Chapter Four
‘Now, now, Lady Claudia, slow down a bit!’
Mr Campbell was jogging good-humouredly after her.
‘Oh, you again?’ She was all hot, her heart was thumping. ‘Are you planning to put anything else in your mouth?’
His eyes flashed with amusement.
‘Now, darling, that’s not a very saintly thing to say.’
‘I’m not a saint,’ she said through gritted teeth.
‘Never thought you would be. Not since I broke your cousin’s nose, at least.’
‘What has that got to do with anything?’
He touched her arm lightly to force her to slow down, then he offered her his arm. She hesitated. But she could not resist, and she accepted it. His biceps was deliciously bulky and warm through the fine fabric of his jacket. Touching him felt…good. A little too good.
‘Don’t you remember what you did when I broke your cousin’s nose?’
‘No, Mr Campbell. Remind me.’
‘His blood began spilling on the floor. There was this otherworldly silence. And while everyone looked on in horror and Caiani guffawed…I heard you too laugh. Wise, pure, angelic Lady Claudia laughed .’
Oh, yes, she thought she had hidden it well, but she had laughed. Because she had been furious that Montgrove dared shriek and oppose a marriage between two people who madly loved each other. Two people who wanted to build something safe and loving together, while elsewhere in her world there were only broken families and violence. Oh, Montgrove had deserved that punch! Her only regret was that she had not dared to punch him first. Her lips tensed in a savage smile.
‘It gives you pleasure,’ came Mr Campbell’s surprised whisper, rolling the s of that “pleasure” in sinuous breathlessness. He was looking at her so closely that he was almost squinting. He was learning about her. Filing that knowledge away.
‘What did I tell you?’ She turned away. ‘Not an angel.’
‘I would be disappointed if you were.’ He shrugged. ‘That would make you terribly uninteresting.’
‘With all due respect, Mr Campbell, I don’t need your interest. I just need you to inventory those artefacts, and quickly too. I must travel back to England as soon as possible.’
‘Oh. And why is that?’
‘Because—’
She saw him right across the piazza.
Dark and ghoulish, a stain on that gloriously sunny day.
Her entrails twisted, bringing her on the verge of nausea.
Edward .
‘Lady Claudia?’
Her body contracted and cramped. Pain spread from her forehead to the tips of her toes. She gasped for air.
Mr Campbell looked at her cautiously, like a hound sniffing the wind. His eyes had narrowed so much that one would have thought he was trying to decipher a message scrawled over her face.
‘I hope I haven’t upset you, darling? I was just teasing you a bit.’
‘I am fine.’ She tried to smile politely, but the corners of her mouth trembled, and she could not sustain it.
‘A lie, obviously.’
‘So what?’ She snapped, and instead of the horror she saw on other people’s faces when she did something that did not conform to their vision of her, he smirked with satisfaction.
But Edward saw them.
He began walking towards them, fast.
‘Mr Campbell, I need to go—’ she backed up, stumbling, and she strode back into the street they had come from. Mr Campbell followed her trotting like a slim, elegant greyhound.
‘The gentleman over there? Is that who you were running away from at the ball too?’
‘I need to go. Please. ’ She turned into a side street. ‘I must not meet him.’
Mr Campbell turned.
‘He is following us, darling.’
She gritted her teeth and strode on. They took another street, then another. A dead end. It was too late to go back. They walked until the very end, where the alley ended in a fountain with a large basin. Within seconds, Edward would appear at the other end.
‘There is no way out—there is no way out—’
Mr Campbell looked around, and all of a sudden his cautious air melted like a mask, revealing a devil that had been lurking behind it all along.
‘I have an idea.’ And somehow, she had a sense that she was not going to like it. ‘Here’s what we are going to do, Lady Claudia.’ Mr Campbell closed the distance between them to whisper in her ear, his cologne invading her senses like an enchantment. ‘How about we make him understand that he arrived at a most inopportune moment? That he is interrupting something , so to say.’
‘You can’t possibly mean…’
His lips distended into a malevolent smile.
‘Oh, yes, that’s exactly what I mean.’
‘We can’t—’
He looked at her mockingly, pitying her for resisting him. And there it was again, incongruous, impossible in a moment like this, but there nonetheless—the spell he had conjured at the Antiquarians’ Club. The spell that made everything else disappear.
‘You are insane,’ she said breathlessly, but her eyes were already all over his face, her body anticipated his touch. His eyes flitted behind her head.
‘Perhaps I am. But within a moment your gentleman will turn into the alley, so if you have a better idea—’
‘Fine.’ Her blood pulsated in her ears. ‘But it means nothing, yes?’
‘Of course.’ He was patently mocking her. ‘Nothing at all. You are my employer’s daughter, remember? I have everything to lose.’
He leaned with his back against a facade and held his hand out to her, an explicit challenge in his blue eyes. She took his hand gently and something crackled as their fingers touched.
That was it.
She had made a pact with the devil. That crackle was her soul flowing from her body to his. She sought his eyes. They had widened a little with surprise.
And he was blushing .
Mr Campbell, the rake, regular fixture on the Gazette Internationale , was blushing! For a fraction of an instant, she caught sight of something incomprehensible. Something pure and almost boyish to him.
Then he wrapped his hand around hers, warm and feather-light, his fingers barely fluttering against her wrist. He pulled her closer, carefully, without releasing her gaze. She tentatively rested her hand on his shoulder. He did not move an inch and yet there was a whole movement to his body, as though some part of him was trying to defend himself.
He doesn’t want to be touched!
‘Oh.’ She released his shoulder and withdrew promptly. ‘You don’t want this.’
‘I’m sorry.’ He smiled a little nervously. ‘It’s just a habit. It means nothing. Come closer.’
He took a deep breath.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Very sure.’
She stepped a little closer and this time she placed her hands on his chest. The heat of his toned, lean muscles radiated through the fine fabric of a ridiculously expensive shirt. Without it, he must look like the young Mercury above the doorway of the Antiquarians’ Club. Slim but muscular, exquisitely built. How many hearts could a man break with a body like his?
His eyes searched hers, and for but an instant they were void of any malice, of any trickery. A mask had peeled off his face. His eyes were warm as he brushed the back of his fingers against her cheekbone, tenderly.
Who are you really, Mr Campbell?
He raked a hand through his hair nervously.
‘God—up close like this—you are…you are pretty as a picture, Lady Claudia.’
It was all absurd. That Mr Campbell was blushing. That she was in his arms. That Edward must be a few steps away, and that she refused to look back.
‘Do I make you nervous?’ She asked softly.
He scoffed.
‘Don’t flatter yourself.’
‘Can you see the gentleman?’
‘He’s about fifty steps away. He stopped.’ His voice was still crisp, but there was a little hoarse note to it now. ‘He seems uncertain. I think we should make it very clear that we don’t want him here.’
‘Mr Campbell, I can’t…’
‘You very much can , darling.’ He smiled at her unguardedly, and this unguarded smile was more dazzling than any devilish smile he had ever regaled her with. It lit up the whole street. ‘I am all yours for a few moments. Make them count, won’t you? I know you are not indifferent to me.’
Her lower belly gently contracted with a spasm of longing.
‘You heard me, darling.’ His hands came to rest gently on her waist, and his voice was pleading now. ‘Make them count.’
It was more than she could resist. A pulsating need was growing within her. She tilted her head a little and brushed her lips against his jaw, barely touching him. He was clean-shaven—she just about noticed the light roughness of a stubble. He smelled of soap and freshly washed linen.
So good…
She brushed her lips against his chin. Then her lips trailed down to the delicate flesh of his neck, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. The pulsating need between her thighs became more persistent, more demanding. To her utter astonishment, her knees began to tremble.
What the—
He must have sensed it because he supported her with an arm around her waist, firmly now. She kissed the soft skin under his chin, enthralled. He tilted his head back with a sigh.
‘Mmm. Like this darling,’ he whispered breathlessly. ‘Nice and gentle.’
And she saw that obscene image again. Him, tilting back that blond head of his, her lips softly wrapped around the tip of his member, his hands in her hair. And him urging her on breathlessly.
Like this, darling. Nice and gentle.
Nice and gentle.
Her need dripped uncomfortably down her thigh.
***
How had he screwed up so badly already? He had just wanted to ingratiate himself with her by assisting her. Fine, the particular solution he had suggested had not been the most innocent and by far not the most selfless, but he had half expected her to refuse, or to maintain her glacial composure also in his arms.
Instead, she had turned out to be the loveliest, softest, most scented, most delightful thing he had ever held in his hands, and his brain had turned to mush. And it had not even been seeing her so close, all pinks and gold and florid breasts. It had been the instant she had sensed him recoil and had immediately withdrawn. He hated when wealthy aristocrats tried to touch him, because they thought their status gave them the right to do what they pleased with him. Sometimes it could not be avoided, they touched his hair and his face and they wanted more. And he loathed himself, that he would allow them near him because he needed what they owned more than he respected himself. But Lady Claudia had sensed his discomfort. There was something breathtaking about feeling seen .
Of course, it had just been an instinctive response. He had craved to touch her. And feeling her soft lips exploring his neck was turning him to jelly. Except for a very specific part of him, which was why he was holding her waist to keep at least some distance between their bodies. The last thing he needed was for her to find out in what state she had just put him.
She trailed soft kisses on his neck, making him ache with a sweet agony. Then she gently undid his cravat and pressed her lips on the delicate flesh where his neck met his shirt. This was getting out of hand. He should push her away, but oh, did it feel good. Another treat all to himself, just like the kiss in the carriage. A broken sigh escaped his lips.
‘Are we still pretending, Mr Campbell?’ An ironic smile flitted across her eyes.
She was laughing at him! She was getting back at him for that night in the carriage, and for every smarmy thing he had said to her since. Well, he deserved it.
‘—because I am still pretending, Mr Campbell,’ again, that ironic smile as she tidied his cravat neatly on both sides of his neck. ‘Are you?’
‘Of course, my sweet,’ his voice trembled.
‘I’m not so sure you are,’ she smiled politely.
‘I understand you wish I wasn’t, darling,’ he heard himself say nonchalantly. ‘Alas, my dear, I am completely immune to your charms.’
‘Such a good liar,’ she drawled it teasingly in her husky voice. His member spasmed. She closed the distance between their bodies and the next thing he knew was that her thigh was pressed against his fully aroused member. Her lips distended in a satisfied smile.
His body turned into liquid heat. It was the first time anything other than himself touched him there. It was so exhilarating , he wanted to cackle senselessly.
‘You like this, don’t you?’ Her voice was silk as she pressed her thigh a little more against him.
‘Oh—oh, sweetie, that’s just mean .’ He groaned. ‘Yes, that’s just incredibly mean.’
‘ Alas , I caught you out.’
Yes, she had, and it made him feel like a fool. No one caught out William Campbell, and certainly not a spoiled aristocrat like her!
‘You are lucky that I am a gentleman. Otherwise I’d pull your skirts up and find out in what state I put you instead.’
His member ached at the thought. He could barely imagine what sort of things he could do with her, but by God, he would like to find out!
‘Now, that’s not a very gentlemanly thing to say,’ she pressed her toned thigh a little more against his length, up and down, and he had to resist the impulse to grind himself against it.
‘L-Lady Claudia t-this is just—this—fuck—I mean— damn —’
He sucked the air through his teeth, wildly enjoying that pressure on his member.
‘Oh, so I do make you uncomfortable, pet, don’t I?’ she imitated his endearing tone. The wicked woman! ‘See? What does it feel like to be at the receiving end of your silly tricks?’
Pretty good, as it turned out. Too good. She needed to stop this right now because he was not going to handle it. He grabbed her waist resolutely and put some distance between their bodies, gasping for breath.
Goddamn you, woman!
She smiled a little guiltily.
‘Is he still there, Mr Campbell?’
‘What? Who?’
‘The gentleman we are escaping from?’
‘God—yes. Right.’
He inhaled deeply and glanced beyond her lovely braids. The exquisitely dressed gentleman was no longer there. He could not help being exceedingly pleased with himself, although he really shouldn’t.
‘I may pretend that he is, Lady Claudia, just to hold you to me a little longer.’
Why, why would he say that?
But her eyes lit up and she smiled.
Not a polite smile. Not an ironic smile. A real, unguarded smile which made little charming wrinkles appear at the corners of her eyes. He had never seen her smile genuinely before, and it coursed through him like a shock. When her eyes rose to meet his, grey and yellow, like the basins of the fountains in Rome, he knew that he had never , in his entire life, looked upon anything so beautiful. The verses of a poem crossed his mind, a poem by a German. It said something like…
Freuden sonder Zahl Blühn im Himmelssaal
Countless joys
Bloom in the halls of Heaven
The sight of her face burnt itself onto his eyes, like a sun too bright to be observed directly.
Get a grip. Now. This woman is trouble. Even Caiani knows it!
But he didn’t need to.
Lady Claudia turned around swiftly and looked at the empty alley, as though to make sure that the gentleman was really no longer there. Her shoulders tensed. She started trembling.
The change was so sudden that it was quite clear she had been pretending. It stung more than it should, but it served him well. He had offered her that dishonourable way out. He couldn’t expect her to be actually enjoying it too.
‘He’s gone,’ she said, as though to herself. ‘Gone. Thank God. Oh, thank God.’
When she turned around her complexion was ashen. Her jaw was trembling, her eyes were glassy and vacant. She was somewhere else entirely. She leaned against the wall.
‘Gone,’ she repeated. She placed a hand on her chest. ‘Oh, Lord, thank you. Thank you so much.’
It was such a contrast with the supremely confident woman she had been until a moment ago that for a second he didn’t quite know what to do. Then that part of him that knew that nothing was ever safe prompted him to act.
‘Come here, Lady Claudia. Let’s sit for a moment.’
He helped her to sit on the edge of the fountain’s basin. She hid her face in her hands. His heart contracted a bit.
‘Who was that man?’ He asked softly, daring to brush the back of his fingers against her cheekbone.
Lady Claudia looked at him and seemed surprised to see him. Then she winced.
‘He is the Earl of Saint Cross.’ She swallowed. ‘And he was my fiancé.’
If she had told him that the man was the Pope and that she had had a dalliance with him in 1814, he couldn’t have been more shocked.
‘Well, he was about to become my fiancé, I should say. He broke it off a little over a year ago.’
He noticed he had been holding his breath. He exhaled slowly.
‘He does look like a cheater,’ he commented, watching her reaction closely.
‘He didn’t cheat.’
‘Then why would anyone break an engagement with a woman like you?’
‘Oh. He broke it off after he—after he—’
Her complexion turned grey. She just about staggered a few steps away from him.
Then she fell on her knees and began retching on the floor.
***
The cobblestones oscillated through her tears as her stomach contracted. She was not in control of anything. Of her body. Of her excitement. Of her pain. It was all a mess and it all somehow coexisted at the same time: Edward, and Mr Campbell, and her own stomach contracting and aching.
How pathetic. Pathetic and embarrassing.
The effort of emptying her stomach made her eyes weep.
Mr Campbell’s fine boots appeared in her field of vision.
‘Don’t look at me,’ she growled.
‘Impossible,’ he said softly, ‘there’s nothing else in this alley.’
Then his gentle, cautious hand lingered on her shoulder, and he handed her his fine monogrammed handkerchief, soaked in water. She pushed his hand away.
‘Don’t, it looks expensive.’
‘It was so very expensive, yes, my sweet.’ He held it out to her again, and again she pushed his hand away.
He snorted.
‘Are you always so reluctant to accept help?’
‘Yes.’ She hid her face from him. ‘Leave me to sort myself out. I’ll see you at my palazzo .’
‘You are so very silly, darling.’
And to her amazement, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, he knelt next to her on the cobbled street. Then, completely unfazed, he began dabbing her face with his handkerchief. Her brow, her cheeks, her mouth. After a year in hell, the fact that a stranger, and this vain libertine to boot, may take compassion on her left her breathless, defenceless. He soaked his handkerchief in the cool water again and dabbed her chin and her neck. She let him work, stunned into silence.
‘Look at you, accepting help at last.’ He whispered softly, if a little mockingly. ‘Would you like to know what it makes you look like?’
‘No,’ she growled.
‘An angry cat who just fell into a bath. Or a porcupine bracing before shooting its needles.’
She laughed.
‘I would prefer that a handsome gentleman had not just seen me being sick.’
‘You lovely spoilt thing. Do you have any idea of how I grew up? A day with just a bit of sick was a good day. If you knew the things I’ve seen…’
‘That makes two of us,’ she said thinking of her shelter.
‘Yes. I’m sure your estate in Oxfordshire is in a very rough neighbourhood.’
He stood and helped her to her feet. For a moment they both looked at each other strangely, as though they were really seeing each other for the first time. He raked a hand through his honey-gold hair.
‘Steady on your feet?’
‘Yes. Thank you.’
‘I am glad. Now let’s go, I’ll walk you home.’