Camille’s quill scratched the last of her thoughts down before she laid it on top of the desk. She closed the file and offered it to Madam. “The Marquess of Slasbury’s petition for membership is riddled with inconsistencies. Sensa needs to take a second look. Or is that my job now as well?”
Madam didn’t take the file. “Why didn’t you finish the interview?”
Camille threw the file down. “You know why!” She met the other woman’s gaze, the rage in her chest holding her humiliation at bay. “You saw the whole thing.”
Madam didn’t balk at her anger. She shrugged. “It’s my job to check on my girls.”
“I’m not one of your girls!”
“That’s not what it looked like from my angle.”
Camille’s lip curled. That damn screen! If she’d have been thinking clearly, she’d have locked it. But she hadn’t been in any mind. She’d kissed the duke willingly and more, all while the screen had been up.
It didn’t matter that Victoria’s wing should have been empty, or that Madam had had appointments scheduled until dawn. As soon as Camille had gone to retrieve the interview sheets from the room after Renard had left, she’d seen the side room door open, when it had most definitely been firmly shut when she’d left the room two minutes earlier. And she’d known Madam hadn’t made her meeting.
Camille didn’t lower her gaze or temper the steel in her voice. It was her body; she’d made her own decision, one she wouldn’t regret. “I hope you got your money’s worth, Clarice? The Pony charges extra for a voyeur fantasy.”
Madam shook her head, her mouth set in an approving smile. “I’ve always liked you. From the moment you stormed into my office, that anger in your eyes was like cold fire. Nerve and pride earned by sheer grit and intelligence.”
“I don’t want flattery,” Camille said.
“Whatdoyou want? Apologies are empty words, as any woman knows. If you want the duke banned from the premises, I’ll sign the removal now.”
Madam cared for her girls, but the world, their unfair and skewed one especially, ran on favor and money. As the duke was in possession of both in criminal quantities, the offer was more than suspect.
“You don’t have the conscience to turn away a fat purse,” she accused, daring the woman to lie to her and say she did.
Madam grinned. “Business is business.” She quoted her favorite line, her eyes flashing. “But a man in love is bad for my business.”
Camille crossed her arms over her chest, her shoulder still sore, to hold in the fluttering spasm underneath. Indigestion, no doubt. “He’s not in love with me.” The very idea was madness.
With a mocking arch of her brow, Madam said, “I take back my comment about your intelligence.”
“He came here for aride.”
“He came here foryou.” Madam held up her hand, her fingers stretched wide. “His stipulations when he arrived were that his Pony could not be above average height, strong-willed, or pale-skinned, and that she could not possess red hair of any shade.” Madam curled down a finger for each item and looked at her pointedly.
“He didn’t even know I worked here. If anything, he asked for anyone but me.”
Madam smirked. “A man does not pay a fortune for a woman that specifically unless he is either married to her likeness or wishes to be. I’m a woman who delivers for her clients. I gave him exactly what he wanted.”
That fluttering in Camille’s chest felt like silken feathers. Stubbornness clung to her words as she grumbled, “My height isn’t above average.”
Madam rubbed her temple. “He is to return tonight?”
Camille glared. “You heard what he said.”
“Shall I turn him away at the door?”
Try as she might, putting her thoughts of Renard,the duke, aside had proved useless. Stabbing pain in her shoulder and wrist, she could ignore, but one brief ‘exchange’ and she forgot every resolve.
Madam watched her, seeming to garner her answer without words. “I’ll bar the doors, then.”
Camille inclined her head in gratitude. She didn’t need distractions. Whatever nonsensical feelings she had mistakenly allowed for the duke would pass. She hadn’t lain with him for any hope of a future. The best someone like her could hope for was a flat in a nice section of the city and a line of credit to the local modiste. But she had no intention of being any man’s mistress. Men like him expected obedience and access for security, but she hadn’t asked for his protection or attentions. Madam’s assessment of the duke’s affections was too deep. He liked her, he’d admitted it himself. Two encounters were not enough for anything beyond attraction.
“As soon as he realizes I don’t wish to see him, he won’t make any more trouble,” Camille said.
Madam laughed. “You know nothing, Angel, if you think denying a man what he desires willdeterhis intentions.”
