He hadn’t just watched her from afar. Every flash of fair hair in the streets, every blond curl under a grocer’s hat; he could’ve been anywhere.
All her nightmares and fears, her doubts and ill luck, had beenhim.
She’d underestimated him as a threat. More like overestimated her own skills. A monster who flourished in the dark and was welcome in the light.
Growing up in the cesspool of London’s finest gutter, she’d seen death and poverty from an unforgiving society. But the creature before her was a different monster altogether: Fangs, claws, and cleverness, shifting faces like the perfect half-hour gentleman, without any known weaknesses.
“You realize now the gap in our intelligence, don’t you?” His pitying smile didn’t match his triumphant tone. “Good. I don’t like repeating myself, and your recognition will eliminate any rebellion you had planned. Not that I’d mind conditioning you tomy liking.” His smile turned reptilian. “No, I wouldn’t mind the fight at all.”
Camille blinked and a sudden urge to laugh brought her mind back into sharp focus. She took stock of the shotgun under the bar, the trigger mechanism too slow for their close proximity. She rubbed the rag in her waistband, too short for a makeshift garrote. The letter opener in her skirt—that she’d taken to carrying after leaving the club—would be a last resort against an opponent who’d use any weapon against her. And while she’d love nothing better than to remove her boot and smash in the man’s nose, that too would not be enough.
Her gaze flicked to where the clean glasses she’d polished sat, waiting for use.
Camille turned her gaze back on Nic, a sense of direction bringing relief and hope. Intelligent or not, brutal or not, this monster was a man.
And all men had a weakness.
Madam had been right all along; there were skills one acquired working in a pleasure house that made all the difference in the battle between sexes. Time with the Ponies had given her more than one skill to use against the worst narcissistic vanity: ingenuity, acting, and flattery.
Swallowing her disgust, Camille adopted her best doe-eyed impression of Victoria. “You’ve been watching over me this whole time? But... but you never said a thing?”
He noted her light tone with a tugging of his lips before it turned into an ugly sneer. “That mangydoggot in the way.” His tone turned accusing. “And you fell all over yourself to get him between your legs.”
He’d watched her since the beginning. Camille pushed past her dread. She needed to keep his thoughts off Renard and back on himself or her plan wouldn’t work.
“He saved me,” she said innocently. “I thought he was the one killing those bad men, and I was grateful.” Her Victoria impression changed into the hardened governess of Sensa’s character. “He lied to me. He used me. I’ll destroy him for tricking me!” She turned back into the sweet dove once again and gazed up at Nic’s face, imagining Renard’s kind eyes instead of the black pools before her. “You were my hero the entire time.”
Nic smiled, that icy expression melting into one of merciful benevolence. “Hediddeceive you. Despite your brilliant mind, you are but a woman. I should have realized he’d snared you with his title and lies. But not to worry.” He held out his hand. “I will take care of that fool soon enough and you will have your revenge.”
Spoken in the same nauseating tone Mr. Richmund used to recite poetry. Camille rearranged her face into what she saw as Madam’s bored mask. “He wouldn’t be worth your sport.” Camille took his hand and steeled herself against the wet feel of his lips on her knuckles. “There’s no need to bother with him now. Now that you have found me at last.”
She walked around the bar, her hand still in his.
He watched her with a sharp gaze, his eyes not straying from his prey.
When she was within reach, she lifted her free hand and palmed his scarred cheek. The smile she offered was sweet, submissive, infused with all the awe of religious worship, and the secret desire for blood.
With the force of her full weight, Camille knocked him off-balance towards the bar and slammed his face into the stack of glasses.
The glass shattered on impact, burying shards into Nic’s cheek and forehead. He roared.
Camille tore herself free from his grip. She rushed for the door when her legs were kicked out from underneath her. Struggling, she avoided his grasping hands and staggered to her feet the same time he did.
Eyes wild, he yanked the largest piece of glass free from above his eye, spattering blood across the bar.
“Bitch!” Blood ran into his eye, but nothing would draw his murderous attention away. The monster had fully emerged. He charged.
Camille darted away, fleeing for the door.
But the monster was fast and his grip brutal as he ripped her back by the hair.
She screamed at the pain, but her body responded faster than her mind.
The time to flee was over. Now it was time to fight.
Chapter Thirty-One
“What are youdoing here, lordy?” a feminine voice asked from above.
