out.” He spoke as though the words were torn from him.
Camille flinched. “Damn you to hell!” Her lovely face was a study of grief and anger. “All these years of hating my father and grieving for your uncle has unhinged you.”
“Very possibly.” He looked through and beyond her. “Come, I’ll take you back to the car.”
Camille was adamant. “I’ll collect my handbag and the album. There’s a phone booth up ahead. I’ll call a cab.”
“Don’t be absurd.” His voice was cold with disdain. “I’m responsible for seeing you home safely.”
Camille fought for self-control. What did this manwant of her? To incite her beyond reason? Well, he was succeeding. She felt terrible aching rage.
“You’re not going to win, Nick Lombard. I absolutely loathe you.” She spoke with such passion she was left breathless.
He gave her a bitter smile. “Then it must be a matter of great shame that I excite you, as well.”
Guilty as charged, she thought with a faint sense of horror. And while she stood rigid, he pulled her into his arms as though she weighed nothing. He held her tightly, fiercely, crushing her breasts against him. For one split second, before his mouth bore down on hers, Camille was driven to concede their coming together was inevitable.
He took her breath, her will, her ability to stand on her own feet. The kiss when it came was the most passionate, the most brutally ecstatic of her life, and her equally passionate response would burden her forever with thoughts of dishonor.
As galvanically as it had begun, it was over. She had to cling to him as a drowning swimmer clings to a life raft.
“How dare you!” she panted.
“You can’t bring yourself to admit you wanted it.”
“You forced me.”
“I hardly think so. But next time perhaps you might try to be a little less…provocative.”
“And if I’m not?”
The brilliant black eyes became hooded, yet they spoke a thousand words.
Camille shivered in the warm air. And so it continues, she thought, into the next generation….
CHAPTER FOUR
B Y THE END OF DAY TWO all the paintings had been sold, many of them far above the reserve, others for a relative bargain. If the seriously rich had their day, the upwardly mobile had their chance when the crystal, silver, sculpture, objets d’art and Oriental rugs went under the hammer.
“I’m in shock,” Linda confessed during the brief afternoon tea break. “But at least I got my beautiful basket.”
“I’m glad.” Camille smiled.
“Paid too much of course, but I love it.” Linda set down her cup. “This must be hard for you, Milly, the end of an era.”
“Most people would say good riddance. In fact, they’ve been saying it fairly loudly.” Camille’s tone was wry. “It may be the end of an era, but it’s not the end of the world. Frankly, I’m more concerned about you than all the chattels going out the door. Your eyes have a bruised look.”
“I am a bit weary,” Linda admitted, a glaze of tears in her huge eyes. “As my mother-in-law is fond of telling anyone within earshot, I’m a ‘frail little thing.’”
“Don’t let her get to you,” Camille counseled. This wasn’t the first time Linda had expressed the feelingsof inadequacy the daunting Madelaine Carghill seemed to engender.
“Oh, Milly, I just don’t have your self-confidence. For all Harry tried to crush you, he didn’t succeed. You know your worth.”
“It involved a lot of hard work,” Camille said with feeling. “I have my doubts and insecurities like everyone else—you know that better than anyone. Anyway, there isn’t a female alive who could come up to Madelaine Carghill’s standards for the wife of her only son.”
“What about Fiona Duncan?”
Camille looked at her friend aghast. “Nonsense, Lindy! You’re being a bit paranoid, aren’t you?”
“I guess. Silly me.”
Camille turned in her chair to stare at her friend. At the best of times Linda had an air of fragility
Camille flinched. “Damn you to hell!” Her lovely face was a study of grief and anger. “All these years of hating my father and grieving for your uncle has unhinged you.”
“Very possibly.” He looked through and beyond her. “Come, I’ll take you back to the car.”
Camille was adamant. “I’ll collect my handbag and the album. There’s a phone booth up ahead. I’ll call a cab.”
“Don’t be absurd.” His voice was cold with disdain. “I’m responsible for seeing you home safely.”
Camille fought for self-control. What did this manwant of her? To incite her beyond reason? Well, he was succeeding. She felt terrible aching rage.
“You’re not going to win, Nick Lombard. I absolutely loathe you.” She spoke with such passion she was left breathless.
He gave her a bitter smile. “Then it must be a matter of great shame that I excite you, as well.”
Guilty as charged, she thought with a faint sense of horror. And while she stood rigid, he pulled her into his arms as though she weighed nothing. He held her tightly, fiercely, crushing her breasts against him. For one split second, before his mouth bore down on hers, Camille was driven to concede their coming together was inevitable.
He took her breath, her will, her ability to stand on her own feet. The kiss when it came was the most passionate, the most brutally ecstatic of her life, and her equally passionate response would burden her forever with thoughts of dishonor.
As galvanically as it had begun, it was over. She had to cling to him as a drowning swimmer clings to a life raft.
“How dare you!” she panted.
“You can’t bring yourself to admit you wanted it.”
“You forced me.”
“I hardly think so. But next time perhaps you might try to be a little less…provocative.”
“And if I’m not?”
The brilliant black eyes became hooded, yet they spoke a thousand words.
Camille shivered in the warm air. And so it continues, she thought, into the next generation….
CHAPTER FOUR
B Y THE END OF DAY TWO all the paintings had been sold, many of them far above the reserve, others for a relative bargain. If the seriously rich had their day, the upwardly mobile had their chance when the crystal, silver, sculpture, objets d’art and Oriental rugs went under the hammer.
“I’m in shock,” Linda confessed during the brief afternoon tea break. “But at least I got my beautiful basket.”
“I’m glad.” Camille smiled.
“Paid too much of course, but I love it.” Linda set down her cup. “This must be hard for you, Milly, the end of an era.”
“Most people would say good riddance. In fact, they’ve been saying it fairly loudly.” Camille’s tone was wry. “It may be the end of an era, but it’s not the end of the world. Frankly, I’m more concerned about you than all the chattels going out the door. Your eyes have a bruised look.”
“I am a bit weary,” Linda admitted, a glaze of tears in her huge eyes. “As my mother-in-law is fond of telling anyone within earshot, I’m a ‘frail little thing.’”
“Don’t let her get to you,” Camille counseled. This wasn’t the first time Linda had expressed the feelingsof inadequacy the daunting Madelaine Carghill seemed to engender.
“Oh, Milly, I just don’t have your self-confidence. For all Harry tried to crush you, he didn’t succeed. You know your worth.”
“It involved a lot of hard work,” Camille said with feeling. “I have my doubts and insecurities like everyone else—you know that better than anyone. Anyway, there isn’t a female alive who could come up to Madelaine Carghill’s standards for the wife of her only son.”
“What about Fiona Duncan?”
Camille looked at her friend aghast. “Nonsense, Lindy! You’re being a bit paranoid, aren’t you?”
“I guess. Silly me.”
Camille turned in her chair to stare at her friend. At the best of times Linda had an air of fragility
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