Page 49

He snorted. “Several. I knew you and Haz were coming.”

“I will have to bow out,” Reg said. “Georgiana and I are worn to the bone. We haven’t stopped moving since we left Cambridge.”

“Then I’ll bid half of you a goodnight.” Crispin’s gaze slipped to Camellia, then away. He took a chance. “Rather than watch Haz, Jasper, and Benjamin try to outdrink one another, I’m going to take a walk down to the lake.”

“It’s dark out,” Mother said, in a warning tone.

Crispin laughed. “Yes, Mother. I know how the sun works. But we have the moon and stars, and I can find my way to and from the lake with my eyes closed.” He made a show of surveying his guests, and let his attention rest upon Camellia.

“You’ve not been to this part of England before, have you?

Would you like to see the lake district’s most beautiful lake? ”

She started. Then quickly said, “I would.”

“Excellent.” Smiling too broadly, he stood and spoke to the nearest footman. “Have Gerald bring a couple bottles of brandy and a few glasses into the sitting room. Camellia?” He went to her and crooked his arm. “Shall we?”

When she put her hand on his arm, warmth spread through his body. He prayed no one else would express interest in a jaunt to the lake. And prayed, too, that they would ascribe his bordering-on-inappropriate-invitation-to-a-widow to exuberant delight in showing off his property.

He had a housemaid to fetch his coat and Camellia’s pelisse, then he swept her out the front door, down a path past a dormant garden, and into the woods. The sky was clear, and the moon was nearly full.

“I hope you don’t mind that I’ve come,” Camellia said.

“Mind?” He chuckled roughly. “What is the opposite of mind?”

“I’m Alice’s companion, you see, so they asked me—”

“They hired you?” He felt a flicker of irritation.

“I like to think of it as a stroke of good fortune. I don’t want to be a continual burden on the Stirlings.”

He grunted. She needed to work. And he wasn’t usually such a snob. “I feel responsible for your situation.”

“You shouldn’t. Nor should you pity me. Alice and Hazard treat me wonderfully. And watching Alice is an education.”

“I’m sure.” It was true that her circumstances could be worse. But she was a guest here, and would be treated as such. They entered the woods, and he tucked her arm more firmly against his side. “Watch for roots and sticks. The path is mostly cleared, but I keep finding surprises.”

“Haz said this was a summer escape for your family when you were young?”

“Yes. It was deeded to me. My father wanted us all to have something. Reg has a house in Bath that he lets out. Olivia has an eye-watering dowry. And I got this. Careful!” The descent to the lake was mostly gradual, but there were a few step-offs along the path, less of a risk for his long legs than they would be for hers.

She took an awkward step down, and they kept walking. “It’s lovely, from what I’ve seen. Does this mean you are forsaking London?” He caught a hint of concern in her tone.

“No. I’m keeping my set at Albany. For now, at any rate.”

She smiled at him, drawing his eyes to her lips. Which meant he stumbled over a root. She laughed. “Watch out. You don’t want to muddy your knees again. You’ll get a reputation for clumsiness.”

They proceeded more carefully until they emerged into a clearing at the edge of a large lake, its surface rippling lightly. Moonlight played across it like fire.

“Oh, Crispin.” She sounded awed.

A large rock protruded from the water at the shoreline. When they were younger, they used to dive from it into the ice-cold lake. Even Olivia. Nothing fazed her. But more recently, he came out here just to sit and think.

“Come up with me?” he asked, extending his hand. “It’s a bit of a climb, but there are toeholds.”

She squinted skeptically. He remembered her fear of heights. “If you fall, I’ll catch you.” When she laughed, he said, “You don’t have to if you don’t wish to.”

“No, I will.”

He helped her scramble up the back of the rock, then followed. They sat on the surface where it was flat. Unfortunately, there was a strong breeze blowing. Crispin placed himself where he could best serve as a wind block for her. “Tell me what you have been doing since leaving Tonbridge.”

“Following Alice about.” She gave him an overview of life as Alice’s companion. He had to admit, it sounded interesting. And Camellia did have more freedom to venture out with the excuse that she was being paid to accompany the viscountess. “And what have you been doing?” she asked.

“Fixing the house. It was sorely neglected while I was on the peninsula. A series of misunderstandings left it barely occupied. And while I kept saying I wanted to make it whole again—”

“Yes, I remember. You came down to see us in Tonbridge when you said you’d gone to London to buy furniture.”

He nodded. “My intentions were good, but I kept procrastinating. I suppose I was worried I couldn’t master the task. And if that were the case, I’d rather not know.”

“But you did.”

“Yes.” He listed a few of the things he’d seen to, then laughed. “You’ll see the house tomorrow. I don’t need to bore you with the details. It’s kept me busy.”

“And now that the renovations are finished?”

He hesitated, then said, “Ah, well, there is always more work to be done.”

“What kind of work?”

He gazed out over the lake. His plan might not even be feasible. Even so, he confided, “I’d like to try breeding horses.” He heard her intake of breath and faced her. “I think perhaps the notion might have come from you. You said your father bred horses?”

“Yorkshire Trotters. Carriage horses.” She smiled. “Horse breeding would suit you—all the planning and arranging.”

“Yes, I’ve had great success as a matchmaker.” When she snorted, he drew in a mock-offended breath. “It’s true!”

“Of course, it is. Do you know Hazard and Alice want you to stand for the Commons? They were plotting how to convince you the whole way here.”

He laughed hollowly. “Politics is Jasper’s realm. I learned very young not to tread in his footsteps. He casts too big a shadow.” God. He told this woman things he would never tell anyone else. “He is perfect , you see. You must agree.” If she denied it, he would know her for a liar.

She leaned closer. And kissed his cheek. Then she murmured, “Perfection is boring.”

He had hoped they would reach this point, though they had taken a circuitous route—by way of Jasper’s perfection.

Moreover, he’d envisioned himself initiating.

For once. Ha! With Camellia, he was never in control.

He turned toward her, put one arm around her to draw her still nearer, then plucked off her bonnet and slowly pulled the pins from her hair.

Like silk running through his fingers, it tumbled past her shoulders, soft and lustrous.

Then he tilted her chin upward and kissed her.

They kissed until they were both breathless.

In the back of his mind, these past several weeks, he’d been pondering his life.

What was the point of it? Renovating a home to rattle around in alone?

Scrutinizing every morsel he put in his mouth, just to live one more day scrutinizing every morsel?

Why? But now, he was embracing the woman he loved in the moonlight.

If one could have a moment like this, life was worth living.

“There is a boathouse.” His voice hitched. He didn’t know how to ask. Coaxing and compliments were beyond him. He pointed down the shoreline. “You can just make it out through the trees.”

“I see it.”

He cleared his throat. The boathouse had also been renovated. It was patched, painted, and spider-free. “There are cushions. In the boat. But we could take them out and put them on the ground.”

Her head turned. She stared at him, wide-eyed, yet did not ask the obvious question: why on earth would they?

He wanted to lie with her. That went without saying. He wanted to redeem himself for his previous failure. He wanted her to experience pleasure. With him. But his mouth was dry, and his palms were sweating, and he couldn’t say any of those things.

Instead, he said, “You won’t be trapped. There are no obligations.”

“If there is a child—”

“Then we marry, of course. But there won’t be. I—I have a French letter. It’s reliable. Do you trust me?”

She regarded him a long moment. Then she scrambled to her feet and held out her hand for him to take. “Yes.”

*

They walked hand in hand along the shoreline to the boathouse. They didn’t speak. Crispin imagined they were both afraid any words might break the spell.

He opened the door to the building, and left it propped open for light as he ushered her in. She stood along the wall next to the door, arms crossed over her chest, hugging herself as if cold. Or afraid.

He pulled the cushions from the rowboat and laid them together on the ground. In his mind’s eye, they had been longer and wider. In fact, they were too short to serve for a mattress and too narrow for two people to lay side-by-side. He stripped off his coat and spread it on top, then frowned.

“Maybe we shouldn’t.” The last thing he wanted was for her to have another miserable experience with him.

Camellia set her jaw, walked forward, and lowered herself to the cushions. He followed and sat beside her.

“If you want to stop, at any time, Camellia, tell me. If I do anything you don’t like, tell me to stop.”

She gave a shuddering sigh and nodded. “Please be quiet and kiss me.”

He did. Running through his brain were the maneuvers performed by the protagonist of the Amours , but he shunted those rather fantastical exploits aside, in favor of what seemed right for them.

Kissing her, he stroked her silken hair until her shivering calmed.

Then he removed her pelisse and loosened the layers beneath to glide his fingertips over her shoulders and breasts, as she had done with him.

She hmmmed appreciatively. When her breath quickened, he explored further, with his hands and his lips.

Slowly. Listening all the while for her response.

Sensitive to her movements, closer or away.

Trying to ignore his own arousal, even though that became increasingly difficult.

The book had mentioned, over and over, a woman’s bud of pleasure.

He had his doubts such a thing existed, until he trailed kisses down her body, between her thighs, and she suddenly arched her back and moaned his name.

He groaned in concert, wanting to take her right then.

But he continued what he’d been doing, in part because she pressed her hand to his head, making her wishes delightfully clear.

Her breath came in stuttering gasps. She cried out, and then went still.

He waited a moment, torn between triumph, relief, and desire, before kissing his way back up her body. “Camellia, my love, I want you.”

She nodded.

He unbuttoned his jacket and fumbled in his purse for the French letter. He had a moment of terror, thinking he might have taken it out and stored it somewhere, but thankfully found it. In too much of a hurry to undress, he simply dropped his trousers and smalls and pulled on his “armor.”

“Don’t let me hurt you,” he said.

“I won’t. You won’t.”

“Oh, lud.” He rolled on top of her. “I love you, Camellia. You can’t know how desperately I do.”