Too Dangerous to Desire (5 page)

“N-never,” whispered Sophie.

He leaned back and regarded her in solemn silence.

Reaching up, she slowly untied the mask and let it fall away.

“Never say never.” Cameron paused. “The truth is, the person you knew has changed beyond recognition.”

“Never,” she repeated. “I never forgot you. Even though we parted with harsh words that long-ago night. Even though you disappeared with nary a word of good-bye.”

“I was angry, Sophie.”

“I know.” She sighed. “I know. I hurt you.”
And you hurt me.

He turned, and in the dappling of moonlight his sculptured features appeared cold and unyielding as polished marble.

Sophie pressed a palm to his cheek, needing to feel his warmth again. “I’m sorry.”

His mouth quirked to a sardonic smile. “Don’t be. It was all for the best. The blaze of youthful passion burned too hot. We would have destroyed each other.”

As if echoing his words, a deep
bang
reverberated through the trees and a rocket shot skyward, painting the black velvet heavens with a luminous burst of color.

The sound reminded her that she dare not tarry here any longer. “Oh, Lord, I must be going.” Sophie began tugging her disheveled clothing into place. “My uncle and aunt will be frantic with worry.”

“Wait.” Cameron took a small chamois pouch from his pocket. “You asked why I was following you—the reason is this.” He unknotted the strings. “Give me your hand.”

She hesitated and then did as he asked. “Cam—” Her breath caught in her throat as he gave a small shake and her heirloom pearl earrings dropped onto her palm.

Bang.
The sky filled with a shower of brilliant green sparks. Feeling dazed, Sophie carefully closed her fingers around the jewels. A myriad of questions were exploding in her head.

Bang, bang, bang.

“Go now, before they send out a search party.” He stepped back and turned up his collar.

“Please, you can’t simply disappear!” she cried. “I must see you again. There are too many unanswered questions.”

A tiny muscle twitched on his jaw. “Very well. Meet me in Green Park tomorrow afternoon.” He described the location. “At three.”

She looked down at her fisted hand. “At three,” she repeated. But when she looked up he was already gone.

“Oh, Cameron,” she whispered, blinking back tears as she stared at the shifting shadows. Another bang rent the air, finally rousing her to action. Carefully tucking her treasure away, she pushed her way through the tangled branches and stumbled back to the main pathway.

“My dear Sophie! Thank God you are safe!” cried Edward. “We were so worried!”

“I’m so sorry,” she apologized. “I didn’t mean to alarm you. I wandered off the path, and lost my way.”

Hermione clucked in sympathy. “It’s my fault. I should have warned you that the maze of twisting pathways can be confusing. Many people become disoriented.”

“No harm done,” murmured Sophie, evading Georgiana’s gimlet gaze. “Come, let us forget the matter, and not let it spoil our enjoyment of the fireworks.”

“This way,” said her uncle, offering his arm. “We shall have a better view from the South Promenade.”

Bang, bang, bang.
Sophie wasn’t sure whether the thumping noise was the pyrotechnics overhead or her own pounding heart. Pasting on a dutiful smile, she looked up at the heavens and added her voice to the chorus of oohs and ahhs. But in truth, all she saw was the image etched in her mind’s eye.
A lean, chiseled face. Harder, the features far more defined than she remembered.
Cameron had left Terrington a rebellious adolescent.

And now?

There were so many questions. If only some answers would start coming to light. Beginning with how Cameron had come to have possession of her pearls.

More unsettled by the encounter with Sophie than he cared to admit, Cameron made his way to The Wolf’s Lair, rather than return to his own solitary abode. Sara’s friendly chatter—not to speak of her aged brandy—would be a welcome balm for the spirit.

In truth, he was badly in need of a drink.

Her company was undemanding, her private office a refuge, a place where his nerves could unwind. Quickening his steps he traversed the murky alleyway and slipped in through the back entrance.

“Well, well, well, we were wondering if you would turn up.”

Cameron froze for an instant on hearing the Earl of Killingworth’s low rumble, then casually tossed his hat on the sideboard. “What are you doing back in Town, Connor?” he asked. “Don’t tell me that you are bored with life as a goat farmer. With a partner like Lady K, I’d have thought that pastoral pleasures would not lose their allure.”

His friend—who was the former owner of the Lair—let out a bark of laughter. “Indeed not. I am quite content with my wife and my wool on the hoof, but one must occasionally attend to business in the city.”

“Lady K’s weaving business is going great guns,” piped up a second voice from the shadows. A spark of flint and steel lit the lamp on the curio cabinet, illuminating the Marquess of Haddan’s face.

Connor
and
Gryff?
Hell and damnation.
Cameron gave an inward wince. He was in no mood for meeting the two other Hellhounds. They, of all people, were the ones most likely to sense his fragile state of mind.

And they, of all people, were the ones he did not wish to see him so stripped of his defenses. So vulnerable.

“The
ton
is snapping up their woven Kashmir shawls faster than she and Connor can produce them,” went on Gryff. Alexa Hendrie, a very clever young lady, had proved to be the perfect mate for the Irish Wolfhound, and together they were thriving in both love and business. “So he needs to purchase more looms.” A cough. “As well as a few sundries to update the nursery at Linsley Close.”

“Congratulations, Connor,” muttered Cameron, pouring himself a large brandy. “And what, pray tell, brings you to Town?” he snapped at Gryff. “Last thing I heard, you were happily digging in the dirt of your country estate.” Gryff was an expert on landscape design, and had just begun putting theory into practice at his ancestral estate.

“The gardens are blooming beautifully,” said Gryff with a satisfied smile. He, too, had recently taken a bride. “However, our publisher needed me to check over a few last minute corrections on my essays before the book goes to press.” His new wife Eliza was a remarkably talented botanical artist and together they had created a beautiful compendium on the classic estate gardens of England.

That married life appeared to agree so well with his friends only exacerbated Cameron’s ugly mood. Raising his glass, he allowed a faint sneer to curl on his mouth. “Here’s to hoping that my dear comrades-in-hellraising don’t turn into total stick-in-the-muds.”

Arching a brow, Connor glanced at Gryff. “Is it my imagination, or does it seem to you that the Sleuth Hound has a thorn stuck in his paw?”

“I’d say it’s lodged in a different portion of his anatomy,” drawled Gryff. The lamplight played over his impish grin. “What’s the trouble, Cam? Don’t tell us your nose for trouble has landed you in the briars.”

“Arse—both of you,” he growled into his brandy. “Where the devil is Sara? I came here seeking entertaining conversation, and what do I find? That my fellow Hellhounds have become woefully domesticated. Weaving shawls, writing garden books…” He gave a mock shudder. “Good God, I suppose the next time I see you, you’ll be wearing skirts.”

The swish of ruched satin filled the sudden silence as Sara swept into the room. “What’s all the barking about?” she asked, frowning at Cameron. “Ain’t ye glad te see yer old friends?”

He responded with a very indelicate word.

“He’s in a snarly mood,” murmured Gryff. “Haven’t a clue why.”

Connor, whose temper was easily triggered, looked up, a quicksilver spark in his gray eyes. “Neither do I, but if he insults my manhood—or my wife—again, he’ll be fishing his teeth out of his gullet.”

“Come to think of it, he’s been acting awfully odd ever since that veiled lady came here seeking an audience with Lord Dudley.”

Much as he liked Sara, at that moment Cameron could have wrung her neck.

Gryff straightened from his slouch. “What lady?”

“Hmm, let me see…Leighton, Lightbourne…Lawrance. Aye, that was it. Miss Lawrance.”

“And who, pray tell, is the mysterious Miss Lawrance?” Gryff’s question was directed at him.

“Why ask me?” glowered Cameron. “Sara is the one who seems to know all the sordid details.”

Without waiting for further invitation, Sara chimed in, “Well, I wish I could tell ye more, but the whole thing was all very havey-cavey. The young lady came in, claiming it was a matter of grave importance that she speak with Lord Dudley.”

“Somehow, that scenario has a familiar ring to it,” said Gryff. Both he and Connor had first encountered their future wives at The Wolf’s Lair under similar circumstances.

The quip earned a reproving look from Connor.

“Oh, come.” Gryff, always the most light-hearted of the trio, made a face. “Does no one else here possess a sense of humor?”

“Have a care, Haddan. Yer friends look ready to bite yer head off.” Sara waggled a warning finger. “Now hold yer tongue and let me finish.”

Gryff cocked a salute and refilled his glass. “You can’t be miffed. Unlike Cam, I always pay my bill here.”

“Oh, I always add his tab to yours, seeing as ye can well afford it.” Sara smiled sweetly before going on. “Getting back to the young lady, she wasn’t closeted with Dudley very long—a minute or two at the most. She left quickly, just as I had asked…and now here comes the strange part.”

She paused for dramatic effect. “Dudley returned to the gaming rooms, looking like a cat with cream on his whiskers. Shortly afterward, Mr. Daggett arrives and plays a hand of cards at the same table, then he leaves to come visit me back here—and then all hell breaks loose. Dudley starts screaming that his pocket has been picked of a very valuable bit of jewelry. But when pressed, the viscount refuses to describe it.”

“Interesting,” murmured Connor.

“I don’t see why,” snapped Cameron. “Not every bauble that goes missing in London ends up in my hands. More’s the pity, I might add.”

Gryff set down his glass and steepled his fingers. “Something has gotten under your hide and is pricking a sensitive spot. My guess is it’s a woman.”

“Definitely a woman,” concurred Connor. “And it’s about bloody time your sharp-toothed sarcasm about love circles around and bites you where it hurts.”

Gryff let out a low chortle.

Cameron felt a prickle of heat steal along his cheekbones. He was used to doing the most caustic needling, and it was damned uncomfortable to find himself the butt of their teasing.

“Ha, ha, very amusing,” he replied. “Love has nothing to do with the matter. But seeing as you lapdogs can yap about nothing else, I think I shall seek more convivial company elsewhere.” He started to reach for his hat, but a sudden thought made him hesitate.

Sophie was in trouble, and however much he loathed to reveal this chink in his worldly cynicism to his friends, he couldn’t let pride stand in the way of the chance to help her. So, much as he wished to appear aloof and uncaring about anyone or anything, he forced himself to speak.

“By the by,” he muttered, trying to sound casual. “What do you know about Dudley, Connor? Seeing as he’s been a regular patron of the Lair for several years, you must be privy to his habits.”

Gryff made a low sound in his throat, but Connor signaled him to silence. “What sort of habits do you mean?”

Cameron drew a deep breath. “Does he gamble beyond his means? Does he have any secret depravities…that sort of thing.”

“In short, you wish to know whether he is a blackguard?”

Cameron nodded.

“Dudley is a thoroughly dirty dish,” replied Connor. “As is his close crony Morton and their circle of friends. They are clever and conniving about twisting other people’s weaknesses to their own advantage. They wouldn’t dare diddle with the likes of us—they prefer more vulnerable targets. But that said, I wouldn’t underestimate them. They are dangerous.”

Dangerous.
Cameron watched the play of shadows on the far wall.
How had Sophie become entangled with such men?

“Thank you.” He took up his hat.

“We are staying at my townhouse for another few days,” said Gryff. “Come around tomorrow evening and sup with us.”

“Perhaps,” he replied absently, his thoughts still occupied with unsettling questions.

“It should go without saying, Cam,” added Connor softly. “But if you need any help from us, you have only to ask.”

I
s there anything else you wish us to purchase for you?” Sophie poked her head into the morning room where her aunt was consulting with her housekeeper on the day’s menus.

“No, the embroidery threads are all, my dear. Georgie has the color samples,” replied Hermione. “You are sure that you girls don’t mind doing your errands without me?”

“Oh, not at all,” assured Sophie, who had deliberately mentioned that a visit to Hatchards book shop was among their plans. Hermione was not a very avid reader.

“I confess, I am a trifle fatigued from our outing, so I am just as happy to spend the day at home with my needlework.” Hermione held up the waistcoat she was working on. “I am making great progress on my surprise for Edward’s birthday.”

“It’s lovely.” Sophie knotted her bonnet strings under her chin, relieved that she had overcome the first hurdle to her plans. “We shall see you later.”

Her sister was another stumbling block, and one that would require a bit more fancy footwork to sidestep. But she would deal with that when the time came.

Georgiana, however, had her own ideas on the subject. As soon as the carriage started rolling toward Bond Street, she swiveled on the seat and set a hand on her hip. “
You
have a great deal of explaining to do.”

Sophie angled her gaze out the window. “About what?”

“You know very well about what—last night, and your disappearance in the Dark Walk.”

“I told you, I simply got lost in the shrubbery.” A pause. “It was, well, dark.”

“It was dark,” repeated her sister. “Ha! And I suppose that you are also going to tell me that it was the rhododendron bush that left that little red love bite on your neck.”

“Don’t be absurd—plants don’t have teeth.” Sophie then quickly countered with a question of her own. “And pray tell, how would you know anything about love bites, and what they look like?”

Paper crackled as Georgiana hastily unfolded her shopping list. “I just remembered that Aunt Hermione asked me to get a pair of buttons in addition to her embroidery thread. We also need to stop by Madame LaForge’s shop to pick up lace…”

The rest of the ride passed with no further mention of Vauxhall Gardens.

Thankfully, shopping for sundries kept her sister’s attention happily engaged. Sophie did her best to keep up a cheerful chatter, but her own secret worries were far darker than the colorful ribbons and trimmings.

Given Dudley’s escalating threats and Georgie’s probing, she felt caught between a hammer and an anvil.

And then there was Cameron.

Cameron.

Feeling a telltale flush of heat color her face, Sophie twitched the folds of her shawl up a little higher. Dear God, the sight of him, the feel of him, and the taste of him had set her heart galloping with joy. Which was, she knew, a recklessly wrong reaction. There was still an untamed aura about him. A wild, impetuous streak that boded Trouble.

And yet, against all reason, her devilish, disobedient body still responded to his fiery charms.

“I made the right decision all those years ago,” she whispered, hoping that saying the words aloud would give them credence.

“Did you say something?” Georgiana looked around a display of silk roses.

“I—I was just wondering whether you are ready to leave for Hatchards,” replied Sophie.

“Yes, let me just have the clerk wrap my purchases.”

A short walk brought them to the bookstore. “Are you looking for something in particular?” asked her sister as they passed through the entrance.

“Oh, I thought that I would browse among the section on gardening…” Sophie darted a quick look at the tall case clock opposite the central staircase. “A guide to growing roses would make a lovely gift for Papa.”

“An excellent suggestion,” said Georgiana. “I’ll come along and help you look.”

“Wouldn’t you rather peruse the display of Ackermann’s fashion plates upstairs?”

“No,” came the decisive reply. “And look, the gardening alcove is deserted, which will allow us the perfect opportunity for a private sisterly chat.”

Sophie repressed a harried sigh. It seemed that within the blink of an eye, her sweet, fluffy little kitten of a sister had grown into an independent-minded creature with newfound claws.

“Feel free to wax poetic about Anthony,” said Sophie, pretending to peruse the nearest shelf. “You are always welcome to confide your feelings.”

“Actually, I would rather talk about you, not me.”

She pulled down a slim leatherbound volume and began leafing through the pages. “A boring subject, I fear. Aside from rescuing Mrs. Addison’s pug from the pond last month, I’ve had precious little excitement in my life.”

Georgiana slowly cocked her head and angled it side to side.

“What are you doing?” asked Sophie.

“Watching your nose grow longer and longer…you know, just like in that fairy tale you used to read to me and Penelope, warning of the consequences of telling lies.” Another tilt. “By the by, that is a book on beekeeping, and you are reading it upside down.”

Snapping the covers shut, Sophie shoved it back in its place.

“Honestly, if I didn’t know you better, I would ask if you are having…” Georgiana dropped her voice a notch. “…an illicit affair.”

“
Me
?” The word sounded perilously close to a squeak. Recovering her voice, she quickly added, “Good heavens, are you
mad
?”

“I know, I know, it’s ridiculous. Ha, ha, ha.”

“Ha, ha, ha,” echoed Sophie weakly.

Her sister’s tentative smile faded just as quickly. “But that doesn’t alter the fact that you have been acting unlike yourself lately. Midnight forays, disheveled clothing, evasive answers.” Georgiana fixed her with a searching stare. “And most of all, that guilty expression shadowing your eyes. Something is very wrong. Why won’t you share it with me? Perhaps I can help.”

God forbid.
Once again, the thought of Georgiana involved in the sordid stink of blackmail sent a chill shuddering down Sophie’s spine. Anthony’s parents were already opposed to the love match. One whiff of scandal…

“No, no, it’s something that I must deal with on my own.” Sophie edged back and craned her neck for a look at the clock. Time was of the essence in more ways than one. In little more than a month, Anthony and his parents were coming to Terrington for the annual Hunt Ball. It was to be the formal start to the prenuptial celebrations, with the wedding to follow a week later. Somehow, she must keep Dudley and Morton’s threats from destroying Georgiana’s future.

“But don’t worry,” she added. “I hope to have it resolved soon.”

Her sister scowled. “Your nose just grew another inch longer.”

“That is
not
humorous.” Turning to shield her face from further scrutiny, Sophie moved several paces down the stretch of shelving.

Silk rustled softly across the dusty floor as Georgiana stuck to her skirts like a cocklebur. “Neither is that odious You-Are-Too-Young-To-Understand tone. Damnation, I am
not
a child anymore, Sophie.”

“Don’t swear,” she said automatically.

“Then don’t provoke me.”

“I…” Another peek at the clock. “I’m sorry, but may we argue about this later? I—I have to step outside.”

“Where are you going?” demanded Georgiana.

“Never mind. It’s just for a short while.” Sophie hated to wheedle, but time was of the essence. “Please, Georgie. I am begging a favor of you—let me fly without further haranguing. It’s terribly important.”

Her sister’s scowl softened. “Then it goes without saying that you can count on me.”

“Thank you.” Sophie heaved a sigh of relief. “I promise I won’t be long.” Gathering her skirts, she turned and hurried for the door.

Traversing Piccadilly as fast as she dared, Sophie darted through the entrance to Green Park and cut along the graveled footpath leading to the far side of the lawns. Just as Cameron had described, a secluded copse of chestnut trees stood beyond a fringe of bushes, their leafy shadows promising a modicum of privacy.

“Over here.” The familiar voice floated out from behind the rough-barked trunks.

Sophie quickened her steps, an unwilling rush of excitement tingling through every fiber of her body.

Oh, surely it is wrong to respond like a shameless hussy—I am prim, practical Sophie Lawrance,
she reminded herself.
Who always errs on the side of caution.

But seeing as her life was already heading to Hell in a handcart, what did it matter if one more sin was scratched on her slate?

Peering through the shifting scrim of greens, Cameron saw Sophie lift her skirts and cross onto the grass. She moved with an unconscious grace, light and airy as the flutter of a butterfly’s wing, and as he watched her approach he felt his heart begin to hammer against his ribs.
Memories, memories…
He shook his head, trying to banish the bedeviling past.

“Don’t look back,” he murmured, his gaze glued to the wisps of honey-gold curls dancing in the breeze. In a louder voice, he called again. “Over here.”

She hesitated for instant before ducking beneath the branches. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, her breath a little ragged. “You came.” A tremulous smile. “I thought perhaps last night was merely…a figment of my imagination, brought on by too much wine.”

“You tasted of champagne,” he murmured.
And an ethereal sweetness beyond words.

Her color deepened. “I fear its effervescence affected my wits. I am not in the habit of…of…”

“Of kissing masked men in the bushes?” he suggested.

“Precisely. As you know, I am sober, sensible Sophie.” The shade of regret in her voice might only have been a delusion of his own benighted brain.

Cameron inhaled deeply, the floral scent of her fragrance sending a sudden wave of intoxication bubbling through his blood.

Don’t—oh, don’t.
Reason sought to make itself heard above its thrumming rush.

Too late. Something inside him snapped, unleashing a wild, primal longing that he had thought was long since tamed. “You are also sensual, sinful Sophie,” he whispered, sweeping her into his arms. “Or have you forgotten those sun-dappled magical moments?”

“How could I ever forget?” Her hands skimmed along his jaw, her lips touched his cheek—hungrily, or so it seemed to him. “But sin has no place in my life anymore.”

“No?” He teased his tongue along her mouth.

She choked back a moan. “No. My family depends on me.” A sigh. “They need me. Now, as then.”

“What of your own needs, Sophie?” Cameron let her body slowly slide down his. As her feet touched the ground, he took her face between his hands. “What of your own desires?”

“I…” The pulsepoint at her throat was skittering out of control.

“Don’t tell me you have no desires,” he whispered, licking the throbbing flesh.

The lush caress seemed to rattle her self-control. A sound—somewhere between a laugh and a sob—broke free as she slipped her hand inside his shirt and pressed it to his bare skin. “I—I can’t deny it.” Her palm touched the taut nub of his nipple, then suddenly pulled away. “But…”

Need speared through him, momentarily cutting through all the carefully crafted cynicism he had wrapped around his heart. Oh, how he missed her warmth and her laughter caressing his skin.

With a desperate growl, Cameron cupped her breasts, reveling in their soft, yielding ripeness beneath her corset. “God help me, but I want to rip away this cursed fabric…” His fingers hooked into the top of her bodice, sending her shawl slithering to the mossy ground. “And tear the laces free.”

“Cam…Cam.” Sophie shuddered and broke off his kiss. “Whatever my own desires, I can’t give in to wild urges. It’s too dangerous.” She pulled back, blinking a beading of tears from her lashes.

“Ah, yes. Danger,” he said evenly, forcing himself to regain a grip on his emotions. “That is, after all, what’s brought us back together. I don’t know how you’ve become involved with Lord Dudley, but be assured that he is dangerous.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I know.”

He tipped up her chin. “I take it you have not willingly sought out his acquaintance?”

“Good God, no!” Her eyes squeezed shut for a moment. “But how in the world did you uncover the connection…and my mother’s earrings?”

“I often pay a visit to The Wolf’s Lair—not for the reasons you might think, I might add. The former owner is a friend. As is Sara, the current proprietor. I happened to observe your exchange with Dudley and saw the package change hands. Let us just say that curiosity is another one of my many failings. I picked his pocket—”

Her gasp interrupted his words. “You speak of danger! Good Lord, you ought not have taken such a terrible risk.”

“Trust me, Sophie, danger and I are on intimate terms. You have no idea what terrible risks and terrible things I’ve done since we parted ways,” replied Cameron.

The color drained from her face, leaving her pale as a wisp of smoke.

“But for the moment we are discussing Dudley. And as he is careless and I am clever, there was never a cause for concern,” he went on. “However, I fear the same cannot be said for your contact with that viper. Now it’s your turn for explanations.”

Her heavy sigh stirred the surrounding leaves. “Around six months ago, Lord Dudley and his friend Mr. Morton came to visit the…” A hint of hesitation. “…the Marquess of Wolcott.”

Cameron stiffened at the mention of the name.
Wolcott. His most implacable enemy.

“He sought me out at one of the local Assemblies.” Her voice dropped to a taut whisper. “And threatened my family with public ruin if I did not pay his price.”

A frown tugged at his mouth. “That makes no sense. Why blackmail an obscure country rector? Surely he must know that your father has naught but a very modest income.”

“And alas, naught but badly wandering wits.” Sophie bit her lip. “Papa’s hold on reality has faded badly. Even if he wanted to answer Lord Dudley’s questions, he couldn’t.”

“First of all, what information is he seeking?” asked Cameron.

Sophie averted her eyes. “It had something to do with a long-ago church document.”