Renard avoided the country for good reason. Upon setting foot back on his family’s ancestral grounds, the memories and guilt pressed down on him tenfold, until the simple act of standing became unbearable.
But he’d stand, ride,runwherever he damned well needed to find and return his sister where it was proper and safe. He’d expected his usual soft-spoken sister to be working quietly in the drawing room with a new species of insect.
His pleasure at her showing an interest in more than her entomological machinations for her chaperones and their staff was subdued by cautionary feelings over whatever had prompted her to leave the estate, unchaperoned of all things.
Women! They were maddening and completely... Renard smiled to himself, his thoughts trailing off on the word that should have infuriated him. But he’d learnedunexpectedpleasures came from unexpected places.
Entering his chambers, Renard stripped off his soiled clothing and washed the dust from his body the best he could with the pitcher of water one of his footmen brought in.
What a pair of women he had in his life: one fiery and passionate, the other kind and troublesome. Despite the impending flurry of action he must take to settle both Camille’s and Charlotte’s futures, Renard appreciated a moment of contentment. There was no doubt the women would get along. With a baby, whatever unpleasantries that followed his downfall would be lessened by the joy of laughter, a sound severely lacking in this family these past eight years.
He’d accepted his penance would be to never hear his child’s voice or see to it there were siblings with which to play.
A knock on the door preceded the footman’s voice. “As your valet has yet to arrive, Your Grace, if I may be of service, I can help you dress?”
Renard scrubbed the dust from his face, reaffirmed in his resolve. “Come in. I’m ready.”
Chapter Nineteen
“Where are yougoing?” Syd asked from the four-poster bed they were to share for the duration of their stay.
The bed that was as big as Camille’s two-bedroom flat.
Controlling her jaw to keep it from dropping at every gilded surface and brushed oil on the wall, Camille secured her—Madam’s—dressing gown around herself, forgoing the chaos of attempting to put back on that monstrous dress with its buttons and lacing that had taken Lady Quickner’s maid fifteen minutes to navigate.
“I’m hungry,” Camille said, door handle in hand. “Want anything?”
“Why not ring the bell? Madam said to keep to our rooms when the sun went down.”
“Madam didn’t take into account mychaperonewould eat my entire supper before I had finished undressing.” Truth was, Camille needed to stretch her legs after sitting in that carriage.
Syd winced. “The jellied yams were too good to stop.”
“Shall I bring back the vat, then?”
“You know me well.”
Camille rolled her eyes and slipped from the room. The sun had gone down, and Madam’s warnings whispered through her head as she traversed deserted hall after hall and down a back staircase she assumed led to the kitchens.
When she hit an invisible wall of warm air, she knew she’d chosen correctly.
The Quickners’ kitchens were as opulent as the rest of the house, as the viscount and viscountess themselves. Stepping from the victoria—well past the courtesy of arriving the appropriate fifteen minutes before dinner—she’d been welcomed by an older couple in matching lavender robes, the golden threads swirling around the floral, printed fabric looking like the threads of fate. It had been a shock to realize the couple was actually the viscount and viscountess and not the expected low-level servants.
The kitchens too were wallpapered and pristine, all in matching floral print. A single lamp had been lit, highlighting a large tray of cold meats and fruit on the cook’s block, as if waiting for late-night visitors.
Camille glanced around. Finding herself alone, she picked herself a fine array of meat and grapes and divided it between two plates.
“Seems I’m not the only late-night eater.”
Camille whirled around to find Lord Quickner watching her from a chair in the dark corner, his robed body near indiscernible from the surrounding wallpaper. He uncrossed his legs and stood. His robe gaped in front, revealing naked skin of a surprisingly muscled chest.
Blood racing, she subtly turned to face him, consciously placing the table between them, Madam’sotherwarning making her uncomfortably aware of the deserted halls.
“When Lord Quickner invites you to the festivities, you will decline.”
Camille edged around the table in the direction of the stairs. “Apologies, Lord Quickner. I’m aware I should have used the bell instead of giving in to restlessness. I am not interested in youradvances, so”—she picked up the plate—“if you’ll excuse me. I will return to my room.”
He leaned into the light, his eyes dancing. “No need for concern, my dear. I am not lying in wait to ravish some unsuspecting party.” He smiled. “Unless they ask me to.”
