by Anna Bradley
It was justice, nothing more. Parity. He didn’t wish to punish Lady Eleanor—he had no wish to hurt her. He’d be kind to her, and generous. She’d be happy enough. As happy as she’d be in any aristocratic marriage.
He’d told himself this story over and over again, ever since he decided she’d pay the price for another’s sins. But what seemed simple enough in theory became another thing altogether when he looked into Eleanor Sutherland’s enormous dark eyes.
“Mr. West? Will you answer my question?”
He stared at her, at the stubborn raised chin, the sleek dark hair pulled away from her brow. If anything, her face had grown paler.
Just now, when he’d seen her with Amelia . . .
She’d been kind to his sister. She’d made Amelia laugh, put her at ease with a gentle, warm humor he would have thought a lady like her incapable of. For one moment as he watched them together, he’d felt the cold weight inside him lift, as if a stone had rolled off his chest.
Part of him had welcomed that feeling, had hoped he’d be able to breathe at last—deep warm breaths to thaw the ice that settled around his heart eleven years ago.
He’d almost kissed her.
That part of him, the same part that wanted to breathe, wanted her lips. Craved them. Even now he could feel the soft skin of her cheek against the pad of his finger, the seductive warmth at the corner of her mouth.
But the other part of him, the part he recognized, held back. That part didn’t want to know her, that woman he’d gotten a brief glimpse of just now, that warm woman who’d taken pains to make a child feel welcome.
If he knew her, he’d never be able to do this to her.
He could manipulate Hart Sutherland’s daughter. He could threaten the ton darling and never suffer a pang of conscience. He could force the grand Lady Eleanor Sutherland into marriage with no regrets whatsoever.
But Eleanor? Ellie.
Could he do this to her?
With the Sutherland name behind her, Amelia would have every advantage he could give her. If not true acceptance, then what amounted to the same thing when it came to the ton.
The appearance of acceptance.
But someone who cared for Amelia as he did? Loved her, even? Someone who treated her the way their mother would have done, had she lived? He hadn’t even dared to hope for it.
Not until today.
No one but Eleanor Sutherland would do for Amelia, but in a twist worthy of a Shakespearean tragedy, he’d discovered it at the same moment he realized Lady Eleanor deserved better than to be forced into a sham marriage.
If she did deserve better, could he go through with his threats against her?
Cam shook his head. The better question was, could he not?
He wanted her. Not for himself. No, of course not. She wouldn’t spare any of her warmth for him when she discovered what he’d done. The lies he’d told. How he’d used her. She’d never forgive him. But for Amelia—
“This isn’t a game anymore, Mr. West. I have a right to know what you want from me.”
Cam stilled. A right? She had a right to know?
A deafening roar filled his ears, and in the next breath the familiar rage flooded through him, sweeping his doubts and qualms and regrets before it.
Ah, there she was. Hart Sutherland’s daughter, the grand Lady Eleanor Sutherland, a hard, flashing diamond of the first water. There was the aristocrat never far below the surface, with the same demands and sense of entitlement Cam remembered in her father. So arrogant, the Sutherlands, so certain everyone would accommodate them.
She thought she had a right to know. She hadn’t any rights at all. Not with him. Not now, and not after they married. The sooner she made her peace with that, the better.
He stared down at her with what must have been a fearful look, for she shrank back. “You haven’t any rights at all, my lady. I’ve told you what I want. To marry you. I intend to do just that. You may play all the games you wish until then, but I’ll have you in the end, or your sister will be ruined.”
She raised a hand to her forehead, and Cam saw it shook. Regret and guilt threatened to pull him down again, but he held it back.
“But why?” she whispered. “Why me? It is because I’ve rejected so many suitors? That simply makes me unlucky with suitors, Mr. West. If you imagine it makes me anyone special—”
He grasped her shoulders, desperate to silence her. To stop himself from thinking. “You are special. You’re a Sutherland. That’s all that matters.”
“All that matters,” she repeated, as if she wanted to be sure of his words. “Clever or foolish, warm or cold, rich or poor—none if it matters. I don’t matter. Is that what you mean, Mr. West?”
Something about the way she asked the question made him hesitate. He looked down at her, at her pale face, the slight tremble of her chin, the pulse leaping in her throat.
If he told her she didn’t matter, he’d never be able to take it back. She’d never forget he’d said it, or forgive him for it. He knew it, the same way he knew he must draw another breath, and another after that. But what difference did it make if she despised him? She’d despise him anyway, as soon as she knew the truth.
“Yes. That’s what I mean, Lady Eleanor.”
She gazed at him for a moment as if she didn’t quite believe he’d said it, then her shoulders hunched toward her chest, as if to protect herself from a blow. “I see. Well, I suppose that’s it, then.”
She didn’t argue with him. He didn’t hear any anger in her reply. She didn’t even raise her voice. But her face just . . . closed.
“Not quite,” he said, determined to get every sordid detail out in the open, even as he had to avert his gaze from her ashen face. “We made an agreement. I gave you two weeks of courtship. You agreed to make yourself available to me during that time, but today when I called on you, I found you’d gone out.”
“I had a prior engagement, Mr. West, as you saw when you arrived.”
Say it. Just say it, and be done with it. “And as you saw,” he replied, the words bitter in his mouth, “I won’t be trifled with. Be faithful to your part of the agreement, Lady Eleanor, or I may be forced to bring my cousin into company with me every time I see you. I think your sister is fond of him, don’t you? It would be a pity if that fondness led her into another lapse in judgment.”
She went so rigid her body might have cracked under his palms. “Are there any depths to which you won’t sink, Mr. West?”
Cam’s throat worked, but he couldn’t quite swallow down his disgust with himself. “Best not to find out, my lady. Do the honorable thing and keep your word, and you won’t have to.”
“You dare speak to me of honor?”
Her voice was filled with such quiet scorn Cam’s cheeks went hot with shame.
I don’t like it. It’s badly done, Cam.
Too late.
She pushed against his arms. “I wish to return to the house now, Mr. West. Are you quite finished?”
He released her shoulders. “As long as we understand each other, yes.”
“I understand you perfectly, sir.”
“Very well.” He held out his arm to escort her back in the direction they’d come, but she brushed past him without a glance, her back stiff, her head held high.
He let her go.
He’d done nothing wrong. He’d simply made her understand his expectations.
And threatened her. Her, and her sister. He’d told her she didn’t matter, that she was a means to an end, and nothing more. He’d made her despise him.
He had done something wrong. Christ. He’d done everything wrong, but he’d done it for the right reasons. For Amelia. Surely that counted for something?
“Lady Eleanor! Have you come from viewing the yellow roses?”
Cam joined Lady Eleanor at the end of the pathway. She was chatting with Lady Archer, who was headed in the opposite direction.
Lady Archer was an older matron popular among the ton fo
r nothing better, as far as Cam could tell, than losing at cards, and wearing large, colorful turbans.
“How do you do, Lady Archer? Yes, we’ve just come from there. The roses are in full bloom and their scent is divine. I’m sure you’ll enjoy them.”
Cam could tell it cost her an effort to appear carefree, but Lady Archer didn’t seem to notice. “My dear.” She fixed gleaming eyes on her prey. “How relieved I am to see you looking so well. I’ve been terribly worried for you.”
Lady Eleanor looked taken aback. “Worried?”
“Oh my, yes.” Lady Archer twirled her parasol. “For you, and for poor, dear Lady Charlotte.”
Lady Eleanor stiffened. “I’m sorry to have caused you any concern, my lady, for as you can see, I’m quite well.”
She attempted to sidle around Lady Archer, but the older woman was having none of it. She stepped into Lady Eleanor’s way, her mouth curled into a tiny, malicious smile. “You left the Foster’s ball so early, my dear, and with no warning. As Lady Hastings said that night, it was as if you’d vanished. You and poor, dear Lady Charlotte. I do hope she’s recovered?”
Ah. Even Cam, who was not versed in the myriad ways in which the ladies of the ton tortured each other, could see what Lady Archer was about. The ton hadn’t excused Charlotte Sutherland’s behavior the other night. Instead they would bide their time and wait with bated breath to see if the whispers would become a full-blown scandal.
Well, bless Lady Archer and her snide gossip, for she’d just done more to help his cause than Cam could have managed with either word or deed. Try as she might, Eleanor Sutherland could no longer deny to herself the danger of her sister’s situation, and Julian’s appearance at Charlotte Sutherland’s side this morning would feed the flame nicely.
Cam turned to Lady Eleanor to see how she’d receive Lady Archer’s veiled threat. Surely she’d show some consciousness of it, some awkwardness—
No. She appeared utterly composed.
She turned a smile upon Lady Archer that was bland and glacial at once. “You’re such a dear to be concerned, my lady, but my sister is very well indeed. You can be certain she’ll suffer no lasting effects at all from that evening.”
Cam hid a smirk. Well. That was neatly done.
Lady Archer looked as if she couldn’t understand how she’d been so thoroughly disarmed. “Wonderful news, my dear. I couldn’t be more delighted to hear it.”
“How kind you are, Lady Archer,” Eleanor said, with the air of one who meant precisely the opposite.
Lady Archer sniffed. “Yes, well, more than one person at the ball expressed their worry for her, you know. Now,” she added, turning to Cam. “Won’t you introduce me to your companion?”
“Certainly. This is Mr. Camden West, Lady Archer. He’s recently returned to London from India.”
Lady Archer looked him up and down, not sure whether or not she need bother with him. His clothing attested to his wealth, but then London was filled with wealthy nobodies far beneath the notice of an aristocrat. He had no choice but to wait while Lady Archer made up her mind whether or not to honor him with her attention.
God, he hated the ton. He’d have nothing to do with them at all if it weren’t for Amelia.
“Mr. West,” she said at last. “What a pleasure it is to meet you. Welcome back to London. Are you related to Mr. Julian West?”
Cam bowed. “Yes, my lady. He’s my cousin.”
“Indeed?” Lady Archer shot Eleanor a triumphant look. “Well, I suppose you and Lady Eleanor met at the Foster’s ball, then, the same night Lady Charlotte met your cousin?”
Eleanor made the tiniest movement then, a mere twitch of her fingers, and yet Cam knew at once she wished him to remain silent.
“Indeed we did.” Eleanor gave Lady Archer a smooth smile. “Mr. West and his cousin were kind enough to call our carriage for us when Charlotte took ill.”
Lady Archer’s lips thinned into what passed for a smile among the ton. “Well. What a happy coincidence both Mr. Wests happened to be close at hand just at the exact moment poor, dear Lady Charlotte felt herself failing.”
Lady Archer punctuated this jab with a satisfied twitch of her parasol.
Eleanor managed a faintly puzzled expression. “Hardly a coincidence, my lady. Charlotte and Mr. Julian West were dancing together at the time. Weren’t they, Mr. West?”
Cam hesitated for the merest fraction of a second—just long enough for Lady Eleanor to feel the power he had over her—then he nodded. “They were. Julian was obliged to escort Lady Charlotte out to the terrace to prevent a swoon, I’m afraid.”
Lady Archer’s face fell, and she gathered her skirts in her hands, marshalling her forces for a retreat. “Poor, dear Lady Charlotte. But I must be off, my dear, for the roses await. Do give my regards to your mother, and of course, to your dear, dear sister.” Lady Archer tsked and shook her head, as if Charlotte Sutherland’s fall from grace were a foregone conclusion.
“I will, my lady,” Eleanor said, in a tone that could freeze water. “I know my mother will be so gratified to hear you asked after Charlotte.”
Lady Archer paled a bit at this, for the dowager Countess of Carlisle held a position of distinction among the ton, and one did their best not to make an enemy of her.
Cam’s lips twisted in a bitter smile. Such was the magical influence of the Sutherlands. That influence was Amelia’s due, and he would secure it for her, no matter who he had to manipulate to get it.
“Your sister teeters on the brink of scandal, my lady,” he murmured after Lady Archer had flounced off down the path. “She remains safe for the moment, but one word from me . . .”
He fell silent, certain she’d finish the thought in her head.
By the time they reached the main house the lawn was crowded with guests. Ladies strolled the grounds to admire the baskets of flowers, their pale gowns fluttering in the breeze. The gentlemen followed after them and attempted to peek under their parasols, or else they balanced full plates in their laps and picnicked on blankets spread across Lady Abernathy’s velvety green lawn.
A group of children shrieked and chased each other, absorbed in game of tag. They ran to and fro across the lawn, some still trailing broken bits of daisy chains. Cam searched for Amelia’s fair head among the scattered children, but she wasn’t there.
“Where—?” he began, but Lady Eleanor wasn’t listening. She’d fixed her gaze on a distant corner of the yard, where Julian and Lady Charlotte sat together on a blanket under a shady tree, surrounded by little girls with piles of daisies in their laps. Amelia was there, her head bent over a daisy chain long enough to wrap twice around her small body. Even from here he could see the smile on her face, hear the giggles and squeals from the circle of little girls as they strung their daisies into endless white and yellow chains.
Cam’s breath hitched in his throat. Amelia belonged here, lounging in the grass with a lapful of flowers, the sun warm on her head, not a care in her heart beyond the length of her daisy chain. He could buy her the grand house, the beautiful green lawn, and enough flowers for daisy chains with no end, but he couldn’t buy her an afternoon like this one, spent among the children of the ton, secure in her place as one of them.
He couldn’t buy Amelia acceptance. But he could take it. He could steal it.
An eye for an eye.
Eleanor Sutherland’s freedom for Amelia’s. It was a fair trade.
“They haven’t moved since we left, my lady.” He stepped closer until his body touched hers, his lips a breath away from her ear. “What do you suppose they’ve talked about, your sister and my cousin?”
She shivered. “Don’t.”
He angled his head closer to catch a hint of the black current scent of her—so intoxicating, that scent, because he knew the moment he caught it that her lips would taste like that dark, tart fruit.
An answering shudder passed through him. “Such a passionate kiss they shared the other night. Do you think they’
ve thought of nothing else today but that kiss? It must be torture, to sit so close to each other, to remember how it feels when their mouths entwine, and yet not be able to touch.”
She shook her head, but didn’t speak.
“Yes.” His voice was harsh and husky at once. “You deny it, but you know it’s true. You know, even now, with all these people watching, he’s found a way to touch her. Her hand, her fingers. Both of them drown in that touch.”
She didn’t move, but Cam saw her dark eyelashes sweep across her cheekbones as her eyes dropped closed. “Stop.”
He should stop, but he couldn’t, because somehow he wasn’t talking about Julian and Charlotte Sutherland anymore. In his mind it was his own mouth, hot and hard against Ellie’s, taking her, drowning in her taste.
He brushed a few stray tendrils of hair away from her ear, let his fingertips linger for a heartbeat on her neck, and then his mouth was there, his lips drifting over her cool, white skin, their touch softer than a breath. “But I won’t stop. Not until this is over.”
She gasped and went still for a moment, but then turned her head aside to escape his caress. “If you have your way, it will never be over.”
Another shudder passed through him at her words, but, God help him, instead of the regret and guilt he should feel . . .
It was a shudder of anticipation.
Chapter Ten
Crash!
Ellie leapt backwards as the hat rack toppled onto Madame Devy’s spotless display counter. The straw bonnet she’d been pretending to admire slid across the slick surface and fluttered to the floor at her feet.
“My goodness, Eleanor.” Charlotte turned from the array of silk ribbons the shop girl had spread across the counter. “Whatever is the matter with you?”
Eleanor gave Madame Devy’s disapproving assistant an apologetic smile, retrieved the crumpled bonnet, and shoved it back onto the rack. “Matter? Why, nothing at all.”
Nothing at all, except she’d spent the morning peering over her shoulder like a criminal who’d escaped the gibbet, certain any moment Camden West would clamp one of his enormous hands on the back of her neck and drag her away.
