“Cam?” Julian watched him, a puzzled yet hopeful look on his face.
“I’m on my way over to the Sutherlands now, to call on her. Iwillmarry her, but I could perhaps be . . . kinder about it all.”
“Kinder about your blackmail? Good of you, cousin.”
“Damn it, Julian. Not blackmail, but perhaps some kind of an agreement.”
“You expect her to negotiate with you on this?”
“She’ll have me either way, so she may as well negotiate. What is atonmarriage, if not negotiation? You forget she’d be going through a similar process with whoever she chose to marry.”
Julian rolled his eyes. “So you keep telling me. Still, you’re moving in the right direction with this. I can at least see a glimpse of the cousin I know, hidden in there somewhere.”
Cam plucked his coat off the back of his chair and thrust his arms into it. “What does that mean?”
“That you shouldn’t forget who you are.” Julian picked up Amelia’s drawing of Lady Eleanor. He folded it in half and held it out to Cam. “Here. Take it. Perhaps it will help you remember.”
To Cam’s surprise, he saw his own hand reach out, take the drawing, and tuck it into his coat pocket.
* * *
“Not at home?” Cam stared at Lady Catherine.
“I’m afraid not. She and Charlotte went off to Bond Street to pick up some toy or other for my grandson.” Lady Catherine smiled. “I’m afraid they spoil him. But you’ll stay and have tea, won’t you, Mr. West?”
He’d arrived on the Sutherland’s doorstep ten minutes ago, but Eleanor Sutherland wasn’t waiting for him in the drawing room. Instead he’d found the dowager countess entertaining two young ladies who’d also come to call—a Miss Darlington and a Miss Thurston. He hadn’t met either of them before, but both sat up with interest when he entered the room.
Eleanor Sutherland had slipped through his fingers. Again.
Damnable woman.
She couldn’t deny Lady Charlotte was in a precarious position, not after the encounter with Lady Archer yesterday, and yet still she chose to toy with him. Did she believe he wouldn’t go through with his threats?
No. Even if she doubted him, she wouldn’t be foolish enough to wager her sister’s reputation on a guess. Lady Eleanor was many things, but she wasn’t a fool. She may well be a mind-reader, though, for no sooner had he made up his mind to be kinder to her than she managed to infuriate him all over again. He could almost believe she did it on purpose, to knock him off balance.
His jaw tightened. He didn’tgetknocked off balance, damn it, and he didn’t let his fury get the best of him, but one week in Eleanor Sutherland’s company, and he felt like a turtle tipped onto its back, legs flailing madly to right itself.
Worse, he wasn’t simply furious. No, there was something else there, as well—something uncomfortable. It felt suspiciously like . . . relief. To find the draperies drawn back and the room alight again. To find the darkness had only been temporary.
He was a bloody fool.
“Mr. West?” Lady Catherine was still waiting for his answer. “Can I tempt you with tea?”
He couldn’t refuse, now he was here. “Yes, of course. Thank you.”
“How do you do, Mr. West?” cooed Miss Darlington, once Lady Catherine had made the introductions. “Why haven’t we met you before?”
Cam took a seat on the settee. “I’ve just returned to London from an eleven-year stay in India.”
“India!” Miss Thurston shrieked, as if they were in a crowded ballroom instead of a quiet drawing room. “How exciting. Whatever were you doing there?”
Cam placed his teacup in the saucer, afraid Miss Thurston’s shrill tone night shatter it. “Working for the East India Company.”
Silence. Miss Darlington and Miss Thurston visibly deflated.
Jesus. One would think ‘work’ were a filthy word, and he’d committed an unpardonablefaux pasby mentioning it in the presence of ladies.
Lady Catherine hastened to cover the awkward silence. “Mr. West just became the newest principal patron of the Society for the Relief of London’s Poor & Indigent.”
