Mr. Worthington’s friend appeared older than Malcolm by at least ten years, but Mr. Kennedy was handsome, nonetheless. Streaks of silver highlighted his dark brown hair. He smiled at her as if they shared a delicious secret. Her stomach twisted again. Right now, she wanted to forget that her sister and this man might possibly have a past together.
She studied Mrs. Kennedy and realized Beth spoke the truth. Poor Mrs. Kennedy didn’t have a single redeeming feature. Exceedingly plain, the skittish woman acted as if she were afraid of her own shadow.
Then Camilla rested her attention on Malcolm. Her heart must have stopped—either that or she forgot how to breathe. He looked so incredibly handsome in his evening attire. The bluish charcoal of his waistcoat matched his trousers, accenting his warm hazel eyes. His white ruffled shirt complemented his tanned skin. She had never seen anyone so handsome. Even the way his gaze slowly swept over her made her skin prickle with awareness.
Never in her life had she experienced these heady, disturbing feelings, even while married to her husband. Then again, theirs was an arranged marriage, and she had been utterly miserable.
Malcolm smiled and stepped forward, taking her hand in his. He bowed and placed a small kiss on her knuckles. Her heart raced out of control. His masculine scent of spice seeped into her senses and overwhelmed her, making her mind whirl and the room spin. She couldn’t lose control. Not now, and certainly not in front of their guests.
Malcolm straightened. “My dear Mrs. Worthington, you look lovely tonight.” His attention passed over her once again but lingered longer on her bosom.
“Thank you. And may I return the compliment? You are rather dashing tonight, my kind husband.”
He arched an eyebrow, and she was relieved the two guests behind him couldn’t see. Malcolm’s wary grin widened, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he took her hand and tucked it in the crook of his elbow, then turned toward his partner.
“Camilla, my dear, help me welcome our guests.”
Surprised to hear Malcolm say her name and not Kat’s, she hitched a breath. He’d only called her Kat in private to annoy her—or rather, her sister. But still, why did he use Camilla instead of Katherine?
Although a small pounding began in her forehead from all the confusion of the day, she did her best to converse with the Kennedys. During the evening, she remained conscious of how her sister might have performed. She exaggerated a flirtatious manner yet couldn’t force herself to act as flamboyant as she suspected her sister to have done. As the men talked politics, she tossed in her own thoughts, even though this was something Kat wouldnotdo. But when it came to politics, Camilla had never been able to keep her mouth shut.
She kept close attention to the topics of conversation. Not once did she feel these men were discussing traitorous secrets. Other than talking about their business, both appeared to be on the up-and-up.
Mr. Kennedy’s constant ogling irritated her, but she dared not show her displeasure. Although Mrs. Kennedy was polite and never commented on her husband’s behavior, Camilla thought it very bold of him to carry on the way he did in front of her. It hurt that Malcolm accepted his business partner’s conduct instead of stopping it. After all, she was supposed to be his wife.
Relief came when the evening ended, and she and Malcolm showed their guests to the front door. Malcolm acted the gentleman and placed a chaste kiss on Mrs. Kennedy’s knuckles, but when Mr. Kennedy tried to do the same to Camilla, he didn’t act polite at all. His lips lingered on her hand, disgust crawled inside her, and she quickly withdrew.
The arrogant man had the audacity to toss her a devilish grin. If Mrs. Kennedy were not present, Camilla would have slapped the rogue’s face. Perhaps she would just wait until she was alone with Malcolm and shake some sense into him for not coming to her defense.
Once the door closed, Malcolm turned and strode past her. She waited for him to say something, but he hurried up the stairs to his bedroom without glancing her way. Anger washed over her, painfully wrenching her stomach. A million times tonight she had wanted to reprimand him. But now, when she had the chance, he left her standing alone, wallowing in her annoyance.
Camilla hurried to her room to change into her nightdress. The weary, stressful day had taken its toll, and she would relish sleep. Beth had placed her nightgown on the bed and poured water in the copper tub. The steamy bath beckoned, and she couldn’t wait to relax.
She sat on the edge of her bed and slipped off her shoes. Stretching her feet in front of her, she wiggled her toes, enjoying the freedom from the shoes’ restriction. As she stood, she reached for the buttons behind her gown, but couldn’t quite touch them. A knock sounded at the door, and she was grateful to have Beth coming to help. “Come in.”
Still fidgeting with the dress, she walked toward her bathing chamber. “Could you please help me with these buttons? I cannot seem to reach them.”
“Are you certain you want my help?” a man’s deep voice answered.
She gasped and swung around. Malcolm stood in the doorway, minus his evening coat and waistcoat. His missing cravat and unbuttoned shirt allowed her a glimpse of his muscular neck and chest. Her heart accelerated. He looked so casual, so relaxed, and so irritatingly handsome.
Was he here for a little entertainment only his wife could give? She could not… Shewouldnot. The mere thought terrified her, yet excitement danced over her skin at the same time. Breathing deeper, she reminded herself he wouldn’t want to share his wife’s bed if he loathed her very presence.
She cleared her tight throat. “Forgive me, but I thought you were my maid.”
“Obviously.” He stepped toward her. “But since I am here, I might as well assist you.”
“Don’t worry yourself.” She swallowed hard. “I can get it.”
“Nonsense. Accepting my help is perfectly proper.”
As he moved behind her, her hands trembled. One by one, he slid the buttons loose and cool air touched her back, accompanied by his warm breath. The combination of this with his soft fingers grazing her skin sent chills over her. Although her body was melting faster than a heated candle on a scorching day, she fought for control.
“I want to thank you for your little performance tonight,” he whispered huskily near her ear.
She shivered. Clutching her bodice tighter, she prayed it wouldn’t fall away from her. “What performance?”
He laughed lightly. “You seem to forget I have seen you and Brandon Kennedy together. Since when have you cared for his wife’s delicate feelings and snubbed Brandon’s flirtation?”
