It didn’t matter Margaret lived in the same house, nor did it matter Axton’s visits were an open secret between them. They never spoke of it, never acknowledged her affair with Axton, and never mentioned a word that might ruin her matchmaker’s reputation.
“My mood,” she said between clenched teeth, “has nothing to do with His Grace.”
Which was the first time she acknowledged Axton was a part of her life in any way other than a matchmaking client.
Undeterred, Margaret asked, “Are you certain?” Camilla didn’t answer, and her assistant plowed on. “It’s not something to be ashamed of; you’re falling in love with a duke!” She smiled and leaned forward in her chair. “It’s something to be proud of.”
“I’m not sure—”
“Perhaps your head is not sure,” Margaret interrupted. “But your heart…” She grinned. “Your heart is clearly smitten. And you should not ignore such signs. How many times have I heard you say that to a young couple? The woman or man who is unsure of a match.”
Margaret reached across the desk but didn’t take Camilla’s hand. The sentiment was the same, however, and Camilla found herself captivated by the other woman’s words.
“It’s very good advice,” Margaret insisted. “Advice you need to heed yourself.”
Camilla sat straighter and set her papers purposefully down. “You are quite aware I’m not one to be locked in a marriage. Why should I have a man dictate what I can and cannot do?”
Her voice sounded prim and snippy even to herself, but Camilla made no effort to calm her tone. Lifting her chin, she stared down Margaret, but her assistant refused to be cowed. In fact, as far as Camilla saw, Margaret ignored her annoyance completely.
“Is His Grace such a man?” she asked. “Would he truly dictate your movements?” Margaret tilted her head to the side and frowned. “I agree,” she admitted and nodded. “If he is such a man and you’re attracted to him, an affair is for the best.”
Margaret straightened and nodded again. “However, if he’s the sort to revel in your successes, stay loyal by your side, admire all you do…” She grinned again, that sly, knowing grin Camilla decided she didn’t like one bit. “Then why risk losing such a man?”
Camilla broke first and admitted it. She looked back at her papers for the dozenth time since Margaret entered and nodded. “I understand,” she whispered. Then she cleared her throat and looked up again.
“Arrange a meeting between Miss Carlton and Mr. Maine sooner rather than later,” she instructed Margaret, who nodded.
Margaret’s words made sense, much as Camilla wished it otherwise. But right now she didn’t want to think on that—hadn’t the energy or the emotional fortitude to do so.
Even if her heart gave a little flip and pounded far too quickly in her chest.
Chapter Twelve
LADY LINDOR’S WINTER Ball lived up to its name. The bitterly cold night bit through Camilla’s gown and chilled her to the bone. Ignoring it the best she could, Camilla entered the crush and waited for her fingers to warm and stop tingling.
White linen covered every available space, flowing in the wind from the open doors and flittering around the guests. Camilla eyed the fabric, a little overdone, but then everything Lady Lindor did was slightly overdone.
Part of her charm, she supposed.
“Oh, Mrs. Primsby.” The woman in question greeted her with large smiles and exuberance.
Camilla smiled back but couldn’t manage to meet Lady Lindor’s level of excitement.
“Isn’t this lovely? Oh, and we have ice cream from The Pot and Pineapple.”
“I look forward to trying some,” Camilla said. And wondered if ice cream in January was the best idea.
Then again, she had warmed significantly since stepping into the house. Not many refused an invitation to Lady Lindor’s gatherings. She always had the most unique themes.
Excusing herself from the hostess, Camilla turned back to the crowd and immediately saw Gareth. He stood facing her, as if he already knew she arrived, but made no move to cross the room to greet her. Camilla inclined her head in greeting and watched his lips twitch in response.
But she had clients to see to, and Miss Emilia Carlton awaited her.
A petite girl with honey-blonde hair and hazel eyes, Miss Carlton stood next to her chattering mother. Camilla planned to ignore the mother, as, it seemed, did Emilia herself. When she curtseyed to the two women, Emilia barely glanced up from her scrutiny of the floor.
“Dear, you must look up,” Camilla admonished softly. Tilting her chin gently until the young woman looked her in the eye, she smiled and waited for the other woman to nod in return.
Not overly shy, no more than any young woman in her first season with an overbearing mother at least, Emilia was deathly afraid of tripping over her gown. Poor thing. Camilla wondered what sort of household the Carltons’ townhouse was if Emilia feared tripping so badly she rarely looked up from the floor.
“I promise, you shan’t trip on the hem of your gown,” she continued in an equally soft voice so Mrs. Carlton didn’t overhear despite that woman’s impressive bent for gossip. “Now, when you meet Mr. Maine, simply treat him as you would any new friend.”
Emilia’s eyebrow rose in disbelief. Camilla nodded again and smiled gently. Then she looked to the right, where Mr. Maine waited her signal.
“Mr. Harold Maine,” she said, “may I introduce you to Miss Emilia Carlton.”
“Miss Carlton,” Maine said and bowed over her hand. “May I interest you in a cup of ice cream?”
Emilia nodded and smiled. She looked down but Camilla cleared her throat, and Emilia’s head jerked back up. It was a slow walk for the newly introduced couple; Emilia wasn’t going to overcome her fear of tripping in one evening. But Camilla watched them walk with a sense of pride.
She did so love when a match came together, and had high hopes for the couple.
“A very interesting match.”
Suddenly much warmer than even the close room warranted, Camilla looked up at Gareth. His blue eyes sparkled down at her, lips quirked just slightly.
“Mrs. Primsby.”
“Your Grace.” She curtseyed. But the formal greeting caught in her throat, and she wondered how she ever thought there was naught but passion between them.
“You look ravishing this evening,” Gareth whispered, bent low over the noise of the ball. “So much so, I wish we were alone.”
Unable to stop herself, even with a conflicting feeling of want and annoyance, she tilted her head and offered a coy smile. “Shall I assume you’ll be at my doorstep this evening?”
“Most assuredly.” Gareth leaned even closer, if that were possible. “I cannot wait to taste the ice cream on your lips.”
Desire spread through her, making her skin tingle for an entirely different reason than the cold January night. It settled low in her belly and throbbed through her in time to her heartbeat.
Suddenly he sighed, and Camilla blinked in confusion. He bowed to her and winked, then disappeared into the crush. Confused, she watched him expertly weave through the room, and seriously debated following him.
“Oh, Mrs. Primsby.”
Startled, Camilla jerked round to Mrs. Carlton. She repressed a sigh but not a final, lingering, glance at Gareth’s very fine retreating form.
“I do applaud your idea to match my Emilia with Mr. Maine.”
Camilla angled herself to better see Gareth, and subsequently the room, and endured an hour’s worth of chatter from Eugenia Carlton. An hour. She sighed. Again. But Mrs. Carlton didn’t seem to notice, which was just as well. At least the woman wasn’t chattering with Emilia and Mr. Maine—they needed time to know one another and not have the overbearing Eugenia breathing down their necks to declare for each other by the end of the evening.
Eugenia had one other, minor, very minor, point in her favor as well. From her position in the room, close enough to the open doors to benefit from the breeze but far enou
gh away to enjoy the warmth, Camilla had the perfect view of Gareth. By enduring Eugenia’s chatter, Camilla was saved the embarrassment of stalking across the room to confront Gareth. Who spent the entire hour in happy conversation with Lady Julianna Standish.
The same Lady Julianna with whom Camilla once tried to match him.
Narrowing her eyes, Camilla purposely looked away. Only to look right back at the couple. She handpicked Lady Julianna herself—they were perfectly compatible in a variety of ways: politics, class, temperament.
Lady Julianna wasn’t difficult but a smart, witty woman who knew her own mind. Unlike Camilla, who was temperamental and clearly didn’t know her own mind. Not if the sight of Gareth with a woman she, herself, chose for him sent her blood boiling and her heart racing.
Camilla turned sharply to Eugenia and smiled. It wasn’t her best performance; the smile felt tight and false, and her fingers twitched every time she imagined she heard Gareth’s laugh. She couldn’t, of course not. Not from this distance. But the very thought…
“If you’ll excuse me, Mrs. Carlton,” she said abruptly, the words higher than she’d have liked, tumbling out of her mouth as if she hadn’t loads of experience in covering her emotions. “I’m suddenly not feeling well. I think I’ll retire for the evening. I’ll call on Emilia tomorrow.”
She tried not to look at Gareth as she left, but her traitorous gaze immediately found him even as she hurried from the room. He watched her with a frown, but didn’t move to stop her. Camilla jerked her head around and tilted her chin.
As she waited for her carriage to be brought round, she forced her mind to Emilia and Mr. Maine. Eugenia was a long-winded bore, but Emilia was a lovely young woman, and Camilla firmly believed Margaret was right—they made the perfect couple.
She very firmly did not think about Gareth. Or the fact he hadn’t followed her—not that she wanted him to; rather she didn’t think she wanted him to. Or his exceptionally long conversation with Lady Julianna. Or the fact the ton no doubt already tittered with news of the Duke of Axton’s interest in Lady Julianna Standish.
She very firmly did not think of them the entire ride back to her townhouse or as her lady’s maid helped her undress. No, Camilla thought of Emilia and Mademoiselle Lizette Fortescue and…the trouble with the wallflower.
Camilla sighed. She could admit she avoided any and all thoughts of Gareth. Mayhap she ought to call him the Duke of Axton again. When had she begun referring to him as Gareth, anyway?
“I searched the entirety of the Lindor Townhouse,” Gareth—Axton—said, his voice a low growl that sent her blood heating and her breath short. “You snuck out without giving me my customary notice.”
Camilla silently stared at him. She wasn’t sure what to say to his seemingly blasé attitude. He knew she saw him with Lady Julianna, knew he watched her as she spoke—or rather listened to—Eugenia Carlton. Yet here he was, in her bedroom as if it were just another night for them to engage in an illicit rendezvous.
“You seemed quite occupied,” she managed in a cool voice. At least it was even and not the embarrassingly high-pitched one she used with Mrs. Carlton. “I didn’t want to…disturb you.”
Gareth—Axton, damn it—walked closer, a slow, steady pace, all predatory and grace. “I waited for the oh-so-subtle tilt of your head,” he admitted. “The one you usually do when you’re finished working.”
His breath brushed over her skin, over the shell of her ear. His lips grazed down her throat, teeth nipping at her skin. Camilla shivered and leaned into his touch.
She needed his touch, his mouth on hers, his hands. She needed to feel him moving within her and know he wanted her. Not Lady Julianna, not anyone else. Her.
Her dressing gown fell to the floor, quickly followed by her chemise. His hands were warm on her chilled skin, long fingers touching her just as she liked. Tugging on her nipples, raising her breasts to his mouth as his tongue swirled around the hard points, teeth closing over them just hard enough to make her knees weak.
Camilla pushed off his jacket and swiftly unbuttoned his waistcoat, letting that fall to the floor as well. She knew his body, too. She scraped her nails down his back, heard him hiss against her skin, and shuddered with the power that sparked through her. He picked her up then, carried her to the bed, and finished undressing.
Kneeling on the bed, Camilla pulled him to her. She kissed him hard and pushed him onto his back, straddling his waist and kissing down his chest to his cock. She vaguely heard him growl when she licked the underside of his cock, felt his hands tangle in her hair as she closed her lips over him.
She teased him; her hands held his hips to the bedding as she kissed and licked him, power and lust and something she refused to name heating her blood and making her wild.
Yes. Wild. She wanted this man, wanted to show him who she was and wanted to feel him in return. Camilla released Gareth with a wicked grin and kissed his belly. He breathed hard with one hand tangled in her hair, the other clenching the bedding beneath them.
“Camilla,” he managed.
She didn’t give him time to say more. Settling over him, Camilla guided him into her. She sighed at the feel, at the way he filled her, the sheer rightness of it.
His hands gripped her hips and she moved. Rocked against him harder and faster. But kept her gaze on his. Wanted to see him, wanted to know what she did to him—what he did to her when they made love. When they joined like this.
Her breath caught.
Camilla splayed her hands on his chest and moved faster. Suddenly she wanted to look away but he captured her and no matter what she wanted, she watched him. Her mind refused to blank even as her body reached higher and higher for her orgasm.
Her fingers slipped between her legs and she flicked her nails over the sensitive nub. More. Harder. Gareth’s fingers replaced hers, and even in the barely lighted room she saw his eyes darken with passion.
Silent, her gaze still locked with his, Camilla fell. She shuddered against his touch, her hips bucking against his, against his fingers, utterly unable to look away.
Her orgasm shattered through her, heat and sensation and fire through her veins, along her nerves. But still she didn’t look from him.
His hands never released her, and she continued to move over him. Gareth rolled them, hooked his hands beneath her knees, and thrust into her. Watched her as if he knew what she thought and what she felt better than she did.
And still she couldn’t close her eyes. Couldn’t look away.
Camilla cried out again, her climax swift and hard.
* * * *
GARETH KISSED HER softly and moved to leave the bed. Camilla held onto him for a moment longer, an unreasonable need to keep him close. But it panicked her, shot through her, and she tightened her hands around him.
He only kissed her again, his lips the lightest of touches on hers. Then he threw back the bedding and climbed out, exposing her to the chill of the room. That chill went straight through her and wrapped around her heart.
“I have a breakfast meeting in the morning at the townhouse,” he said in the darkness. “So I must take my leave. Perhaps we could arrange a luncheon?”
Camilla swallowed. How did she respond to that? To the formal invitation? To luncheon with him, to arrange a luncheon with him? As opposed to…to what? To whatever it was they now engaged in?
She didn’t even know what that was. Not any longer.
“I thought I’d take a trip,” she said into the darkness. Her voice sounded odd, as if it echoed over the bedroom. “I have several clients in the surrounding villages I need to call upon.”
She heard him pause more than saw him stop. “This is sudden.” His voice hardened, just slightly; if she hadn’t known him as well as she thought, Camilla wouldn’t have heard the change.
“When did you intend on telling me of your trip?”
“Perhaps Lady Julianna can entertain you while I’m away.” The harsh words snapped out of her before she r
ealized they hovered on the tip of her tongue.
Her fingers curled around the bedding and held it against her chest. To ward off the cold, she told herself—and his words. Camilla didn’t need to see him to know his eyes narrowed, and he stepped forward. She heard the faint movement of clothing, but in the darkness saw naught save Gareth’s shadow as he circled the bed.
She looked up at him, her chin tilted proudly, and waited for his reply.
“Lady Julianna?” he repeated quietly, not the harsh rejoinder she expected.
“Yes,” she snapped and truly tried to temper her tone. It was not to be. “The lady whose ear you whispered into all evening.”
Gareth huffed out a faint laugh, and she could hear the smile in his voice when he spoke. Feel it against her mouth as he leaned down to kiss her. His lips moved over hers, deepening the kiss until she opened to him.
Camilla sighed against his mouth and wondered what had happened to her that she needed him so badly that she let him kiss her accusations away.
“I’m sure I shan’t see Lady Julianna for quite some time,” he promised against her mouth. And kissed her again.
Then he pulled back, without explaining, and finished dressing.
Torn between flopping on the bed and screaming in frustration, and pulling him back with her, Camilla settled for pulling the bedding with her as she stood. Confused, she waited, shifting from foot to foot and contemplating her next move.
She heard him finish dressing and watched his silhouette move back to her. His kiss was gentler this time, but no less arousing. His hand slipped over her shoulders and down her back, and he pulled her to him.
“I’m very happy with our arrangement,” he whispered against her lips.
With that, he turned and left.
Stunned, confused, a little angry and very frustrated, Camilla watched him leave. Heard the door close behind him but couldn’t bring herself to move. She only had herself to blame.
Chapter Thirteen
Dear Mrs. Primsby,
I write to express my deepest gratitude. I’m not certain why you chose to use your unique talents with me, as I was not an official patron of yours. Perhaps you saw a lonely, pathetic woman in a new village and took pity on her.
Improper Duke: Scandalous Encounters Page 9
