What of Eleanor Sutherland? Something she’d said the other day came back to him then, something about marrying beneath herself . . .
He gripped the handle of his teacup until the fine porcelain threatened to turn to powder between his fingers. If he could judge by the trail of disappointed suitors she left in her wake, every gentleman in London was beneath her—
“. . . thank you for your visit,” Lady Catherine was saying.
Cam looked up to find Miss Darlington and Miss Thurston taking their leave. He rose to his feet, bowed politely to one loathsome female, then the other, and privately wished them both to the devil.
As soon as the drawing room door closed behind them, Cam bowed to Lady Catherine. “Thank you for the tea. I must take my leave, as well.”
“Oh, Mr. West,” Lady Catherine said. “I want to invite you for supper tonight, as a thank you for your donation to the Society, and also for being so kind to Eleanor and Charlotte at the Foster’s ball. I know this is last minute, but do say you’ll come. My sons and their families will dine with us, and I know they’d enjoy meeting you.”
Cam tried to hide his surprise. He hadn’t expected such gracious attention from Lady Catherine, and he was tempted to accept. Mention of her sons made him hesitate, however. Lord Carlisle and Robert Sutherland were reputed to be protective of their sisters, and Cam didn’t want to deal with any rabid watchdogs just yet.
He glanced over at Lady Eleanor, who looked as if she’d like to slap a hand over her mother’s mouth to silence her. Did the lady hope he’d decline? Ah, well. He’d have to come, then, watchdog be damned. She couldn’t have her own way every time. It wasn’t good for her.
He grinned at her, then turned back to Lady Catherine. “I’d be delighted, my lady. Thank you.”
“Wonderful.” Lady Catherine smiled. “Seven o’clock?”
Cam couldn’t resist a triumphant glance at Eleanor. “Of course. Nothing would please me more. Now, I must be off, but may I beg Lady Eleanor’s indulgence for one moment on my way out?”
Lady Catherine waved her daughter toward the door. “Yes, go on, Eleanor. We shall see you tonight, Mr. West.”
Cam bowed again, then offered Eleanor his arm and led her from the room.
“You see, Lady Eleanor?” he murmured, as soon as they were alone. “No bad deed goes unpunished. You may have avoided me today, but now you’ll be cursed with my company for an entire evening.”
“Avoided you?” She looked down at the place where her hand rested on his arm. “I’m in your company even now, Mr. West.”
Cam tried not think about the warm pressure of her fingers on his coat. “We had an agreement. You will make yourself available to me, or I’ll make my cousin available to Lady Charlotte.”
“No. You won’t.”
He stopped in the deserted hallway between the drawing room and the entryway, anger rising at this casual dismissal. “We’re not discussing some nonsense about a voucher to Almack’s, my lady. I mean what I say.”
She glanced toward the entryway, then lowered her voice. “If Charlotte is seen too often in your cousin’s company, Mr. West, her fate will be sealed. Thetonalready believes her guilty. They seek only the flimsiest corroboration of it. I’m certain you don’t wish to provide them with it. However will you get me down the aisle if you do?”
As quickly as Cam’s anger had come upon him it drained away, replaced by a grudging admiration. “Ah. So clever, my lady. But if the worst should happen, and thetondoes put Lady Charlotte on trial, only Julian and I can ensure she isn’t convicted.”
“Indispensable, are you?” She spoke defiantly, but she bit her lower lip as if worried.
Cam’s gaze darted to her lips and wet warmth filled his mouth, as if he’d tasted something succulent. Sweet.
Black currants.
He took in the flush of color high on her cheekbones, her expressive dark eyes. “Amelia is right about your eyes.” He tipped her face up to his with a finger under her chin. “So dark, but not flat. Far from it. Bottomless.”
He smiled a little as those lovely widened in astonishment. Whatever she’d expected him to say, it wasn’t that. If she knew what he was thinking . . .
Tell her.
“Your mouth makes me think of dark, ripe fruit.” He touched one fingertip to her luscious bottom lip and desire shot through him, so fierce it roughened his voice, stole his breath. “Do you taste sweet, my lady?”
He let his fingertips drift over the back of her hand, over the delicate blue veins and the fine bones of her knuckles, her skin so soft under his stroking fingers. She caught her breath as he turned her hand over and traced tiny circles in the center of her palm with the pad of his thumb.
His eyes met hers for a brief moment, then his gaze dropped back to their hands. He stared, mesmerized by the sight of his fingers caressing her. His hand looked too large, too rough, too dark, to touch such fine white skin.
He raised her hand to his mouth and pressed his lips to her palm. “Shall I taste you?”
