it. He saw beauty in her, value in her, even redemption and salvation in her. She knew it by the way he touched her, gently and almost reverently. By the way he held her gaze, that simple action telling her he heard her, and saw her, and knew her to be a full and complete — and worthy — person. By the way he defied the orders of his domineering father and the judgment and opprobrium of a disapproving society to be with her.
It wasn’t that she needed Camden’s approval, that she would demean herself to seek it or change her fundamental being to keep it. It was humbling nonetheless to know he so freely gave it, that he saw beyond her surface, knew her fears and flaws and anxieties, and wanted her for all of it.
“Kiss me,” Del demanded, unable to bear the space he had put between their bodies.
She put a hand behind his neck and pulled him down to her. He complied, covering her lips with his and kissing her until she couldn’t breathe. She tugged at his shirt until the buttons gave way and the linen fell away from his chest. His skin was a shock of heat in the coolness of the autumn day, and Del pressed into him, letting it envelop her. She ran her hands along his torso, feeling the rise and indentation of each muscle. It sent shivers through her, his heat and hardness, and when he groaned against her neck and his skin rose in gooseflesh beneath her fingers, she knew he was affected too.
His kisses became harder, more urgent and restless. He shifted his weight slightly to one side and ran a hand along her body, down her side and along her leg, and she felt the heat and energy in his touch even though there were still layers of clothing between them. His fingers caught her skirt and he began to pull it up, exposing her legs. The cool air was a shock to her naked skin and it thrilled and excited her. His hands were on her now, his fingers burning trails along her thigh. He kissed her cheek, her neck, and then moved down to the delicate skin along her collarbone. His hands roamed higher up her side and cupped her breast. She moaned and arched her back. His lips were at the neckline of her gown now, and he was tugging at the fabric when he suddenly stopped, whipping his head up. One of the horses had whinnied, and it brought them both back to their surroundings.
“We must stop,” Camden said. He was breathing hard, almost panting, and speaking seemed a great strain.
“What is it?” Del asked, confused, her senses jumbled.
He looked at her, effort and regret written plainly on his face. “We must stop now while I can — ”
“What’s wrong?”
“We — I can’t take you here — in the open, like rutting animals.”
Del put a hand against his chest, relieved that it was only a sense of innocent modesty that had stopped him. “There is no one about. No house or cottage or village for miles. We are entirely secluded.”
“But — here? Outside?”
“Do you not want me?” Del asked with just a hint of teasing in her voice. It was entirely too apparent just how much he wanted her.
“God no, it’s not that, it’s just — ”
Del smiled. She knew this was a struggle for him, to act against tradition and custom and every deeply held notion of propriety. She wanted to see him free himself, if only just once, from the bonds of societal and paternal expectations and give into his own impulses. She wondered how difficult it would be to coax him into it. She thrilled at the notion of finding out.
“We are entirely alone,” Del said. She traced lazy circles on his chest, smiling when his breath hitched. “There is no reason for us to stop.” She let her fingers drift lower, to move along the waistband of his breeches. His muscles tensed, but he continued to hold himself in check. She stilled her hand. “Is it that you don’t want to, or that you think you shouldn’t want to?” she asked.
“I want to, my God, I want to,” he said huskily. “But you — I don’t want you to think I’d debase you — ”
Del felt a pang at his sweetness, how he was always trying to ensure he didn’t hurt her in any manner. He held himself back not because he didn’t want it, but because he was concerned about her.
“I don’t think that,” she said, her hand moving to explore him again. “And right now I’m tired of thinking anything. I want you, Camden. Here. Now.”
“I want you too. And I can’t fight it anymore.”
“Then stop fighting.”
Camden exhaled. He reached for her, determinedly, resolutely, as if all his doubt and hesitation had exited with the outrush of breath. One hand was threaded in her hair, the other cupped the full curve of her bottom, pulling her hips to press against his. She pushed his open shirt down his arms until it fell to the ground, leaving his torso naked and flexed. He tugged at the laces of her gown, fumbling with her clothes and undergarments until she too was bared to the waist. Her nipples hardened, and Camden stopped his movements and stared at her, as if to fully savor the sight before him.
Time After Time Page 38
