A Scandalous Affair Page 4

  “Intimate?”

  “Yes, very. And since it shall be so, so intimate, I think it best if I knew your first name. I’d feel silly calling you Hartwell all evening. Especially because I believe we’re going to become close—friends.” She wished for them to be more than friends but she certainly couldn’t declare that.

  He cleared his throat. “My first name?”

  “You do have one, don’t you?”

  She’d flustered him. His cheeks turned that ruddy color once more and his eyes darted this way and that. She knew his quiet nature had nothing to do with aloofness. He was shy, uncomfortable socially but still incredibly endearing.

  And sweet. And very handsome. Oh, and a most wonderful kisser.

  “I do indeed. My name is…Camden.” He immediately grimaced and she wondered when was the last time he heard someone call him by his given name.

  “I shall have a formal invitation sent to your residence first thing tomorrow.” She smiled and walked backward toward the door. She wanted to squeal with delight at how easily it all unfolded. “It will be a most interesting supper party.”

  “Who else will be in attendance?” he asked. He appeared apprehensive as he waited for her answer.

  “Only a select few.” She unlocked the door and opened it, shooting him a bright smile before she slipped through it. He didn’t need to know he was her only guest. “Good evening, Camden.”

  * * *

  Daphne set the vase of flowers in the center of the table then stepped back to study them. Bright bursts of colorful blooms appeared ready to tumble from the crystal vase. She smiled. They were cheerful, brought a bit of life to the beautiful but sterile dining room.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve found a sudden interest in flower arranging.”

  She turned at the sound of her brother’s droll voice. Oh, dear. She thought Hugh would be gone for the entire day. She needed to be rid of him, and quick, before he grew suspicious of her preparations. “I picked them myself from the garden.”

  “They’re lovely.” Hugh sauntered into the dining room. “What’s the special occasion?”

  “Nothing special.” Her voice sounded false even to her own ears. “I simply couldn’t resist them.”

  “Daphne…” He brushed his finger across a rose, its pink petals falling to the table.

  She wanted to stomp her foot. One of the problems with being so close to one’s sibling was that he figured out quickly when one was up to something. “Don’t ruin my flowers, Hugh. Please.”

  He stepped away from the table with raised eyebrows. “What are you up to?”

  “Oh, fine.” She tossed her hands up into the air. “If you’re so blessedly curious, I’ll have you know there will be a guest at supper this evening.” She paused. “And you’re not invited.”

  “Banished from my own home for supper?” He rested a hand over his chest. “I’m personally affronted.”

  “Stop.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m sure you have an endless stack of invitations full of a variety of supper parties you can attend tonight.”

  “I wanted to spend some quiet time at home.” He looked genuinely hurt, which made her feel terrible. “Who are you having for supper?”

  “No one important.”

  “Which means you don’t want me to know who it is. Considering you’re a grown woman and a widow, I shouldn’t have much say in your personal matters, but do be careful, Daph. Don’t allow some horrific rogue into our house intent on taking advantage of you.”

  “I’m not a stupid girl, though I do appreciate your concern.” She felt terrible, not telling him of her intentions with Lord Hartwell. But he disapproved of him and would only discourage her.

  She certainly couldn’t have that.

  “I’ll go to my club this evening.” He went to her and dropped a quick kiss upon the top of her head. “Leave you alone to entertain your gentleman friend.”

  “You make it sound sordid.”

  “You’re the one who mentioned ‘sordid,’ my dear sister. And don’t forget.” He grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “I pay my servants quite well, and they won’t have any hesitation to spy upon you and report back to me.”

  She growled and pushed him out of the room. “Be gone with you.”

  “Just—be careful.” He glanced at her over his shoulder as she shoved him into the hall, concern darkening his eyes. “Know that the servants are here to assist you if anything…odd should happen.”

  “Thank you, Hugh,” she said softly. “I do appreciate it.”

  Once he’d walked away, she breathed deeply, tried to calm the nervous flutters that wanted to overtake her stomach. It was most disconcerting, thinking of Hartwell—Camden—in her home. Just the two of them. Disconcerting and thrilling, she had to admit.

  In celebration of his impending attendance, she’d worn one of her best gowns to impress. It showcased her assets most becomingly and oh, how she hoped it would please him. She’d caught his gaze falling to her chest more than once when they’d spoken at the ball.

  Her skin tingled at the memory.

  When her husband had died, she’d believed she didn’t need another man in her life. One was just enough. George had been kind, twenty years her senior and gentle. So gentle, he’d rarely raised his voice to her, let alone unleashed even a hint of passion. The man had been so staid, so steadfast. He’d even had the decency to die in his sleep.

  Not an adventurous hint in his body, ever. She’d mourned him properly but realized much to her shame, she didn’t particularly miss him. Believed she’d never have need for a man, since they didn’t seem to do much for her.

  Funny how one glimpse, one dance with Hartwell, and he immediately piqued her interest.

  Perhaps the allure was the mystery he presented. Everyone said he was one thing but she saw another. The warm glow in his eyes, the lonely, almost haunted expression he hid from many. She knew without a doubt he was interesting. Pretending to be something he wasn’t.

  “Madam.” The rough clearing of a throat caused Daphne to turn and she found her brother’s butler, Smythe, standing before her, his expression dour. “The Marquess of Hartwell is here to see you.”

  “Oh, please send him in.” Eagerness made her heart swell and she smoothed her hands over her hair, hoping Hartwell would like it. “Do I look a fright, Smythe?” she asked, suddenly nervous.

  He scowled for a long moment, his eyes narrowed as he examined her. Giving a stiff shake of his head and a harshly whispered, “No,” he turned on his heel and exited the room.

  Daphne sighed. She knew he didn’t approve of her living with Hugh. Smythe didn’t approve of anyone, not even Hugh. He’d been their father’s butler, for God’s sake. The man seemed to have every intention to die in a Huxley household.

  Within moments, Smythe escorted Hartwell into the dining hall, offering a quick bob of his head before he scurried off muttering under his breath. Hartwell shot him an odd glance over his shoulder—most likely he’d heard his grumblings—before he turned his head and his gaze met hers.

  All the air escaped her lungs as she drank him in. He was impeccable in his dark suit and cream silk waistcoat, his blindingly white cravat knotted perfectly beneath his square chin. He appeared freshly shaven, his dark brown hair carefully pushed back from his forehead, his equally dark eyes warm as they gazed upon her. A hint of nervousness lay within, just beneath the surface, and she vowed then and there to ease his apprehension.

  “My lord.” She bobbed her head in deference and gave a little curtsy. “Thank you for coming this evening.”

  “And thank you for inviting me, my lady.” The stiff formality of his voice worried her. As did his assessing gaze, which swept across the room with ruthless efficiency. “Am I the first to arrive?”

  Oh, dear. The moment of truth was upon her, and only mere seconds after his arrival. Should she lie and pretend others would soon make their appearance? Or would it be best for her to blurt the truth and be done with it?
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br />   Nibbling on her lower lip, she dipped her gaze to the floor for the briefest moment before she dared to look at him once more. He watched her, eyes locked on her mouth, and she released her teeth’s grip on her lip, embarrassed. “Everyone is already here, my lord.”

  He looked about the room again, his dark brows drawn downward in seeming confusion. “Where are they?”

  “They’re right here.” She waved a hand between the two of them, indicating they were it. “You are my only guest this evening, I’m afraid.”

  “Did the others cancel?”

  He really didn’t get it, did he? She almost wanted to laugh but was afraid her reaction might offend. “No. You see, you’re the only one I invited.”

  Realization dawned. She saw it in the way his lips parted, the widening of his brown eyes. Slowly, one side of his mouth lifted in a lopsided smile and he slowly shook his head. “You’re rather bold. Aren’t you taking a risk?”

  She lifted her chin defiantly. “One I’m most willing to make. I’m no longer an impressionable young girl. Widows are generally left alone. Society doesn’t scare me.”

  “Well, consider yourself quite lucky because they seem to frighten me on a daily basis,” he murmured, his lips immediately clamping shut as if he regretted admitting that particular fact.

  Daphne appreciated the confirmation. She’d had a feeling that was his issue and he’d all but admitted it. Reaching out, she brushed the tips of her fingers against his forearm, admiring the firm muscles beneath the fine fabric of his sleeve. “Perhaps you just need a bit of advice to ease your social distress.”

  “Advice?” He sounded intrigued.

  “Well, perhaps.” She turned away from him and walked the length of the dining table, trailing her fingers along the sharp edge. All the while, her mind whirled with ideas. It was brilliant, really, her impulsive suggestion. They could continue seeing each other under the pretense of her helping him when really, she wanted to get to know him better, see if they had common interests. And perhaps—perhaps lure him into something more substantial.

  A little smile played upon her lips. She was certainly wicked. If her husband saw her behaving in such a manner, he would drop dead from shock. She never believed she had it in her but there was something about this man that made her want to throw all propriety aside. To think of her own needs and indulge in something purely for her pleasure.

  “I’m not a patron of Almack’s but I could be of help to you,” she finally said.

  “How do you think you can help me?”

  His softly asked question made her turn once again to face him. “I…get a sense that I understand you somehow. I’ve noticed before your apparent uneasiness when you move amongst society.”

  “You have?” Hartwell sounded shocked.

  “Indeed, I have.” She nodded her affirmation. “And I don’t believe the rumors, Camden.” A thrill shot up her spine at saying his name. “I don’t think you’re cold or arrogant or rude. I certainly don’t think you have a black ‘Hart,’ as I’ve heard whispered about you more than once.”

  “What do you think of me then?”

  “I believe you’re intelligent. Modest. Perhaps…perhaps you’re shy.”

  “Shy.” He chuckled and his cheeks turned that ruddy color yet again. “That is one way of putting it.”

  She wanted to stamp her foot in frustration. How was she ever to figure him out if he didn’t reveal any of his secrets? Not even a hint? “Maybe you could enlighten me as to your ailment.”

  “Another fine choice of words on your part, my lady.” He shook his head with a slight frown. “You don’t want to know.”

  “I am dying to know.”

  “I’d rather not say.”

  “Perhaps you’ll be more inclined to reveal your little secret to me later.” She smiled, pretending his exclusion didn’t bother her, but it hurt. Of course, he didn’t know her and she didn’t really know him. Why should he feel comfortable enough to share his mysterious affliction or whatever it was that impeded him?

  She’d earn his trust. They would grow closer. And soon…soon, Hartwell would reveal all of his secrets to her.

  Daphne just knew it.

  Chapter Six

  The widow was brazen, Hartwell would give her that. She appeared to have no qualms whatsoever in having a bachelor dine with her alone. His carriage was parked out in front of her brother’s townhouse for all of London to see. And he was sure at least some of society would know—though they might believe he was dining with Huxley tonight. Of course, the servants would talk amongst themselves and soon the rumors would spread.

  He abhorred gossip. How he hated being the subject of illicit whispers and outrageous rumors. He tried his best to live a quiet life. He kept to himself and moved amongst society almost like a shadow. Much to his dismay, that seemed to draw him even more attention.

  Perhaps he should take a cue from the lovely widow sitting across the table and act as bold as he pleased. It might do him some good.

  He’d need her by his side, though. When he spoke with her, his stutter disappeared. He seemed to gain a confidence he never had in private. Let alone in public. The women he’d been with in the past weren’t titled, respectable ladies. Women he hired to be with him for the night most of the time, they were the only ones he believed could tolerate him.

  In other words, he’d sold himself short. Just as his father had taught him to do.

  Frowning, he set his silverware across his plate. He’d hardly eaten. He could speak with Daphne about banal subjects, make polite conversation, but inside the nerves still clashed and warred with one another.

  Lord help him, he was a fool. Perhaps it was a mistake that he came tonight. He wasn’t man enough for this lovely, chattering woman. Her turquoise eyes sparkled as she talked animatedly, her delicate hands gesturing and fluttering like wild little birds. She was amusing and witty. She would make any man proud to call her his wife.

  His heart panged and his frown deepened. She claimed she found him interesting and wanted to help him, whatever that meant. She most likely thought of him as a novelty.

  “Is something wrong with your food?” Hartwell glanced up to find her studying him, her expression somber. “You barely touched it.”

  “I find I’m not very hungry.” He leaned back in his chair, thought about bolting but didn’t want to appear too rude.

  “Oh, well that’s a shame.” She frowned. Plucking the napkin from her lap, she set it to the side of her plate. “I’m not hungry any longer either.”

  “You don’t have to…”

  “Yes, I do. My guest has quit eating and so shall I.” She gave a subtle wave of her hand and the lone maid in the room rushed toward the table, gathering their plates and piling them high in her arms before she exited.

  They were completely alone. Not even a servant to keep watch. And to his amazement, Lady Pomeroy rose from her chair, making her away around the table so that she stood next to him, so close he could smell her delectable scent, could hear the gentle gusts of her breaths. He looked up at her silently.

  “I have offended you.” Her voice was low, her gaze directed solely upon his face. It was rather disconcerting, her focus. “I’m not sure how but I can only offer my apologies.”

  She was far too aware for her own good. How she could read him so well, he hadn’t a clue.

  Wanting to deflect her, he offered a polite smile. “You haven’t offended. I’m just not…feeling very well.”

  She stood there, gazing down at him. Her expression said it all. She didn’t believe him. He sensed she wanted to say more but she refrained. Pasting on a smile instead, she offered him her hand, waggled her fingers at him. “Come with me.”

  “Where?”

  Her smile grew, genuine now. “It’s a surprise. Please, come with me. I want to make up for whatever misdeed I made toward you that offended you so.”

  “It—it isn’t you.” He took her soft, slender hand and stood, not releasing
his grip on her. Her startled gaze met his. “You did nothing. I let my wayward thoughts get away from me.”

  “Oh, well you must put a halt to that and immediately, don’t you think?” Giving him a saucy wink, she tugged him close, then started toward the doorway.

  He had no choice but to follow, covertly watching her swaying hips as she led him down the corridor. She really was beautiful. And sweet. And a bit of good fun, something he desperately needed in his life. He was far too somber. Hell, he rarely smiled and the word “fun” wasn’t even in his vocabulary.

  He had a suspicion if he allowed this particular woman deeper into his life, he wouldn’t regret it.

  “Here we are.” They walked into a small sitting room, stopping in the middle of it. It was sparsely furnished and dark, only a single candelabra lighting the interior, and she stepped closer to him, grasping both of his hands in hers. “Would you care to dance?”

  His brows lifted in surprise as she fitted herself more closely to him. “You’re asking me to dance again?”

  She smiled. “It worked before, didn’t it? Besides, you seem to do your best when we’re alone. Though I did receive an invitation to the Westham ball yesterday afternoon. Perhaps we could dance together there?”

  He’d received an invite as well. And he’d immediately dismissed it. What was the point in attending if no one spoke to him? It had been a mistake, trying to earn their respect and friendship. He’d hoped at the beginning of the Season to eventually earn the hand of a lovely young lady who wanted to marry him.

  It had ended up being a colossal waste of his time.

  “You’re tense,” she murmured, shaking their linked hands so his arms waved up and down. “You need to relax.”

  Before he could reply, she released her grip on his hands and touched him. Smoothing her palms up the length of his forearms, his upper arms until she settled her fingers upon his shoulders, she firmly squeezed him there. And sighed loudly. “You’re very tense. Go, sit down.”