Page 50

M arianne was right. The act of love was sublime. Camellia wished she could lie in Crispin’s arms forever, but practicalities intruded. First, their “bed” was too small, and they had to sit up or fall off. And second, they had been gone far too long for a simple viewing of the lake.

They rose and helped one another to straighten their clothing, a task they lingered over. Until Crispin halted abruptly and swore.

“What’s wrong?” Camellia asked.

“Your hair. I mean, it’s down. We left your bonnet and pins on the rock.”

She clapped a hand to her head, startled as if shaken from a dream. “We have to go back!”

They moved quickly. Crispin scrabbled up the rock, crawled over the surface, then swore again. He came down with a single hair pin. “The wind must have blown them away.” He cast his gaze about. “You don’t see them here on the ground, do you?”

“No. We won’t find them in the dark.”

“Don’t panic.” He smiled, not very reassuringly. “Everyone has gone to bed except three men who are likely to be ape-drunk by now. We can sneak in and not be seen.”

Sneak in. Now it all felt sordid. “All right. Hurry.” She would not feel safe from scandal until alone in her bedchamber.

They were to enjoy no leisurely stroll back up the path.

She nearly sprinted past the garden, Crispin on her heels.

Then he caught her arm. “This way. Back door.” He had that set look on his face.

That calm I-am-in-control look. “From there, you can go up the servants’ stairs.

One flight. When you exit the stairwell, go to the first door on your right.

That will be your guest chamber. No, wait.

” He shut his eyes and pursed his mouth, as though he were trying to see something on the back of his eyelids.

“The left. First door on your left. The right will be Mother’s. ”

A chill ran down her spine. “Are you sure ?” If she burst in on the dowager countess, disheveled as she was, her life would effectively be over.

“Yes, I’m sure. The left door.”

She was more frightened than ever she could remember. “What will you do?”

“I’ll join the men. If they intend to twit me over how long we were gone, better that they get it out of their systems tonight, before everyone gathers again.”

She felt sick. “Will they? Twit you?”

“I have no idea. But don’t worry. They are easily diverted. And hopefully, they are so bosky they won’t notice the time.”

His hand slid to the small of her back. He guided her to the rear door, then inside. They tiptoed to the kitchen. And stopped short.

Gerald was at the table, the silver spread before him. The room smelled of polish. Gerald turned. “Milord? What can—” His eyes widened, and he clamped his mouth shut. His expression went blank. Then he put his back to them and returned to his task.

Camellia heard Crispin sigh as he nudged her along to the stairwell. He whispered, “I’m going to raise that man’s wages.” He kissed her quickly, then indicated the stairs. “First door to the left.” He hurried away.

How had sublime become tawdry in the space of a few minutes?

And worse. What was she to do with the fact that she’d given Crispin not just her body, but her whole wounded heart?

*

Jasper and Hazard were drunk, all right. They were red-faced and roaring with laughter as Crispin entered the room. Benjamin, unfortunately, was merely smiling and a bit glassy-eyed. His rummer, on a side table, was full. Jasper and Haz had apparently never put theirs down.

“Ah, here he is. Settle our argument,” Jasper said, waving him in. “You are good at that.”

“All right.” He played along. “State your cases. Succinctly, if you can.”

“Haz believes you can be persuaded to stand for the Commons. As a Whig.”

“Not a Whig,” Haz protested. “He’s a Taverston. A Tory by blood. But he can be a backbencher, voting his conscience.”

“The devil!” Jasper laughed. “You and Alice will have his conscience voting Whig.”

“Not necessarily. We haven’t persuaded your conscience yet,” Hazard said, then drained his glass. Jasper paused his argument to refill it.

Crispin stepped into the breach. “If Jasper’s case is that I cannot be persuaded to join Parliament, I must award victory to him. I have no interest in politics.”

“So you say,” Hazard said. “But the war is definitively over this time. You’ve sold your commission. Your cottage is beautifully refurbished.”

“Haz’s case is ‘what is there for Crispin to do now?’ But I have the answer,” Jasper crowed. He was loud, brash, and amused. Crispin rolled his eyes.

Hazard blew a razz of derision. “And I am positive he will refuse.”

“Refuse what?” Crispin asked.

“Lord Sidmouth,” Jasper said. “He asked me to speak with you about a position in the Home Office. He needs a personal secretary—”

“Oh, good God, Jasper! No.” A wave of revulsion swept over him. “I’m not going to spy on my countrymen.”

Silence fell. Even Hazard looked shocked, and he had been the one certain Crispin would refuse.

“Not spy,” Jasper finally said.

Hazard said, “Sidmouth is an arse. He sees traitors to the Crown behind every bush. He thinks any man with a new idea is a provocateur. But he would not ask a gentleman to spy .”

“He would. And he has. And I’ve said no. If he presses you again to enlist me, Jasper, I would appreciate it if you will repeat for him my refusal. Word for word. I will not spy on my countrymen.”

Jasper set his rummer down. He looked sobered. “I will. I will tell him. I’m sorry, Crispin.”

“For?”

“For my naivete, I suppose. For pushing Sidmouth’s case. I envisioned you organizing his correspondence, or something equivalent.”

Still appearing shaken, Hazard said, “A filthy business. Spying. During peacetime, I mean.” He drew his gaze away from Crispin. “I understand the necessity in war.”

Benjamin cleared his throat. “Perhaps now is the time to tell them what you do have planned.”

Crispin nodded. The perfect time. It would divert attention from all other considerations. And there was no reason to keep it a secret. “I’m going to breed horses.”

Jasper’s brow wrinkled. “Where?”

“Here. Walk out to the new stables—”

“Benjamin, you knew this?” Jasper turned to frown at their brother-in-law. “Yet you let Haz and me argue like two bosky fools?”

“Yes. Because it was not my news to tell.” He leaned back. “I only knew because Crispin asked to purchase Winner. Olivia refused, of course, but said she would lend her for the purpose. As long as she gets first right of refusal for the foal.”

“Mercury and Second Place?” Jasper started to grin. “I will outbid her for that foal. Crispin, that is a superb idea. But beyond that pair, do you know what you are getting into? Horse breeding requires a substantial investment. And…and knowledge of the art.”

“Yes, I do know. But I have a ridiculously wealthy brother, who I can tap for a loan. And Olivia has suggested one of the hands in your stable to steal away to be head groom in mine. She says he knows horses.” He turned up his palms. “I intend to go slowly. To see how it goes first with Mercury and Winner. Besides, the worst thing that can happen is I am left with too large of a stable and too many horses.”

Hazard stepped around a chair to come clasp Crispin’s shoulder. “If Jasper balks, talk to my man of business. Or have Benjamin talk to him. If Olivia is involved in this, I can’t see any way for it to fail.”

“Thank you, Haz.” He grinned. “And yes, I intend to consult with Olivia.” And Camellia. He hadn’t thought of including carriage horses, but why not? “And you, Jasp. I’ve often wondered why you have not turned breeder yourself. Your stable is one of the finest.”

Jasper shrugged. “Too much work. I prefer to buy good horses rather than make them.”

Crispin looked around the room, then focused on the empty bottle and half-empty second. “There is no point in having a drink. I will never catch up. I’m going to bed.”

Goodnights were offered all around. Crispin escaped the room and made fast for the stairs. When he reached his chamber, he closed the door quietly, then leaned back against it with a sigh of relief. Tomorrow’s talk would be nothing but horses.

Yet as he straightened, his relief spiraled into regret. Camellia belonged here. With him. The devil . He wished they had been caught.

But no. If he were to propose under these conditions, she would assume he felt coerced. She would say no. He would be hurt. They would start the whole damn cycle again.

*

Camellia barely slept, so as soon as she heard enough movement in the hallway, she rose, dressed, and went down to the morning room. She had to face the day. Face the butler who’d seen them. Face Crispin without tumbling into his arms.

Crispin’s mother, the dowager, was at the table with Hannah in her lap. They were both sipping tea, though Hannah’s was so pale it had to have been watered down. The dowager was a dark-haired, regal-appearing woman, who hardly seemed old enough to be a grandmother.

“Good morning, Lady Bodwell.”

“Camellia. If you please, my lady.” A risk. The dowager carried herself with the dignity of her rank. Yet it would be awkward if everyone else called her by her given name and the dowager persisted in using a title that reminded Camellia of all her mistakes.

The lady smiled. “And I am Beatrice. My husband disapproved of such informalities, but I have to say, I find it refreshing.”

Hannah bounced in her lap. “Meela, I am Hannah.”

“Ah, no.” Beatrice repressed her smile. “ You must call her Lady Bodwell.”

“Why?”

“Because it is the polite thing for little girls.”

Hannah seemed to accept that. She didn’t argue. Camellia went to the sideboard, fragrant with warm bread, oranges, tea, and strong coffee. She poured herself a cup of tea, then returned to the table to sit.

“Did you enjoy the view of the lake?” Beatrice asked.

Camellia started. Then she managed a smile. “It’s beautiful.”