Wicked. Shannon Drake
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Sir Hunter was striking. Tall, well dressed, with rich, dark hair and eyes. She was aware that among the elite he had a reputation for daring, adventure and charm. And naturally, a reputation for attracting feminine enchantment. Though he might have been something of a rake, it did him no ill, for he was neither married nor even engaged. The mamas and papas among the wealthy and equally as elite could reason that such a young man should certainly sow his wild oats. Therefore, he remained prized as a possible catch in the marriage arena.
Camille could well understand his attraction, for he had always been courteous and charming to her. She was no fool, however, and neither did she intend to live the life that had brought her mother to such a tragic and dismal end. With a certain dry humor she could appreciate the fact that she held an appeal to Hunter, as well. She was hardly among the class from which he would choose a wife, but neither was she one he could seduce for the mere value of entertainment. She would not allow it, and had always made that fact perfectly, if tacitly, clear. It did not prevent him from his continued attempts at charm, however, since he was also a man of enough ego to believe that if he really chose, he would eventually have his way.
“Ah, my dear Miss Montgomery!” Hunter continued, coming to her side. “Ever our glorious scholar, beauty hidden away in a tiny room in a musky old smock!” He leaned upon the table, eyes sparkling. “Alas! You must take care, my darling Camille. The years will pass! You will have spent them, becoming steadily more myopic into your old age, forgetting all about the wonders of the modern world.”
She laughed softly. “Ah, wonders such as yourself, Sir Hunter?”
He grinned ruefully. “Well, I would be happy to escort you about London, you know.”
“I fear the scandal,” she told him.
“One must live a bit recklessly.”
“Easy enough for you, Sir Hunter,” she told him primly. “And I love my work! If I’m to grow old, gray and myopic, there is no better place.”
“But the waste of such youth and beauty is a true tragedy!” he told her.
“You’re most charming, and you know it,” she informed him.
His smile faded and he grew serious. “I’m quite concerned.”
“You are? Why?” she inquired.
He came around and stood by her side, and a bit too tenderly smoothed back a stray lock of her hair. “I’ve just heard that you’ve spent an extraordinary evening—and morning.”
“Oh! The accident,” she murmured.
“You slept last night at Castle Carlyle?” he demanded.
“My guardian was hurt. There was no choice.”
“May I speak bluntly, Camille?” he asked, eyes gentle and serious.
“If that’s what you wish.”
“I fear for you! You mustn’t ever be deceived. The Earl of Carlyle is a monster. He chose his mask as close to his heart as he might. Sir John has told me that he brought you into the museum today and is insisting that you attend the fund-raiser on his arm. Camille, he is dangerous.”
She arched a brow. “Forgive me if I’m wrong, Hunter, but aren’t you continually attempting to be just as…dangerous?”
Gravely, he shook his head. “My attempts are merely upon your virtue. The Earl of Carlyle is very nearly insane. I fear for your life and health. Apparently, he has fixated upon you, Camille. You entered his world, where he allows very few these days.” He cleared his throat. “Camille, I’d not hurt your feelings for the world. Surely, though, you are aware that we remain a horribly class-conscious society. There’s rumor, of course, that the earl prowls the alleys of London at night, seeking diverse entertainments, since he no longer appears, scarred and mutilated, in the drawing rooms of the gentle misses he might otherwise have sought. I fear that he is truly toying with you in the most cruel and heinous manner.”
That was exactly what the earl was doing, but hardly in the manner that Sir Hunter imagined.
“Please, don’t worry about me,” she told him. “I’m quite able to handle myself.” She offered him a rueful smile. “Surely you’re aware of that. If I’m not mistaken, sir, you have been trying…well, to bring the wonders of the modern world to my doorstep since I came.”
“I’ve not been a wretch, surely!” he protested.
“No, because I am quite capable of handling myself.”
“I know how to settle this in the most courteous manner!” Hunter exclaimed. “We can say that you had already agreed to come with me.”
“Hunter, how very kind,” she told him, setting an arm on his shoulder, because she did believe that he was concerned. “But think of the scandal. In fact, I imagine that I could be in tremendous danger then, for dozens of highborn ladies would be after my throat if they imagined that a woman such as myself was after you!” She was teasing, but there was a grain of truth to her words.
He took both her hands, his eyes intense as they delved into hers. “Camille, really, it would not be a bad thing to let the Earl of Carlyle believe that there was something quite serious between us. And I am a humble ‘sir.’ He is an earl. A different matter altogether.”
“Hunter, is that a proposal?” she teased.
He hesitated. She withdrew her hands.
“Hunter, please believe me. You have been ever kind to me, and I, like all those others, have not been immune. But, Hunter, if I were to engage in a small liaison with you, I would not be just common, but I believe many a common word would be added when my name was spoken.”
“Ah, Camille, the temptation you stir in my heart to cast all else to the wind…”
“Would be foolish,” she told him firmly. “I believe that I will be quite all right. You, of all men, should be aware that I know my class, my position, and that I therefore avoid anything serious with men of greater means.”
He frowned, still intense. “Camille, you know, you do enchant…and more.”
“Hunter, it is the very fact that I am unattainable that enchants you.”
He shook his head. “No, Camille. You are aware, surely, that you have eyes of magic, green and gold, as alluring as those of a tigress. You are, unless you are without sight and reason, aware that you are graced with a form like many a classic statue that charms every man who enters here. You are alive and vital and intelligent. Yes, you could so beguile a man that he would be willing to do anything to acquire your hand.”
She was startled by the passion of his speech. “You’re implying that I believe I could withhold my company from a man such as the earl and gain…marriage?” she said, somewhat incredulous. She had been touched before but was suddenly angry.
“Camille! Please, I speak out of love. My admiration and care for you are deep, indeed.”
She shook her head. “Hunter—”
“Is that it? Do you want marriage? Camille…yes, I would give you a proposal.”
Again shocked, she said, “Hunter, you would hate me. You would deplore the scandal. And say you were really willing to cast sanity to the wind and marry me. In no time, I would no longer be so charming, because I would no longer be unattainable.”
“Camille, you wound me.”
“Hunter, you are worrying where you need not,” she assured him.
“Is that the game you think you could play with Lord Stirling? After all, he is an earl, and even kings have married commoners. But, Camille, you must remember the fate of a certain commoner who married a king.”
“Hunter—”
“History, my dear girl, history! Think of Anne Boleyn.