Read The Rake Revealed for Free Online Page B
Authors: Kate Harper
Mr. Morosett was leaning forward, expression intent.
‘Dear me,’ Tapscott observed with a touch of malice. ‘It seems I am not the only one who has trouble controlling my passions.’
Camille shot him a quick look, reflecting that both he and Mr. Morosett might be similarly enthusiastic, but it was only his lordship that made it sound a little risqué. She had not thought that her first proper English dinner would be so beleaguered. Archeology and French miniatures. It was bizarre.
Mr. Morosett’s smile was as bland as milk. ‘Forgive me, my lady. Of course, Tapscott is right. Neither of us should bore you, but I would be delighted to show you my collection if you would care to call. I have some very fine pieces.’
‘That would be enchanting.’ Camille murmured and the subject was dropped.
Considering he was sitting next to her, there was very little chance to engage Lord Tapscott in conversation for he was clearly much admired by the ladies and, as a result, his attention was ever sought. After dinner they retired to a very spacious drawing room where tables had been set up for cards. Not everybody indulged, of course, but many did and the evening passed very easily.
By ten-thirty, Camille decided that she had had enough fun for the evening. She was growing tired and, while it had been very pleasant meeting her new social set, she was ready for some solitude and for her bed. She bade Mrs. Harkness goodnight, assuring her that she had had a most enjoyable evening.
‘It might be some time before I am able to reciprocate,’ she apologized, taking the lady’s hand and pressing it warmly, ‘but when my household is in order, you will be my first guest.’
‘Oh my dear! If there is anything I can do, please let me know. I’m familiar with all the best places for the humdrum stuff that makes a household run. Or if I’m not,’ she added airily, ‘my housekeeper is. You can rely on me.’
Climbing into the carriage, Camille reflected that her entry into society had gone far more smoothly than she had anticipated. She had thought her arrival might meet with mixed feelings, but everybody had been entirely charming.
Settling back in her aged carriage, she thought once more of Lord Tapscott and his peculiar behavior. Why had he concealed his wound? Because that man who had shot him might be present? But no, that made no sense. Perhaps his attacker had not known it was Tapscott he had shot. It seemed the only logical explanation, that whoever shot him did not know his identity. It would also explain his insistence that she should not call a physician, but he had been dreadfully lucky. All too frequently an infection could set in after such a wound and carry a body off.
It was a mere fifteen minute carriage ride back to Kirkham Hall and a very fine night it was, the earlier showers that had made the afternoon so bleak having blown away. Mrs. Hibbert had left a candle burning in the hallway, but there was no sign of her. It would be better when she’d hired a maid, Camille reflected. Somebody who would wait up to help her undress and prepare for bed. Not that she couldn’t do that herself, but sometimes it was nice to have somebody to say goodnight to. Life had been very lonely of late, her friends having fallen by the wayside along with the remnants of her old life.
Weaving her thick hair into a braid, Camille hurried beneath the covers for it was chilly. A maid would also have a fire burning in the grate. Yes, she would see about employing somebody tomorrow.
Camille blew out the candle and settled back into the not-quite darkness, for a chink had been left in the curtains and moonlight crept in. She thought of Lord Tapscott again. What a curious guest he had made. And his host, another odd man. Roman artifacts and French porcelain? Two very odd men…
Camille closed her eyes and drifted into sleep and, under the circumstances, it was little wonder that her dreams were full of strange and wonderful
‘Dear me,’ Tapscott observed with a touch of malice. ‘It seems I am not the only one who has trouble controlling my passions.’
Camille shot him a quick look, reflecting that both he and Mr. Morosett might be similarly enthusiastic, but it was only his lordship that made it sound a little risqué. She had not thought that her first proper English dinner would be so beleaguered. Archeology and French miniatures. It was bizarre.
Mr. Morosett’s smile was as bland as milk. ‘Forgive me, my lady. Of course, Tapscott is right. Neither of us should bore you, but I would be delighted to show you my collection if you would care to call. I have some very fine pieces.’
‘That would be enchanting.’ Camille murmured and the subject was dropped.
Considering he was sitting next to her, there was very little chance to engage Lord Tapscott in conversation for he was clearly much admired by the ladies and, as a result, his attention was ever sought. After dinner they retired to a very spacious drawing room where tables had been set up for cards. Not everybody indulged, of course, but many did and the evening passed very easily.
By ten-thirty, Camille decided that she had had enough fun for the evening. She was growing tired and, while it had been very pleasant meeting her new social set, she was ready for some solitude and for her bed. She bade Mrs. Harkness goodnight, assuring her that she had had a most enjoyable evening.
‘It might be some time before I am able to reciprocate,’ she apologized, taking the lady’s hand and pressing it warmly, ‘but when my household is in order, you will be my first guest.’
‘Oh my dear! If there is anything I can do, please let me know. I’m familiar with all the best places for the humdrum stuff that makes a household run. Or if I’m not,’ she added airily, ‘my housekeeper is. You can rely on me.’
Climbing into the carriage, Camille reflected that her entry into society had gone far more smoothly than she had anticipated. She had thought her arrival might meet with mixed feelings, but everybody had been entirely charming.
Settling back in her aged carriage, she thought once more of Lord Tapscott and his peculiar behavior. Why had he concealed his wound? Because that man who had shot him might be present? But no, that made no sense. Perhaps his attacker had not known it was Tapscott he had shot. It seemed the only logical explanation, that whoever shot him did not know his identity. It would also explain his insistence that she should not call a physician, but he had been dreadfully lucky. All too frequently an infection could set in after such a wound and carry a body off.
It was a mere fifteen minute carriage ride back to Kirkham Hall and a very fine night it was, the earlier showers that had made the afternoon so bleak having blown away. Mrs. Hibbert had left a candle burning in the hallway, but there was no sign of her. It would be better when she’d hired a maid, Camille reflected. Somebody who would wait up to help her undress and prepare for bed. Not that she couldn’t do that herself, but sometimes it was nice to have somebody to say goodnight to. Life had been very lonely of late, her friends having fallen by the wayside along with the remnants of her old life.
Weaving her thick hair into a braid, Camille hurried beneath the covers for it was chilly. A maid would also have a fire burning in the grate. Yes, she would see about employing somebody tomorrow.
Camille blew out the candle and settled back into the not-quite darkness, for a chink had been left in the curtains and moonlight crept in. She thought of Lord Tapscott again. What a curious guest he had made. And his host, another odd man. Roman artifacts and French porcelain? Two very odd men…
Camille closed her eyes and drifted into sleep and, under the circumstances, it was little wonder that her dreams were full of strange and wonderful