oddly vulnerable. But he wasn’t about to take it back and have her guess why.
“You’re welcome,” he said tightly. When she headed for the door, seemingly eager to flee his presence, he added, “Tomorrow evening we’ll play piquet.”
Damn it, why had he said that?
She faced him with a wary gaze. “I thought you were returning to London in the morning.”
He’d planned to. Until she’d looked so bloody glad to leave him, so bloody scared that he might toss her into his bed and ravish her. Which was only marginally worse than her looking at him as if she understood things she couldn’t possibly understand.
You’ll dismiss me? Run back to London, where it’s safe? Except that it isn’t safe, is it? Because even I, a complete stranger, can see the noose that is choking you more and more with every day . . .
She could see no such thing, devil take her! He’d fought hard to bring himself to the point where he didn’t care one whit what Mother did. But if he left for London now, Camilla would think he did care, and that galled him.
“I need to consult with Fowler before I go, and that always ends up taking longer than I expect. Since I’ll be on the estate anyway . . . ” He shrugged.
Tipping up her chin, she stared at him with those penetrating blue eyes. “Does that mean you’ll dine with me and your mother again, too?”
Damn. She’d misunderstood him. She thought he wanted to repeat tonight’s bargain.
At his silence, she blushed and went on hastily, “Because otherwise I don’t think it would be appropriate for you and me to—”
“Same bargain as before,” he heard himself say as if through a fog. “I dine with the two of you, and you come here afterward.”
Idiot. Yet he could hardly compel her to show up in his bedchamber again, unless he wanted to be one of those loathsome employers who forced their servants into their beds. And whatwould one more dinner with Mother matter, anyway? He knew her game. He could remain immune to it. Indeed, he would show Mrs. I Can See Your Darkest Secrets Stuart that he wasn’t letting any damned “noose” choke him.
Camilla’s gaze softened, making him regret he’d even suggested staying another night. “All right. Same bargain as before. Though I think we should avoid the naughty books.”
“Indeed.” Just the thought of her reading more of Fanny Hill aloud to him in her sultry voice made his cock harden again. “No naughty books.”
“And no more kisses,” she said firmly.
It rubbed him raw that she thought him incapable of controlling himself. He was known for his control. “Of course.” When she looked skeptical, he managed a bored expression. “Don’t worry, Camilla. As I said this afternoon, I don’t make a practice of abusing the trust of those in my employ. We’ll merely play piquet. Or rather, I’ll trounce you at piquet.”
“If you can,” she said lightly.
He snorted. “I’ve spent a good portion of my life in gaming hells. I think I can beat a woman whose only experience at the game is with little old ladies and orphans.”
“I take it you don’t remember the name of that little old lady I served as companion to.” When he frowned, trying to recall the contents of her reference letters, she added, “Lady Stirling. And she taught me everything she knew about piquet.”
Which was plenty. The late viscountess had been one of the best piquet players in England. “Then it’s a good thing I beat her twice during my salad days.”
Her face fell. “You’re bamming me.”
“You’ll find out tomorrow night, won’t you?”
“I suppose so,” she said with a nod, and swept out the door.
A pity he would have to run the gauntlet of dinner with Mother again before he got a few hours with Camilla, who still had no idea what her meddling had wrought.
So tell me! How else can I learn if you don’t?
He scowled. He ought to do just that—tell her everything and let her see just how heartless was the
“You’re welcome,” he said tightly. When she headed for the door, seemingly eager to flee his presence, he added, “Tomorrow evening we’ll play piquet.”
Damn it, why had he said that?
She faced him with a wary gaze. “I thought you were returning to London in the morning.”
He’d planned to. Until she’d looked so bloody glad to leave him, so bloody scared that he might toss her into his bed and ravish her. Which was only marginally worse than her looking at him as if she understood things she couldn’t possibly understand.
You’ll dismiss me? Run back to London, where it’s safe? Except that it isn’t safe, is it? Because even I, a complete stranger, can see the noose that is choking you more and more with every day . . .
She could see no such thing, devil take her! He’d fought hard to bring himself to the point where he didn’t care one whit what Mother did. But if he left for London now, Camilla would think he did care, and that galled him.
“I need to consult with Fowler before I go, and that always ends up taking longer than I expect. Since I’ll be on the estate anyway . . . ” He shrugged.
Tipping up her chin, she stared at him with those penetrating blue eyes. “Does that mean you’ll dine with me and your mother again, too?”
Damn. She’d misunderstood him. She thought he wanted to repeat tonight’s bargain.
At his silence, she blushed and went on hastily, “Because otherwise I don’t think it would be appropriate for you and me to—”
“Same bargain as before,” he heard himself say as if through a fog. “I dine with the two of you, and you come here afterward.”
Idiot. Yet he could hardly compel her to show up in his bedchamber again, unless he wanted to be one of those loathsome employers who forced their servants into their beds. And whatwould one more dinner with Mother matter, anyway? He knew her game. He could remain immune to it. Indeed, he would show Mrs. I Can See Your Darkest Secrets Stuart that he wasn’t letting any damned “noose” choke him.
Camilla’s gaze softened, making him regret he’d even suggested staying another night. “All right. Same bargain as before. Though I think we should avoid the naughty books.”
“Indeed.” Just the thought of her reading more of Fanny Hill aloud to him in her sultry voice made his cock harden again. “No naughty books.”
“And no more kisses,” she said firmly.
It rubbed him raw that she thought him incapable of controlling himself. He was known for his control. “Of course.” When she looked skeptical, he managed a bored expression. “Don’t worry, Camilla. As I said this afternoon, I don’t make a practice of abusing the trust of those in my employ. We’ll merely play piquet. Or rather, I’ll trounce you at piquet.”
“If you can,” she said lightly.
He snorted. “I’ve spent a good portion of my life in gaming hells. I think I can beat a woman whose only experience at the game is with little old ladies and orphans.”
“I take it you don’t remember the name of that little old lady I served as companion to.” When he frowned, trying to recall the contents of her reference letters, she added, “Lady Stirling. And she taught me everything she knew about piquet.”
Which was plenty. The late viscountess had been one of the best piquet players in England. “Then it’s a good thing I beat her twice during my salad days.”
Her face fell. “You’re bamming me.”
“You’ll find out tomorrow night, won’t you?”
“I suppose so,” she said with a nod, and swept out the door.
A pity he would have to run the gauntlet of dinner with Mother again before he got a few hours with Camilla, who still had no idea what her meddling had wrought.
So tell me! How else can I learn if you don’t?
He scowled. He ought to do just that—tell her everything and let her see just how heartless was the
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