Syd gave her a look. “Your shocked tone hurts.” That look turned on Renard, who stood back watching them. “Andyou, lordy. I thought you said you were charming?”
He winced. “Guess only beautiful young women are susceptible. I’ll work on my too-irresistible-to-not-want-dead allureafterI find a way to stomach the sight of blood. Did I have to put it in my hair?” He stuck his finger in his ear and wiggled. “I had blood dripping down my collar the whole time.”
“Head wounds are gushers.” Syd shrugged. “Couldn’t be helped.”
Camille whirled on them. “You planned this together? How?”
“Wise sage was waiting at the club,” Renard said. “When Madam made it clear she hadn’t written to me, your friend here put it all together.”
Camille wouldn’t lament about the hand of fate again. She’d learn to accept the help without question. If the events of the past year weren’t enough to make her a believer, nothing would.
Camille cocked a brow at her friend, thinking maybe fate had some help along the way. “Wise sage?”
“Shh,” Syd said. “I like it. Makes me sound distinguished and reputable.”
Camille dropped an arm around her friend’s shoulders, grateful everyone had walked away unscathed, wardrobes excluded. “And fictional.” Her gaze went to the cropped hair on the side of Syd’s head, and thirteen months of guilt had her wrapping her other arm around the younger woman and pulling her close despite Syd’s pleas for release. “I never thanked you for what you did, watching over me. I don’t deserve a friend like you.”
“Oh, get off me.” Syd pushed her away, though gentler this time. She made a face and eyed Camille like a dog who’d learned to talk. “Youhavegone soft. Didn’t think I’d ever need to tell you ‘Thanks’ is useless.”
Camille’s heart plummeted. “Syd—”
“We’refamily, Cam. You want to make up for all the worrying you caused with a mountain of pastries, I won’t say ‘no,’ but I thought you knew by now that family has your back. Take my ruined outfit as proof!” She shook her head. “Since your genius mind apparently can’t work all that out, I’ll tell you straight: Keep your gratitude. I’ll take the pastries.”
Camille felt the embarrassing sting of tears in her eyes. Sniffling, she knuckled Syd’s head until the younger woman shot out of reach.
“A mountain of pastries going to be enough?” she asked.
Syd tapped her chin with a finger. “Two mountains? I guess you can afford it now you are a duchess and all.”
Camille’s gaze shot to Renard, who shrugged.
“Not great at keeping secrets, that one,” Syd said. “Or acting.” She sniffed at his clothes and recoiled. “Did I not tell you to getfreshblood from the butcher? No one would believe you were newly injured when the wounds already smell.”
Renard threw back his shoulders, succeeding in looking as distinguished as a wet rat in a frock coat. “Did you expect me to wait for the next available swine to walk through the door? I thought we were in a hurry.”
“Arrogantandlazy, lordy. Not a good combination.”
He puffed up, hackles raised. “What about you? ‘Dump a bucket of blood over your head from the butcher,’ you say. ‘Pretend you’re injured and walk in the front door.’ That’s it! How on Earth is any person to surmise a partner’s plan from such vague orders?”
“It’s called improvising!”
“It was a trash plan!”
“Better than yours, lordy. ‘Find her. Save her.’ That’s not a plan; that’s a goal list.”
Camille watched the two bicker like lifelong siblings, her stomach performing a strange flip. No real anger laced their words. It was good-natured arguing, a mutual need to release the frenzied energies after their encounter with Nic.
Family.
Camille thought about the word. For most of her life, the word had conjured grey images of her mother and father and the cold and calculating relationships involved. But now there was color, vibrant and inviting, drawing her closer to those who’d come to be permanent fixtures in her life.
Syd, Scarlet, Charlotte, Pops, Renard: She shared no blood between the lot of them and yet she’d describe them as no less. Family. Through the trauma and anguish of her life, she’d collected that which she’d always longed for, without ever realizing. She’d been alone all this time, since before she’dstormed into the Prodding Pony and before she’d learned she and Madamdidshare that blood.
How easily people made connections, emotional and otherwise. There’d be no question that Pops and Syd would take Renard in as one of their own. The way Renard teased Syd so easily, how he returned the clap on his back as Pops came back in through the door, the connection was mutual.
No one else understood.
Except one.
