The Rake Revealed (13 page)

She tried to think about why Mr. Morosett had taken it upon himself to warn her against Lord Tapscott and question her about unusual occurrences in the house. What had he been after? There had been something a little intense about his manner that she had certainly never seen before. It had quite overset his usual air of faintly satirical hauteur.

And as for Lord Tapscott. He was a shameless flirt, there was no doubt about it. If only they had not shared that one kiss she could have laughed off his soft, suggestive words, but unfortunately she had responded to him with all the ardor she pretended she did not feel. What was he
really
about? That conversation on the terrace with Mr. Morosett? It was all so strange.

She drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Six

Camille awoke with a start, just as she had so many nights since she arrived, convinced that something had happened. Something had woken her. She knew she could not have been asleep for very long for the fire still danced in the grate, throwing its flickering light over the room.

Had a noise really woken her?
A soft knock on the door made her heart leap like a startled deer and she sat up abruptly. It had to be Merry or Mrs. Hibbert. Didn’t it?

‘Come in?’

The door opened and a dark head appeared. A familiar dark head.

Lord Tapscott gave her a melting smile while Camille contemplated whether or not she should start to scream. She drew in a breath, willing her racing heart to slow down, ‘What are
you
doing here!’

‘I wanted to talk to you. Ah… may I come in?’

May he come
in
? Into a lady’s bedchamber in the middle of the night? A lady who was on her own, in her nightgown? Camille hesitated for a long moment, then sighed. ‘Very well. If you tell me how you got in. I am sure it was by one of the many secret passageways that are about the place.’

‘You won’t,’ she said sweetly. ‘That is the point. You do realize this is hardly appropriate, do you not? Do you always go around sneaking into…’ At his wicked smile she bit her lip. That was probably exactly what he did; he would hardly be considered a rake otherwise. ‘Why are you here?’ she demanded crossly.

‘I wished to talk to you and it was difficult at Lady Fallston’s delightful gathering. May I sit?’

She gave a half shrug, watching as he picked up a chair and placed it by the bed. In the single light of the candle he looked devilishly good-looking, the last man any sensible woman would want in her bedchamber. ‘May I ask how many secret passageways lead into this house? I am beginning to feel as if I live on a public highway.’

‘Why? Do you get many late night visitors?’

‘Only you, that I know of, but I am certain I do not know everything.’

He grinned. ‘There are caves that lead in from the shoreline below. They were used extensively by free traders some years ago. Not that your husband engaged in the trade, but I believe his father was very enthusiastic about French brandy. This place has quite the reputation in the smuggling trade.’

‘How delightful for me. I will have to ensure that the cellars are kept in good repair so that the gentlemen using them do not think the less of my housekeeping.’ It was disconcerting, having him here while she was in bed. Dressed in a nightgown and with her hair loose. His eyes had strayed over the unbound mass several times. He had changed out of his earlier finery and was very casually dressed in dark clothing. With no neckcloth in place, only a carelessly knotted kerchief, he looked quite reckless and her bedchamber was no place for a reckless gentleman. She hurried on, determine to find out what he wanted and eject him as soon as possible. ‘Are these ruffians currently using my house to store their illegal contraband?’

‘I believe so, my lady. It’s very convenient for them, you see, and they see no reason why they should not continue the arrangement, as long as it does not impact on you.’

‘Meaning they will not come and take tea in my drawing room, I suppose.
Comment incroyables
. I suppose I should be grateful. In time, I will find every secret passage in this place and have them closed for good.’

He looked hurt. ‘But I do so
enjoy
our little visits.’

Camille gave him a look. ‘What did you want to talk about that could not wait for a morning call?’

‘Mr. Morosett.’

She raised an eyebrow. Really, there was a lot of this going about. First Mr. Morosett and now Lord Tapscott. ‘Yes? What about him?’

Tapscott leaned back. He looked remarkably at home, Camille reflected, as if he dropped in like this every night. She was terribly conscious of how she must look. Yes, the covers were pulled up high and she was sitting up, propped against the pillows. Very little of her cream nightgown could be seen, which was a blessing. French nightgowns were a little more tantalizing than English ones and hers was a delightful concoction of lace and silk. If she had known she would have a visitor, she would have chosen one of the oh-so-sensible lawn ones that concealed far more than they revealed. Lord Tapscott was hardly the kind of man a female liked to feel at a disadvantage around.

‘I saw him talking to you tonight. He looked very earnest. What did he have to say?’

‘Why would I tell you that,’ Camille demanded. ‘It was a private conversation.’

He frowned, clearly unhappy with her answer, but she was not inclined to humor him, not when he would tell her nothing of his own affairs. His lordship paused for a moment, clearly putting his thoughts into some kind of order. ‘My lady, am I right in assuming, and forgive me if I phrase this badly, that you are no sympathizer with Bonaparte?’

‘Sympathizer?’ she narrowed her green eyes at him. ‘Do you joke with me? You must know my feelings for that… that
cochon méchant
!’

He tilted his head, considering her. ‘Do you know, when you are angry, your accent becomes a great deal more marked? It is charming, I assure you.’

Camille rolled her eyes. ‘It will become a great deal more marked, then for you are a very annoying man, Lord Tapscott.’

‘I have often been told as much. I had hoped it was just nothing more than a misunderstanding on the part of others. I swear, many say quite the opposite and that I am entirely charming.’

Camille stared at him, trying to make sense of things. Lord Tapscott, who was by all accounts a feckless wastrel who spent his waking hours pursuing ill advised liaisons with all manner of ladies, seemed to spend a great deal of the time doing very un-wastrel-like things. ‘Do you work for the government, Lord Tapscott?’

His lordship looked pained. ‘My dear lady! Do l
look
like I work for the government?’

‘You do not look like you work at all.’ Camille assured him. ‘You appear to be an idle reprobate who amuses himself in a variety of unsavory ways, but the more I learn of you, the less inclined I am to believe it. Why is it that you think Mr. Morosett is aligned to Bonaparte? He hardly seems like the kind of man who would be in sympathy with the ideals of the revolution.’ Until that night, he’d struck Camille as more the kind of man who would only have sympathy for himself. Could such a man, who appeared to care more for the attentions of his tailor more than the wearisome goings on in Europe, really be a supporter of the new regime?

‘I daresay he doesn’t give a toss who is in power. No, what men like Morosett care for is money and there is money to be had in the import/export business that has sprung up. Selling information, arranging to bring certain people into England.’

Camille was startled. ‘If you think that, why have you not arrested this
canard
?’

Tapscott shook his head, suddenly looking more serious than she had so far seen him. ‘Because there is no proof. Morosett may be many things, but he is no fool. He is meticulous and careful, using others whenever he can, ensuring that a trail never returns to himself. And he is onto me.’

‘If you mean that he thinks you are something other than a rake, then you are probably right, but even I did not believe
that
.’

‘I am touched.’

‘Not that I am not prepared to believe that you are a very wicked man,’ she added, moving forward relentlessly. ‘It is shameful, the way you have made so many poor females believe themselves in love with you.’

‘I...,’ she paused, trying to think. Trying to form the words that would diffuse whatever it was that had ignited. It was odd how the atmosphere in a room could change so swiftly. One moment they were talking and all was as it should be, the next, everything seemed suddenly fraught. Perhaps it was the look in his eyes. Even in the firelight those blue eyes sparked heat, searing her skin.

Camille knew instinctively that the change was dangerous. She wracked her brain, trying to think of something that would defuse an atmosphere that was suddenly charged with tension, but her brain refused to cooperate. She was warmed through by the fire in his eyes and all she could truly focus on was his mouth.

He moved suddenly, as if he could no longer tolerate the distance that separated them, sitting on the edge of the bed and reaching for her, hands sliding behind her back to pull her against him. As his mouth searched for her own and blindly, she sought his in return, fastening on it hungrily when their lips brushed together, finding each other. As it was the first time they had kissed, she responded to him with all the eagerness she had been denying, to herself as much as him, reveling in the warmth of his hands against her back, the hardness of his chest as it pushed against her own. Her body ached for him, breasts full and tingling, stomach a tight knot of longing that only his touch could untangle. The bruising intensity of his mouth should have frightened her, but instead it aroused a similar ferocity and she welcomed the urgency, the warm rush of his tongue into her mouth, possessive and demanding. The thin material of her gown was no barrier and her nipples had tightened into hard buds of desire, a button on his jacket scraping against one sensitive tip, intensely arousing.

He released her bruised mouth, but did not release her, one hand coming up to press beneath her jaw line, tilting her head back so he could trail a line of hot, sweet kisses down the column of her neck. Dazedly, Camille heard a low noise and realized that she was moaning softly, on fire for him, desperate for more. His mouth continued its wicked, teasing journey, running along her collar bone, pushing the material of her gown over as he went so that it slid down her shoulder. When his hand moved down to cup her breast she gasped as something inside her quickened, anticipating what came next. When the nail of his thumb scraped gently across the tip, a small explosion pulsed from the warm, wet place between her legs and she sucked in a sharp breath, knowing that what came next would be so much more.

This was how it could be between a man and a woman.

Between a man and a woman who shared enough elemental magic to make the rest of the world disappear completely.

Everywhere his lips touched left a trail of heat, like an invisible brand, claiming more of her body as it moved. He could, she realized wonderingly, continue on until each and every part of her surrendered itself to him, helpless to resist and willing to take everything he could give her. She was ready for him, her body hovering on the edge of something wonderful, waiting for him to do what she knew he must to make this perfect. To give them both the completion they both so desperately craved.

He could have everything and anything. In this moment she was utterly his.

So when he thrust her away, pushing her back against the pillows and rising to his feet, Camille was surprised. More than surprised, she felt utterly bereft. She stared up at him, bewildered.

‘
Que faites-vous
?’

He looked… tormented. For a long moment he merely stared down at her, the naked desire on his face taking her breath away. Then, incredibly, he turned away and started moving. Camille watched incredulously as, without a word, Lord Tapscott left the room, closing the door behind him with a finality that left no doubt in her mind that he was really gone.

She stared at the door for long, long moments before slowly sliding down beneath the covers once more.

It seemed that she was destined to spend the night alone, after all.

With her body full of desire for a man who had, inexplicably, abandoned her and her head full of so many conflicted thoughts that it felt as if it might explode, it was hardly any wonder that sleep eluded her for a very long time.