Betrayed Countess (Books We Love Historical Romance) (22 page)

* * * *

Bettina turned and admired her reflection in the kitchen window. Her green walking dress, with sash around the waist and simple trim at cuffs and hem, accentuated her slim figure. She’d had it made at the draper’s in Port Isaac, and picked it up the day before. She’d also purchased a new straw hat with matching ribbon. What a relief to be able to afford decent clothes again. Expensive, yes, but she would need them in London, even if it meant dipping into her precious funds.

“Primpin’ for the master, aye?” Kerra winked at Bettina as she stood on a stool and hung herbs on the rafters to dry. “Fancy garb you has, now. Must make good wages at Bronnmargh.”

“Ann would tell me my vanity is a sin.” Bettina knew her cheeks heated. Word had it that Mr. Camborne had returned from London, and it shamed her to look like a bedraggled maid in his company. But perhaps it didn’t matter to him.

Kerra stepped off the stool. “Tell me the truth, you havin’ an affair?”

“No, I am not.” Bettina almost wanted to ask Kerra for sexual details—she did seem to have experience with men—but she was too embarrassed. She had been taught that this intimacy was something only a wife should know. “I will tell you if I am.”

“Aye? Told you afore, you best be careful with the quality. Has you asked Camborne about Stephen’s death?” Kerra pursed her lips as she brushed an herb leaf from her shoulder.

“I am certain he will know nothing about that. He was in London.” Her words too sharp, Bettina snatched up her hat. “I must leave for the tutoring.”

* * * *

At Bronnmargh, Bettina paced in the library, concerned that Frederick still hadn’t appeared. The boy usually awaited her. The library door opened.

“Miss Laurant, I apologize for keeping you.” Mr. Camborne stepped in. Bettina had hoped he’d come to greet her, yet his smile unnerved her. “Good evening. Welcome back. Is Frederick coming for his lesson?”

“He has a sore throat, nothing serious. I’ve insisted he stay in bed. But I wanted to give you this.” He handed her a package. His gaze appraised her. “You look quite fetching in that gown.”

“Merci.” She hoped she didn’t blush and opened the package. Inside, she found sheet music and a pair of leather gloves. She fondled the supple texture of one and smelled the rich scent. “You remembered
… this is so sweet. Thank you, Mr. Camborne.” With such gifts and kisses, could he be romancing other women? Could she be nothing but a dalliance?

“My pleasure, as always.” His smile tugged at her heart. He walked closer, so clean and neat in his attire. He seemed a more decisive person than the one who previously shooed her from his house. “I wish you would call me Everett.”

“Please, call me Bettina. How was your journey to London?” She took a deep breath and wished he didn’t unsettle her with this half-understood sensuality.

“A long, but necessary venture. My main office is in London. I had to straighten out a few business woes with the problems on the continent—well, you are aware of all that.”

“I am all too aware.” She leaned against the desk, its solid support bracing her back. “Have you heard about the … murder here?” She watched his face.

“Murder? No. What happened?” He sounded surprised, his blue eyes wide.

“He was that man you asked about, Stephen Tremayne. They found his body down in the cove.” She stared at her new shoes for a moment. “He is the one who you chased off that night.”

“Ah. The one I hit. Do they know who killed him?” Camborne’s expression was concerned as he put his hand on her shoulder.

She felt heat simmer on her skin with just that light touch. She stared up into his face. “They do not know yet who killed him.”

“He sounded like a troublemaker in this village.” He moved away from her. “But still, a murder
… I’m sorry for his family.”

Bettina thought his words sincere—or did she just want them to be? She’d never admit it to Kerra, but she did feel relieved with Stephen dead. She rubbed a knot at the back of her neck and stepped toward the bookcases. “Did you find any refugee organizations?”

Camborne’s features relaxed. “I contacted various people in London who have helped the French émigrés settle here. They promised to try and find out anything they could about your mother.”

“I appreciate you taking the trouble.” Bettina circled near the fireplace like a cat sizing up her adversary. “There are other important matters we need to discuss.”

Camborne raised a brow. “I see. What sort of matters?”

“It is just that I am confused about—”

“I realize you probably want to—”

They both stopped, neither finishing their concurrent responses. His eyes turned guarded. Bettina stepped forward and laid a hand on his arm, to keep him open toward her. Camborne’s features dissolved to tenderness. He raised her hand to his lips. When he kissed her knuckles she trembled and forgot what she wanted to say.

He gathered her into his arms and kissed her lips. Bettina felt her muscles soften like melting snow. His mouth became insistent on hers, their kissing so intense she moaned with pleasure. Camborne pulled her down to sit on the hearth, kissing her throat and across her chest. He unfastened her bodice and traced his lips along the curve of her breasts.

His warm, moist lips on her skin sent shivers twisting low in her abdomen. Bettina tangled her hands in his hair, her breath ragged. When he reached to caress her breast, she pulled back, holding him at arm’s length, though part of her hadn’t wanted him to stop. “We should not be doing this.” She held her breath in an effort to calm her heaving chest.

Camborne pulled from her grasp and leaned back. “You’re right, I am sorry. I lost control.” His gaze held a mixture of sadness and longing.

“I do not know what came over me either.” Bettina refastened her bodice with clumsy fingers. The proper young lady she was raised to be would never have let this happen. Yet, she had to admit, it excited her to make him lose control.

He took her in his arms again, kissing her cheek. “I don’t know where this will … there are those who’ll condemn us if they knew.”

In the silence, she had to speak of what loomed so sharp between them. “Of course I am aware of the gossip about your wife. And I need to know…
.” Her voice trailed off to a whisper. His kisses made her realize how her affection for him had grown. She wanted more. “Your intentions toward me.”

He squeezed her against him, but it seemed more from tension than comfort. “Events aren’t always what they appear to be.”

“As I am well aware. Everett, I think it is fair that I should ask….” Her pulse thrummed in her neck. “What really did happen to your wife?”

He released her and looked away, his shoulders stiffening. “I know exactly what the gossip is. Slate tells me everything he hears in the village.”

Bettina couldn’t picture the grim Mr. Slate gathering tales like a common fishwife. “But I never believed those sordid stories. That is why I need to know the truth.”

Camborne got to his feet and paced across to the desk. “My wife was extremely unhappy. We were both unhappy. Our marriage was a blunder, I realized too late. She threatened to leave me for another man, and I had little reason to stop her.” He stood with his rigid back to her.

Bettina grew chilled without him next to her. “Then she went with this other man?”

“When she left one night and never returned, I assumed she had done just that.”

“But why would anyone blame you for her disappearance?” Bettina spoke carefully, still tasting him on her lips.

His hands flexed against his breeches. “Miriam’s departure was quite abrupt. She left all her possessions behind. Including her silly maid, who started those rumors.”

Bettina rose from the hearth, brushing soot from her skirt. “And you have not heard from her since?”

“Not a word. I know you deserve the truth, but this isn’t something I’m comfortable discussing.” When he turned back to her, that sternness had settled over his mouth and jaw, though he seemed to fight it back. “You’ll have to excuse me, I have more work to attend to. I’ll walk you to the coach.”

“Once more, you are tossing me out,” she said in half-jest, to gloss over her frustration.

He blinked, then rubbed his chin. “I’m sorry if I sounded rude.” He walked close to her. “You have to realize I don’t like discussing Miriam. Deplore it, in fact.”

“But I should know about these—”

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t, and I did tell you the truth. But I prefer to leave it in the past.” He caressed her shoulders, his hands warm but firm.

“I needed to hear what happened from you, if I am to understand. We should not have any secrets.” She waited for him to define his feelings for her.

Camborne ran a hand through her hair, brushing a stray strand behind one ear. “Can we put the past aside for now? I was so miserable then, I don’t like to dwell there. Will you forgive me my bad temper?” He leaned close and kissed her softly on the mouth. She shut her eyes, that heat seeping through her, and felt disillusioned when he pulled away too soon.

The intensity in his eyes made her quiver. Was this a man coming to terms with a crime? He seemed so reluctant to pursue a relationship. Bettina didn’t know what to believe anymore.

Chapter Sixteen

“Might be war with France now.” A fat man near the taproom fireplace wiped his oily hands on his breeches. “Wonder what Farmer George will do ’bout a brother sovereign arrested by his own people.”

Bettina overheard this and elbowed her way into a group of lodgers. She picked up the platter of pilchard remains—greasy heads, tails and bones.

“We should stay outta France’s riots,” another man grumbled. “King Louis was out o’ his wits to run away. Shows he ain’t never gonna conform to that rebel constitution.”

“If I may interrupt, what do you discuss?” Bettina asked, her stomach roiling. The warm June breeze coming through the front windows fluttered her hair and chased away the stink of fish.

“You sound French, little miss.” The first man glared at her with pouched eyes, and she cringed. “King Louis and his family tried to escape, but they was recognized and caught. They’re prisoners now of the revolutionaries. Don’t look good for them.”

Bettina stifled a gasp. Her throat tight, she thought of her mother’s safety. But she ached for poor King Louis and Queen Marie Antoinette. She glanced up and across the room saw the last person she wanted to see. The Hunter strode out of the shadows. He tipped his hat to her. She gripped the platter, angry that he taunted her, and knew she had to speak to him. She hurried into the kitchen.

“Godless people.” Ann tramped in behind Bettina, her long saggy face in a leer. “Weren’t that what I said afore?” She plopped dirty tankards in a bucket. “No goodwill come of betraying your rightful king.”

“I do not need your hectoring. My family does not deserve the evil actions in France. We never betrayed our king.” Bettina fought down her anger and the sobs that bubbled up in her chest. She scraped the fish heads and tails into a small pail near the back door to feed the stray cats.

“You’ll still get your comeuppance, Duchess. For what you do up there, with him.”

“I have not done
…
affreux
, say what you wish. But it is a lie.”

“Now, now, ladies.” Maddie stood before the fireplace, seething rosemary flowers in white wine—a sweet concoction she used to freshen breath and for face washing.

“When will we see you breeding?” Ann leaned close, and Bettina wished she’d freshened her breath.

“You enjoy causing trouble as much as that Old Milt.” Bettina shoved the platter into Ann’s hands. “Mr. Camborne is a good man.” She wanted to believe this, too.

“Good in the bed, you mean? Without benefit o’ clergy.”

“How dare you!” Bettina started to push past her to return to the taproom.

“Ann, serve them cherry tarts!” Maddie pointed at the fragrant desserts arranged on a tray. Ann huffed, picked it up and stomped from the kitchen. Maddie turned to Bettina. “Worried ’bout your family, aye? I heard of the king and queen and their escape. Don’t have much sympathy for the rich, but it be bad for their children.”

“
Mais oui
. Bad for so many people.” Not that Bettina would admit to having been one of the rich. She wanted to chase her mother’s sweet smile away, to store it in a place where she kept her memories safe. “I need to speak with someone in the taproom.”

“Wait. Has you asked Mr. Camborne more about his wife?”

“I did. He was … uncomfortable that I asked for details. Of course, it is painful for him to talk of it. He told me she ran off in the night, taking nothing with her. But I do not think he loved her. He does not wish to discuss it anymore.”

“But you has a perfect right to know.” Maddie dried her hands on her apron.

“I agree I have a right, if he has serious intentions about me.” Bettina looked at Maddie sheepishly, then peered through the doorway to see if the Hunter was still there. “And I want to trust him.”