But those hands did not tremble. No golden drop threatened to overspill the rim of the crystal cup. No, he did not think he had not misjudged her desires entirely.
Long before anyone could notice anything unusual about her behavior, she was herself again, walking toward her cousin with firmness of purpose that would cause a lesser man—or perhaps a better man—to quail.
“Lord Ashborough wishes me to return you to your mama,” she said to Felicity, her voice prim and only slightly higher pitched than usual. “We should go, before the music resumes.”
“Oh, yes, of course,” Felicity agreed, separating herself from a cluster of young women, including the unfortunate harpist. “I will wish you a good evening, Lord Ash,” she said as she curtsied. “I hope the rest of it proves enjoyable.”
“You are too kind, ma’am. It would be unforgiveable in me to hope for more pleasure than I have already received,” he said, bowing first to her and then to Camellia. Unforgiveable—nevertheless, more pleasure was precisely what he sought. “Lady Felicity. Miss Burke. Till we meet again.”
Camellia’s curtsy seemed slightly unsteady, and her lips were parted, as they had been earlier, weighing her words. Her tongue peeked out and swiped at their fullness, as though her mouth had suddenly gone dry. Apparently forgetting that the beverage she carried was intended for her aunt, she took a careful sip before finally and simply saying, “My lord.” Then she linked her arm with her cousin’s and walked back to Lady Merrick.
He watched them go from a spot near the entryway. Two young women he did not recognize, obviously sisters, rose and walked to the front of the room. The elder one seated herself at the pianoforte while the other readied her voice. Her preparatory scale ascended in a haphazard fashion that did not bode well for the performance. Still, Gabriel turned to leave with reluctance as other guests began to return to their seats. As he scanned the faces around him for some sign of Lady Penhurst—who, he suspected, would protest his departure; the woman did so love a scandal—his eye caught a movement farther off. A dark-haired woman slipping through one of the doors at the back, probably looking for the ladies’ retiring room. Nothing remarkable in that.
Nevertheless, his pulse ticked upward at the sight.
Before the footman could open the door and show him out, Gabriel bid a hasty retreat, following Camellia.
Chapter 9
Cami listened, unmoving, to the slow tap of his footsteps as he crossed the empty gallery and came to stand behind her. It was hardly a sneak attack. This was what she had planned, what she had hoped for, was it not? But at the sound of his voice, she jumped nonetheless.
“You came.”
Was it her imagination, or did disappointment edge his words?
Cami wished now that she had turned around before he had reached her, stepped away from the deep window alcove where she had taken shelter. She needed to see his face, to read the expression in his eyes. Raising her gaze to the glass, she sought their reflection instead. But the window was just a window, no mirrored portal into his mind. The gallery behind them was too dark, clearly not intended to be among the public spaces for this evening’s entertainment. And the last violet light of day still illumined the garden before them. Topiaries cast eerie, jagged shadows along the gravel paths.
“Why?” he whispered when she did not speak.
Because you asked me to.
Caught off guard by her own unspoken confession, she flinched again. Could that be the reason? Was everything she had ever said about independence, self-determination, autonomy, a lie? Had she been waiting all her life for a man merely to ask?
No. She most certainly had not.
Forcing herself to stand a bit taller, she spun on one foot to face him and found him standing so close it was an effort not to touch him.
“Because I wanted to.”
His eyes flickered over her face, searching. “I felt certain you would prove too wise to do such a foolish thing.”
“Was it foolish, then?” The words were a whisper on her lips.
Another sweeping glance along the ribbon at her throat; she could have sworn she felt the heat of that look like a touch. “Very.”
She fought to keep from cutting her gaze away. “Yes, well…” Speaking was an effort. “My brother Paris delights in telling me I am too smart for my own good.” The smile that rose to her lips at the memory was genuine, if weak. “But no one has ever accused me of being too wise.” His answering expression, a sort of half smile that mirrored her own, did nothing to settle her jangling nerves. “I came because I wish to speak with you about Lady Felicity,” she said finally. “She does not wish to marry you.”
The revelation did not seem to surprise him. “She will be a marchioness,” he reminded her. “Fine clothes, beautiful homes, jewels to make the queen herself envious. Society would say that a dowerless girl should account herself fortunate.”
“Ah, yes.” Cami nodded again, growing braver. “But Society is not being asked to make a devil’s bargain.”
At that, a soft laugh tinged with bitterness parted his lips. “So you met me here to plead on her behalf.”
Her head began to bob of its own volition. But she would not lie….
Not even to herself.
Oh, she had set out this evening with a plan in mind, a plan to help Felicity. But somewhere along the way, on the long journey from her writing table to where she stood now, she had been forced to admit she was doing this for herself. Because he wanted her, and his desire gave her a new, heady power that flushed through her veins and left her trembling. Because he was sardonic and rakish and forbidden…and she wanted him, just the same.
His head tilted to the side as he studied her expression. Cami feared her face
