The Rake Revealed (12 page)

‘My dear girl,’ he murmured, ‘you seem a little skittish tonight.’

Camille was standing by the refreshments table, having managed to snare a few moments alone. It seemed typical that he should turn up exactly now. ‘If I am, it is because you crept up on me. Must you sneak, so? It is most
déroutant
.’

‘But I excel at sneaking,’ he protested. ‘Would you have me abandon a skill that I have taken years to perfect?’

‘It is not a skill, it is a vice,’ she replied firmly, wishing he did not make her want to giggle. It was hard to maintain a reproving tone when the man was so amusing.

‘Part of you does not, perhaps,’ his voice had dropped to a purr, a dark, velvety rumble that sent a shiver up her spine, ‘but there is another part that wants to dance with me quite desperately. Or at least, I hope there is. Perhaps I am merely expressing my own desires.’

Desire. It was a word she tried not to think of in relation to this man. The word prompted wicked thoughts. Of him with his shirt undone. Of her, running her hands over that smooth warm skin… Oh, no. She did not want to think of that word when she was standing so close to him.

She swallowed. ‘You do love to flirt, my lord. A lady is in constant danger of having her head turned.’

‘Are you in any danger?’ Damn that silky, slippery tongue.

‘I am in no danger of anything,’ she said, placing her glass back down on the table so firmly that a little ratafia erupted out of it. It was exasperating, the way he could make her feel so… so
female
. ‘If you wish to dance then let us do so, for standing here together is going to cause tongues to wag. You are bad for a woman’s reputation, my lord.’

‘I am sure your reputation will remain unassailable,’ he gave her a slow smile, the kind that made heat rush through her entire body, not just her face. ‘You so clearly disapprove of me. People will merely think that you are trying to improve my character.’ He held out his arm for her.

‘Oh? And do you feel that it is improving,’ she demanded, taking it.

‘With every moment that passes, my dear, delicious Lady Durham.’

As they walked towards the dance floor, Camille reflected that her own character was in serious need of a sensible talking to. It did not help in the least that his conversations could always be relied on to entertain. Nor did it help that she found him so physically appealing, although it was not looks alone that drew her to him. A handsome face was all well and good, but without intelligence and humor it was nothing. Unfortunately, he had both of the other attributes in spades.

Dancing with his lordship was as delightful as she had expected it to be. She kept up a light, unexceptional dialogue and he played along by responding in kind, although his eyes were far too warm and familiar, giving lie to the easygoing pleasantries. Her body, as much as her head, was conscious of his every move, responding to it instinctively.

How long have I been a widow? No more than nine months. Am I so shallow that I can forget my dear Ned so completely in so short a time?

But of course, it wasn’t quite that simple. She had loved and admired her husband profoundly. He had been a good and honorable man in every way, but their relationship had been based more on friendship than passion. He had been her friend, her confidant, her companion when he had been there. Much of the time, of course, he had not been there. If Ned had survived she had no doubt they would have enjoyed a very happy marriage together; placid, undemanding, and comfortable. Lord Lucius Tapscott was another matter entirely. He made her aware of him in an entirely sexual way. His very nearness was a challenge that her body understood and acted upon, no matter what her head might be telling her. For all of his humor and his flippancy, his lordship was very much a man and the idea of him making love to her was enough to make her body stir into eager life.

It was not to be, however. Whatever his lordship was, whatever he was doing in this place, he was not looking for anything more than a passing affair and that would never do. It might be delightful, enchanting even to be made love to by a man who was so obviously well versed in pleasing a lady, but, inevitably, he would leave and Camille knew she had already lost too much in her four and twenty years. Be it trivial or profound, she had no taste for losing anything further for a while yet. Especially not her peace of mind. Not that she had a great deal of that at the moment, she reflected ruefully when the dance came to an end. Lord Tapscott was a storm she must weather. She just wished he would pull up anchor and sail away before she began to look for him every day, wishing he would put in an appearance like poor, unhappy Lady Fallston did.

He might have pursued their conversation further if not for the fact that his attention was so highly sought after. Camille watched him being gently pressured into squiring a large matron onto the floor with little sympathy. As far as she was concerned, he was very much reaping what he’d sowed.

It was growing late, moving towards midnight, a time when she felt she could reasonably excuse herself and go home. Before she could locate her hostess and express her thanks, she was waylaid once again. Once again, she was dismayed by the meeting, although the man petitioning for her attention now was very different from Lord Tapscott. Somehow, she had thought that Mr. Morosett had not come inside, but suddenly he was beside her, resplendent in scarlet and black satin, the jacket his vivid splash of color, a contrast to his black knee breeches and waistcoat and, unusually, his shirt.

‘Lady Durham,’ he said softly, offering her a deep bow.

‘Mr. Morosett,’ she returned, trying not to sound surprised. ‘I did not know you were here tonight.’ Not
here
in among the guests, anyway. She wondered how she could have missed him in that jacket.

‘I am a late arrival, but not too late, I trust, to secure a dance?’

Camille hesitated, torn. She really
did
want to go home, but to refuse him would seem churlish. One dance and she could exit as gracefully as possible. ‘I would be delighted and then afterwards, I will start for home. I am rather fatigued and was just thinking of finding Lady Fallston to thank her for her hospitality.’ She laid a hand on his arm and once again headed back to the dance floor.

‘I am sure you have been asked by every gentleman here to dance,’ Mr. Morosett said with a smile. ‘I am relieved I managed to secure such a prize for myself.’

She smiled up at him and wondered if he were flirting. His tone was so dry, so droll, that it was often impossible to tell what he was intimating. ‘You flatter me sir.’

‘Oh, I don’t think I do.’ They took to the floor as the music started up again. It was a waltz, one of many that had been played that night. Mrs. Hurstbridge had explained that country affairs such as this often enjoyed more than their fair share. The gentlemen found the intricate footsteps of the quadrilles and country-dances a little tedious whereas any male with two good legs could usually bluff their way around a waltz.

Camille wracked her brain, trying to think of a suitable topic of conversation. ‘Have you had a chance to study those figurines?’

‘Yes,’ he said, rather absently. ‘Very nice.’ This was surprising. He had evinced so much enthusiasm for them initially that his indifference was most peculiar. Clearly he had other things on his mind, for after a moment he spoke abruptly. ‘Lady Durham, I feel I should tell you something.’

‘Yes, Mr. Morosett?’

‘I have noticed that Lord Tapscott is inclined to pay particular interest to you.’

Camille blinked and tried not to blush.
He had noticed?
‘Indeed? What a very odd thing to notice, Mr. Morosett.’

Mr. Morosett looked down at her, his expression somber. For once, he did not wear the perpetual sneer that usually graced his thin lips. ‘I realize that I am being maladroit, but I have my reasons for speaking so. Lord Tapscott represents himself as one thing, but he is quite another.’

‘And what might that be?’

‘I am not at liberty to discuss that. Let me just say that he is far from the man you think he is. I believe him to be a dangerous man.’

‘A great many of us are not, as I am sure you know my lady.’ Morosett gave a thin smile. ‘I am merely suggesting that you do not grow too close to his lordship. I fear he may be in for a difficult time of it in the not too distant future.’

‘You think he is a rogue,’ Camille demanded. Really, these allusions were frustrating. ‘A charlatan? Do you think he has come to this place for a reason other than those archeological ruins on the beach?’

‘Oh! Archeology…,’ Morosett shook his head. ‘His interest certainly allows him to spend a considerable amount of time down on the shore.’

‘And?’

‘I think that Lord Tapscott has formed alliances that are, shall we say, unwise.’

‘You are very obscure, Mr. Morosett, but Lord Tapscott is an acquaintance, nothing more,’ she replied, hoping that was indeed the case. An acquaintance was so much easier to dismiss when they disappeared from your life than a friend or, God forbid, a lover. ‘I am unsure why you are telling me this, but rest assured, I have no interest in the man’s activities.’

‘I am relieved to hear it.’ There was a small pause, the music continuing on, both of them moving with it automatically. Morosett did not let it remain so, however. ‘I am sorry if I have offended you.’

Camille was unsure what to think of this conversation, any more than the one she had heard outside. Clearly something of some import was happening between the two men, but as neither was likely to tell her she had no idea what that something might be. Each was the perfect anathema of the other, so different in outlook and social address as to be almost comical. Just the same, there was an earnest gravity about Mr. Morosett’s words. Despite the fact that she was unable to bring herself to like him, she sensed that he meant well in this, at least. And perhaps he was right. She certainly did not think that Lord Tapscott was what he appeared to be. ‘I am sure that you mean your warning kindly, sir, and I appreciate it. I can only assure you that I am in no danger from Lord Tapscott. In any way.’

This was supposed to be a subtle indication that she was not one of his lordships conquests. She could only hope that Mr. Morosett would take her words for what they were; gratitude that he should be concerned and a strong desire not to discuss the subject any longer. Fortunately, he was as adept at conversational nuances as she had hoped. He dropped that particular subject, moving on to one that was equally disconcerting.

‘Have you found anything unusual happening at Kirkham Hall, Lady Durham?’

‘Unusual? In what way?’

He hesitated, apparently unsure how to proceed. ‘I was merely wondering. The Hall has quite the reputation, situated where it is. And of course it has been empty for so long. I believe that smugglers are very active in these waters. You have not been troubled by strange noises in the night?’

Camille schooled her face into incomprehension. ‘No, I have heard nothing. Really, Mr. Morosett, you alarm me. Is there reason for me to be concerned?’

‘Not at all, not at all,’ he said hastily. ‘I was merely wondering. The rumors that fly around a place like this. I have heard that the smuggling has been more prevalent than usual, but I did not mean to alarm you. No doubt they have found another place to store their ill gotten gains, now that they have learned that Kirkham is occupied once more.’

He shook his head slowly. ‘I think you misunderstand me, dear lady. I am merely warning you about Lord Tapscott because I have come to learn certain things about him and I am unwilling to see you become involved with a scoundrel.’

‘That is very kind of you, I’m sure.’

‘It is my pleasure, I can assure you. I would hate to see so lovely and vulnerable a lady be taken in.’

Then he began to speak of other things for the rest of the dance, polite conversation that was unexceptional in every way. Still, their little talk had left her feeling very thoughtful.

Afterwards, Camille made all haste to find her hostess and take her leave before she was waylaid again. She’d had a disturbing night and she wanted nothing more than to go home and have some quiet and a chance to think about it. The people, the curious conversations, and, most of all, Lord Lucius Tapscott. She was grateful that he was otherwise occupied as she made her way out the door. She did not care to speak to him again that night, not when she had already experienced one disturbing conversation with him.

Merry was waiting up for her, dozing in a chair by the fire in Camille’s bedroom, which the girl had kept up, taking the chill off the air. She smiled at her mistress sleepily.

‘Was it a nice party, then?’

‘There was a great deal of dancing and the people were pleasant.’ She could hardly discuss the other parts of the evening, the less comprehensible ones, with her maid no matter how much she might want to share them with another person in order to clarify things in her own head. Merry helped her to undress, shaking out the gown and hanging it up. She brushed out Camille’s thick hair then went off yawning to her own bed. Camille climbed beneath the covers, appreciative of the warming pan Merry had slipped between the sheets earlier. These small comforts made life so much more pleasant, she reflected, leaning back against the pillows.