“Mr. West,” she said at last. “What a pleasure it is to meet you. Welcome back to London. Are you related to Mr. Julian West?”
Cam bowed. “Yes, my lady. He’s my cousin.”
“Indeed?” Lady Archer shot Eleanor a triumphant look. “Well, I suppose you and Lady Eleanor met at the Foster’s ball, then, the same night Lady Charlotte met your cousin?”
Eleanor made the tiniest movement then, a mere twitch of her fingers, and yet Cam knew at once she wished him to remain silent.
“Indeed we did.” Eleanor gave Lady Archer a smooth smile. “Mr. West and his cousin were kind enough to call our carriage for us when Charlotte took ill.”
Lady Archer’s lips thinned into what passed for a smile among theton. “Well. What a happy coincidence both Mr. Wests happened to be close at hand just at the exact moment poor, dear Lady Charlotte felt herself failing.”
Lady Archer punctuated this jab with a satisfied twitch of her parasol.
Eleanor managed a faintly puzzled expression. “Hardly a coincidence, my lady. Charlotte and Mr. Julian West were dancing together at the time. Weren’t they, Mr. West?”
Cam hesitated for the merest fraction of a second—just long enough for Lady Eleanor to feel the power he had over her—then he nodded. “They were. Julian was obliged to escort Lady Charlotte out to the terrace to prevent a swoon, I’m afraid.”
Lady Archer’s face fell, and she gathered her skirts in her hands, marshalling her forces for a retreat. “Poor, dear Lady Charlotte. But I must be off, my dear, for the roses await. Do give my regards to your mother, and of course, to your dear, dear sister.” Lady Archertskedand shook her head, as if Charlotte Sutherland’s fall from grace were a foregone conclusion.
“I will, my lady,” Eleanor said, in a tone that could freeze water. “I know my mother will be so gratified to hear you asked after Charlotte.”
Lady Archer paled a bit at this, for the dowager Countess of Carlisle held a position of distinction among theton, and one did their best not to make an enemy of her.
Cam’s lips twisted in a bitter smile. Such was the magical influence of the Sutherlands. That influence was Amelia’s due, and he would secure it for her, no matter who he had to manipulate to get it.
“Your sister teeters on the brink of scandal, my lady,” he murmured after Lady Archer had flounced off down the path. “She remains safe for the moment, but one word from me . . .”
He fell silent, certain she’d finish the thought in her head.
By the time they reached the main house the lawn was crowded with guests. Ladies strolled the grounds to admire the baskets of flowers, their pale gowns fluttering in the breeze. The gentlemen followed after them and attempted to peek under their parasols, or else they balanced full plates in their laps and picnicked on blankets spread across Lady Abernathy’s velvety green lawn.
A group of children shrieked and chased each other, absorbed in game of tag. They ran to and fro across the lawn, some still trailing broken bits of daisy chains. Cam searched for Amelia’s fair head among the scattered children, but she wasn’t there.
“Where—?” he began, but Lady Eleanor wasn’t listening. She’d fixed her gaze on a distant corner of the yard, where Julian and Lady Charlotte sat together on a blanket under a shady tree, surrounded by little girls with piles of daisies in their laps. Amelia was there, her head bent over a daisy chain long enough to wrap twice around her small body. Even from here he could see the smile on her face, hear the giggles and squeals from the circle of little girls as they strung their daisies into endless white and yellow chains.
Cam’s breath hitched in his throat. Amelia belonged here, lounging in the grass with a lapful of flowers, the sun warm on her head, not a care in her heart beyond the length of her daisy chain. He could buy her the grand house, the beautiful green lawn, and enough flowers for daisy chains with no end, but he couldn’t buy her an afternoon like this one, spent among the children of theton, secure in her place as one of them.
He couldn’t buy Amelia acceptance. But he could take it. He could steal it.
Aneye for an eye.
Eleanor Sutherland’s freedom for Amelia’s. It was a fair trade.
“They haven’t moved since we left, my lady.” He stepped closer until his body touched hers, his lips a breath away from her ear. “What do you suppose they’ve talked about, your sister and my cousin?”
She shivered. “Don’t.”
He angled his head closer to catch a hint of the black current scent of her—so intoxicating, that scent, because he knew the moment he caught it that her lips would taste like that dark, tart fruit.
An answering shudder passed through him. “Such a passionate kiss they shared the other night. Do you think they’ve thought of nothing else today but that kiss? It must be torture, to sit so close to each other, to remember how it feels when their mouths entwine, and yet not be able to touch.”
She shook her head, but didn’t speak.
“Yes.” His voice was harsh and husky at once. “You deny it, but you know it’s true. You know, even now, with all these people watching, he’s found a way to touch her. Her hand, her fingers. Both of them drown in that touch.”
She didn’t move, but Cam saw her dark eyelashes sweep across her cheekbones as her eyes dropped closed. “Stop.”
He should stop, but he couldn’t, because somehow he wasn’t talking about Julian and Charlotte Sutherland anymore. In his mind it was his own mouth, hot and hard against Ellie’s, taking her, drowning in her taste.
