The Duchess Takes a Husband, page 26
Camille rose before he could reply and started walking toward the back of the house. Alone.
“Excuse me.”
A moth drawn to her flame, he followed her.
* * *
* * *
The lower level housed the kitchen and servants’ quarters. If Camille didn’t find Violet, she could ask the cook herself. The basement had stone floors and whitewashed walls and smelled of lemon oil mixed with the aroma of food. Two maids hurried past her carrying heavy pitchers toward a room that housed a long table. It looked as if the servants were having their meal.
“Excuse me, but have you seen Lady Leigh?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am. Down that way.” The girl nodded toward what Camille assumed was the kitchen.
“Thank you.” She hurried in that direction and was almost at the open door when a hand took hers.
“This way,” came a whisper near her ear. Any trepidation she might have felt was swept away by the sound of Jacob’s voice behind her.
A heavy black curtain was strung on a brass rod across an opening. He pushed it aside and ushered them both into the small room before pulling it closed behind him. The pantry was not lit, but some of the light from the corridor filtered into the space. Bags of flour and meal shared shelves with tins of food.
He released her, leaving her hand tingling from the touch of his fingers. “What are you doing?” she asked to cover the racing of her heart.
His eyes were warm and soft. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I wanted to talk to you alone, but there wasn’t an opportunity until now.”
She couldn’t even begin to describe the warmth and feeling of well-being that was spreading throughout her body as he smiled down at her. She wanted to be angry with him for all but dismissing her. What came out instead was, “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you as well. How have you been?”
“Good,” she said, but that wasn’t precisely true. “My mother arrived unexpectedly, so that’s been challenging. She and Frederick have been keeping me occupied.”
A shadow passed over his face at the mention of Frederick. “Don’t marry Kip.”
She laughed at the absurdity of that statement. Thankfully, her mother had seemed resigned to accepting her refusal. They hadn’t talked about the things Camille had written about Hereford, but she knew her mother had read them. In the days since, her manner had been subdued, and she had not pressed Frederick on her in any way. She hadn’t even left them alone together again.
“Why do you believe I might consider marrying him?”
He shrugged. “He wants to marry you.”
“How do you know that?”
He shifted and said, “It’s obvious from the way he looks at you that’s his intention.”
“Perhaps I want to, as well.” She couldn’t resist taunting him just a little. This wasn’t any of his business. He had ushered her out of his life.
“You don’t want him.” His voice was low and searching. He was jealous. Good.
“Is that why you followed me here? To warn me not to marry a man you don’t even know? Because if it was, I have other things to attend to.” She made a move to walk past him, but he reached for her, though he stopped before he touched her. His hand hovered near her stomach, making her remember all the ways his fingers knew her body.
“No, that’s not why I wanted to talk to you.” He reached for her again. This time the pad of his thumb brushed the corner of her mouth before he pulled it back. “You have something there.”
“Chocolate?” He nodded, and she wiped at her mouth. “Where?”
His gaze had gone hot as he stared at her mouth, and she didn’t think it was her imagination that his breathing increased. “My God, Camille.” He said the words on an exhale.
“What?”
Before she could find it, he took her lips, licking at the bit of chocolate she had missed. She could taste the bitter and sweet of it on his tongue. Then she was kissing him back, and it was like the days apart had never happened. His hand cupped her neck, and erotic images of all the ways he had touched her played across her mind, making the kiss far more effective than it might have been otherwise.
As if coming to his senses, he pulled back abruptly. “I wanted to speak to you privately before I go to Paris. I’ll be leaving tomorrow evening, so there likely won’t be another opportunity.”
They had run out of time. She felt stricken and momentarily unable to breathe. He was truly leaving. “I hope all goes well for you in Paris,” she finally managed. “You deserve it.” God, she would miss him.
He didn’t look as happy about the trip as he might have. “We’ve made all the final arrangements. I’ll be gone for three months.”
Disappointment made her feel weighted. It grounded her after that kiss like nothing else could. “Yes, that makes sense . . . only I had hoped . . .”
“What?” His eyes brightened in an encouraging way she didn’t understand. He had pushed her away after all. “What did you hope?”
The words stuck in her throat, but she forced them out. She was tired of not taking what she wanted; that hadn’t gotten her anywhere that she’d wanted to go in the past. “I hoped that maybe we might have one more night before you leave.” But that wasn’t the whole truth. “Actually, I had hoped that we might have more . . .”
His eyes were fathomless as he stared back at her. “I can’t, Camille. Not right now.”
She knew he didn’t mean the sex. He meant them. He couldn’t do them right now. He had felt what she had felt, and he was rejecting it because it didn’t fit into his life. The pain was fierce and sharper than she had suspected it would be. “I see.”
When she would have looked down, he took her chin. “Camille . . .” he whispered, regret filling the word. Dropping his hand, he said, “Let’s talk when I return from Paris.”
When he’d had time to steel himself against the things he felt for her, is what he meant. Or maybe he meant to sleep with a lot of other women in Paris before deciding on her. A heady mix of anger and sadness made her voice have an edge. “Maybe. If I’m still here.”
She pushed past him, but he took her waist in his hands and pulled her back to him. Before she knew what was happening, his mouth took hers in a deep kiss. She clung to him as he drank from her lips. The world faded away to only Jacob and his arms and mouth. She had no idea how long they had stood in the pantry kissing before someone cleared their throat very forcefully. Startled, they turned to see Violet smiling at them.
“Bloody hell,” he whispered against her temple.
As the strength returned to her knees, Camille pushed herself away from him, putting a small amount of space between them. “Violet, I was looking for you.”
“As you can see, I was not in the pantry.” Her friend smiled.
“No.” She felt like a schoolgirl caught being naughty.
“Come along, dear.” Violet held out her hand. To Jacob she said, “I’ll deal with you later.”
They left together with Jacob behind them, but once in the corridor her mother rounded the corner. They must have been in that pantry longer than she’d thought, to have her mother come looking for her. Mama’s eyes widened as she saw them, and Camille wanted to melt into the floor. Her lips felt swollen. She was certain it was obvious what they had been doing.
“There you are, Mama,” she said, taking control of the situation. She could not handle being chastised when she was so raw. “I’m ready to go home. Let’s go collect Frederick, shall we?”
Her mother uttered a few small protests as Camille took her arm and pulled her in the opposite direction of Jacob and Violet. Her mother kept looking behind them until they had turned the corner and were out of sight.
* * *
* * *
They dropped Frederick off at Claridge’s, where he was meeting a friend for drinks. He hadn’t appeared very happy when he’d left the carriage, saying he would be home late and would hire a cab. This left Camille and her mother in a very awkward silence as the carriage made its way through the dark streets to her townhome. This would have been fine because Camille needed time to nurse the wound Jacob had given her by refusing what was between them, but her mother was always talkative and the fact that she wasn’t meant she suspected something.
“It was a lovely night,” Camille said, hoping if she kept up the conversation her mother wouldn’t voice the very evident concerns rolling around in her head. She had been able to read every one with every street light they passed.
“Yes.” She sounded distracted.
“I’m glad we went. Mrs. Crenshaw was happy to see you. You were such close friends in New York, and you haven’t been able to catch up yet properly.”
Ever since the morning Camille had given her mother those pages, Mama had kept them busy moving from one activity to another. She knew it was to keep them from talking about what she had written, which hurt, but she also understood. Mama did not like emotional discussions. Camille had never liked the results when she had pushed her to talk about something she wasn’t ready to examine.
“Yes, it was good to see her . . . though I suspect we’ve grown apart for a reason.”
“Oh?”
“Camille, is there something between you and Mr. Thorne?”
Steeling herself for the inevitable, she said, “Yes, if you must know. I care for him very much.” There was no use denying it. Whether he returned her feelings or not, she could be honest with herself and her mother.
Mama took in a breath. “He owns a gaming hell and is merely the natural child of an earl.”
Natural, the polite word for illegitimate. Not legal.
“He is kind and very good to me, Mama. Also, he is successful in his own right. His legitimacy doesn’t matter to me.”
The other woman processed this, becoming very still at her side. “Do you care for him enough that you might consider marrying this man?”
She did care for him that much, though any discussion of marriage was a bit premature. Camille shook her head. “It hardly matters. He’s leaving for Paris tomorrow night, and I won’t see him again for a while. He doesn’t feel the same affection for me anyway.”
“He doesn’t? How could he not? Camille, you are an attractive woman and have such a good heart.”
“I thought you didn’t approve of him?”
Mama huffed. “Well, perhaps I don’t, but he should approve of you. This man isn’t as special as you think if he doesn’t see your value.”
She groaned. “I don’t wish to discuss this.” Not with her mother!
“It’s true.” Mama fell silent for so long, she thought that perhaps the conversation was mercifully over. “Camille, I have read and reread the words you wrote . . .”
Her muscles tightened, bracing herself.
“Every night before bed, I take them out and . . .” She shook her head. “The things that Hereford did to you were inexcusable.” There was a firmness in her voice that Camille had rarely heard. Her mother took her hand and shifted on the cushioned seat to see her better. “I am sorry for that. I had no idea when I agreed to the marriage that he was that way.”
Everything inside her stilled. Her mother had never spoken with this level of gravity. “What were you expecting? It was obvious to all that he was not a kind person.”
“Yes, I see that now. I thought he was at least fair and charming and that he would take care of you as he had assured us he would. I thought I was sending you to live the life of a princess. That you would attend lavish balls and visit castles. That there would be no advantage beyond your reach.” She took in a quivering breath. “I didn’t want you or your future children to have the same experiences as me growing up. I grew up in the country, and when I came to New York I had to work very hard to rid myself of the accent. People mocked me. They whispered that your father could have done better. Then they laughed at the grease under his fingernails when he’d come to dinner after visiting one of the factories. Society isn’t kind to outsiders.”
“But don’t you see that I am an outsider here? He made sure they never accepted me. He made sure that I remembered my low birth.” Her own voice trembled with unshed tears. “And that he was too good for me.”
“Yes.” Her mother’s voice cracked, and she swallowed audibly. “I despise him for that. He made me think they would accept you because of who he was. Perhaps they did, in a way. You were invited to the parties . . . you weren’t excluded, but he still made certain they laughed at you.”
A tear that had been trembling on Camille’s lashes fell. Her mother let out a sob and pulled her into her arms. “I thought we were doing what was best for you. I understand now that I was wrong. I’m so sorry that I failed you.”
Camille cried all the harder. “You didn’t know.”
Mama shook her head. “I should have known. I let myself be blinded by him. It was a terrible mistake that is unforgivable.”
Perhaps her mother was right. She should have known, and Camille could never imagine sending her own daughter halfway across the world to marry a man she didn’t know. She also knew that there was no way to make it right. She had tried these past two years to somehow undo her time with Hereford, but it was impossible. Those scars were emblazoned upon her and they always would be. It was enough for now that Mama had acknowledged the mistake and the pain she had caused. It was a start.
Camille squeezed her eyes shut and let the comfort of her mother’s arms seep in and lighten all the places that had gone dark inside. Finally, the carriage slowed. Her mother leaned back and produced a handkerchief from somewhere, dabbing it at Camille’s cheeks.
“Tomorrow we will go together to the solicitor and untangle all of this contract nonsense. You were right. You deserve to know what has been decided for you and to access your accounts.”
Something loosened in her chest, and she took a deep breath. “Thank you, Mama.”
“I want you to be happy, Camille. I do. If this Mr. Thorne will make you happy then I approve of him.”
Camille laughed with the enthusiasm of someone who had just been relieved of a grievous weight that she had been carrying for far too long. “Thank you, but I’m not sure he’s an option.” It seemed she had no choice but to wait for him to return from Paris. She was too hurt and angry about that to even guess how she would feel then. “The suffrage fight brings me joy. Perhaps you could come to the demonstration with me tomorrow evening.”
“Oh dear, I’m not certain I am up for a demonstration. I could come to a meeting first. I would like to go with you.” She cupped Camille’s face in her hands. “I am proud of you.”
Camille smiled. “Thank you. I would love for you to accompany me to the next one.”
They hugged again and she felt that she could finally start to put together the fractured pieces of herself that she thought had been lost years ago.
Chapter 23
Webb had packed Jacob’s trunks and sent them on to the train station earlier in the day. It was now dusk and Jacob was to leave soon to catch the train for Dover. From there he would take the boat for France at first light. He had been in a whirlwind all day seeing to the last-minute details so that Montague Club wouldn’t suffer in his absence. Christian and Cavell would handle things, with Evan able to step in when needed. He wasn’t worried about them. It was simply that he couldn’t allow himself any free time or then he’d start thinking too much.
All day he’d been tugging at his collar and feeling uncomfortable in his own skin. That feeling of wrongness was all because of Camille. He hadn’t stopped thinking of her for a single moment since last night—no, since he’d been inside her. Her shadow hovered over every decision he made. When he thought of the next months in Paris, those thoughts were tinged with sadness. He already missed the innate gentleness that she tried to hide. Though she had been jaded in the past few years, it was still there lurking in her eyes, in her smile, and in the tender way she touched him with awe, as if she had never considered that what they found together might exist. The fact that he would be an entire country removed from her felt amiss.
It was no surprise his thoughts were still on her when Webb appeared in the doorway of his study with a strange expression on his face. Jacob was working with Cavell, who stood across the desk, running his finger down a column of numbers in a ledger. “Here,” Cavell said, pointing to one particular figure. “This is the error.”
But Jacob wasn’t listening. Webb was so uncharacteristically apprehensive that something in him sharpened in awareness. “Webb?” He didn’t know why but his first thought was something terrible had happened. Camille and Lilian were attending the demonstration today. A quick look at the clock confirmed that it would be starting soon.
Cavell whirled to stare at the man.
Webb cleared his throat. “Mrs. Bridwell is here and demanding to speak with you. I told her that you are leaving soon, but she was most insistent.”
Camille’s mother was here. She had been conducting a rather thorough study of him the night before. Perhaps she had figured out that he had been kissing her daughter in the pantry and had come to give him a piece of her mind. His anxiety shifted from fear to mere dread of what was likely coming.
“Webb, I am in the middle of this. Give her my address in Paris. She can write—”
His words fell off sharply as the woman herself wrenched his door open wider. “Pardon me,” she said to Webb. To Jacob she said, “I would have a moment of your time, Mr. Thorne.”
Jacob sighed and came to his feet. There was no avoiding this. “If you’ll excuse us, Cavell.”
The younger man smirked before he managed to hide his expression from the others by gathering up the ledger. On his way out he greeted Mrs. Bridwell warmly and closed the door behind him, leaving Jacob to face whatever hell fate had in store for him.
