She wanted to know the source of that mischievousness, however despite their conversation, brief as it was, it eluded her. Axton watched her as if he held a secret, one he purposely teased her with, and wasn’t quite ready to share.
He hadn’t stayed long, which confused Camilla given he sought her out. She enjoyed his company despite the fact she was working. When Axton took his leave, most reluctantly, that glint returned, tempted her to follow him, to spend more time in his company.
“Ma’am,” Margaret said with a perfunctory knock. “Lord Hawkhurst is here to see you.”
Camilla nodded, her mind still on Axton. Then Margaret’s words cleared the fog in her mind, and she narrowed her gaze sharply.
“See him to the front parlor,” she instructed. “I’ll be down presently.”
Margaret disappeared, and Camilla finally looked at herself in the looking glass. Her deep cream grown accented her pale skin and brown hair. She nodded in satisfaction and stepped away from Greenboro’s hands.
“I look perfectly acceptable,” she said, harsher than need be.
Greenboro only huffed. “Acceptable is not good enough.”
But she stepped back and grudgingly let Camilla leave. Camilla cast her lady’s maid a curious look, but Greenboro already turned her back. She was certainly in a persnickety mood.
Camilla’s mind raced as she slowly made her way downstairs. She hadn’t spent as much time on Hawkhurst as she ought and knew it. Axton preoccupied her thoughts. Her dreams.
She truly needed to step back and refocus on her work. Not on her personal life or desires.
“Good evening, Lord Hawkhurst,” she said as she swept into the room. “What an unexpected pleasure.”
He bowed in greeting. With his hands clasped behind his back, he watched her with those still eyes. Haunted eyes, she thought. His demons remained well hidden behind his formal stance, his distant facade.
“If you’re here regarding your potential match, I’ve yet to pick just the right girl,” Camilla said with all the poise, charm, and ease of her profession. “I am getting close.”
She arranged herself on the settee and gestured to the seat across from her. He sat down but didn’t relax.
“Yes, I’m here about the match. However,” he continued in that same even tone she always heard from him, “I’m happy to hear you haven’t found the right one yet.”
Camilla raised an eyebrow. That was…not what she expected.
“And why, may I ask?”
“I’m sure you’ve heard of Lord Granville’s…situation,” Hawkhurst said carefully.
She nodded slowly. It pleased her, his choice of words over a friend’s scandal—it showed what Hawkhurst was made of. Still, she had a feeling Granville was not whom Hawkhurst wished to discuss.
“Yes,” she said softly. “A very sad affair.”
“It is.” Hawkhurst nodded. “I’ve been asked by Mr. Hamilton to assist Lord Granville. And I intend to do so. However, it won’t leave me much time for this match.”
“I see.” Camilla smiled and watched him carefully. He did not seem as upset over severing her services as many. In fact, she thought she detected a hint of relief. “I’m sure there’ll be a young woman or two who will be disappointed. But I understand,” she added, sympathetically. “When you are ready, please come and see me. We’ll discuss it further then.”
She rose as she said that last and he nodded, standing as well to bow in farewell. The look on his face made it perfectly clear he was grateful she hadn’t pressed him into this match, one that made him uncomfortable.
“Thank you, Mrs. Primsby,” he said sincerely.
She walked him to the door but stopped him before he left. “When you are, indeed, ready, please seek me out. I will be very happy to help.”
Something in his gaze changed, and she wondered if she saw the true man. The one caught in the grasp of his demons and secrets. Hawkhurst smiled with a slight curve to his lips, but he looked softer, younger.
He kissed the back of her hand and nodded. “Thank you. I shall.”
Camilla watched him leave. She knew he hadn’t been ready, but also thought Granville’s problem was not merely a convenient excuse. To her list of Hawkhurst’s attributes, she added loyalty to his friends.
Slowly climbing the steps to have Greenboro finish her fussing, Camilla wondered how Axton might take this news. She’d have to tell him, of course—he’d been generous enough to pay for her services for his friend, after all.
And she might not see him again after this.
The thought saddened her, but what was she to do? Their interactions began because of Hawkhurst. With that gentleman gone…what? Did it matter she no longer planned to match Lord Hawkhurst?
Camilla didn’t know, but she knew she wanted to see Axton again.
* * * *
IT SHOULD NOT have surprised her she’d been seated next to Axton. Of course she was. Camilla didn’t know if Mrs. Darlington arranged it herself or if Axton requested it.
Mrs. Darlington, who hoped her dear daughter might marry a duke and elevate their family, was quite the stickler for protocol. Camilla was nowhere near his social standing and would never be seated beside a duke. So while it was all rather unusual, Camilla wagered Axton arranged it all.
The man in question, however, had not yet arrived. No, Camilla stared at his place card in silent shock. Shock and anticipation. It made her heart flutter oddly and her stomach jump in expectation.
“Ah, Mrs. Primsby.”
She turned to her other side, where Lord Tobias Lindor sat. Camilla smiled at the older gentleman, much older than his social butterfly of a wife.
“Lord Lindor,” she greeted in a smooth voice that betrayed none of her inner confusion. “Good evening.”
He leaned over and said with a smile, “I cannot wait for the plum pudding. Mrs. Darlington’s cook makes the best in all of London.”
Her cool smile cracked, and she found herself chuckling with him. “Yes,” she agreed. “Yes, she does. And her wassail is the best I’ve ever tasted. She adds something spicy, and I can’t put my finger on it.”
“I think,” Lindor said with a knowing wink, “she sneaks in ginger.”
Camilla nodded and felt herself relax. Of course that was when Axton arrived. He didn’t bother to look at the place cards but simply made his way directly to her. If she needed any further confirmation he arranged her place here at the table, it vanished.
Her lips curved in a small smile as she watched him cross the room. A tall, handsome man with a brilliant, direct gaze, he moved with a lithe grace that reminded her of a predator. All supple muscles and intent. Camilla licked her lips. There was no use denying her attraction to him; it burned through her hot and fast and pooled low in her belly.
Something settled inside her. Not only the heat of desire she felt every time he looked at her, every time she thought of him—which was far too often—but a feeling she was quite unfamiliar with.
Oh, yes, she’d very much enjoy having an affair with Axton, Camilla decided. Very much so.
She wondered if he read her thoughts, because his own lips quirked in a slight grin. He looked very much like a smug bastard. Then again, she most definitely enjoyed a certain smug bastard, didn’t she? He held her gaze as he closed in on his seat, ignoring the greetings of those much higher in station than she.
And Axton was obvious, wasn’t he? Did any at this table notice his interest in her? Or did they all assume he was interested only in her services? Well, that was one advantage to her profession—her ability to speak with anyone without it seeming scandalous.
“Mrs. Primsby,” he said with a slight bow. “And how does this evening find you?”
“Quite well, thank you,” she offered with a tilt of her head. And if her tone was slightly flirtatious, she didn’t care. “Though rather perplexed as to why, exactly, I’m seated next to a duke.”
“It’s a mystery to me,” Axton said with a falsely innocent grin. “Mrs. Darli
ngton must’ve taken pity on me.”
Camilla huffed out a laugh and shook her head just the slightest. “If you’ll excuse me, I was having a rather riveting conversation with Lord Lindor.”
“Over the goose?” he asked in a quieter voice. “Or over the cakes still to come?”
“Caught.” Camilla unsuccessfully tried to stifle her laugh. But he watched her with that same concentration as always, direct and absolute, and the laughter trailed off into nothing.
Axton leaned closer, just a bit. “Stop trying to avoid me,” he said in a softly scolding tone. “You’re the only conversation I’m interested in tonight.”
“But there are so many here that would like to engage you”—she allowed her lips to tilt in a coy smile—“in conversation.”
Axton choked on a laugh and eyed her speculatively. He smirked, but his look sharpened and darkened, even. They held a hunger that made her stomach flutter in anticipation.
“They do not interest me,” Axton said in a rumble of sound that had her skin pricking with expectation. “But a beautiful, sharp-witted matchmaker does.”
Camilla tilted her head just a bit closer. “And why,” she asked, her voice more breathless than she wanted, “would I be interested in you beyond friendship?”
“I have a very large and extensive collection of bachelor friends,” he said with a wink. “A treasure trove for someone in your profession. Yes?”
She laughed, a low sound, but didn’t move back. All she seemed to do with Axton was laugh and tease, and she found herself highly entertained. Camilla didn’t tear her gaze from his. “Oh, how very…tempting.”
The first course was served, and conversation turned. Mrs. Darlington extolled the virtues of the singer this eve, from the Royal Conservatory, and Lord Lindor sighed over each and every course. She and Axton highly enjoyed Lindor’s all but orgasmic responses.
Eventually the final course cleared and they made their way to the ballroom. Axton escorted her, of course, despite the impropriety of it all. As duke he was able to get away with much—even escorting a professional woman such as her. Glancing around the assembled group, Camilla wondered if any did, indeed, suspected Axton’s interest in her was more than as his matchmaker.
Could their small minds wrap around the idea he wanted her? Her and not a pedigreed daughter of a marquess?
Of course not. Nor would she burst their bubble. These fine people lived in their own world, their perfect ton bubble, where the wrong sort was very carefully kept away. And any who tried to infiltrate that bubble immediately found themselves closed out, suffocated.
Axton’s sharp gaze landed on her. “Have you given further thought to Lady Seymour’s Winter Ball?”
Surprised at the abrupt change of subject, though Camilla supposed she oughtn’t be, she tilted her head. He did seem completely serious, not a hint of jest in his tone or stance.
“I’ve given it much thought,” she said in an airy tone. It hid rather neatly the fact she’d done nothing but think on it. “After all, I’ll be engaged in my occupation at the ball.”
Nothing like avoiding the question. And that was definitely not her, but Camilla hadn’t yet an answer. Axton escorting her was not proper by any stretch of the word. And she certainly didn’t want these lovely people suffocating her.
But she wanted him.
She didn’t care about his escort to a ball she already earned her own invite to. But for what it represented.
And for what might occur afterward.
Her heart tripped over itself, and her blood raced at the thought. She found her gaze drifting to his mouth and wondered what he tasted like. What his lips might feel like against hers.
“Would you not like a well-dressed assistant by your side?” he asked as they continued around the room.
He guided her in a circuitous route toward the room with the night’s entertainment. The rest of the Darlingtons’ guests filed into the room where every seat in the house now awaited them.
Camilla didn’t have to look away to know all eyes followed them.
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly afford your services,” she said in a demure manner and looked up at him with a coquettish smile.
“You’d be surprised, Mrs. Primsby, how easily I could be at your command,” Axton said with such seriousness it stopped her cold.
His already dark blue eyes darkened until they looked like the sky at dusk, inky and inviting. Camilla licked her lips and watched those eyes follow her movement.
And in that moment, her mind was made up. Yes, she wanted an affair with the Duke of Axton. She wanted him. She wanted to feel his hands on her body and kiss her way across the broad expanse of his chest.
Her wants, and her desire, for this man must’ve shone on her face. Axton took a step closer, just a breath, just enough to shield her from the rest of the room.
“I wonder if you know how tempting you can be,” she whispered.
“What could I possibly do to tempt you even further?” He didn’t touch her, didn’t lean closer. But Camilla felt the heat from his body and wanted to reach out and touch him.
“I haven’t considered being someone’s mistress for a very long time,” Camilla admitted in the crowded ballroom. “But perhaps I shall.”
Chapter Six
IN THE OPENNESS of the Darlingtons’ ballroom, Gareth blinked at Camilla. He had heard her; of course he had. He heard and remembered everything she ever said to him. Nonetheless, it took a moment for her words to truly register.
“I don’t want a mistress,” he bit out, harder and angrier than he should sound.
It didn’t stop him. He knew what he wanted, and Camilla was that woman. She embodied everything he ever wanted—intelligence, determination, vibrancy, wit.
More than that, so much more. Gareth was drawn to her more than he never wanted another. Camilla understood him and challenged him. They understood each other. At least Gareth thought he understood her. Maybe he didn’t, not as much as he believed.
What he didn’t know of her, he very much wanted to learn.
“I want a wife.”
She blinked up in surprise. And was that disappointment in her clear whisky gaze? But she composed herself and lifted her chin.
“I can help you find a wife,” she said in the cool voice she used when she hid her true feelings behind a facade of professionalism. “If that’s what you desire.” Camilla stepped back, but her gaze never left his. “But it won’t be me.”
“Why?”
The word sounded louder than he intended, and Camilla looked to the back row of seats several feet in front of them. Gareth didn’t bother. He didn’t care.
He made his intentions quite clear to her, and to hear her dismiss him so unmistakably felt like a punch. He didn’t like it; he didn’t understand it. Titles and station aside, he wanted this woman.
He had met a number of women who wished to become his duchess. But never a woman like Camilla Primsby. Gareth never believed he’d make a decision on a wife so quickly, but he had.
And he knew he’d never tire of Camilla as he would with a young girl fresh from her presentation at Court. He scowled at the thought. Gareth wanted everything Camilla had to offer and wanted to give her everything in return.
“A matchmaker is not a suitable duchess,” she told him. But she stopped and swallowed. Her chin tilted higher, her eyes hardening just the slightest. “And you are perfectly aware of that.”
“A suitable duchess is whomever the duke wants.”
Damn. Gareth hadn’t meant to play that card. To hold his title and position over her as if the only reason she should wish to marry him was because of an inherited title. Not because he wanted her.
Camilla stepped back again then turned and left the ballroom without another glance. She didn’t run but rather walked sedately from the room. Gareth followed her. Their conversation wasn’t finished.
He found her in the hallway right before the foyer. The majority of the guests were in the ba
llroom, and the staff were either overseeing that event or cleaning the dining hall. Either way, they were alone.
In the flickering shadows of the hall, Gareth stopped her. He didn’t yank her to him or force her to turn around. But he did reach out and take her arm. Camilla immediately stopped and whirled around to face him. The warmth of her flesh beneath his touch seared through him, a potent reminder of how much he wanted her.
“You know that is not true,” Camilla snapped. But she kept her voice low, even as her words cut through him. “There has been enough scandal lately in London. You wish to add to it? You wish to tarnish the title of Axton?”
“There is no tarnish,” he retorted.
“I offered to become your mistress,” she insisted. “If that is not satisfactory, there is nothing else I can do for you.”
Camilla pulled her arm free but didn’t move away again.
“Of course there is,” Gareth asserted. “Attend Lady Seymour’s ball with me, and you’ll see there’s no scandal to be had.”
“You are the fool if that is what you believe.”
She narrowed her eyes, which blazed with golden fire as she spoke. Her body hummed with energy and passion.
Oh, he was a fool for not immediately taking her as his mistress. But Gareth wanted her. He wanted Camilla with a desire he never experienced and only vaguely understood. If she took convincing, he’d do what he needed to do—he’d wait for her. Gareth already made his choice.
“Everyone thinks you are in search of a wife now because of your conversations with me,” she continued. Though her voice remained strident, Gareth detected a hint of weariness. “Your very public conversations with me. That is exactly what I shall help you with.”
She stepped back again and nodded as if they settled something. Gareth narrowed his eyes and followed her forward. Nothing had been settled.
“Lord Hawkhurst came to me before I left for tonight’s concert to inform me it’s not the right time for his match. The fee has been paid and that fee shall be used for you, Your Grace.”
It did not escape his notice that she said Your Grace with as much mockery as possible to fit in a single address.
Improper Duke: Scandalous Encounters Page 4
