The Rake Revealed (7 page)

‘In a different light,’ he murmured.

‘Yes. That is it. In a different light.’ They walked on in silence for a moment before she brushed off her introspection. It was strange to be speaking so freely to this man, but there was something about him that was oddly restful and encouraged confidences. Perhaps it was because he did not stand on formality and it encouraged her to relax more than she usually might and speak freely. No wonder the ladies all found him so enchanting. Looks, charm, and the ability to listen with a sympathetic ear. He must have to beat susceptible females away with a cudgel. She shot him a sideways glance. ‘I suppose if you knew Ned, you must have visited Kirkham Hall frequently?’

‘Well, I felt I could hardly use the front door, under the circumstances.’ He made it sound so reasonable, as if sneaking in through a cellar door instead of walking in through the front door was perfectly natural. Although, for his lordship, perhaps it was.

‘I am curious about that entry though. I am assuming there is a secret entrance through the cellar? From the tunnels the smugglers used. The knowledge does not make me feel particularly secure.’

‘I couldn’t possibly say what the tunnels were used for, but they are certainly there,’ his lordship said virtuously. ‘Ned showed them to me some years ago.’

‘
Je comprends
.’ They walked on a little further. ‘Archeology seems an odd choice for a rake.’

Tapscott looked at her quizzically. ‘Oh now, a rake? Surely not, my lady. Somebody has been spreading the most dreadful innuendo about me.’

‘There was no innuendo involved.’ Camille returned placidly. ‘You are a well-known rake. It has been told to me in the most unambiguous terms. Although, I would have thought that the opportunity to… ah, would you say “ply your trade” would be the correct way to put it?’

‘No, I would not!’

‘No? Anyway, I would have thought that this little piece of Kent would not have given you much in the way of
affaires
. Surely London would be a more suitable place to follow your inclinations.’

For the first time, he actually
sounded
like a rake, a world-weary man who found life, and the path he negotiated through it, tiresome. Camille gave a gurgle of laughter. ‘Very good!’

Predictably, his mouth curved in a smile. ‘French ladies are
very
forward. I find your suggestions quite shocking.’

‘Oh, I do not think you do. Not really. Besides, it was you who told me I should act as I wished. I have decided to adopt a blunt and honest approach to conversational matters. It will make me unpopular at first, until they grow used to me, but after a time they will accept it.’

Tapscott paused and she stopped walking as well, half turning towards him. He tilted his head, regarding her thoughtfully. ‘I don’t know. You
are
dreadfully pretty and quite deliciously French, but the English are so stuffy about bluntness unless they are the ones that are uttering it. Then, of course, it is perfectly acceptable.’ He had put his hands on her shoulders, ostensibly so that he could view her upturned face better, but there was an intimacy in the gesture that made her grow suddenly still. He was very close, closer than most men had ever stood, with the exception of her husband and her father. So close that she could breathe him in. Camille discovered that she liked the scent of him. This man did not use perfume in his toilette and he smelt pleasantly male.

When he made no move to release her, merely staring down at her face, she took herself in hand and took a step back, pulling free of his hands. It was better than doing what she suddenly had a mind to; namely reach up a hand and touch his face. Or, even more disturbingly, stand on her tiptoes and press her lips to his. There was eccentric and there was shameless and both of these things undoubtedly fell into the later category.

‘Do not flirt with me,’ she was alarmed to hear how breathless she sounded, ‘for I am not the kind of woman that indulges herself with such things.’

For a moment longer he stared at her, his expression transfixed. After a moment, he seemed to shake himself out of it and the smile returned although this time, it was a little strained. ‘Forgive me for contradicting you, but all ladies were designed for such things. It is one of the most delightful things about them. That and their ability to forgive a man all manner of nonsense.’ The words were flippant, but there was an undertone that told a different story. Abruptly, Camille turned and began to walk again and he fell into step beside her once more. There was silence for a time. Unsurprisingly, it was his lordship that broke it.

‘So how do you plan on filling in your days as the new lady at Kirkham Hall?’

Camille welcomed the shift in topic. ‘I am not sure. I would like to find a decent mount and ride. It has been a long time since I was able to enjoy myself in such a way. Apart from that, well, I suppose that people call on each other. I will probably have to entertain occasionally, if only to return the hospitality of others.’

There must have been something in her tone for he gave a soft laugh. ‘Is it so unappealing, then?’

‘No. Oh no, I did not mean to make it sound so,’ she sighed. ‘It is just this is all so
inconnu,
so different, you understand? The people, they are very nice. Very kind. It will just take me a little while to adjust. How long do you intend to remain as Mr. Morosett’s guest,’ she added curiously. Apparently his lordship had been in the area for a little over two weeks, a long stay for a man who admitted he only had acquaintances in the area. Although, if he had visited Ned, perhaps that wasn’t entirely true. She was increasingly bewildered as to what his lordship was about. Bewildered and curious. Mr. Morosett, his own host, obviously did not know him particularly well and had appeared far from enthusiastic about Lord Tapscott’s continuing presence. What was the man about?

‘So it seems.’ There was no doubt in Camille’s mind that he had a different agenda to the one he was telling her. She suspected it might very well be smuggling. He would not be the first young noble to try his hand at it, although why he seemed so set on staying with Morosett was beyond her understanding. It was unlikely that his lordship would tell her the real reason, however. ‘I meant to ask, is your shoulder healing?’

‘I should look at it to be sure.’ Stiffness was often the case and usually meant nothing, but she would know quickly enough just by looking at it if the wound was inflamed. ‘For I do not think you will ask a doctor.’

‘There is no need for a doctor, but you are welcome to take a look.’

So it was that when they reached the Hall, she led him into one of the smaller parlors and shut the door. ‘Take your jacket off, if you please.’

Lord Tapscott did as he was told, shedding his coat and laying it across a chair. ‘You are most kind, looking after my wellbeing like this.’ He sounded amused.

Camille gave him a severe look. ‘You should have had it looked at before now.
You
are most foolish, not taking the proper care of yourself. Please undo your shirt.’

‘Only when other, far more charming individuals are concerned for it,’ he returned promptly. He had removed his neckcloth and had freed his left shoulder, pulling the material back. She took a step towards him, then paused. Of course she had seen his lordship in such a state before, but then, he had been in shock, wounded, and in need of care. And even then she had found him physically appealing. Now, with his strength well and truly restored, he was a force to be reckoned with.

Just focus on the task at hand
, she told herself severely.
You are merely ensuring that infection has not set in.

Schooling her face into a carefully noncommittal expression, she moved forward and gently pushed the fine lawn of his shirt back from the wound. That golden skin showed no sign of redness or unhealthy swelling. Indeed, the only color was a healthy pink where the skin was knitting back together, puckering in a satisfactory way around the scar that would ultimately be left there. The skin beneath her fingertips felt smooth and warm and she wanted to run a hand across his chest, just to feel the fine delineation of the muscles there, feel them shift beneath her hand. She drew it back abruptly.

‘It looks very good.’

‘Yes,’ he murmured. ‘It really does.’

Camille looked up sharply and saw something in his eyes, a flash of naked hunger that was as unexpected as it was exciting. She would have thought, with all of his banter, that his emotions would have been equally placid, but there was no mistaking the desire in his eyes.

‘
Monsieur
,’ she said, a little uncertain. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to say.

‘
Madam
,’ he replied softly, reaching out to capture her hand and pull her closer. She meant to resist him, truly she did. She meant to tell him to put his clothing back on and to leave. She had things to do. She did not have time to dally with the likes of him.

She meant to say all manner of things, but the pull of the man was irresistible and somehow they were close together, so close that the warmth radiating off the naked skin of his chest brushed against her own, drawing a flutter of excited anticipation from her. Their bodies did not touch, not yet, but stood so close that it was as if they
were
touching, absorbing each others warmth and sending good sense skittering.

‘Lord Tapscott,’ she began again, needing to put a stop to whatever was happening. At least, a part of her wanted to put a stop to it. The rest of her wanted to surrender with an urgency that was alarming. Give in to the pull of those lips, surrender to the heat in those eyes. A part of her said no, but another, far more insistent part was demanding to know why she was not already in his arms.

And then she was.

His kiss was everything she had ever anticipated and yet had never suspected, a perfect fusion of fiery sensuality. His mouth, warm and insistent, saw her melt against him, flowing through him as he explored the softness of her lips, hands reaching out to hold her fast. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to respond, to kiss him back, opening her mouth to receive his tongue, heart leaping upwards with a kind of fierce, untrammeled joy that set her entire body on fire.

A hand crept up, fingers sliding through the thick, dark hair at the nape of his neck, curving beneath its warmth. Desire pulsed through Camille in slow, solemn beats and she pressed herself against his body, a part of her registering the lean, hard strength of him, although, in truth, she was so consumed by the unexpected fervor of her need and the blind, relentless hunger for more, that thought had become instinctive.

Something within her recognized that this man had the power to take her beyond herself, into the unknown. It would be a wild and wonderful place and she could lose herself there for an eternity, every moment of which would be filled with the most incredible discoveries.

It wasn’t until his lordship finally ended the kiss that her sense of time and place slowly began to take shape once more. The room, the man, and the situation, everything rushed back with a snap that saw her put her hands on his chest – that glorious, golden chest – and push herself away with all the desperation of somebody who was deeply mortified.

‘
Non
!’

She half stumbled backwards, heart beating hard, hand reaching up to cover her mouth as if she could conceal its traitorous behavior. It was small comfort that Lord Tapscott was looking stunned, blue eyes glazed, breathe coming fast.

‘Lady Durham...’

Camille’s hand shot out, stopping him. She did not want to hear what he had to say. What could he say about a kiss like that? She may be French. She may even be a woman who had seen something of the world, but the kiss they had just shared had not been a trivial thing and she did not want to deal with whatever flippant nonsense he might put it down to. If he did not speak of it, she might pretend that it had been nothing, although within herself she knew that was a lie. That kiss had
not
been nothing, but when her pounding heart had quietened, her lips stopped tingling, and the slow, heavy throb that continued to hammer within her, as solemn and steady as a drum beat, had died away, perhaps then she could convince herself.

‘I think you should leave now.’

‘No,’ he paused, apparently collecting himself. ‘I did not mean to kiss you like that.’