 
# Improper Duke

### Scandalous Encounters

### by Kristabel Reed

Copyright © 2016 by Kristabel Reed

Smashwords Edition

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This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Formatted by: CyberWitch Press

# Chapter One

LONDON, ENGLAND

DECEMBER 1817

MRS. CAMILLA PRIMSBY wandered through the crush at Lady Lindor's birthday ball. She let her critical eye wander over the groups, the single young ladies laughing in a corner, who watched whom from across the room, who made it a point to be introduced.

She tried never to miss a thing.

She enjoyed everything about matchmaking and knew she was very good at it. A small smile flitted across her full lips. Camilla thought back to Lillian Norwood and wondered if the other woman took advantage of her slyly subtle match with Mr. William Pennington. She'd have to write Miss Norwood to see if aught came from that Christmas feast.

But that was neither here nor there.

Tonight, she had two items on her agenda. One was to see to Mademoiselle Lizette Fortescue and the Marquess of Montagu. They had courted for months now, and Camilla wished to see if it progressed to a betrothal, as she believed it would.

The second was to find suitable matches for the Earl of Hawkhurst. Camilla didn't quite understand why the Duke of Axton hired her and not the earl himself.

Camilla stepped into the dining room and took a glass of punch. Lukewarm, it nonetheless cooled her throat in the heat of the townhouse. She stepped closer to the open French doors, where the cold wind eased the heat of so many people. The candles flickered against the breeze, and she watched a footman relight several snuffed candles as if his entire reason for being in that room was to do so.

She smiled at the thought, one that probably wasn't too far off, and turned back to the room at large.

From this vantage point, she noted several eligible women for Hawkhurst. Their interview this afternoon gave her an idea of what he was about, even if Camilla felt the earl withheld certain aspects.

Withheld several things, if she wasn't mistaken. And Camilla prided herself on being a superb judge of character.

Hawkhurst wished for a woman who did not simper or blindly follow the _ton_. A woman who knew her own mind. Financially shrewd though she need not necessarily possess a fortune.

Camilla's first thought was Lady Octavia Granville; however, she instantly dismissed the woman. Her understanding was that Lady Octavia could not bear to be within five feet of Hawkhurst.

Pity. She'd make an excellent match in every other way.

Shaking her head, Camilla moved from the doors and back into the ball. She smoothed her hand down her sage green gown, the wool of it soft and warm beneath her fingers. First she'd seek out Lizette.

The other woman beamed when she spotted Camilla. Clearly a subtle interview was not needed, and she returned the smile. Beside Lizette, the marquess stood proudly, also beaming. Lizette turned to him and said something Camilla couldn't hear over the roar of the crush, but Montagu obediently bowed, touched her hand with the faintest brush of intimacy, and left.

Lizette closed the distance between them in several quick steps and wrapped her arm through Camilla's.

A curvaceous woman with a generous form, Lizette Fortescue was as bright and energetic as any woman Camilla had ever met. She knew Lizette and Montagu would make a good long-term match, despite Miss Eleanor Richardson setting her sights on the marquess.

Petty though it was, Camilla was pleased Montagu ignored the spoiled girl and devoted all his attention to Lizette.

"Mrs. Primsby," Lizette whispered as quietly as the room allowed, "I'm so happy. I can't believe it. We are so perfectly matched, the marquess and I. How in heavens did you ever think of reaching so high for someone like me?"

"You are perfectly lovely," Camilla assured her. "And a perfect fit for the marquess. He loves curvaceous women," she added with a wink.

Lizette blushed, but her smile widened. "He does!" Her voice rose just slightly as she added, "We have so much in common, it's frightening. And I've never felt so beautiful as when he looks at me."

She stopped and turned and said very seriously, "I'll sing your praises forever, Mrs. Primsby. Whatever you need, _whenever_ , simply call on me."

"Thank you," Camilla said sincerely. "It's such an honor to have a marchioness-to-be as a friend."

Lizette laughed, a bright, happy sound that echoed over the din. Nothing could dull Lizette's joy, and Camilla was beyond pleased for her.

"Has a date been chosen for the wedding?" Camilla asked, her own smile wide in response.

Lizette nodded. "In two weeks. We're staying at the estate until the winter passes. Then we're to travel the Continent. I'm excited about the trip, but I know I'm going to enjoy having my husband to myself for several months prior."

Oh, Camilla had no doubt. And if the Marquess and Marchioness of Montagu didn't announce a baby by spring, Camilla might just hang up her hat of the whole matchmaking business.

Tapping Lizette on the hand, she agreed. "I know you will."

Several women tried to catch Lizette's attention and Camilla smiled and stepped back.

"Go on, speak with your friends."

Lizette nodded and kissed Camilla's cheek before all but skipping off. Not the most decorous behavior for a marchioness, but then that's not why Camilla matched Lizette with Montagu. The man didn't need decorous _—_ he needed vibrancy.

With a grin still hovering around her lips, Camilla turned and looked at the crowd. And there was Miss Eleanor Richardson, the Viscount Claybourne's daughter. She looked more speculative than angry, her gaze focused entirely on Camilla and not Montagu or Lizette. Suddenly Camilla knew Miss Richardson was going to seek out her services.

There was something about the viscount's daughter that Camilla did not like, and she refused to take on a case where a party was miserable. A woman who spoke whatever you wished to hear to your face, Miss Richardson was a vindictive gossip with no thought to whom she hurt with her careless words.

She didn't often decline a new client, but even as she turned from the younger woman, Camilla composed her rejection to the viscountess and her daughter.

On to item number two: the Earl of Hawkhurst.

While Camilla hadn't yet seen him here, this afternoon when they spoke he did tell her he planned to attend Lady Lindor's ball. Quickly scanning the room, Camilla looked for him even as her mind once more drifted to their interview this afternoon.

What was it that lay behind his eyes? That pained, haunted look she glimpsed—there and gone. But it'd been there, she was positive of that. He served in His Majesty's Army, though there was precious little information about his time and even less gossip, which surprised her.

Then again, over two years after Waterloo, people's memories dimmed. On to the next gossip, the next scandal.

A handsome man with integrity and honor, he seemed lost. Always lost in the Old Bailey for sure, Camilla wondered if he was simply shy, preferring the law to society. If she did find a woman, would Hawkhurst open up?

She still didn't think him ready for marriage, not with that haunted look he wore like a cloak. However, he was her next job, and Camilla prided herself on securing matches for all her clients.

Even the former Isabella Harrington. Despite the woman refusing her services, Camilla _had_ introduced her to the Duke of Strathmore, and now they expected their first child. Yes, she definitely counted that as a match she made.

Humming slightly to herself, Camilla wandered around the dancers, watching them pair up and retreat, only to end up together at the end of the song, the perfect analogy for what she, herself, accomplished.

"Oh." Camilla stopped and stepped back. She hadn't paid attention to where she walked and had run into a tall man. "Pardon."

She went to step around him, but he stepped back into her path. She frowned.

"Entirely my fault, Mrs. Primsby," he said in a deep voice that rumbled through the air around her.

Camilla blinked up at him. "I don't believe I've had the honor of your acquaintance, sir."

"Forgive me again," he said with a little bow. "You were pointed out to me by the Marquess of Montagu. I'm Gareth the Duke of Axton."

_Oh._ She'd not had the pleasure of meeting Axton before, but of course knew of him. The duke had sent her the letter securing her services for Hawkhurst.

"Your Grace, a pleasure." She nodded and curtseyed. "If I may be so bold, it is rather peculiar a gentleman who retains my services for a friend and not a family member."

His lips turned up in a warm smile, and his eyes glinted with laughter. "I'm sure. However, I consider Hawkhurst family."

Camilla nodded and smiled in return. "How very generous of you, Your Grace."

She paused and studied him for a moment. She understood Axton spent much of the last year in Scotland, with friends, recuperating after the war.

His blue eyes were impossibly dark and shone with humor and intelligence. The candlelight glinted off his dark blond hair. When he smiled, a small dimple showed on his right cheek. Camilla blinked and forced her attention back on the matter at hand. Very rarely had she noted a man's appearance the way she did Axton's.

Unless Axton hired her to match-make him, she had no business staring at him so. And not even then.

"Your Grace, I wonder if I might trouble you for some insight into Lord Hawkhurst's desires in a mate," she said and gestured to a relatively quiet corner of the room.

It did not escape her notice the number of eyes on her and Axton, and Camilla suppressed a smirk. No doubt the gossips already wondered who she planned to match the duke with.

With his hands clasped behind his back, he studied her with more interest than she felt warranted for the situation. That knowledge did not matter, it seemed. A warm flush rushed through her, and Camilla found herself uncharacteristically twisting her reticule around her fingers.

Frowning at her movements, she smoothed her fingers down the silk reticule and schooled her features into a polite, professional smile.

Flattered at his interest or not, this was neither the time nor place for such things.

"I'm afraid I cannot," Axton said with a small shake of his head. "Hawkhurst is very private when it comes to matters of the heart."

He flashed her a quick grin, and Camilla tried not to stare at the dimple. It was most unbecoming. "I'm certain with your skill and experience, you'll be able to introduce him to an appropriate woman."

"I shall endeavor to do my best." She held up a hand. "But I must warn you, I do have quite a bit of experience with this, Your Grace." She shook her head and continued slowly, "Lord Hawkhurst does not strike me as a man ready to take a wife."

Axton hesitated, and she realized he also knew but refused to say. Interesting. What sort of friendship did he and Hawkhurst share? And what sort of man was Axton to hire a matchmaker for a _friend_ , especially one not ready to marry?

"I understand if you cannot find a woman at this time," Axton said as low as their small corner allowed, "he'll be ready one day. Hawkhurst must simply rid himself of old ghosts."

Camilla nodded in sudden understanding. They all had their share of ghosts, and she wondered once more what haunted Hawkhurst. "Sometimes," she told the duke with more emotion than she meant to convey, "ghosts don't let go."

Axton nodded, but his gaze remained sharp and steady on hers. He cleared his throat and turned slightly from her, breaking the unexpected intimacy between them.

Camilla breathed more freely, though she didn't understand how so brief a meeting created such intimacy so quickly.

"It's made the rounds that you are responsible for the Duke of Strathmore's wedding." Axton watched her, but his face betrayed nothing. "I saw them briefly on my return from Scotland. She's very lovely. And he's another happy man you left in your wake."

"Yes, especially for one as esteemed as a duke," she said primly but met his gaze and allowed him to see her humor.

"Yes, I'm sure we're a demanding lot," Axton agreed with an equally pompous tone. But those beautiful blue eyes sparkled once more with laughter. The sparkle was obviously directed at her. "Even for such a small club."

He turned back from the dancing, clearly as uninterested as she, and tilted his head just slightly. "How do you do it? How do you mix the brew that results in a romance?"

"By careful observation," Camilla said, allowing dribs of her profession to play out. "You wouldn't put a gregarious woman with a sullen man, would you?" She tilted her head and grinned slyly. "Or a shy girl with the Duke of Axton."

Axton laughed, a rich, echoing sound that made her want to hear it all the time. Camilla pushed that away. She had no business admiring his laugh as anything more than a professional observation.

"No, that wouldn't fit, would it?" he asked, that same humor coloring his voice.

"No," Camilla allowed and grinned wider. "I saw that from the first."

"Very astute, Mrs. Primsby." Axon nodded. His voice quieted, lowering once more to intimate. "I prefer women with a sharp eye."

She raised an eyebrow and studied him once more. Those watchful eyes, the sheer stillness, the complete attention he paid her. "Have you thought of retaining my services for yourself?"

"No." The word was sharp and definitive. "I like to do my own hunting."

Her lips curved into a knowing smile. "I'm sure you do," she agreed. "I pity your prey."

From the corner of her eye she saw someone purposefully making their way toward them. But she couldn't look away, couldn't tear her gaze from the mesmerizing one of Axton.

"You should."

# Chapter Two

CAMILLA SAT IN the niche Mrs. Rowenna Everett dragged her into and was most definitely not scanning the room in search of the Duke of Axton. Just because the man interested her _—_ and tempted her, indeed—intrigued her.

No. Not tempted. Intrigued and interested, yes. He was a handsome man with an air about him that didn't tempt her but...intrigued her. Yes, she'd stick with that word. It suited the duke.

"And Lavinia is so pleased you've agreed to match her," Rowenna was saying. Again.

Camilla tuned her out again. She disliked conducting business at balls and parties. They were a time for her to seek out potential matches for clients she already had and observe potential men—or women—in their environment, with friends or rivals within this social group.

It was certainly not listen to the wishes of mothers for their daughters.

Axton was watching her again. He had throughout the night, though they hadn't spoken since that aborted conversation hours ago now. Camilla met his gaze and wondered what it was about the man that made her unable to look away.

She'd never truly considered a match for herself, and certainly never with a man so far above her station.

Camilla tore her gaze from his, so direct even across the room, and continued to look around. Hawkhurst arrived an hour ago. He looked lost and alone even as he conversed amicably enough with several people. She saw him laugh as well, though he held himself physically aloof from the others, always a step further back than warranted.

Rowenna continued on, and Camilla regretted agreeing to speak with her. She knew the other woman's penchant for prattling but hadn't thought a birthday bash the time for listing every nuance of her daughter's character.

She agreed to take on Lavinia Everett as a client but now thought that a huge mistake.

"And as I've said, what you've done for Miss Lizette is just a miracle, a miracles of miracles," Rowenna said for a third time. "I expect just as much for my Lavinia. Though of course we'll settle for an earl if that's all that's available."

She leaned closer, and Camilla resisted the urge to shift away.

"But one with coin," Rowenna added. "While my Lavinia has a substantial dowry, I cannot bear the thought of it being squandered on some ruined estate. He must have a level head on his shoulders and many, many, _many_ rents to collect. Lavinia is used to a certain way of life, and she must be kept to that standard or elevated."

Poor Lavinia. It was a wonder she ever got a word in edgewise with Rowenna as a mother. But Camilla dutifully nodded and made a mental note, even if she did continue to watch Axton turn to face her once again.

"And while I will accept a slightly older man," Rowenna continued, "most definitely don't dig up a wizened old skeleton of a man."

Camilla wouldn't put the poor girl—whom she'd yet to meet—with anyone at this point. Not with a mother such as Rowenna. It went against her better judgement.

"I want grandchildren, you know." Good Lord, the woman never took a breath, did she? "And Lavinia has particular taste." Rowenna sighed dramatically. "Find one like the Marquess of Montagu. Oh, yes, just like him please."

Camilla did not roll her eyes. She absolutely did not. But she did unclench her jaw and loosen her fingers from round her reticule.

"Look at how the marquess looks at Miss Lizette. I require the same for my Lavinia."

"Mrs. Everett," Camilla said and took another deep breath before continuing. "Your list has quite an extensive array of preferences. I'm afraid I would only disappoint you and Miss Lavinia."

Lavinia was either going to run off with the first man who paid her a lick of attention or never marry because of her mother.

"The match between the Marquess of Montagu and Miss Lizette was simply fate," Camilla said and offered a small, self-deprecating smile. "I simply facilitated the introduction. I did not mold the marquess out of clay and champagne."

Camilla stood and offered a courteous curtsey and slight smile. "I'm afraid I cannot accept this commission. You'd be best served by another of my trade."

"No!" Rowenna screeched.

Camilla's eyes widened. She'd never actually heard a woman screech before. Odd, considering her trade, but Rowenna's screech could be classified as nothing but. Camilla didn't look around, but she felt all eyes on them. Lucky for Rowenna, the music prevented much of the sound from trailing.

Not the gossip, however, and Camilla felt a stab of pity for poor Lavinia.

"You're the finest matchmaker there is in London." Rowenna took her hand and pleaded. "In England, I dare say. You cannot reject my dear Lavinia. What would her prospects be once word of your rejection made the rounds? You must!"

The last word was once more unnecessarily high pitched. Frankly, it was painful to hear. Camilla gently disentangled her hand from Rowenna's clutch.

"No, no, this is a tragedy _,_ a disaster _,_ if you don't attend to my Lavinia."

"It is not so dire, Mrs. Everett," Camilla soothed but took a half step back. "Lavinia will be just fine, I'm certain of it."

"Please, Mrs. Primsby," Rowenna said but thankfully didn't try to take her hand again. "I beg of you. Do not forsake us!"

"I shall give it further consideration," Camilla promised and only half lied. "But again, you may be served better by another." She took another step away. One more step closer to the freedom even a packed ballroom offered.

"Do excuse me, Mrs. Everett," she continued and once more tried to shake off Rowenna's claw-like fingers from her arm. "I have—"

"I have your word you'll reconsider?" Rowenna all but begged.

Suddenly Rowenna straightened. Camilla didn't need to turn around to know the Duke of Axton stood behind her. Never had she been so aware of a man, or of anyone.

"Pardon, Mrs. Everett," he said in that low voice that did things to her inside she didn't wish to acknowledge. "I do believe Mrs. Primsby promised me the next dance."

He extended his arm and smiled with that slight upturn of his lips. "Shall we?"

Oh yes! But Camilla merely nodded and took his arm.

Thankfully, a new dance was about to begin, and they took their positions. As they followed the steps—separate, come together, separate again—she tried to find the words necessary to thank him.

Thank him without sounding as if she wished to continued their conversation from earlier.

"Thank you," she said, keeping it simple.

On the next pass he nodded. "I noticed you were pinned," he said, and they separated again.

"For nearly the last hour," he added, as if they hadn't been separated.

"I felt it my duty to rescue you," he finished on yet another pass.

"Quite observant, Your Grace," she said as they came together again.

She saw his smile, lightning quick, as they danced away from each other again. He watched her from across the line, his gaze never wavering and his lips tilted in a permanent knowing smile.

"I am quite flattered to warrant such attention from a duke," she said with a sly grin as they circled each other once more.

"I'd be pleased if that were true," he told her.

She tried not to laugh, but he made her want to do so with distressing frequency. One did not laugh with a duke when one was a lowly matchmaker.

As they circled each other again, she looked up at him, her eyes purposefully half closed. She didn't miss the way his eyes darkened and the interest there shot up her spine, making her shiver.

"Is Miss Lavinia the next to receive your insight?"

"No," she admitted.

They moved away from each other again, and she waited until they had one final spin before saying, "And Mrs. Everett was quite distraught I refused the commission."

She curtseyed from across the line and watched him even as she bowed her head. She found it hard not to; it was almost impossible to look away. That tingle of awareness hadn't left her and when he offered his arm once again, Camilla took it without thinking.

Axton guided her along the edge of the dancers, keeping some distance but not too much as he maneuvered her to a more private area. Her heart sped up, but she ignored its pounding. She had no idea what he wanted—for all she knew, he truly did wish to hire her to match him with someone.

Or he might wish to talk further about Hawkhurst.

But never had she enjoyed a conversation more than the brief one they shared hours ago.

"You've devastated Mrs. Everett, have you not?" he said more than asked. He slowed his pace, and they strolled around the room. Camilla didn't pull back. "If that woman does not feel as if she's getting the best, she feels as if she's being cheated."

Surprised, Camilla looked up at him and blinked incredulously. "Another very astute observation, Your Grace."

The man truly did see what so many others missed. Not that there was much to miss with Rowenna Everett—the woman told all and sundry her every thought.

"It does not take much to read Mrs. Everett," he said dryly, eerily echoing her thoughts. "In fact there is no reading required—she tells you everything."

He eased them around a corner, closer to the refreshments and the open doors. The cold air beckoned her, but they didn't seek its refreshing coolness. Instead, they stood off to the side and turned toward the crowd to watch its ebb and flow.

"There are quite a number in this room who hide nothing. However, there are others who show very little."

"Do you count yourself among those, Your Grace?" she wondered and accepted a glass of punch.

His eyebrow raised, but he remained very still. "At times," he allowed. "Who else is like that in this room, Mrs. Primsby?"

He challenged her, and she liked that. Turning to stand beside him, she looked out and saw the same view he did.

"A simple question," she said slowly, her gaze running over the masses. "For one, Lord Hawkhurst."

"Too easy," he said and shook his head. That same smile teased the corners of his lips. "Who else?"

"Lady Lindor for another," she said and sipped her punch. It was weak and warm now, too warm to quench her thirst. She set the nearly full cup down.

Axton nodded and waited patiently and quietly, and so very still. That continued stillness intrigued her the most. She knew so few people who didn't twitch or move, who didn't have a nervous tell of some sort.

"There's a mystery about Lady Lindor most do not know." She met his gaze and said softly, "I do...but I will not share. The lady hides it very well."

"It's very interesting to watch this theater," he all but whispered. "It plays out night after night, in various homes and townhomes and estates."

She nodded and said softly, "I know, I make a very handsome living from it."

Axton stepped closer and lowered his voice even further. Camilla suddenly felt as if they were the only two people in the entirety of the ball. Even as a woman jostled her way to the punch and a man's over-exuberant laugh sounded behind her, Camilla couldn't look away.

"Have you not thought of making a match for yourself? There are—"

"To take a match myself means ending my work," she said quickly. "And I enjoy it too much for that."

She purposefully stepped away, putting a small distance between them; she needed the space and the chance to breathe again. But her heart continued to pound and her blood raced, and no matter how she ignored both, she couldn't ignore Axton.

"And what if your husband allows you to continue?" he asked.

"I'm unused to anyone _allowing_ me anything," she said tartly. "By most women's lives, I'm in an enviable position. I found a way to have a respectable occupation. And retain all the freedom that comes with it. You have no idea how sweet that is for a woman."

She ended the conversation abruptly. She'd no wish to become too intimate with Axton. Not yet. Not until she knew what he was after. Camilla took another step back and offered a very slight curtsey.

"Good evening, Your Grace."

# Chapter Three

CAMILLA WATCHED THE _ton_ parade through Hyde Park as they did every afternoon. A cold gust of wind jostled hats and skirts with its harsh and unforgiving pace. But the sun was out and when the wind settled, it suddenly became quite tolerable to be outside.

The parade never stopped at Hyde Park. Unless, of course, it was a terrible winter's day. Even then, the majority of the _ton_ still came out to see and be seen.

As her carriage moved along at the required sedate pace, she turned to Margaret, her protégée. The young blonde sat dutifully by Camilla's side, her hands firmly wrapped in a warm muff. Margaret wasn't yet used to pretending to ignore the weather. However, she was learning.

They'd stopped at Denberry's Chocolatier before journeying to Hyde Park, and each had a pot of hot chocolate to ward against the December weather. Camilla had helped Denberry's middle child find quite the good match and always received excellent service from the grateful family.

Camilla returned her attention to the parade. Lady Agatha Ackerman wore a new hat, and it looked as if Lord Lambert rode in a new carriage. The cold day reddened his cheeks and jowls, but he ignored it as a true member of the _ton_ would.

"Quite a new number of bachelors in attendance this afternoon," Margaret noted. "Lord Cablesby is here as well," she added in surprise. "I did not expect that."

"Cablesby," Camilla whispered, "like the others, wish to have a first look at the young daughters to be presented this season." She straightened and nodded. "Miss Richardson is here as well, and in her best, I see." Camilla snorted lightly. "As she should be."

Margaret giggled but quickly silenced herself and resumed the stance of one who belonged here in the park.

"I've made a list of several prospects for Lord Hawkhurst," Margaret said as she continued to eye the group.

Camilla took the list Margaret offered and quickly looked at it. She nodded approvingly. "Well done," she murmured.

There were several she wouldn't have thought of herself, but from what she knew of Hawkhurst, they might work exceedingly well.

"I thought to add Mrs. Blackwood to the list," Margaret said. "I think their temperaments complement each other."

"No, no." Camilla shook her head. "She's not right for Hawkhurst. Mrs. Blackwood is a wallflower, shy and quiet. Lord Hawkhurst, while he might be quiet, is far from in need of a wallflower."

She looked up at Margaret but saw a carriage from the corner of her eye. It moved at a brisk pace, far too quick for the Row. She didn't squint to see who sat atop it, but knew. The way he sat, the tilt of his head.

The Duke of Axton.

Camilla resolutely ignored the flutter of nerves dancing in her belly and offered a cool smile. Axton's carriage, driven by his driver, not him, pulled to a stop perfectly parallel with her own. Impressive.

And she certainly did not wish to be impressed by the duke. Not at all.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Primsby." Axton nodded cordially. But his blue eyes sparkled with humor, and his smile was anything but cool and polite. No, it held a hint of darkness, of promise. Of wickedness, even.

Camilla shivered in response, and warmth settled low in her belly. Taken aback at her unexpected response to the man, she hurried to compose herself. She should not want to see his smile for herself and definitely not feel the heat of arousal slide through her.

"Have you a moment?" Axton continued.

"Of course, Your Grace," she agreed.

Camilla shifted to move to the opposite side of the carriage when Axton moved. In a blink, he all but leaped from his carriage to hers. He offered another wide smile to Margaret, who looked dazed at the action, and held out his hand to her.

"You don't mind, do you?" Axton asked rhetorically.

Margaret shook her head and awkwardly moved into Axton's carriage before Camilla thought of a decent enough retort. The carriage moved off the instant Margaret settled herself.

Satisfied, Axton turned to her. He seemed unrepentant and uncaring of the scandal he'd just caused. Camilla composed herself, at a loss and not used to being so. She did not like this odd feeling of floating along in a swift moving current of Axton's making.

She subtly cleared her throat, stubbornly ignored the way his smile and the directness of his gaze affected her, and waited patiently.

"You've just set the entire _ton_ to talking," Camilla said with a coy smile. She couldn't help it.

Axton's grin turned smug and wicked. "Should make for an interesting afternoon." He leaned closer. Camilla welcomed his closeness even as she told herself it was a mistake to want it. His breath brushed along her skin as he asked conspiratorially, "What do you think their theories are?"

"You're with a known matchmaker, Your Grace," Camilla said in the same conspiratorial tone. "I'm certain they're all about to dash home to ready their daughters for an introduction. By the time I return home, I'm also certain there will be dozens of missives waiting for me."

Her eyes widen at the realization. She almost glared at Axton and the amount of work he inadvertently dumped in her lap.

Axton laughed, a loud, booming, and very genuine sound that surely echoed across Hyde Park. It warmed something in Camilla she didn't know existed. She ignored that, too.

"Why they all assume I'm here for anyone else save you is amusing."

His face, scandalously close to hers, moved just slightly closer. Camilla's breath caught at that closeness, at the intense look in his eyes.

She long ago schooled her reactions. Taught herself not to show anyone her true feelings. Axton, with a handful of sentences, managed to break through everything she ever built and send it all crashing down.

Just as abruptly as he moved closer, Axton shifted away the slightest bit. He grinned again, once more easy and genuine, as if the last minutes hadn't happened. As if his closeness hadn't made her blood heat and her heart race.

She eyed him carefully and wondered if moving to the far corner of the carriage would give him more fodder or stop him cold. But she stayed where she was and tilted her head quizzically.

"Of course." She nodded. "You wish to discuss Lord Hawkhurst."

"Have you settled on anyone for him?" Axton asked, neither confirming nor denying her assumption.

"Not as yet," Camilla admitted.

"How difficult can it be?" Axton asked, though his eyes focused on her. "A pretty young thing that will turn his head."

"It's not so simple," Camilla said in that same cool voice. She had to work for it now, work at keeping her voice professional despite discussing her work. "Particularly with Lord Hawkhurst."

Axton jerked his chin to a carriage several ahead. "What of Miss Darlington?"

Affronted, Camilla jerked back. "That woman barely takes a breath in a day for as much as she talks." She shook her head adamantly. "She'd drive your friend to travel far, far away."

He looked, considering between her and Miss Darlington. "I suppose," he agreed, a hint of curiosity in his tone, "he does need someone with your special touch."

"Yes, Your Grace," Camilla said with all the passion and confidence she held in her talents. "It takes a keen eye to accomplish this delicate matter. I'm surprised you'd be so clumsy at choosing a match for Lord Hawkhurst."

His smile spread slow and knowing over his face. That dimple Camilla tried not to acknowledge deepened. "I wished to see what you'd say," he confided.

That laughter was back. Not at her, he certainly didn't laugh at her, but the humor, the _fun_. When did she last have fun for the sake of doing so? Camilla enjoyed herself—made a point to do so—but Axton seemed to take full enjoyment out of everything.

"In earnest," Camilla asked, truly curious, "whom would you choose amongst this gathering here at the park?"

His eyes took on a determined glint, accepting her challenge. Axton looked around the carriages and footpath. She watched his gaze linger on several women, taking her request seriously.

Camilla didn't follow his gaze but rather watched him. He utterly immersed himself in his quest, and she found that so attractive. It pulled her, catching her in his web without her quite knowing how.

"The offerings are limited," he admitted with a brief scowl.

She nodded and waited.

"Possibly Lady Ackerman," he said. "A young woman with a large fortune and no living parents to interfere. Hawkhurst might be intrigued by her."

"A good selection, Your Grace," she admitted. "And one I've considered. Lord Hawkhurst might be intrigued by her tragic past. However, I am afraid the match is unsuitable."

Axton narrowed his eyes at her. "Why?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"Lady Ackerman is already in love," Camilla confided.

"Oh." Axton sighed, defeated, and leaned back. "But—"

"You do not wish to have Hawkhurst try and win a woman's heart when that heart is already taken."

"No," he agreed. "I suppose not." He sat up then, no longer the defeated duke but once again the curious man. "Who does she love?"

"Someone just out of reach," Camilla hedged. After all, her entire career depended on her prudence.

"Pity," he said and shrugged. "I don't believe in love that is out of reach."

Again his gaze narrowed in on her, and for a heartbeat, Camilla thought they were the only two in the world. Hyde Park faded away, the cold day and even the sun. Only she and Axton, seated in the carriage, remained.

She blinked and forced the image, the surprise feeling of comfort and intimacy, away.

"The privileged rarely do," Camilla said around a tight throat. "But you should."

She saw his carriage approach again and waved for his driver to stop. Turning to the duke, she smiled coolly and professionally at him, and tried to put as much distance between them as possible.

Riding in a carriage with the Duke of Axton might be the best way to earn further commissions, but it was not at all good for her. What was it about this man that weakened all her defenses and tugged her to him? She'd had other lovers without this closeness.

Axton's driver pulled alongside her carriage, and she turned to the duke. "If you don't mind, Your Grace, I have further business to attend to with my secretary."

Even seated, he sketched a very courtly bow. "Of course."

He captured her hand and kissed the glove, lingering a bit longer than acceptable. Still bowed over her, he looked up and offered a wicked smile that should not have made her so eager to see it again.

"I hope to see you soon," he said.

Then, in the same economy of power and grace, Axton helped Margaret into the carriage and sat in his. Camilla ignored Margaret's wide-eyed stare and watched the duke's carriage disappear off the path and out of the park.

She tried to breathe a sigh of relief, but only felt a curious sense of loss. Loss and anticipation.

"Oh, ma'am!" Margaret gasped. "The Duke of Axton!"

Camilla turned sharply to her and nodded. "Yes, we'll have quite the number of inquiries as to whether he's in search of a wife." She cleared her throat and wondered at the warmth beating through her. "Likely waiting for us when we return."

"No, no." Margaret shook her head. "These blind people could not see, but I could. The way he looked at you." She sighed and smiled softly. "The way he studied you, he does not want a match, not with anyone else at least."

Camilla looked sharply at her protégée and knew what Margaret's next words were going to be.

"He clearly wants a match with you." Margaret said it with such confidence, Camilla wondered if Axton spoke with her beforehand.

But, no, that was ridiculous. Of course he hadn't. And of course he didn't.

Even if her heart skipped at Margaret's insinuation.

"That will not happen," Camilla said with more confidence than she felt. "And while I can see the duke's interest, it's not for a match. So do get that fantasy out of your head."

She cleared her throat and tried to keep her voice even and her tone professional. "We must work on Lord Hawkhurst's match. Not on some" _—_ she waved a hand—"girlish notion."

"Oh, to work for a duchess!" Margaret gushed. Clearly she heard nothing Camilla said. "How exciting! Would we stay in London, do you think? Or at the family estate for most of the year?"

She sniffed and nodded once. "He has an eye for you, ma'am. That's as clear as day."

Camilla sighed, the only thing she had in her. But then she drew herself up and shook her head. "A matchmaker is not a fitting wife for a duke," she said sharply. "Remember that. Now, if you wish to keep your position, you won't mention this again."

"Oh, but—" Margaret began.

Camilla only gave her a sharp, hard look. It wasn't enough to deter Margaret, however. More than mentor and protégée, they truly became friends; no matter how Camilla rebuked her, Margaret nevertheless spoke her mind.

"A duke fits with whomever he chooses," she muttered just loud enough for Camilla to hear.

# Chapter Four

CAMILLA TOOK ONE last look at her reflection in the looking glass, curled a lock of hair around her finger, and nodded in satisfaction. Her deep blue velvet gown accentuated her golden brown eyes perfectly. And Greenboro, her lady's maid, had curled her hair in small ringlets that sat perfectly against her bare shoulders.

"Who's hosting Mr. Hamilton's Christmas play?" Margaret asked suddenly.

The other woman sat in a chair by the fire, a book open on her lap. They normally chatted while Camilla readied for a party, and tonight was no different. Margaret lived with Camilla, though she didn't yet have the acumen to visit polite society for work. She was a quick learner, however, and Camilla knew soon she'd have her own list of potential commissions.

Tonight had been lovely as they chatted, except for Margaret's sly question about the Duke of Axton. Or not so sly, really. The woman was good at her job as a born matchmaker, but she hadn't a sly bone in her body.

"Lady Lindor is the lead actress tonight," Camilla said with a sigh. "As Mr. Hamilton is...otherwise occupied."

A useless reminder. Everyone knew James Hamilton stayed loyal to Lord Granville during the earl's current scandal. Still, Camilla admired both Granville's unwillingness to disavow his fiancée and Hamilton's loyalty to his friends.

"I understand he'd have cancelled tonight if he had his way," Camilla added softly.

She waited as Miss Greenboro fussed with the fall of her dress. Sometimes Camilla wondered who was in charge—her or her lady's maid. She suspected Miss Greenboro.

"Twas very nice of Lady Lindor to agree to act as hostess for Mr. Hamilton," Margaret said and stood. "You've often said it's not Christmas without this Christmas play."

"Hmm," Camilla agreed as Miss Greenboro stepped back and nodded her approval.

"Mayhap next year I'll attend instead," Margaret continued.

"Instead?" Camilla echoed. She narrowed her eyes at Margaret, who looked back with wide-eyed innocence.

"Of course. If the Duke of Axton has his way."

With that, Margaret smiled widely and laughed as she exited the suddenly silent room. Camilla looked after her in shock but couldn't find a retort. She could find no words, actually _—_ a true rarity.

She purposely put that conversation with Margaret—and all conversations with Margaret since yesterday's interaction in Hyde Park—firmly out of her mind.

On the carriage ride from her townhouse to the theater Mr. Hamilton rented for his annual play, she forced her mind to the matter at hand. There was the matter of Lord Hawkhurst, of course. Miss Lavinia Everett—whom Camilla took pity on with the very firm caveat that her mother was nowhere near their conversations—needed a suitable match. And she received dozens and dozens of new inquiries, which continued to arrive.

Yesterday's interaction with the Duke of Axton most definitely had not gone unnoticed.

No. Camilla refused to think on Axton. Or on Margaret's continued—and false—belief that he had any interest in her whatsoever.

She wouldn't think of him at all. Except where it concerned Lord Hawkhurst's potential match. Yes. She cleared her throat, breathed deeply, and waited for her footman to hand her down.

Slipping her cool, polite mask firmly into place, Camilla walked with her head held high into the theater. Tonight's play, _A Winter's Frolic_ , was sure to be excellent. Hamilton spared no expense for his annual play, and Lady Lindor was amongst the most prolific of amateur actresses.

The moment she entered the main room, a bevy of young misses turned their attention to her. Camilla expected that, of course, and prepared herself for their interest in making a very specific match.

Axton must've known what would happen _—_ the tongues he'd set to wagging when he unceremoniously jumped into her carriage. The man was utterly incorrigible. But then weren't most dukes?

He played a dangerous game. By all rights, she should besiege the masses onto him. It served Axton right to do so.

Camilla looked around the room, taking stock of who already arrived and who had yet to. Then her gaze landed on a tall, broad form, and even though his back was to her, Camilla knew instantly who stood across the room.

She'd known he was to be here. Of course he was. _Everyone_ was here; it was the single largest Christmas event in all of England. With the exception of the Prince Regent's feast of course. Camilla had not expected to linger over Axton's physical form, however. Or to know him instantly even from behind.

She swallowed hard and willed her breathing to slow. It was no use, and she needed another moment to hear anything other than the pounding of her blood. Ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous, this reaction of hers.

He commanded the group. With his stance, his laugh, and his engaging personality, every person in a ten-foot radius hung on his every word. Axton was not, however, as overbearing as other dukes.

Axton held a casual air that drew people in. He always seemed so very interested in those around them. Especially her, Camilla had noticed, not that he made a secret of it.

Camilla reluctantly tore her gaze from him, only to see the talkative Miss Darlington's equally talkative mother head directly for her. It was a weak move, but Camilla pretended not to see the determined woman. She ducked around a footman carrying a tray of wine glasses, snagged a glass, and disappeared into the crowd.

Oh, she couldn't hide forever, and certainly not from everyone. But she needed just a moment to catalog her thoughts and order this very odd desire to know more about Axton.

She was not that lucky.

Even as Camilla made her way through the crowd to Lord and Lady Lindor, she knew four—no, five, no...

Oh dear.

It looked as if every single eligible lady here tonight headed directly for her.

Camilla took a deep breath, finished her wine in a single drink, and suddenly wondered about Miss Norwood. She never had written the other woman. Had her little scheme produced the desired results? She'd check in at Chesham after the new year to see if anything bore fruit.

She took another deep breath and looked around for a footman. She'd need more wine if she were to make it through this evening. For reasons she preferred not to dwell upon, Camilla was not in the right mind to match a dozen women in a single eve.

Especially since they all seemed intent on the same gentleman.

Camilla blinked up at Axton. He stood before her, his lips slightly upturned and his gaze once again so focused on her. She slowly released a breath and returned his smile before she thought to stop herself.

"It seems you were correct," he said.

He spoke directly against her ear, leaning over her so intimately, so familiarly, it sent shivers down her spine.

"You're being besieged." His breath brushed over her skin, cool and caressing in the heat of the room. "I'll have to make it up to you, all these inquiries for a client you do not have."

"No need, Your Grace," she managed in her normal tone. But she leaned into him for a heartbeat. Camilla straightened when she realized it and offered a small, knowing smile. "You've given my occupation a further mystique."

Axton straightened and offered that open smile again. "Allow me to escort you to Lady Seymour's Winter's Ball," he offered.

She blinked up at him, too shocked for words. "That," she managed, "would give the wrong impression."

He merely raised an eyebrow. "What impression would that be?"

Camilla blinked again and watched him with a wicked gaze. "That I'd lower my standards for the likes of you."

He laughed. Axton's laugh boomed around her, and despite the crush, Camilla only saw him. Only heard his laugh and felt his closeness. She mentally shook herself and wanted to step back. She did not, and refused to admit to herself why that was.

"I may not be up to snuff, but I'm always on my best behavior at Lady Seymour's," he promised with another grin.

"While that might be an entertaining evening," she said with equal openness and a touch of sultry she hadn't consciously wished to convey, "I'm afraid I'll have to decline." She breathed deeply of the heat and close bodies, but was utterly unable to pull her attention from him. "That's the evening of a very important match. I'm afraid all my attention will be focused on the young couple."

"You won't be able to spare not even a moment for this poor, old duke?" he asked.

But his eyes still danced with laughter, and she wondered how she never knew the Duke of Axton was so fond of laughing.

"Not a moment." She shook her head and held back her own laughter. Then she paused and tilted her head to the side. "Unless..."

"Unless?"

"Unless we discuss what type of match I seek for you," she added triumphantly.

Just then the footman announced the play was to begin. And before Axton had the chance to speak further, Mrs. Darlington appeared. Camilla suppressed a sigh.

"Oh, Mrs. Primsby," Mrs. Darlington said even as she eyed Axton. "We're to be seated near each other during the play. Do let's walk in together, shall we?"

Camilla didn't bother to demur. She merely nodded and turned in the direction of the doors, with the rest of those gathered. But she looked to her right where Axton remained standing. He watched her just as intently as each previous time they met.

It made her breath catch and her heart do a funny little flip.

But she blinked and turned away, forcing her attention on Mrs. Darlington. Not that the other woman said anything Camilla couldn't have guessed, but listening to the mother prattle on about her wonderful daughter was far better than wallowing in her own thoughts.

And her very curious desire to know the Duke of Axton better. A desire she'd not had for any man in some time.

_A Winter's Frolic_ was mildly amusing. It lacked Mr. Hamilton's unique presence, however. Camilla's attention wandered over the crowd, no matter how often she tried to snap it back to the play. But her gaze always found Axton and her thoughts were continually consumed by Axton. He clearly wanted to know her better, but did she want to entertain such a notion?

She found him attractive; of course she did. He was a very handsome man, and the way he looked at her captured her every time.

And he surprised her with his humor and his willingness to laugh. The way his voice caressed her skin whenever he spoke and how it seemed as if his entire attention focused on her at each of their meetings. And how he watched her with that direct focus, as if she were the only other being around.

It wasn't appropriate for her to be a duchess. Not that she wanted that. But the scandal would be the talk of the _ton_ for years to come. Mayhap not as spectacular as Lord Granville and Miss Lyndell, but a scandal nonetheless.

Suddenly the curtain fell and the crowd rose. Camilla blinked. She missed the entire last act of the play.

Camilla rose with the rest of them and smiled at Mrs. Darlington and...oh dear, who sat on her right? Mrs. Willis. Yes, Martha Willis, who had three daughters of marriageable age.

"Excuse me," she said with a smile she knew didn't reach her eyes and no doubt looked as false as it felt.

She made her way out of the theater, careful not to look around at the many mothers who wished their daughters matched—and with the Duke of Axton. And Camilla very deliberately did not look for the duke himself.

But her mind continued to wander. Wander to him, always back to Axton. Even as she waited for her carriage and even as she made her way slowly through the crowded streets.

What would it be like to have an affair with Axton? The amusing sort. Whenever they conversed, she forgot everyone else even existed. There were very few people in her acquaintance who ever accomplished that. At the moment, Camilla was hard-pressed to name one.

Plus, she'd never been the mistress of a duke before.

She frowned. No, that hardly mattered. Titles and honors never mattered to her. Then again, would being the known mistress of the Duke of Axton hurt or elevate her business? Elevate it, no doubt.

And he seemed an experienced man. Camilla wondered if he truly was.

Still, was it wise? To begin an affair with Axton? No, but she was indeed tempted.

# Chapter Five

ONCE MORE GREENBORO fussed with Camilla's dress. Perhaps one night she'd delight in an evening without a gown, without her hair curled just so. An evening for her. With, perhaps, Axton in her bed.

However, tonight she attended a concert at Mrs. Darlington's, where she hoped to find a match for Lord Hawkhurst. The man proved exceptionally difficult in procuring a compatible woman.

Camilla barely noticed as Greenboro sat her down and once again re-pinned her hair, fussing over the lay of curls and the set of pins.

She saw Axton this afternoon again in Hyde Park; he'd been as attentive as ever, with an additional...spark? mischievousness? Yes, mischievousness in his eyes, one Camilla didn't quite understand.

She wanted to know the source of that mischievousness, however despite their conversation, brief as it was, it eluded her. Axton watched her as if he held a secret, one he purposely teased her with, and wasn't quite ready to share.

He hadn't stayed long, which confused Camilla given he sought her out. She enjoyed his company despite the fact she was working. When Axton took his leave, most reluctantly, that glint returned, tempted her to follow him, to spend more time in his company.

"Ma'am," Margaret said with a perfunctory knock. "Lord Hawkhurst is here to see you."

Camilla nodded, her mind still on Axton. Then Margaret's words cleared the fog in her mind, and she narrowed her gaze sharply.

"See him to the front parlor," she instructed. "I'll be down presently."

Margaret disappeared, and Camilla finally looked at herself in the looking glass. Her deep cream grown accented her pale skin and brown hair. She nodded in satisfaction and stepped away from Greenboro's hands.

"I look perfectly acceptable," she said, harsher than need be.

Greenboro only huffed. "Acceptable is not good enough."

But she stepped back and grudgingly let Camilla leave. Camilla cast her lady's maid a curious look, but Greenboro already turned her back. She was certainly in a persnickety mood.

Camilla's mind raced as she slowly made her way downstairs. She hadn't spent as much time on Hawkhurst as she ought and knew it. Axton preoccupied her thoughts. Her dreams.

She truly needed to step back and refocus on her work. Not on her personal life or desires.

"Good evening, Lord Hawkhurst," she said as she swept into the room. "What an unexpected pleasure."

He bowed in greeting. With his hands clasped behind his back, he watched her with those still eyes. Haunted eyes, she thought. His demons remained well hidden behind his formal stance, his distant facade.

"If you're here regarding your potential match, I've yet to pick just the right girl," Camilla said with all the poise, charm, and ease of her profession. "I am getting close."

She arranged herself on the settee and gestured to the seat across from her. He sat down but didn't relax.

"Yes, I'm here about the match. However," he continued in that same even tone she always heard from him, "I'm happy to hear you haven't found the right one yet."

Camilla raised an eyebrow. That was...not what she expected.

"And why, may I ask?"

"I'm sure you've heard of Lord Granville's...situation," Hawkhurst said carefully.

She nodded slowly. It pleased her, his choice of words over a friend's scandal—it showed what Hawkhurst was made of. Still, she had a feeling Granville was not whom Hawkhurst wished to discuss.

"Yes," she said softly. "A very sad affair."

"It is." Hawkhurst nodded. "I've been asked by Mr. Hamilton to assist Lord Granville. And I intend to do so. However, it won't leave me much time for this match."

"I see." Camilla smiled and watched him carefully. He did not seem as upset over severing her services as many. In fact, she thought she detected a hint of relief. "I'm sure there'll be a young woman or two who will be disappointed. But I understand," she added, sympathetically. "When you are ready, please come and see me. We'll discuss it further then."

She rose as she said that last and he nodded, standing as well to bow in farewell. The look on his face made it perfectly clear he was grateful she hadn't pressed him into this match, one that made him uncomfortable.

"Thank you, Mrs. Primsby," he said sincerely.

She walked him to the door but stopped him before he left. "When you are, indeed, ready, please seek me out. I will be very happy to help."

Something in his gaze changed, and she wondered if she saw the true man. The one caught in the grasp of his demons and secrets. Hawkhurst smiled with a slight curve to his lips, but he looked softer, younger.

He kissed the back of her hand and nodded. "Thank you. I shall."

Camilla watched him leave. She knew he hadn't been ready, but also thought Granville's problem was not merely a convenient excuse. To her list of Hawkhurst's attributes, she added loyalty to his friends.

Slowly climbing the steps to have Greenboro finish her fussing, Camilla wondered how Axton might take this news. She'd have to tell him, of course—he'd been generous enough to pay for her services for his friend, after all.

And she might not see him again after this.

The thought saddened her, but what was she to do? Their interactions began because of Hawkhurst. With that gentleman gone...what? Did it matter she no longer planned to match Lord Hawkhurst?

Camilla didn't know, but she knew she wanted to see Axton again.

* * * *

IT SHOULD NOT have surprised her she'd been seated next to Axton. Of course she was. Camilla didn't know if Mrs. Darlington arranged it herself or if Axton requested it.

Mrs. Darlington, who hoped her dear daughter might marry a duke and elevate their family, was quite the stickler for protocol. Camilla was nowhere near his social standing and would never be seated beside a duke. So while it was all rather unusual, Camilla wagered Axton arranged it all.

The man in question, however, had not yet arrived. No, Camilla stared at his place card in silent shock. Shock and anticipation. It made her heart flutter oddly and her stomach jump in expectation.

"Ah, Mrs. Primsby."

She turned to her other side, where Lord Tobias Lindor sat. Camilla smiled at the older gentleman, much older than his social butterfly of a wife.

"Lord Lindor," she greeted in a smooth voice that betrayed none of her inner confusion. "Good evening."

He leaned over and said with a smile, "I cannot wait for the plum pudding. Mrs. Darlington's cook makes the best in all of London."

Her cool smile cracked, and she found herself chuckling with him. "Yes," she agreed. "Yes, she does. And her wassail is the best I've ever tasted. She adds something spicy, and I can't put my finger on it."

"I think," Lindor said with a knowing wink, "she sneaks in ginger."

Camilla nodded and felt herself relax. Of course that was when Axton arrived. He didn't bother to look at the place cards but simply made his way directly to her. If she needed any further confirmation he arranged her place here at the table, it vanished.

Her lips curved in a small smile as she watched him cross the room. A tall, handsome man with a brilliant, direct gaze, he moved with a lithe grace that reminded her of a predator. All supple muscles and intent. Camilla licked her lips. There was no use denying her attraction to him; it burned through her hot and fast and pooled low in her belly.

Something settled inside her. Not only the heat of desire she felt every time he looked at her, every time she thought of him—which was far too often _—_ but a feeling she was quite unfamiliar with.

Oh, yes, she'd very much enjoy having an affair with Axton, Camilla decided. Very much so.

She wondered if he read her thoughts, because his own lips quirked in a slight grin. He looked very much like a smug bastard. Then again, she most definitely enjoyed a certain smug bastard, didn't she? He held her gaze as he closed in on his seat, ignoring the greetings of those much higher in station than she.

And Axton was obvious, wasn't he? Did any at this table notice his interest in her? Or did they all assume he was interested only in her services? Well, that was one advantage to her profession—her ability to speak with anyone without it seeming scandalous.

"Mrs. Primsby," he said with a slight bow. "And how does this evening find you?"

"Quite well, thank you," she offered with a tilt of her head. And if her tone was slightly flirtatious, she didn't care. "Though rather perplexed as to why, exactly, I'm seated next to a duke."

"It's a mystery to me," Axton said with a falsely innocent grin. "Mrs. Darlington must've taken pity on me."

Camilla huffed out a laugh and shook her head just the slightest. "If you'll excuse me, I was having a rather riveting conversation with Lord Lindor."

"Over the goose?" he asked in a quieter voice. "Or over the cakes still to come?"

"Caught." Camilla unsuccessfully tried to stifle her laugh. But he watched her with that same concentration as always, direct and absolute, and the laughter trailed off into nothing.

Axton leaned closer, just a bit. "Stop trying to avoid me," he said in a softly scolding tone. "You're the only conversation I'm interested in tonight."

"But there are so many here that would like to engage you"—she allowed her lips to tilt in a coy smile—"in conversation."

Axton choked on a laugh and eyed her speculatively. He smirked, but his look sharpened and darkened, even. They held a hunger that made her stomach flutter in anticipation.

"They do not interest me," Axton said in a rumble of sound that had her skin pricking with expectation. "But a beautiful, sharp-witted matchmaker does."

Camilla tilted her head just a bit closer. "And why," she asked, her voice more breathless than she wanted, "would I be interested in you beyond friendship?"

"I have a very large and extensive collection of bachelor friends," he said with a wink. "A treasure trove for someone in your profession. Yes?"

She laughed, a low sound, but didn't move back. All she seemed to do with Axton was laugh and tease, and she found herself highly entertained. Camilla didn't tear her gaze from his. "Oh, how very... _tempting_."

The first course was served, and conversation turned. Mrs. Darlington extolled the virtues of the singer this eve, from the Royal Conservatory, and Lord Lindor sighed over each and every course. She and Axton highly enjoyed Lindor's all but orgasmic responses.

Eventually the final course cleared and they made their way to the ballroom. Axton escorted her, of course, despite the impropriety of it all. As duke he was able to get away with much—even escorting a professional woman such as her. Glancing around the assembled group, Camilla wondered if any did, indeed, suspected Axton's interest in her was more than as his matchmaker.

Could their small minds wrap around the idea he wanted her? Her and not a pedigreed daughter of a marquess?

Of course not. Nor would she burst their bubble. These fine people lived in their own world, their perfect _ton_ bubble, where the wrong sort was very carefully kept away. And any who tried to infiltrate that bubble immediately found themselves closed out, suffocated.

Axton's sharp gaze landed on her. "Have you given further thought to Lady Seymour's Winter Ball?"

Surprised at the abrupt change of subject, though Camilla supposed she oughtn't be, she tilted her head. He did seem completely serious, not a hint of jest in his tone or stance.

"I've given it much thought," she said in an airy tone. It hid rather neatly the fact she'd done nothing but think on it. "After all, I'll be engaged in my occupation at the ball."

Nothing like avoiding the question. And that was definitely not her, but Camilla hadn't yet an answer. Axton escorting her was not proper by any stretch of the word. And she certainly didn't want these lovely people suffocating her.

But she wanted him.

She didn't care about his escort to a ball she already earned her own invite to. But for what it represented.

And for what might occur afterward.

Her heart tripped over itself, and her blood raced at the thought. She found her gaze drifting to his mouth and wondered what he tasted like. What his lips might feel like against hers.

"Would you not like a well-dressed assistant by your side?" he asked as they continued around the room.

He guided her in a circuitous route toward the room with the night's entertainment. The rest of the Darlingtons' guests filed into the room where every seat in the house now awaited them.

Camilla didn't have to look away to know all eyes followed them.

"Oh, I couldn't possibly afford your services," she said in a demure manner and looked up at him with a coquettish smile.

"You'd be surprised, Mrs. Primsby, how easily I could be at your command," Axton said with such seriousness it stopped her cold.

His already dark blue eyes darkened until they looked like the sky at dusk, inky and inviting. Camilla licked her lips and watched those eyes follow her movement.

And in that moment, her mind was made up. Yes, she wanted an affair with the Duke of Axton. She wanted him. She wanted to feel his hands on her body and kiss her way across the broad expanse of his chest.

Her wants, and her desire, for this man must've shone on her face. Axton took a step closer, just a breath, just enough to shield her from the rest of the room.

"I wonder if you know how tempting you can be," she whispered.

"What could I possibly do to tempt you even further?" He didn't touch her, didn't lean closer. But Camilla felt the heat from his body and wanted to reach out and touch him.

"I haven't considered being someone's mistress for a very long time," Camilla admitted in the crowded ballroom. "But perhaps I shall."

# Chapter Six

IN THE OPENNESS of the Darlingtons' ballroom, Gareth blinked at Camilla. He had heard her; of course he had. He heard and remembered everything she ever said to him. Nonetheless, it took a moment for her words to truly register.

"I don't want a mistress," he bit out, harder and angrier than he should sound.

It didn't stop him. He knew what he wanted, and Camilla was that woman. She embodied everything he ever wanted—intelligence, determination, vibrancy, wit.

More than that, so much more. Gareth was drawn to her more than he never wanted another. Camilla understood him and challenged him. They understood each other. At least Gareth thought he understood her. Maybe he didn't, not as much as he believed.

What he didn't know of her, he very much wanted to learn.

"I want a wife."

She blinked up in surprise. And was that disappointment in her clear whisky gaze? But she composed herself and lifted her chin.

"I can help you find a wife," she said in the cool voice she used when she hid her true feelings behind a facade of professionalism. "If that's what you desire." Camilla stepped back, but her gaze never left his. "But it won't be me."

"Why?"

The word sounded louder than he intended, and Camilla looked to the back row of seats several feet in front of them. Gareth didn't bother. He didn't care.

He made his intentions quite clear to her, and to hear her dismiss him so unmistakably felt like a punch. He didn't like it; he didn't understand it. Titles and station aside, he wanted this woman.

He had met a number of women who wished to become his duchess. But never a woman like Camilla Primsby. Gareth never believed he'd make a decision on a wife so quickly, but he had.

And he knew he'd never tire of Camilla as he would with a young girl fresh from her presentation at Court. He scowled at the thought. Gareth wanted everything Camilla had to offer and wanted to give her everything in return.

"A matchmaker is not a suitable duchess," she told him. But she stopped and swallowed. Her chin tilted higher, her eyes hardening just the slightest. "And you are perfectly aware of that."

"A suitable duchess is whomever the duke wants."

Damn. Gareth hadn't meant to play that card. To hold his title and position over her as if the only reason she should wish to marry him was because of an inherited title. Not because he wanted her.

Camilla stepped back again then turned and left the ballroom without another glance. She didn't run but rather walked sedately from the room. Gareth followed her. Their conversation wasn't finished.

He found her in the hallway right before the foyer. The majority of the guests were in the ballroom, and the staff were either overseeing that event or cleaning the dining hall. Either way, they were alone.

In the flickering shadows of the hall, Gareth stopped her. He didn't yank her to him or force her to turn around. But he did reach out and take her arm. Camilla immediately stopped and whirled around to face him. The warmth of her flesh beneath his touch seared through him, a potent reminder of how much he wanted her.

"You know that is not true," Camilla snapped. But she kept her voice low, even as her words cut through him. "There has been enough scandal lately in London. You wish to add to it? You wish to tarnish the title of Axton?"

"There is no tarnish," he retorted.

"I offered to become your mistress," she insisted. "If that is not satisfactory, there is nothing else I can do for you."

Camilla pulled her arm free but didn't move away again.

"Of course there is," Gareth asserted. "Attend Lady Seymour's ball with me, and you'll see there's no scandal to be had."

"You are the fool if that is what you believe."

She narrowed her eyes, which blazed with golden fire as she spoke. Her body hummed with energy and passion.

Oh, he was a fool for not immediately taking her as his mistress. But Gareth wanted her. He wanted Camilla with a desire he never experienced and only vaguely understood. If she took convincing, he'd do what he needed to do—he'd wait for her. Gareth already made his choice.

"Everyone thinks you are in search of a wife now because of your conversations with me," she continued. Though her voice remained strident, Gareth detected a hint of weariness. "Your very _public_ conversations with me. That is exactly what I shall help you with."

She stepped back again and nodded as if they settled something. Gareth narrowed his eyes and followed her forward. Nothing had been settled.

"Lord Hawkhurst came to me before I left for tonight's concert to inform me it's not the right time for his match. The fee has been paid and that fee shall be used for you, Your Grace."

It did not escape his notice that she said _Your Grace_ with as much mockery as possible to fit in a single address.

"I've made my choice."

"You have not sampled all your options," she shot back. "I'll prepare a list."

Again she mocked him, but that didn't anger Gareth so much as the fact she refused to accept him—his proposal, a future they could have together.

Camilla bobbed in a bare curtsey, her gaze on his the entire time. She hid behind her matchmaking profession like it was a shield. Gareth watched her turn and walk away.

"Damn."

Frustrated, he ran a hand down his face. He hadn't been subtle in his pursuit of Camilla Primsby. She was right in that—the entire town talked of them being seen together. It was so obvious to him, yet how had she not realized he pursued her?

Maybe he should've agreed to have her as his mistress then moved on from there. Taken things one step at a time. Standing there in the empty hallway, Gareth debated following Camilla out of the Darlingtons'.

He certainly didn't want to return to that room where a hundred women vied for his favors. Irritated, he stalked away from the ballroom.

"Damn."

* * * *

THE SINGER, WHO was actually quite good, stopped for a break, and the crowd dispersed for refreshments. With her head pounding and still bothered by Axton's assumption and her own mixed feelings, Camilla rose and signaled for a footman.

"Mrs. Primsby," Mrs. Darlington said before she could do more than order the footman to fetch her wrap and call for her carriage. "May I have a word?"

"Of course, Mrs. Darlington." Camilla smiled but it felt forced, false. "I do apologize for retiring early, but I've the most vicious headache."

Mrs. Darlington's lips pursed, but she nodded. Instantly wary, Camilla braced for the coming conversation. She truly could not handle more prattling about the lovely Darlington daughter.

"Do not worry about that." Mrs. Darlington waved her words away. "I've noticed." Her lips pursed even tighter. "I've noticed the duke's attentions on you. And I'm certain they're not to engage your services."

Camilla had no idea Mrs. Darlington was so observant, but played it off. "Actually," she said coolly, "I'm in search of a proper match for the Duke of Axton."

"I believe the duke is more interested in you as his match," Mrs. Darlington sneered. "And, my dear, as you know, all men are scoundrels, rakes of the first order. Do not let his beauty, or his title, tempt you."

Mrs. Darlington eyed her with a gaze that moved carefully over Camilla. "I wouldn't want to see you hurt. Or," she added with a very clear warning, "your position as the premier matchmaker diminished."

"An affair with a duke would only add to my standing," Camilla said with even more coldness in her tone. "However," she conceded, "I understand."

Camilla accepted her wrap from the footman with a slight nod and turned sharply from Mrs. Darlington. Rather than wait inside, she stepped through the doors and let the cold night air cool her cheeks. She hadn't lied to Mrs. Darlington when she said her head ached, and the cold air eased the pounding.

Her carriage pulled up and she climbed in, leaning her head against the back of the bench. Camilla tapped her fingers on the bench of her carriage.

Axton was a fool—one who wanted a matchmaker as a wife, not as a mistress. And he'd been angry. Not merely seemed so, but the anger in his tone, in his stance, shouted genuine feeling.

Or was she the fool for not accepting?

No. She made it her life's work to match people with similar passions and pedigrees. Or at least match people who wouldn't cause such scandal as to be talked about for the next century.

How could Axton think himself in love with her and want her for his wife, in so short a time? They only knew each other for mere weeks. It's true she matched others who became besotted in a single day. However, she and Axton were not children who fancied themselves in love with the first beautiful face who paid them attention.

She wanted him in her bed, that was true. It was also true that on their first meeting Camilla found him enticing. Camilla admitted she offered herself to him as his mistress—but he wanted her as his wife.

As much as she studied the opposite sex, there was still mystery that lay there, and Axton was among those mysteries.

Frustrated, she blew out a breath and shook her head. Could Axton truly be that honorable? At his age, was he truly a man to want marriage over an affair? He had to have had many mistresses. Why did he see her so differently?

If she married Axton, she'd be remembered in history books as the woman who married her way up in society. Who matched herself with a duke.

Was he unaware he courted such scandal? Of course he was, and he didn't care. Axton was a duke, for heaven's sake. Because of his title and position, he'd be unaware of all the insidious ways the _ton_ could cut them.

Invitations would vanish. Any business dealings he had, current or potential, would vanish as well. _Her_ business would vanish.

How could Axton not be aware of that? Aware that type of scandal could not be weathered? It might not be as salacious as Miss Lyndell and Lord Granville, but it would still impact him, her, their families, their place in society. He'd weather it far easier than her, of course, being the Duke of Axton.

But Camilla would have to live with the scandal for the rest of her life.

Camilla refused to allow it. Not for herself and certainly not for him. No. The best course of action—the only course remaining—was to place a suitable miss in his path. Either Axton soon forgot about her, or...or she would become his mistress.

Either option was far superior to what Axton wanted.

Wife.

Camilla snorted and exited the carriage. How did he not see all this? Even half-blind Mrs. Darlington, who was so invested in her own little world she rarely saw anything, saw how Axton looked at her. No, she needed to ensure most of the _ton_ believed she simply wanted to match him with a suitable wife.

Her fingers chilled, she walked up the steps to her townhouse. Chilled though she may be, the heat of anger flooded through her.

Eddards, her butler, greeted her with a raised eyebrow. He silently took her coat, gloves, and hat, though the curiosity in his silence did not go unnoticed. Camilla simply refused to acknowledge it.

She nodded to him and turned for her study. Restless, she walked around her desk and looked at the banked fire. No, she didn't want it stoked, didn't want any interruptions. Camilla picked up several papers and blindly looked at her correspondence. The words blurred in front of her. With a huff of annoyance, she dropped the papers back to the desk.

Axton had her tied in knots, and she didn't like it one damn bit.

She preferred making her own decisions, choosing her own path. She had done so for the majority of her life, since her family lost everything. No, one scandal was quite enough to live through in her lifetime.

"His Grace had these delivered," Margaret said without bothering to knock.

Margaret set the box on the desk, seemingly oblivious to Camilla's mood. Oblivious, no, as Margaret was very good at reading others. One of the reasons Camilla took her on as her protégée. She chose to ignore her boss's mood.

"He was to deliver it hours and hours ago," Margaret continued and held out the small note.

Until tonight.

— _Axton_

She frowned and dropped the note by the box of chocolates from Denberry's. How had he known she enjoyed that chocolatier? Or had he simply guessed? Perhaps he preferred them as well.

Oh, did it matter?

Camilla huffed and whirled from the desk. She paced to the windows but could see naught in the dark winter's night.

"Did the duke mention the chocolates?" Margaret pressed then offered a light laugh. "I can just imagine your look if he had."

"He did not," Camilla snapped.

But it lost some of its sting. Weariness settled over her, heavy and draining, and suddenly she was too tired to verbally spar with Margaret. She was too tired for anything. Camilla placed her palm on the cold window panes and let it seep through her flushed skin.

"Such a humble man," Margaret continued. "Not taking credit for his own gift." She paused but only for a breath. "How was your dinner and concert? Did you speak to him? Did he sit near you during the concert?"

Camilla met her own gaze in the window. No matter what she wished, she remembered every moment of dinner, of their conversation. How he leaned closer to her, how he watched her as if no one else mattered in the entire room save her.

"He sat next to me during dinner," Camilla heard herself say. "And we stood during the concert."

Stood, yes, but not in the ballroom for the concert. They discussed his proposal, if it could be called that, and then he left. And she returned to the room to suffer through and try not to think of the Duke of Axton. Not that she remembered one bit of the concert. She didn't even remember it starting or what the singer sang. Or, for that matter, who the singer was.

"It was a very enlightening conversation," she added softly.

"Enlightening?" Margaret repeated a tad too enthusiastically for Camilla to handle. "How so? Did he make mention of making you his duchess?"

"Margaret." She sighed but didn't turn around. "We've had this conversation many times now." She took a deep breath and looked over her shoulder. "Since Lord Hawkhurst has presently decided not to seek a match, I've decided the fee shall go toward finding a match for Axton."

Margaret's entire continence fell. She looked utterly forlorn and at a compete loss. Her shoulders drooped, and her mouth fell open in astonishment. Camilla turned back to her reflection.

The cold seeped into her bones, despite her earlier heat of anger. Camilla dropped her hand and curled it into a fist at her side.

"I do not understand," Margaret admitted. "The duke is smitten with you. Why find someone else?"

The sigh came from her soul, long and jaded.

"I've no interest in being his duchess," she said with more force than she felt. "Or anyone's duchess. I'm perfectly happy with what I have and who I am." She nodded but wasn't certain if it was to convince herself of her own words, or Margaret.

"I've no need to be immersed in scandal. Nor do I want Axton to suffer through a scandal." She scoffed, but it felt halfhearted. "A duke and a matchmaker?"

Camilla shook her head and finally turned. She schooled her face into contempt, though all she wanted was to lie down and ignore the world for a little while.

"The broadsheets would continually stab at us until we were both bloodied." She nodded again, more determined now. "Therefore, I'll show His Grace there are much better options for him."

She stepped forward with her head held high, though doubt churned in her belly, and it felt as if her loss slipped through her fingers. But Camilla ignored it and smiled at her young apprentice.

"Shall we begin, Margaret?"

# Chapter Seven

"HOW UNUSUAL," HIS mother said in that imperious tone she took with society. "My son has turned into a statue in my own doorway."

Gareth only grunted and pushed off the door and entered the room properly. Claudia was well known for her dramatics. His mother offered her cheek for him to kiss, and her smile widened.

"Your father used to grunt like that when I gave him..." She trailed off, her shrewd blue eyes narrowing in on him. "Difficulties," she finished.

"I do not blame him, Mother," Gareth replied.

He shook his head in refusal of tea. He most certainly was in no mood for tea. Frankly, he wasn't in the mood for company, either, but the only person he trusted enough to speak with today was his mother. And Hawkhurst was otherwise occupied helping Granville hunt down those responsible for Mr. Lyndell's imprisonment and death.

"Sometimes, the way women think is more annoying than..." He trailed off.

The analogy eluded him, and that frustrated him all the more. He growled and stood again. Gareth ran a hand over his face. He hadn't slept well the previous night, but despite that he restlessly paced the room. Never before had he been so frustrated over a woman.

Then again, never before had he met anyone like Camilla.

"More annoying than a missed stitch in a petit point pillow," she grumbled.

Gareth looked at her askance, but she set aside her needle and focused all her attention on him. Claudia nodded gravely.

"I understand, son." She studied him for a long moment then asked softly, "Who is she?" Then she straightened and looked in horror. "And please don't say it's that Miss Richardson. I beg of you, son."

"No," Gareth assured her firmly.

His mother relaxed, her entire body limp with relief. Then she straightened and eyed him again as she sipped her tea. "Then who?"

Gareth hesitated for a moment, but what did it matter? He'd come here for...what? Advice? To speak his mind to the someone he knew would never gossip?

"Mrs. Camilla Primsby. And before you ask, no, there is no husband."

Claudia waved it off with an impatient hand. "Of course not, she's styled that way for her work."

Caught off guard, he could only blink.

"I quite like Mrs. Primsby," Claudia declared. "She's quite lovely. A bit older than other women in society you might meet. But I think you need that. A woman who knows her own mind, not one who's looking for a fairy-tale prince. Or a fairy-tale duke."

She nodded once and set her teacup down with a decisive click. "Yes, I think she's a very level choice. And still youthful enough to bear children. What is the problem, my dearest?"

He rolled his shoulders and shook his head. He hated to admit this, even to his mother. Gareth sighed and sat again. "She doesn't want to be my duchess."

Claudia looked startled and blinked silently at him for several long minutes. "Heavens," she breathed. "Why? It's a perfectly good position for her." Then she frowned and leaned forward. "Is there another she loves? Or desires?"

"No." He shook his head. "I don't believe there is. She's responded to me."

More than that, he knew she wanted him as he wanted her. Felt it in the brief touches they shared, heard it in her tone. Watched as her eyes darkened and she deliberately provoked him. Camilla wanted him _—_ that wasn't the problem.

"She fears there'll be scandal."

His mother's entire face brightened. "Ah, she protects you." Claudia nodded happily and picked up her tea again. "I like her more already." She waved a hand again in dismissal. But she didn't speak immediately and sipped her tea. "But it's truly foolishness. As a duke, there's much you can command. And Mrs. Primsby is accepted proudly—admired in most circles. I think she's afraid," she confided. "A woman's heart is a complicated matter."

Claudia sighed and eyed him. Gareth returned her steady gaze and waited. Granted she was his mother, but Claudia was quite perceptive and knowledgeable about much in society Gareth chose to shun.

"Be persistent, my son," she advised. "And make her feel loved. Not just wanted."

Gareth watched his mother for another long minute. Claudia smiled serenely and waited. Slowly he nodded, her words running through his head.

Some of his frustration, that restless need to _do_ something, eased. Standing, Gareth kissed his mother's cheek and bowed in goodbye. He stalked quickly through the house and grabbed his things from the waiting butler.

Once outside on the street, he drew in a deep breath of cold air, winter more than a hint on the breeze. He took the reins from the kitchen boy and tossed him a coin before swinging up. He urged the horse into a trot and let his mind focus on the problem at hand.

"Make her feel loved," his mother said.

Had he ever reacted to another woman as he had Camilla? He met other sophisticated women, of course, but with Camilla that grace and knowledge came naturally.

Was he in love? Could he say that about what he felt for her? Admit it aloud? Or was this a reaction to the game they played? Honestly, he hadn't thought that when he made his choice, when he chose Camilla, she'd reject him.

Now she wished to find him a suitable match. And with her skills, she'd likely come close. Gareth didn't want an imitation, a _close_. He already found the perfect match, the most suitable woman for him.

Smiling, he guided his horse off the main streets. Oh, he'd play her game. But he'd let her know unequivocally that she was the right match for him—and he for her.

* * * *

PITY STRATHMORE WASN'T around. Or Hamilton. Or Hawkhurst. Gareth needed one of them to take a bit of attention from him so he could—quietly, of course—talk with Camilla.

They were otherwise occupied, and rightly so. Gareth hadn't heard anything about Granville's missing fiancée; as far as he knew, they still searched for her. The woman well and truly disappeared.

Tonight's card party, put together at the last minute in order to keep Camilla from disappearing from wherever she dragged him to, had been met with pleasant surprise; nearly every invite had been accepted.

Which explained the noise currently pounding behind his left eye. Normally Gareth enjoyed cards. Normally he didn't mind parties, or people, either.

His townhouse was warm, stuffy with the fireplaces roaring against the cold December night and far too many people crowded around tables. With draperies pulled tight against the evening and each candle lighted, it looked like a stage.

Gareth narrowed his gaze and tilted his head as he surveyed the room again. A stage—yes, a very good analogy. He set the stage for his own purposes and now only waited for the main player to arrive.

There she was. Camilla Primsby was, by far, the most beautiful woman there. Her whisky eyes glinted in the candlelight, and a curl of her soft brown hair lay against her cheek. Gareth tightened his hands into fists behind his back. He wanted to brush that curl behind her ear, feel her hair beneath his touch, let his fingers linger on her skin.

He stepped forward, drawn to her.

Camilla met his gaze, and he thought he saw a faint smile grace her generous mouth. But then she straightened, chin tilted up, shoulders back, and turned to her companion.

Ah yes, the companion. The suitable woman for his match.

Careful to keep his expression schooled into polite interest, Gareth waited as Camilla and the woman approached him.

She was pretty, beautiful even, with her dark hair and clear brown eyes. She didn't look as if this were her first season, either, not the young, simpering eighteen-year-olds who often tried to gain his attention with their prattling bits of gossip.

It figured Camilla found the one woman who might possibly be a decent match.

With a deep breath to steel himself, one full of the scent of candle wax and bodies in close proximity, and the clash of food and firewood, he waited.

"Your Grace." Camilla curtseyed, though her gaze remained on his. "Thank you so much for your kind invitation this evening."

Gareth bowed slightly, his lips twitching at her words. "I quite looked forward to seeing you this evening, Mrs. Primsby. Perhaps you care to indulge in a game of chance?"

"I'm afraid I'm not very good at cards," she replied smoothly, her whisky eyes sparking with humor. "I prefer to take risks in other areas."

But she refused to take a risk on him. Gareth wondered why. Every time he saw her, spoke with her, he knew he didn't want her for one night, for one week or one month. He wanted her with him. In bed, out of bed, in every way.

She stepped back and gestured with a slight grin to the tall woman beside her. "Allow me to introduce Lady Julianna Standish of Leeds."

Lady Julianna curtseyed and said with a polite, if far from demur, "Your Grace."

Forcing a smile, he bowed in return. "Welcome."

"Perhaps His Grace could educate Lady Julianna on the rules of the house?" Camilla looked briefly at Lady Julianna then turned that piercing gaze on him.

Defiant, that was how she watched him, with a defiant, proud look that told him far more than words ever could. Gareth's lips twitched, but he dutifully offered his arm to Lady Julianna—who did not take it with a simpering smile or gush about ducal townhouses. And he so wanted to cross her off Camilla's list as quickly as possible.

Planned to still do that, actually.

He guided Lady Julianna into the main room but looked back at Camilla. Gareth couldn't read her expression from here, the professional, polite, look of a woman far too used to hiding her feelings.

Gareth made sure she watched him and understood his own feelings. He'd much rather have her, and made sure the look in his gaze told her exactly that.

They circled the room while he explained which tables had which games. Lady Julianna listened intently and asked astute questions. It was clear she played before and was quite familiar with how this worked.

Not only the card games, but also how Camilla worked. Gareth wondered where Camilla found this woman, but instantly dismissed that thought. It was her business to know every eligible person in England. And outside it, from what he understood.

"Your Grace," Lady Julianna said in a hushed tone not meant to carry, "I'm honored to be one of Mrs. Primsby's choices. She's very shrewd in her selections, do you not think?"

Startled, Gareth looked down at her and reassessed the woman at his side. "Hence her reputation."

Julianna smiled, a slow, understanding lift to her mouth that conveyed far more than any laugh or verbal agreement could. She turned more fully to him and watched him solemnly for several long moments. Gareth waited through the scrutiny, his own mask of polite interest firmly in place.

"Are you ready for a match?" she inquired, her eyebrow lifted slightly. "Or do you perhaps already have one?"

Her words shocked him, and he felt his mask falter. Narrowing his gaze, he thought Lady Julianna was the only other woman, besides Camilla, to see through him. He almost laughed, but settled for a wry grimace.

"Is it so completely obvious?" he asked, his voice equally quiet.

"When I meet gentlemen under such circumstances, I have their full attention," she admitted with her own wry twist to her lips. "But with you, Your Grace, I barely merit a glance."

He bowed slightly in apology. "Forgive me; it's not my intention to be ungentlemanly."

"Mrs. Primsby is the object of your affections?" she stated more than asked.

Gareth frowned at her. Surely he hadn't been so obvious?

"You've not taken your eyes from her but for a moment since we met." Lady Julianna didn't look angry but more amused than anything.

Camilla laughed with a small group of women. He watched her profile, and while her laugh echoed over the room, he heard the slight force to it. Those women were not who she wished to spend her evening with.

Gareth saw her watch him from the corner of her eye, even from the opposite side of the room. Good.

"She hesitates."

"The thought of being a duchess should dismiss all hesitation," Lady Julianna said, her voice far more understanding than the circumstance warranted.

Gareth wondered where this woman hid and why she still searched for a husband. Camilla certainly knew her business—if he wasn't already in love with Camilla, Julianna Standish would be ideal.

"And yet it does not," he said quietly. Then he shook himself and looked back at Lady Julianna.

She placed her hand on his arm and leaned up, her smile wide. Her voice, when she spoke, held an amused lilt. "Look at me, Your Grace. It'll be a more effective lure than most all else."

Gareth forced his attention to the woman at his side. The smile was no longer forced, though his laugh echoed oddly around him when he obediently chuckled at something Lady Julianna said.

He waited another moment before looking back at Camilla. She looked hurt, not angry, smug or approving. For that brief heartbeat, she looked truly hurt.

# Chapter Eight

"MARGARET," CAMILLA SNAPPED.

She drew in a breath and tried to speak reasonably. Margaret made it very difficult, with her unwillingness to stop matchmaking. Matchmaking Camilla with Axton, that is.

"Please," she began again through clenched teeth, "fetch the...stationery from Mr. Lovejoy's."

"Stationery?" Margaret looked at her oddly—they didn't need any stationery—but only offered a knowing smile.

"Go!" Camilla all but shouted and pointed to the door.

Unrepentant, Margaret gave her a cheeky grin and left.

In the silence of her office, Camilla tried to look over her paperwork. She was to meet with Mr. Robertson today, a well-to-do second-generation merchant. A lovely man with a penchant for cutting humor, this second meeting of theirs looked to move along swimmingly.

Except the words swam before Camilla's eyes, and she had to read over his list of attributes thrice.

She slammed the paper down.

Being alone with her thoughts was worse than Margaret's constant chattering. The girl alternated between asking Camilla how Axton found Lady Julianna and none-too-slyly asking how _Camilla_ felt about Lady Julianna and Axton.

She pressed her fingers to her temples and closed her eyes. Instead of relief, all she saw was Gareth— _Axton_ —smiling down at Lady Julianna, laughing at something the other woman said.

Exhaustion tugged her limbs and pounded through her head. Camilla freely admitted—to herself, that is—that she left Axton's gathering early last eve. She hadn't needed to stay; that was her official story. Axton and Lady Julianna seemed to have got on perfectly fine, and the woman's parents were in attendance, after all, if chaperones were needed.

But she slept poorly. The sight of Axton smiling haunted her whenever Camilla closed her eyes, and what little sleep she found was plagued with fractured dreams of Axton and her, Axton and Lady Julianna, or of her in the ballroom watching Axton silently.

Camilla sighed and lifted her head. Lord Cablesby's papers lay scattered across her desk. With perfunctorily movements, she pushed them into a neat pile and shoved them to the side. No, she couldn't see him today. Her mind was not on her work, and she promised each of her clients her full attention before and during their matches.

Opening a drawer, she pulled out Lady Julianna Standish's file. Camilla skimmed the pages—the viscount's standing in society, his family line, his finances; her mother's family and their finances; and on Julianna herself and a now-deceased fiancé, on her travels and high standing as hostess in Leeds.

But all Camilla saw was Axton with Lady Julianna. They got on quickly, had they not? Developed an instant rapport and soon smiled and laughed with each other as if they knew the other far better than a brief introduction warranted.

"I'm too good at my job," she muttered.

Axton turned her head, no doubt of that, and she'd been flattered by his attentions. By the sheer single-mindedness of them. Yes, she ought to take it as a compliment. Nothing more. But that momentary pang of jealousy when she saw Axton's face relax into a smile at something Lady Julianna said churned through her. Ate away at her.

And she instantly dismissed that.

Momentary jealousy and naught more. Except it continued to eat away at her. Could she admit that to herself, this gnawing jealousy? Perhaps, yes. And she was allowed it, Camilla conceded.

However, Lady Julianna was a far better fit for a duke—far better than a matchmaker.

She'd arrange several more encounters between the pair. From the looks of things last eve, Camilla knew it wouldn't be long before Axton arranged those encounters himself.

Closing the file, Camilla opened her scheduling book for this week and the next. Her month was quite busy, but she thought she might arrange at least two meetings this week, tomorrow at the earliest.

In the background she heard Eddards speak. Camilla ignored the low murmur of voices; her head continued to pound even as she added in _Axton and Standish_ to her schedule.

"His Grace, the Duke of Axton," Eddards announced.

Camilla gripped her quill until it bit into her fingers. Blinking to clear her vision, she slowly looked up at the man, willing her features not to betray her.

Axton looked around her study, at the fire in the corner and the drapes open to the weak winter sunlight. He glanced along her bookshelves and nodded in approval. Not that she needed his approval, she thought sourly and instantly scolded herself. She would not let his mere presence dictate her mood.

Camilla stood and smiled cordially.

"Please." She gestured to the pair of chairs before her desk and sat once more in her own chair herself.

Axton's lips twitched as if he suppressed a smile, but he flicked out his coattails and sat in the leather chair.

"You are pleased with Lady Julianna, yes?" She waited but he didn't respond. "I just now glanced at the week's invitations in order to ensure your next encounter with her is swift and affords both of you the time to engage each other further."

Axton still didn't respond. He watched her with a predatory look that took her breath away. Perfectly still, his hands resting casually on the chair's armrests and his gaze focused, he simply watched her. And for the first time in recent memory, Camilla found herself nervous.

It raced along her nerves and heated her veins, flushed her skin. No, not nerves. Arousal. Her heart pounded harder at that realization, and though she tried to control her breathing, it came in short, sharp bursts.

Swallowing hard, she pressed her fingers into her desktop and focused on that slight pain. He mustn't know how he affected her.

"That will not be necessary, Mrs. Primsby." And the way his tongue caressed her name made her shiver. The sinful cadence of it like a lover's touch.

Curious, she waited. Her breath caught and she didn't trust herself to speak, not if her life depended on it.

"While Lady Julianna is lovely and refined," he said, still softly, in that same caressing tone, though he spoke of another woman, "she is not my choice. Nor"—he leaned in, just a bit, just enough to narrow her already captured attention—"will she ever be."

"Oh?" She managed and forced an eyebrow up, inquisitively. "You seemed very entertained by her last night. Why this dismissal?"

Axton leaned another bit closer. "I have my eyes on another. A beautiful woman who passes through the room with such grace. One whose eyes I can hardly tear my own from."

Her mouth dry, Camilla stared at him.

"She left too early," he continued. "Before she saw through Lady Julianna's and my ruse."

She blinked. At first she didn't understand his words, but even as her mind raced to do so, a band around her heart eased and the pounding behind her eyes lessened.

Her legs pushed back her chair, and she stood before she realized what she did. But she followed through and rounded the desk, stood opposite Axton. He leaned back just enough to watch her. To keep those hungry eyes on her.

"Your ruse?" Was that her voice? That breathless, curious thing that sounded more like a whisper than a question?

Camilla cleared her throat and straightened. She raised her eyebrow again and tilted her chin just enough. She didn't think she fooled Axton by her ploy, but it made her feel more in control.

He didn't crowd her but stood tall and proud before her. Camilla waited, though she very much wanted to run. Or lean into him and feel the heat of his body, the scratch of his cheek along hers.

She cleared her throat and waited.

"Yes. Our ruse. Lady Julianna is a very perceptive woman." His hand reached out to brush along her cheek, though he didn't touch her. "She very quickly understood my attentions were taken by another."

Camilla sucked in a disbelieving breath. "You are an impossible man!" She stepped away and put a few paces between them. Whirling back to face him, she glared at him from near her fireplace. "Lady Julianna is a good match."

"Yes." He stepped closer. "She's a fine match." Another step but Camilla didn't move. "But she's not you."

Axton stood before her again, towering over her but once again not crowding her. He didn't use his height advantage to intimidate her, but to make her feel wanted. And, oh, she wanted. But Camilla pushed it to the side. It wasn't easy; that need rushed through her, hot and quick, and she found herself swaying closer, into him.

She cleared her throat. Of course he noticed, impossible man. But he didn't smirk or grin in triumph. He stood there and watched her. Waited.

Camilla fought for breath and struggled for a witty reply. All she managed was to look up and watch him with disbelief and arousal and wanting.

Axton leaned down. His hands, warm and large and so very gentle, cupped her face, and his mouth pressed to hers. It was a soft kiss, not tentative but a light touch. After a moment, he pulled back.

His blue eyes darkened to nearly black, and his breath ghosted in short pants across her cheek.

Camilla reached up, tangled her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, and kissed him. His mouth opened to hers, and his hands pressed to her back and pulled her closer. Her tongue swept along his, and she moaned into the kiss. She wrapped her arms tighter around him and just felt.

Minutes or hours passed, she didn't know. And didn't care.

All that mattered was his mouth on hers and his hands tangled in her hair. The leg he slipped between hers and the fire roaring in her veins.

Eventually she pulled back, or he did, and Camilla stood there and blinked up at him. She scrambled to find her wits, but they lay in a smoldering heap of need at her feet. Licking her lips, she backed away, but no matter what distance she put between them, that kiss, that brilliant kiss, pulled her to him.

"There's more between us than a match or a position." His words brushed against her lips, soft and inviting.

"There is," she managed and stumbled over her words, trying to say something. Instead she shook her head and swallowed hard. She needed a moment to gather herself, to take the pieces his kiss scattered, and pull herself together.

"There's a pull, I don't deny that. But how long will it last? These—" She waved a hand and grasped for words. "These passions, they burn out quick."

"Some do." Axton nodded, his dark eyes still hungrily watching her. She swallowed again and wanted to step further back, but the chair blocked her path.

"Yes." Axton stepped closer, not a full step, but she froze. "Some do, but others never do."

"What makes you think we're among the others?" she asked in a rush. She stopped again and cleared her throat. But the kiss burned her lips and pooled low and hot in her belly. "What makes you think we're among those who never burn out?"

"I know." His hand brushed her cheek, but once again didn't touch her. "And I have a feeling you do as well."

Camilla didn't lean into his touch, though a part of her very much wanted to do so. Instead, she straightened, dropped her hands to her side, and watched him defiantly.

"Then take what you want."

His smile was as predatory as his look. Axton leaned in, close to her ear. Camilla shivered but didn't move. Didn't back away from the challenge she, herself, issued.

"Oh," he promised. "I intend to."

With another kiss, a mere press of his lips to hers, he turned. Camilla barely realized what happened before he left her alone.

# Chapter Nine

GARETH WAITED WHILE his carriage moved through London's streets. Camilla confused him. He honestly didn't understand what had her so afraid. She wanted him—she made that abundantly clear—so it wasn't attraction.

Was it fear over his title? Of becoming a duchess? Of the gossip society would hurl at her? Impatient, Gareth brushed that off. He could protect her. His fingers tapped on his thigh, and his leg bounced impatiently as the carriage inched along with the traffic.

He only agreed to attend Almack's Solstice Ball because he knew Camilla planned to do so. The missive he sent round yesterday had not been acknowledged, not that he thought she'd immediately write him. Storm into his study, perhaps. Camilla was nothing if not passionate.

The wind seeped through the window coverings, but he ignored it. Flexing his fingers in his fine leather gloves, Gareth ran a hand over his face. Oh, the lengths one went to, to show a woman his interest.

No, not merely a woman. Camilla was more to him than a vessel for an heir. He trusted her. He wanted her as his partner, not as a polished duchess to preen for society.

And if she wished to continue matchmaking, he certainly had no issue with that. Camilla was exceedingly good at her profession and chose wisely for her clients. As duchess, she could, of course, continue her work. Sponsoring young ladies was a pastime his mother enjoyed, from what he recalled.

Entering Almack's, he ignored the decor, the floor-to-ceiling windows, and the orchestra. People milled around, some dancing, some eating, some laughing in small groups. He also ignored several calls for his attention and prowled the room for Camilla.

Off the dance floor, with several other women, he finally saw her. She laughed, a slight smile on her face at something one of the others said. Her hair was simply done in a bun on the nape of her neck, with several small braids draped around it. The deep purple of her gown accented her fair skin and dark hair.

For the first time in his life, Gareth hesitated. He didn't necessarily want to interrupt her; he did respect what she did and how well she accomplished her work. That did not, however, mean he couldn't stand directly in her line of sight.

Gareth knew the instant she spotted him. Her smile dimmed—no, not dimmed. Changed. From the light, pleased expression she showed her coterie, to a slight tilt to her lush lips and, though he stood across the room, a calculating one.

His own lips twitched in acknowledgement. Camilla spoke with the other women and, with a nod to a tall, raven-haired woman beside her, stepped away. Gareth watched her move around the group, his attention solely focused on her. On the sway of her hips and the steadiness of her golden gaze.

So it took him more time than he'd like to admit to realize the tall woman she spoke to also crossed the room to where he stood.

It took Gareth no more than a beat of the musician's instruments to realize who the woman was: Camilla's latest attempt to match him with someone she deemed appropriate.

Anger beat through him, hot and rash. His hands clenched around each other behind his back, and his eyes narrowed on Camilla's. She gazed serenely back at him, her steps even, head held high, and hips still swaying enticingly.

"Good evening, Your Grace," Camilla said with a slight twist to her lips and a raised eyebrow. She bowed in greeting, but her gaze never left his. "I do hope you've been well since our last encounter."

Oh, well played, Camilla. Well played.

Gareth offered her a begrudging smile and nodded once. "Well enough, Mrs. Primsby," he returned, purposely keeping his gaze on her.

"Do allow me to introduce Lady Cora MacRae-Hamilton, daughter of the Duke of Kinclaven." Camilla looked to the side, her hand waving elegantly to indicate the other woman.

"Pleasure to meet you, Lady Cora," Gareth said politely, but he purposely kept his gaze entirely on Camilla.

He knew exactly what game she played, and he refused to be drawn in. Gareth made his intentions perfectly clear; if Camilla wanted to continue introducing him to supposedly acceptable matches, he'd fight back.

"Duke," Lady Cora greeted him in a soft lilt. He did not turn to acknowledge her. "It's my understanding you occasionally journey to Scotland for sport."

He continued to watch Camilla, who looked alternating between annoyed and unsurprised. Her eyes snapped with fire, a hot golden flame that drew him in. She knew exactly what he did and, Gareth realized, admired him for it even as it angered her.

"My family is hosting a winter shoot after the new year," she continued. "We'd love to have you as our guest."

"Thank you for your gracious invitation, Lady Cora," Gareth responded evenly. "But I'm afraid my duties keep me in London through the winter." He barely glanced at the woman and did feel a pang of remorse over his rudeness. "If you'll excuse us, I need a word with Mrs. Primsby."

Lady Cora muttered her farewells, turned sharply on her heel, and left. Gareth still didn't look at her. But Camilla's eyes darkened, her mouth pressed into a thin line. Even over the crush of Almack's, he heard her snarl in annoyed anger.

"You did not have to be so incredibly rude!" Camilla snapped. "Lady Cora is likely a better match for your temperament than Lady Julianna!"

"I thought we'd come to an understanding," he growled.

Clenching his jaw, Gareth stepped back. He didn't know when he moved so close to Camilla, but certainly didn't want to argue with her in the middle of Almack's Assembly. He had no need to be the center of gossip on a good day, let alone while disagreeing in public with the woman he planned to marry.

"The only understanding we've come to is how we both desire each other," she hissed, careful to keep her voice from carrying. She stopped, glanced around the room and forced a smile before she continued. "That alone does not make a proper match."

"Allow me to make myself perfectly clear," he shot back. "There are to be no further attempts at a match. You'll simply disappoint the girl."

Gareth wanted to shake Camilla—he wanted to kiss her and show her exactly who it was he wanted. He did neither. Calling on every bit of control he ever possessed, he stood straight and still, if perhaps a tad closer to Camilla than proper.

He didn't care.

Her eyes narrowed. "You will be the one disappointed when you don't get exactly what you want."

"Camilla."

But she lifted her chin and purposefully stepped back. The curtsey she offered was mocking and sardonic, though her gaze never wavered. With a final glare, she turned sharply and left.

Gareth watched her walk through the crowd, not in the direction of her former group of female friends, but into the crush. He lost her in the moving bodies, but made no move to follow her.

After a moment he found her again, seeing her speaking with Lady Cora. Apologizing, no doubt. He supposed he should feel somewhat bad for being so unpardonably rude to Lady Cora, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

He made his intentions clear. He didn't want a match set up between him and any woman in the _ton_. Gareth wanted Camilla. Why could she not understand?

For another hour he watched her work the room and speak with others, but she never smiled and her shoulders remained stiff and tense. Gareth barely acknowledged the men who circled him, barely paying attention to their conversation.

He kept Camilla in sight the entire time she stayed in Almack's, but when she headed for the doors, Gareth excused himself and followed her. Several people stopped him, and he lost sight of her once when he heard a disparaging remark about Edmund, Lord Granville. Despite his haste to find Camilla, Gareth stopped long enough to glare at the man.

"One should not believe every rumor put forth by the broadsheets," he snapped. "It's hardly the young lady's fault, and if Granville sees fit to marry her, he'll have the full backing and support of the Duke of Axton."

With a final sneer to the assembled group, he turned back to his own woman.

She climbed into her carriage without so much as a backward look.

Gareth called for his carriage, returned inside for his hat, gloves, and walking stick, and followed her. She might have gone to another ball or house party, but he trusted his instincts and directed his driver to her townhouse.

Before the carriage stopped, Gareth leapt from it and ran for the door. It just closed behind her; he didn't know how he managed to arrive at the same time as her, and didn't much care.

"Camilla."

Her butler looked startled and then angry, no doubt ready to summon the footman and the Bow Street Runners to have him hauled out. Gareth ignored the man.

"We have more to discuss," he told her.

Camilla watched him warily, her eyes still dark with anger, but she looked tired. That pulled him up short, and he almost faltered. But then she scowled at him and stepped back.

She nodded once and breezed through the foyer and into the front parlor. The room was shuttered against the cold December night and the frigid wind that whipped through the city. The fire was banked, leaving the room dark and uninviting.

The butler set a candelabrum on the low table by the settee and made a hasty retreat, closing the pocket doors behind him.

Gareth watched Camilla in the flickering shadows of the candles. Her shoulders pulled back tightly, and her eyes stayed on him.

"Is this a duke's tantrum?" she demanded. "Is this your way of railing against me when you do not get what you want?"

Her fingers jerked at her cloak, shrugged it off, and tossed it over the settee. The candle flickered and jumped, casting her in deepening shadows and light.

"I want you," he returned, his words clipped. "That's no secret between us. And after the last time we were together, after what we shared—"

"We shared a few kisses," she snapped. "Our bodies touched. It was pleasant but it was _not_ life altering."

Gareth stepped closer, wanting to see her more clearly. Camilla hadn't moved, nor had her anger dissipated. It only fueled his own.

"Are you certain? Because I saw the way you responded." He paused and lowered his voice. "Or should I say I _felt_ the way you responded."

Camilla tossed her head back and snorted. "As I said before, desire between us is not the issue. You want me?" She nodded once, a hard snap of her head. "You can have me."

She stepped closer and even in the dim light, he saw her eyes narrow, the spark in their golden depths. "You can have me on _my_ terms. But you are a duke and not accustomed to compromising with the terms of others."

She tossed her head again and sneered at him. He'd never seen a woman sneer so much, and at him, as Camilla had this night. Gareth probably shouldn't find it attractive, but he did. Her hands landed on her hips and for a moment she stood still, perfectly still, and glared at him.

Then she stepped back, not in retreat—never that, not his Camilla—but in a release of the anger that continued to burn.

"I am _baffled_ by your terms," he snapped. "What woman would rather be a mistress than a duchess?"

"You don't know me," she shot back. "Not truly. You're just a boy who has _never_ , in his entire life, suffered for anything. Everything you've ever wanted has been handed to you since birth. Handed to you with no struggle and no thought whatsoever."

Her words shot around them in a blast of truth and revulsion.

"I've clawed my way into the position I have now," she continued, her voice low and vibrating with anger and loathing. "I was never handed anything. It was taken from me. Taken from me and my family."

She stalked closer, her movements erratic in the flickering light. Her words stopped him and made him step back and look at her in a new light. And maybe that was what she wanted, what the purpose of this conversation was. To make him see how selfish a bastard he truly was.

"Many of whom have not survived. You've never been afraid where your next meal came from or if you'd have a roof over your head the next night. You don't know me or what I want."

In the heavy silence of her outburst, Gareth watched her. Then, purposely loosening his clenched hands, he stepped back and tried to take a calming breath. But the only scent around him was Camilla, and it clouded his mind.

"Let me know you." He watched her blink warily at his words. The words he didn't plan and didn't understand. They came from someplace deep inside him, so honest that each word hurt to say. "Let me be the one you tell everything to. The one you share your fears with."

But she stepped back, her eyes wide. He saw her shock, the uncertainty. Her hands hung limp at her sides, breath erratic. Camilla blinked slowly at him but said nothing for several long minutes. She shook her head once, and his heart clenched in fear. But she remained silent and Gareth realized the movement wasn't in denial, but in confusion.

"You're wrong," he said in the silence between them. "I might not know what you've gone through, but I know what it's like not to know if you'll be fed. Not to know if you'll still be breathing the next day."

She cleared her throat, a soft sound in the shadowed parlor. Her shoulders relaxed slightly and her head tilted, as if inviting him to continue.

"How is that possible?" But the words slipped softly from her lips, didn't demand as they might've. "What do you mean?"

"I was a prisoner during the war." Gareth cleared his throat and took a step back from her as if he needed air. His throat dry, he struggled to find the words to tell her. To voice the horrors he witnessed, those he experienced.

"I was tasked with inspecting our fortifications along the French coast. One night when I was with Hawkhurst's men, we were ambushed and captured by the French. We thought we were dead. I thought...I'd never see my home again."

He stopped and swallowed. The echoes of those cries, the screams of pain. The sear of a hot iron on his chest and the kick of a boot on his back. He shuddered and tried to blink away the images, the phantom memories of pain and desperation and anger.

"We were tortured." His voice cracked, and he swallowed again. "Not given food or water. And they threatened to kill us every day."

Gareth breathed deeply and stepped closer. She didn't back away, her eyes wide as she listened. He thought he saw a sheen of tears in her gaze, with understanding and sorrow as she watched him.

"My captivity can be measured in months," he whispered. "Maybe not as long as you feared. But it left me humbled. And ready to fight. Fight for what I want."

Taking her hand, he ran his fingers over her knuckles and raised his other hand to brush along her cheek. She met his gaze, but her tears didn't fall. Her fingers flexed around his.

"Camilla, I'd never diminish you in any way. I only ask for your trust."

# Chapter Ten

"THIS IS WHAT I want." Camilla swallowed hard and looked up at him. She studied his face, hard with memories and fierce with determination.

In the darkness of the parlor, she saw him in a new light. A man who understood more about life and loss, about fighting and surviving, than she ever thought he had. She wondered about his scars, the physical as well as the emotional, but more she wondered how she hadn't noticed that survivalist instinct before.

Camilla prided herself on her ability to read people, to understand them far better than the surface conversation she normally had with potential clients.

" _You_ ," she corrected, "are who I want." She paused and licked her lips, running her fingertips along his cheek. "And I know you desire me as well." She stepped closer, unsure when she had moved so near him. "Why must a disagreement keep us apart?"

She didn't know what changed his mind; all Camilla knew was his lips pressed to hers, his mouth moving against hers, his hands holding her close. She wound her arms around his neck, her fingers pressing through his hair to keep him there.

And she opened herself to him, despite her words and her wants. Camilla opened herself to Axton's touch, his kiss, his caresses.

"Let's go upstairs," she managed, gasping for breath.

He didn't verbally respond, but backed out of the room. Camilla wasn't entirely certain how they moved from the dark front parlor to her bedroom, how neither of them tripped or fell on the stairs, or how no one heard them. But somehow, they made it.

The instant he closed the door behind them, Axton pressed her against it, his body hard and insistent against hers, his hands bunching up her skirts. And oh, his touch on her bare skin sent a shiver down her spine and white-hot heat through her blood.

With a sharp rend, her gown parted and hung loose on her shoulders. Camilla tried to care—honestly she did. She loved this gown. But then Axton's mouth kissed down newly bared skin and his hands cupped her breasts, and nothing else mattered.

He crouched slightly, his fully clothed body pressed against her naked one. His hands slid over her hips, down her thighs, a slow, knowing caress. His touch sent shocks of need through her, a clawing, desperate hunger that matched his own.

His calloused touch sent arousal pooling low in her belly. Camilla gasped and tugged his lips back to hers. She arched into his touch, her body afire, nerves tingling with need. She pushed his jacket off his shoulders and fumbled blindly with the buttons to his waistcoat. Felt his own fingers against hers in their haste to disrobe him.

Clothing ripped, but she didn't care—she wanted to feel his body against hers, moving inside her, and she wanted him now.

Axton hooked his hands on the back of her thighs and lifted her. Camilla wrapped her arms around his shoulders, tangling her hands in his hair and deepening their kiss. She was unable not to touch him, to taste him. She tightened her legs around his hips and rocked against him.

He pressed her to the door; the rough wood dug into her skin, but she ignored it. His cool fingers cupped her breast, rolled her nipples, and tugged hard until she gasped, arching into him. One hand cupped her bum, holding her securely against the door.

It sparked through her, a hot rush of need that broke through her control and consumed her. Camilla rolled her hips and rocked against him.

Axton growled, maybe her name, she couldn't be certain, and stepped from the door. Camilla whimpered, but then he moved; with every step from the door to the bed, he brushed his cock against her wet sex.

He sat her on the bed and leaned over, still kissing her, his fingers tracing over her breasts, along her ribs. The barest stroke, the lightest brush as he teased and aroused. He tasted down her belly and over her hip, his fingers just grazing her sex.

"Axton." She arched into his touch, but he continued his teasing caress. Never stopping, bringing her body closer and closer but never over the edge.

Her hands clenched into the bedding and she tried to move her hips harder into his touch, but Axton held her still. Camilla whimpered, or thought she did. Her heart pounded in her ears, blocking out any other sound.

Her focus narrowed onto Axton's touch, the way his fingers circled around her nub, never touching but tormenting her just this side of arousal.

"Come for me, Camilla." His mouth pressed to her sex and his fingers finally, _finally,_ touched her nub and oh— _oh!_

She fell. The orgasm crashed through her, hard and fast, and she ground her hips into Axton's touch. Felt his fingers slid into her even as he continued to taste her. She wanted more and rocked her hips against him, desperate for his touch, for the addictive feel of her climax rushing through her.

She came again, hard on the heels of her first climax. Some distant part of her was surprised; usually her lovers were not so generous. But with Axton's mouth still tasting her and his fingers curling deliciously within her, all Camilla wanted was more.

Breathing hard, her body trembling from her orgasms, Camilla blinked open her eyes. Axton watched her. In the darkness of her room she couldn't see his face, not clearly. But she felt him. His hands on her thighs, the way the bed dipped as he moved.

She managed to uncurl her hands from the bedding and grasp his cock. Teasing him, she felt a nearly overwhelming urge to taste him as he had her. Later. That was for later. Oh, she planned to take her time. To keep him hovering on the edge before watching him fall. And she did want to watch him fall, wanted to watch his every expression.

No more darkness, no more hiding in the shadows. However, right now, despite the way her body still tingled, she wanted to feel him moving within her.

He entered her slowly, but even in the shadows Camilla saw the way his jaw clenched with his restraint. She wanted to break that restraint.

"Axton," she breathed and wrapped her legs around his waist.

Camilla dug her nails into his hips, dragged them up his back. Axton shuddered in her arms and her heart, despite its fierce pounding, flipped in her chest. She kissed the side of his neck with a tenderness she didn't understand.

No, she couldn't see his expression. But the weight of his gaze as he watched her, as he hovered over her, his hands planted on either side of her head, bore into her.

She opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but the words caught. Instead, she lifted her hips in invitation. He slid deeper into her, and her breath hitched. Nothing else mattered but this moment. Her body sang with need, and her blood rushed through her. Camilla tightened her thighs around his waist.

"Camilla." He sounded as if he wanted to say more, but cut himself off.

And then he moved. Slow, even thrusts that flamed the fire. She felt her orgasm build again, her body open to his as she met him.

But she wanted to break his control, wanted him to pound into her. Camilla raked her nails down his back, felt him shudder in her arms. She leaned up, brought his mouth to hers, and kissed him. It was sloppy and rushed, but she wanted more. One hand cupped the back of her thigh and lifted her leg higher.

She gasped when he moved deeper, shuddering as her orgasm wound tighter and tighter. Camilla slid a hand between them and scraped a nail over her nub. She was so sensitive, she came almost immediately.

Crying out, she bit his shoulder as her climax rocked through her. That was when he snapped. He pounded hard into her, each thrust deeper, and she welcomed it. Held him close even as her body shuddered in a beautiful aftermath.

"Yes," she cried. "Axton."

She held him close, met him thrust for thrust, and desperately wished she could see him. Watch his face as he watched her, know what he thought and felt. He shifted her thigh higher and Camilla cried out again.

And suddenly stilled above her as he came. She pressed her fingers into the small of his back, held him close. He shuddered in her arms but didn't say a word. His arms trembled and buckled, and he rolled to the side, slipping out of her.

Gasping for breath, and missing the weight of him, Camilla turned to watch Axton. She reached out, drawing her fingers down his cheek, over his heaving chest.

He hadn't withdrawn. Camilla frowned as she realized that but was entirely too boneless and content to worry about the possibility of pregnancy after the fact. She'd remind him later. Next time.

Axton reached out and tugged her to him, wrapping his arm over her waist and holding her close. Sighing contentedly as she settled over him, she knew there'd be a next time. And a time after that, too.

Camilla felt his lips graze the top of her head and heard a rumble of contentment deep in his chest. Oh, no, she was not done with Axton yet.

* * * *

"YOU HAVE MY trust," Camilla admitted. "You've had it for a very long time." She pulled back from him and looked him in the eye. "But you cannot have my freedom."

Axton stopped touching her; his hand stilled on her back. His eyes darkened, though she couldn't read them.

"Is this not enough, Axton?" she asked, curious and honest. "Is this not more than those who are wed have? A tryst in the afternoon, a secret assignation. Is that not more fun? More exciting? Do you not want that with me?"

"It is exciting," he began and nodded. "Because I have you. It's fun because we are intimate. But is it more?" He shook his head. Though he didn't physically pull back, Camilla had the feeling he did. "It could be exciting to be a duchess. It could be exciting to be wed."

Camilla pulled from his embrace and grabbed the coverlet. She hugged it to her chest, covered herself the best she was able, and didn't look at him.

She didn't know what she'd see if she did, and frankly wasn't certain what showed in her gaze. What she felt, what she thought. Everything meshed within her in a jumbled mess of conflicting emotions.

"If this is what you want," Axton continued, and something in his tone changed.

His hand, large and warm, rested on her shoulder. Camilla looked at his hand, then over it to meet his gaze. Desperation. That's what she heard in his voice. A man at the end of his rope.

"I accept. It does not make me the happiest man," he admitted with a rueful twist of his lips. "But it gives me a measure of solace you are with me, not with another."

"However..."

"However," he agreed. "There's a caveat."

Camilla smirked, but it didn't feel as natural or as open as she wished. The movement felt forced as she waited for his caveat, his stipulation. "Of course there is."

"We will never close the door on you becoming my duchess." His hand squeezed her shoulder, not in warning but in confirmation.

Camilla shivered at the touch, at the way Axton watched her. He wanted her, yes, she saw that clearly, felt it, knew it intimately. But more than that, he truly wanted her...physically, emotionally, by his side and on his arm. Always.

It was tempting. And terrifying.

She swallowed and found herself leaning into his touch. Catching herself, Camilla stilled and pulled back.

"You will never lose freedom with me," he promised. "You will gain the protection and the prestige of a title. But you'd still have your freedom—your freedom to travel, to do your work."

He didn't add, and didn't have to: _You can do all that_ _with me_.

Camilla licked her lips and had no reply. She didn't know how to reply to so heartfelt and honest a statement. Instead, she leaned closer. Pressed her lips to his and let the kiss deepen.

She pushed him back onto the bed and straddled his waist, rocking against his hardness. Grinning down at him, she pushed all thoughts of their future from her mind and lived only for the moment.

Their moment.

# Chapter Eleven

CAMILLA WATCHED AXTON sleep. How could three weeks have passed already? Three weeks since beginning their affair, three weeks of hiding it. She frowned and pushed that thought aside. It had no place here, between them.

He hadn't brought marriage up again and she certainly hadn't, either. But the thought stayed with her. Every day of these three weeks, she thought about what he wanted, why he could possibly want marriage with her.

And every day she pushed it to the back of her mind and lived in the moment. Kissed him, made love with him, and laughed with him. But never brought it up.

Axton pulled away from her, and Camilla jerked at the sudden move. Somehow he always knew when it was time to wake and leave. She knew, too. She didn't need to look at the mantel to know the time, or listen for the church bells tolling the hour.

Three in the morning and he needed to leave.

Her fingers pressed against his chest, a movement she had no control over. Her body knew—knew Axton once more obeyed her wishes and left before the servants woke. Knew her lover was just about to sneak from her bed and out of her house to protect her reputation.

Sighing, Camilla leaned up and kissed him.

His hands slid up her naked back, warm in the cold room, to pull her closer. His fingers tangled in her hair and his mouth slanted over hers, demanding and fierce. She gave all that to him, opening to him and tangling her own fingers in his hair.

How could she let him leave?

But he pulled back, slipped from her bed, and dressed in the dark. The crescent moon lighted her bedroom only barely, but Axton seemed to know where his clothes lay. Then again, the next day she found his cravat more than once in random places about the room.

And kept them, secreting away the cloth like a hidden prize.

Sitting in bed to watch him dress, Camilla bit her lip to keep from speaking. To keep herself from asking him to stay.

Suddenly restless, she slid from the bed and found her own wrap, tightened the heavy material around her body, and walked to where he pulled on his shoes. He sat on the bench at the foot of the bed and didn't look up at her until he finished.

She combed her fingers through his hair, ruffling the already-mussed style. In the dark, she couldn't read his expression and found herself caught between wanting desperately to know what he was thinking...and knowing and trying to ignore it.

He didn't want to leave, either.

But he respected her wishes, and how could she fault him for that? How could she stay angry with him for doing what she asked—what she demanded?

He stood and they silently left her bedroom, walking down darkened halls and down the servants' staircase. Axton always left by the servants' door. Always. She unlocked it but didn't push it open, couldn't bring herself to do so.

Instead Camilla looked up at him and wanted. Wanted to tell him to stay, wanted to pull him to her and kiss him, wanted to throw every fear she had to the wind and tell the _ton_ to go to hell. She wanted her staff to know Axton—Gareth—spent the night and she didn't want to care what they said or how they gossiped.

Camilla simply wanted Gareth in her life. Forever.

But she swallowed those words down, afraid if she opened her mouth to tell him so much as a goodbye, the words would flow from her and never stop.

"I'm entertaining a guest tonight," Axton said smoothly. "Lord Bigleman is in town for just the night, so I won't be able to...see you."

His hand cupped her cheek, thumb brushing over her skin in a soft caress that stole her breath.

"I wish you were with me," he admitted, his voice low and rough. "I want to show you off as my...hostess."

Camilla didn't miss the way he hesitated. Didn't miss the word he wanted to use instead of hostess—duchess. She swallowed again and desperately held back the words that wanted to spill forth.

Because she wanted that, too.

Not being his duchess, per se, but being with him always. Letting the world know they were a pair, no more hiding in the darkness. Oh, Camilla knew doing so had been her idea; in the darkness, with him so close yet so far, she changed her mind.

She wanted to wake with him in their bed and start their day together. End it the same way. No more sneaking about.

"Perhaps," he said in the face of her silence, "one day."

Axton leaned down and kissed her, not the hard, demanding one of before, but a gentle touch of his lips to hers, almost sweet. More than a kiss, it was emotion; it was affection. And as much as she fought against that, Camilla held onto his waist, her fingers digging into his waistcoat, and kissed him back.

Without another word, he pulled back and left. Locked the door behind him and disappeared into the night.

Alone in the darkness, Camilla stared at the door. She wanted him to stay; she wanted to follow him.

She never wanted a lover to stay before, not that there were many _—_ two, maybe three, if she counted the two days with that Italian last year when she left Isabella Harrington—now Duchess of Strathmore—in Milan. Now, there was only Axton.

She wanted only Axton. But she could not rely on that, could she?

He was a man, after all, and men were as mercurial over women as women were over bonnets. How long until he changed? How long until another shapely form caught his fancy? Camilla wasn't sure, and she wasn't sure she wanted to wait for that inevitability.

Spinning sharply on her heel, she stalked from the servants' door and up the stairs. The draft chilled the room, through her thin dressing gown, and she wanted her bed.

She wanted him in her bed again, wanted to curl around him and feel his arms hold her tight. His body against hers to keep her warm.

Damn.

Had it been her other lovers, she certainly wouldn't have cared. But with Axton—Gareth—it was so different, had been from the first. Nothing about that man proved simple. Even his retainer of her services had not played out as planned, nor had his reasons for hiring her.

And Hawkhurst—a problem she hadn't solved. Camilla sensed an underlying problem there, but knew not what the source might be.

She stepped through her bedroom door and crossed immediately to her bed. But did not climb beneath the blankets. She didn't have to, to know the bedding smelled like them, his strong scent eclipsing the scent of soap and sleep.

Swallowing hard, Camilla slowly discarded her dressing gown and slid beneath the heavy blankets, allowing them to warm her chilled skin. They did naught to warm the chill around her heart.

Though she lay down and willed sleep to claim her, she knew it remained elusive. Sleep always was this way after Gareth left, after she returned to her bed, alone, with only her thoughts to keep her company. Her whirling, racing thoughts on their future.

What might happen, what she wished happened. Camilla wasn't certain what those wishes consisted of—what she truly wanted. And no amount of sleepless nights had helped.

Closing her eyes, she tried to calm her mind for at least a few hours' rest. But she knew, with his scent surrounding her and her body still languid from the ceaseless passion between them, that she might never know what lay between her and Gareth.

And that elusiveness bothered her more than she wanted to admit.

* * * *

CAMILLA HADN'T GONE back to sleep. Not that she had managed to do so in the previous three weeks since that first night he slipped from her bed and sneaked from the house.

Not that it mattered, she assured herself as she sat at her desk, the early morning sunlight just lightening her study. But the sigh escaped her lips anyway, no matter how she tried to stop it. Her tea cooled beside her, and though she refused breakfast, one of the maids brought bread and jam anyway.

Once more she tried focusing on the papers before her and once more failed miserably.

"You're here early!" Margaret chirped and entered without bothering to knock.

She carried her own teacup and a final bite of toast, along with a sheaf of paperwork. Camilla blinked up at her assistant. Why on Earth was she up this early, too? Or was she always?

Camilla dismissed it and looked back at her correspondence, the ones she ignored the previous few days because her mind refused to focus on anything other than Gareth—Axton. Damn it, separating him in her mind was not supposed to be so difficult!

"Mrs. Carlton is becoming quite impatient," Margaret said and set the papers on the desk. "She very firmly"—Margaret cleared her throat at that—"insists that her daughter be betrothed by spring."

Raising an eyebrow, Camilla asked dryly, " _This_ spring?"

Margaret snorted in agreement.

"Even my most successful matches rarely happen so expediently," Camilla snapped. Then she swallowed and sipped her cold tea. Grimacing at the taste, she debated ringing for a fresh pot, but her stomach rebelled at the very thought.

She sighed again and offered Margaret an apologetic smile. It was not Margaret's fault she was in a foul mood.

"No," Margaret agreed, taking no offense. "Mr. Maine, however, might be a viable possibility for Miss Carlton."

Camilla nodded—she hadn't thought about that particular match; then again, she hadn't given any of her matches much thought lately. She returned her gaze to her papers, but the words swam before her. She just barely resisted rubbing her eyes in front of Margaret.

When she looked up again, Margaret studied her with a hard glint in her eye. Camilla waited, her gaze steady and eyebrow raised in question. She refused to give her assistant, no matter how good a friend she might be, any leeway.

"You look rather pale," Margaret commented. "Tired," she added unnecessarily in Camilla's view. "Forlorn."

"I am fine, Margaret," she insisted and returned once more to her papers.

"Perhaps if His Grace stayed longer this morning?" Margaret ventured.

"Margaret!" Camilla snapped, the word a shot between them.

It didn't matter Margaret lived in the same house, nor did it matter Axton's visits were an open secret between them. They never spoke of it, never acknowledged her affair with Axton, and never mentioned a word that might ruin her matchmaker's reputation.

"My mood," she said between clenched teeth, "has nothing to do with His Grace."

Which was the first time she acknowledged Axton was a part of her life in any way other than a matchmaking client.

Undeterred, Margaret asked, "Are you certain?" Camilla didn't answer, and her assistant plowed on. "It's not something to be ashamed of; you're falling in love with a duke!" She smiled and leaned forward in her chair. "It's something to be proud of."

"I'm not sure—"

"Perhaps your head is not sure," Margaret interrupted. "But your heart..." She grinned. "Your heart is clearly smitten. And you should not ignore such signs. How many times have I heard you say that to a young couple? The woman or man who is unsure of a match."

Margaret reached across the desk but didn't take Camilla's hand. The sentiment was the same, however, and Camilla found herself captivated by the other woman's words.

"It's very good advice," Margaret insisted. "Advice you need to heed yourself."

Camilla sat straighter and set her papers purposefully down. "You are quite aware I'm not one to be locked in a marriage. Why should I have a man dictate what I can and cannot do?"

Her voice sounded prim and snippy even to herself, but Camilla made no effort to calm her tone. Lifting her chin, she stared down Margaret, but her assistant refused to be cowed. In fact, as far as Camilla saw, Margaret ignored her annoyance completely.

"Is His Grace such a man?" she asked. "Would he truly dictate your movements?" Margaret tilted her head to the side and frowned. "I agree," she admitted and nodded. "If he is such a man and you're attracted to him, an affair is for the best."

Margaret straightened and nodded again. "However, if he's the sort to revel in your successes, stay loyal by your side, admire all you do..." She grinned again, that sly, knowing grin Camilla decided she didn't like one bit. "Then why risk losing such a man?"

Camilla broke first and admitted it. She looked back at her papers for the dozenth time since Margaret entered and nodded. "I understand," she whispered. Then she cleared her throat and looked up again.

"Arrange a meeting between Miss Carlton and Mr. Maine sooner rather than later," she instructed Margaret, who nodded.

Margaret's words made sense, much as Camilla wished it otherwise. But right now she didn't want to think on that—hadn't the energy or the emotional fortitude to do so.

Even if her heart gave a little flip and pounded far too quickly in her chest.

# Chapter Twelve

LADY LINDOR'S WINTER Ball lived up to its name. The bitterly cold night bit through Camilla's gown and chilled her to the bone. Ignoring it the best she could, Camilla entered the crush and waited for her fingers to warm and stop tingling.

White linen covered every available space, flowing in the wind from the open doors and flittering around the guests. Camilla eyed the fabric, a little overdone, but then everything Lady Lindor did was slightly overdone.

Part of her charm, she supposed.

"Oh, Mrs. Primsby." The woman in question greeted her with large smiles and exuberance.

Camilla smiled back but couldn't manage to meet Lady Lindor's level of excitement.

"Isn't this lovely? Oh, and we have ice cream from The Pot and Pineapple."

"I look forward to trying some," Camilla said. And wondered if ice cream in January was the best idea.

Then again, she had warmed significantly since stepping into the house. Not many refused an invitation to Lady Lindor's gatherings. She always had the most unique themes.

Excusing herself from the hostess, Camilla turned back to the crowd and immediately saw Gareth. He stood facing her, as if he already knew she arrived, but made no move to cross the room to greet her. Camilla inclined her head in greeting and watched his lips twitch in response.

But she had clients to see to, and Miss Emilia Carlton awaited her.

A petite girl with honey-blonde hair and hazel eyes, Miss Carlton stood next to her chattering mother. Camilla planned to ignore the mother, as, it seemed, did Emilia herself. When she curtseyed to the two women, Emilia barely glanced up from her scrutiny of the floor.

"Dear, you must look up," Camilla admonished softly. Tilting her chin gently until the young woman looked her in the eye, she smiled and waited for the other woman to nod in return.

Not overly shy, no more than any young woman in her first season with an overbearing mother at least, Emilia was deathly afraid of tripping over her gown. Poor thing. Camilla wondered what sort of household the Carltons' townhouse was if Emilia feared tripping so badly she rarely looked up from the floor.

"I promise, you shan't trip on the hem of your gown," she continued in an equally soft voice so Mrs. Carlton didn't overhear despite that woman's impressive bent for gossip. "Now, when you meet Mr. Maine, simply treat him as you would any new friend."

Emilia's eyebrow rose in disbelief. Camilla nodded again and smiled gently. Then she looked to the right, where Mr. Maine waited her signal.

"Mr. Harold Maine," she said, "may I introduce you to Miss Emilia Carlton."

"Miss Carlton," Maine said and bowed over her hand. "May I interest you in a cup of ice cream?"

Emilia nodded and smiled. She looked down but Camilla cleared her throat, and Emilia's head jerked back up. It was a slow walk for the newly introduced couple; Emilia wasn't going to overcome her fear of tripping in one evening. But Camilla watched them walk with a sense of pride.

She did so love when a match came together, and had high hopes for the couple.

"A very interesting match."

Suddenly much warmer than even the close room warranted, Camilla looked up at Gareth. His blue eyes sparkled down at her, lips quirked just slightly.

"Mrs. Primsby."

"Your Grace." She curtseyed. But the formal greeting caught in her throat, and she wondered how she ever thought there was naught but passion between them.

"You look ravishing this evening," Gareth whispered, bent low over the noise of the ball. "So much so, I wish we were alone."

Unable to stop herself, even with a conflicting feeling of want and annoyance, she tilted her head and offered a coy smile. "Shall I assume you'll be at my doorstep this evening?"

"Most assuredly." Gareth leaned even closer, if that were possible. "I cannot wait to taste the ice cream on your lips."

Desire spread through her, making her skin tingle for an entirely different reason than the cold January night. It settled low in her belly and throbbed through her in time to her heartbeat.

Suddenly he sighed, and Camilla blinked in confusion. He bowed to her and winked, then disappeared into the crush. Confused, she watched him expertly weave through the room, and seriously debated following him.

"Oh, Mrs. Primsby."

Startled, Camilla jerked round to Mrs. Carlton. She repressed a sigh but not a final, lingering, glance at Gareth's very fine retreating form.

"I do applaud your idea to match my Emilia with Mr. Maine."

Camilla angled herself to better see Gareth, and subsequently the room, and endured an hour's worth of chatter from Eugenia Carlton. An hour. She sighed. Again. But Mrs. Carlton didn't seem to notice, which was just as well. At least the woman wasn't chattering with Emilia and Mr. Maine—they needed time to know one another and not have the overbearing Eugenia breathing down their necks to declare for each other by the end of the evening.

Eugenia had one other, minor, very minor, point in her favor as well. From her position in the room, close enough to the open doors to benefit from the breeze but far enough away to enjoy the warmth, Camilla had the perfect view of Gareth. By enduring Eugenia's chatter, Camilla was saved the embarrassment of stalking across the room to confront Gareth. Who spent the entire hour in happy conversation with Lady Julianna Standish.

The same Lady Julianna with whom Camilla once tried to match him.

Narrowing her eyes, Camilla purposely looked away. Only to look right back at the couple. She handpicked Lady Julianna herself—they were perfectly compatible in a variety of ways: politics, class, temperament.

Lady Julianna wasn't difficult but a smart, witty woman who knew her own mind. Unlike Camilla, who was temperamental and clearly _didn't_ know her own mind. Not if the sight of Gareth with a woman she, herself, chose for him sent her blood boiling and her heart racing.

Camilla turned sharply to Eugenia and smiled. It wasn't her best performance; the smile felt tight and false, and her fingers twitched every time she imagined she heard Gareth's laugh. She couldn't, of course not. Not from this distance. But the very thought...

"If you'll excuse me, Mrs. Carlton," she said abruptly, the words higher than she'd have liked, tumbling out of her mouth as if she hadn't loads of experience in covering her emotions. "I'm suddenly not feeling well. I think I'll retire for the evening. I'll call on Emilia tomorrow."

She tried not to look at Gareth as she left, but her traitorous gaze immediately found him even as she hurried from the room. He watched her with a frown, but didn't move to stop her. Camilla jerked her head around and tilted her chin.

As she waited for her carriage to be brought round, she forced her mind to Emilia and Mr. Maine. Eugenia was a long-winded bore, but Emilia was a lovely young woman, and Camilla firmly believed Margaret was right—they made the perfect couple.

She very firmly did not think about Gareth. Or the fact he hadn't followed her—not that she wanted him to; rather she didn't _think_ she wanted him to. Or his exceptionally long conversation with Lady Julianna. Or the fact the _ton_ no doubt already tittered with news of the Duke of Axton's interest in Lady Julianna Standish.

She very firmly did not think of them the entire ride back to her townhouse or as her lady's maid helped her undress. No, Camilla thought of Emilia and Mademoiselle Lizette Fortescue and...the trouble with the wallflower.

Camilla sighed. She could admit she avoided any and all thoughts of Gareth. Mayhap she ought to call him the Duke of Axton again. When had she begun referring to him as Gareth, anyway?

"I searched the entirety of the Lindor Townhouse," Gareth— _Axton_ —said, his voice a low growl that sent her blood heating and her breath short. "You snuck out without giving me my customary notice."

Camilla silently stared at him. She wasn't sure what to say to his seemingly blasé attitude. He knew she saw him with Lady Julianna, knew he watched her as she spoke—or rather listened to—Eugenia Carlton. Yet here he was, in her bedroom as if it were just another night for them to engage in an illicit rendezvous.

"You seemed quite occupied," she managed in a cool voice. At least it was even and not the embarrassingly high-pitched one she used with Mrs. Carlton. "I didn't want to...disturb you."

Gareth— _Axton, damn it_ —walked closer, a slow, steady pace, all predatory and grace. "I waited for the oh-so-subtle tilt of your head," he admitted. "The one you usually do when you're finished working."

His breath brushed over her skin, over the shell of her ear. His lips grazed down her throat, teeth nipping at her skin. Camilla shivered and leaned into his touch.

She needed his touch, his mouth on hers, his hands. She needed to feel him moving within her and know he wanted her. Not Lady Julianna, not anyone else. Her.

Her dressing gown fell to the floor, quickly followed by her chemise. His hands were warm on her chilled skin, long fingers touching her just as she liked. Tugging on her nipples, raising her breasts to his mouth as his tongue swirled around the hard points, teeth closing over them just hard enough to make her knees weak.

Camilla pushed off his jacket and swiftly unbuttoned his waistcoat, letting that fall to the floor as well. She knew his body, too. She scraped her nails down his back, heard him hiss against her skin, and shuddered with the power that sparked through her. He picked her up then, carried her to the bed, and finished undressing.

Kneeling on the bed, Camilla pulled him to her. She kissed him hard and pushed him onto his back, straddling his waist and kissing down his chest to his cock. She vaguely heard him growl when she licked the underside of his cock, felt his hands tangle in her hair as she closed her lips over him.

She teased him; her hands held his hips to the bedding as she kissed and licked him, power and lust and something she refused to name heating her blood and making her wild.

Yes. Wild. She wanted this man, wanted to show him who she was and wanted to feel him in return. Camilla released Gareth with a wicked grin and kissed his belly. He breathed hard with one hand tangled in her hair, the other clenching the bedding beneath them.

"Camilla," he managed.

She didn't give him time to say more. Settling over him, Camilla guided him into her. She sighed at the feel, at the way he filled her, the sheer rightness of it.

His hands gripped her hips and she moved. Rocked against him harder and faster. But kept her gaze on his. Wanted to see him, wanted to know what she did to him—what he did to her when they made love. When they joined like this.

Her breath caught.

Camilla splayed her hands on his chest and moved faster. Suddenly she wanted to look away but he captured her and no matter what she wanted, she watched him. Her mind refused to blank even as her body reached higher and higher for her orgasm.

Her fingers slipped between her legs and she flicked her nails over the sensitive nub. More. Harder. Gareth's fingers replaced hers, and even in the barely lighted room she saw his eyes darken with passion.

Silent, her gaze still locked with his, Camilla fell. She shuddered against his touch, her hips bucking against his, against his fingers, utterly unable to look away.

Her orgasm shattered through her, heat and sensation and fire through her veins, along her nerves. But still she didn't look from him.

His hands never released her, and she continued to move over him. Gareth rolled them, hooked his hands beneath her knees, and thrust into her. Watched her as if he knew what she thought and what she felt better than she did.

And still she couldn't close her eyes. Couldn't look away.

Camilla cried out again, her climax swift and hard.

* * * *

GARETH KISSED HER softly and moved to leave the bed. Camilla held onto him for a moment longer, an unreasonable need to keep him close. But it panicked her, shot through her, and she tightened her hands around him.

He only kissed her again, his lips the lightest of touches on hers. Then he threw back the bedding and climbed out, exposing her to the chill of the room. That chill went straight through her and wrapped around her heart.

"I have a breakfast meeting in the morning at the townhouse," he said in the darkness. "So I must take my leave. Perhaps we could arrange a luncheon?"

Camilla swallowed. How did she respond to that? To the formal invitation? To luncheon with him, to arrange a luncheon with him? As opposed to...to what? To whatever it was they now engaged in?

She didn't even know what that was. Not any longer.

"I thought I'd take a trip," she said into the darkness. Her voice sounded odd, as if it echoed over the bedroom. "I have several clients in the surrounding villages I need to call upon."

She heard him pause more than saw him stop. "This is sudden." His voice hardened, just slightly; if she hadn't known him as well as she thought, Camilla wouldn't have heard the change.

"When did you intend on telling me of your trip?"

"Perhaps Lady Julianna can entertain you while I'm away." The harsh words snapped out of her before she realized they hovered on the tip of her tongue.

Her fingers curled around the bedding and held it against her chest. To ward off the cold, she told herself—and his words. Camilla didn't need to see him to know his eyes narrowed, and he stepped forward. She heard the faint movement of clothing, but in the darkness saw naught save Gareth's shadow as he circled the bed.

She looked up at him, her chin tilted proudly, and waited for his reply.

"Lady Julianna?" he repeated quietly, not the harsh rejoinder she expected.

"Yes," she snapped and truly tried to temper her tone. It was not to be. "The lady whose ear you whispered into all evening."

Gareth huffed out a faint laugh, and she could hear the smile in his voice when he spoke. Feel it against her mouth as he leaned down to kiss her. His lips moved over hers, deepening the kiss until she opened to him.

Camilla sighed against his mouth and wondered what had happened to her that she needed him so badly that she let him kiss her accusations away.

"I'm sure I shan't see Lady Julianna for quite some time," he promised against her mouth. And kissed her again.

Then he pulled back, without explaining, and finished dressing.

Torn between flopping on the bed and screaming in frustration, and pulling him back with her, Camilla settled for pulling the bedding with her as she stood. Confused, she waited, shifting from foot to foot and contemplating her next move.

She heard him finish dressing and watched his silhouette move back to her. His kiss was gentler this time, but no less arousing. His hand slipped over her shoulders and down her back, and he pulled her to him.

"I'm very happy with our arrangement," he whispered against her lips.

With that, he turned and left.

Stunned, confused, a little angry and very frustrated, Camilla watched him leave. Heard the door close behind him but couldn't bring herself to move. She only had herself to blame.

# Chapter Thirteen

Dear Mrs. Primsby,

I write to express my deepest gratitude. I'm not certain why you chose to use your unique talents with me, as I was not an official patron of yours. Perhaps you saw a lonely, pathetic woman in a new village and took pity on her.

However, I'm ever so grateful you did take pity on me and introduced me to Mr. Pennington, as I am now Mrs. Lillian Pennington.

I'd like to extend an open invitation to you to visit Pennington Hall whenever you so desire...

SMILING, CAMILLA FINISHED Lillian Norwood's—now Pennington's—letter. She had taken a quick liking to Lillian and had seen a bit of herself in the other woman. No. No, maybe not that much of herself. Lillian hadn't rejected Mr. Pennington, a man who loved her and wanted to marry her.

Camilla couldn't say the same.

Mayhap she should visit Pennington Hall. Visit Lillian and several other successes in the area. However, there was no true reason to leave, to visit former clients now happily settled in their new lives.

No reason, except she ran. Camilla looked out the glass doors to the cold, sunny day. The wind whipped through bare branches and along the frozen ground. She ran from problems she needed to face. Problems of her own making

Carefully placing the letter on her desk, she rose and wandered closer to the fireplace. It barely warmed her, though she wore a green wool gown and heavy stockings. Her persistent chill wasn't the weather's fault. It was hers.

She never ran, not even when she _was_ a young, foolish girl.

What changed? Between them, she and Gareth? She pressed for an affair, this _arrangement_ , as he so succinctly put it last night.

Camilla rubbed her fingers together, but they remained cold and stiff. Why, suddenly, did she want more?

"What more was there?" she muttered. The sound of her own voice startled her, and she turned sharply from the fire.

Once more sitting behind her desk, she carefully folded Lillian's letter and set it aside.

"The week's invitations have arrived," Margaret stated as she entered with a stack of envelopes. "Since you are up exceedingly early this morning, shall we get started on the schedule?"

Camilla glanced up at Margaret, her young protégée was entirely too chipper at this ungodly hour. And completely contrary to Camilla's mood today. She wanted quiet. No, she didn't—she didn't want to be left with her own thoughts.

And she absolutely did not want to be in the same room with Margaret's far too astute observations.

"They can wait, Margaret; in fact, perhaps I will decline the first few. Too many new clients this season and not enough time—" She stopped midsentence. No, that was not what she wanted. She needed to keep busy, keep herself occupied. "What am I saying? We shall accept all the invitations." Camilla nodded decisively, her lips pressed together. "There are still a number of matches to be made."

Margaret eyed her and set the envelopes on the desk. She backed up a step, still watching Camilla, and didn't move for a long moment. "Mayhap, a small break would do you good?" she suggested, and the caution was evident in her tone. "A trip to the country perhaps? With special company?"

"Oh, Margaret." Camilla sighed.

She was all too aware her entire household knew of her affair. No matter how careful she and Axton were or how many times he sneaked down the servants' entrance to slip into the night, they knew. For the most part, they were discreet.

Margaret was always another story.

Camilla cleared her throat and said in a much stronger voice than she felt, "I am not certain this affair will continue much longer."

"What?" Margaret screeched and sat up straighter. "Why?"

"Last eve," Camilla began slowly, not entirely certain why she confided in Margaret. Then again, who else did she have? "I took issue with Axton cooing over Lady Julianna. Why should I take issue? Why should it bother me in the least?" She tossed her head and pressed her fingers into the desktop. "Axton is his own man, and I am my own woman. I don't like what this tryst has turned me into. I'm suddenly a possessive woman, one who gets jealous. But that is not, nor has it ever been, who I am."

Margaret tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. "Perhaps who you are has changed. Do you not always tell our young charges that love often changes something of who you are? And usually," she added with a mischievous grin, "for the better."

Camilla scowled at her. "Margaret, do not use my own rhetoric against me."

Margaret only smiled.

Camilla ignored her. "What I tell our charges is for their own good. But I am not that young," she said confidently, "and most definitely no one's charge."

Her fingers pressed harder into the wood desk, but her thoughts remained scattered. Not scattered—focused entirely on Gareth. Damn it. _Axton_. "I've never reacted this way with any love. And I take it as a sign that it is time for this affair to end."

She nodded in affirmation, but her heart didn't feel that way. And the cold that continued to grip her fingers spread. She tried to ignore that, too. Naturally, the thoughts she wished to ignore remained forefront in her mind.

Camilla glanced to the side and out the glass doors. She should probably close the drapes, keep the cold drafts from the room. But she liked looking outside, though it offered her no answers for her very many questions.

"Perhaps it's a sign of something else?" Margaret asked quietly. "Perhaps it's a sign there's more between you and His Grace than a casual tryst."

Avoiding Margaret's probing gaze, Camilla continued to watch the winter winds whipping through her gardens. "Is that not a weakness for a woman like me?"

Years ago, being in love like this might not have frightened her. Before she accomplished all she had, all she created herself to be. Now, Camilla didn't want to give up all she'd worked for these last years. Didn't want to give up herself simply to be a man's wife.

Even as a duchess, exalted though the title might be, she'd still always be known as Axton's wife. Not as a woman in her own right.

"I am one of the few women able to navigate society without benefit of a husband," she said slowly, softly. "Without scandal. Is that not important? That I show society—that I show _women_ —how much can be accomplished alone?"

The irony was not lost on her. Camilla was all too aware her profession was matchmaker to society, to find woman husbands capable of taking care of them.

"You have." Margaret nodded decisively. "You've done it very well. Does that mean you must always stay alone? Do not deny yourself the joy you arrange for others."

She watched her protégée, her employee, her _friend_ , for a long, silent moment. Her lips curved in the briefest of smiles. "Since when did you become a wise, old woman?"

Margaret laughed, loud and free. "About a year ago," she confessed. "When we dealt with Lady Bennington-Woods. I think she aged both of us."

Her own laughter broke free, surprising Camilla with the sound and strength of it.

"Don't end your affair." Margaret leaned forward again, in earnest. "Take it to its conclusion and become his duchess."

Camilla wanted to make a witty comment about Margaret wanting to claim friendship with the Duchess of Axton, but the words caught in her throat.

"What if I no longer can?"

Margaret remained silent to that question.

"Axton's eye has already wandered," Camilla said definitively. "He took genuine interest in Lady Julianna. And he's not spoken of marriage in...in a very long time."

She cleared her throat and looked from Margaret and from her gardens to stare blindly at the papers littering her desk. The words danced before her gaze and didn't help her one bit. "It's possible he wishes to end our affair. Or..." And this was harder to admit. "Or continue with the affair while marrying another. Another far more suited to be Duchess of Axton."

"No." Margaret shook her head. "Not the man I've seen with you. Not the man who watches you as His Grace does. He proposed marriage already. Why do you not simply accept?"

"Because he must ask again," she snapped. "I've already rejected that proposal. We've enacted this arrangement in its place instead." Her voice softened. "He must ask again."

"Then tell him." Margaret gave her a hard look. "Be honest with him."

"No." Camilla stood and walked to the glass doors. She didn't watch the swirl of dead leaves and rubbish, but her own reflection. "In my experience, and I've plenty of experience, the gentleman makes the declaration. Otherwise," she said softly, "he feels he had no choice in the matter. Asking for my hand...it must come from him once more."

Margaret gave an indelicate snort. "If there's any able to finesse that outcome, it's you. What is it? Do you doubt your own ability?"

Camilla studied her face a moment longer then turned. "I do." And, oh, the admission hurt. "When you are your own client, it never works well," she added ruefully. It sounded more sad than rueful. "A fairy-tale godmother grants many wishes. But you never hear of her granting one for herself."

"Try."

Camilla studied the other woman for another moment. Finesse it? For others, yes. But for herself? Was she the fairy godmother in this story? Camilla snorted and shoved that thought aside. But it remained, haunting her. Taunting.

Tempting her.

She knew how to make matches that worked both on paper and in the bedroom. Had a talent for it, an eye for those couples. But for herself?

What had she to lose? She already lost her heart to Gareth.

Camilla didn't even realize she crossed the room to Margaret until she stood before her and squeezed her hand. Margaret offered a half-smile, but it was very real and encouraged Camilla.

"We'll look at the invitations later," Margaret promised. Then she turned and left.

Turning herself, back to her reflection in the doors, Camilla wondered if she was strong enough, if she was good enough to do just that. She could finesse the situation and manipulate it between her and Axton for the perfect match.

Margaret was a good friend with many good points to her arguments. But Camilla was not so certain. She could, she supposed, agree to marry Gareth. But then later? What happened later? After the first blush of heat and love faded.

If she walked away now, she did so with both her heart and her dignity intact.

# Chapter Fourteen

CAMILLA DRESSED CAREFULLY—her blue day gown not only brought out her own eyes, but reminded her of Gareth's. Her lady's maid pinned her hair with her favorite hair combs and curled several locks to lie against the hollow of her shoulders and the base of her neck.

Confident in her appearance, Camilla rehearsed what she wanted to say to him—end the affair now. It was for the best. She had traveling to do, matches to make, and couples who needed her special touch in order to meet.

She had to leave now; work called. She had to leave before she gave her heart to him any more than she already had. If it wasn't already too late.

The carriage rocked to a stop, and Camilla smoothed her gloved fingers down the wool gown. She bit her lip for a little added color but knew the winter wind would add color to her cheeks. The footman opened the door, and she stepped out.

The wind struck her and she braced against it. Breathless, she tilted her head back and crossed the walk to Gareth's townhouse.

She hadn't wished to marry him before because she hadn't believed he understood what she'd gone through. He hadn't needed to understand; Gareth simply accepted her.

Now, however, Camilla feared he found another. Or would shortly. That he tired of her as she so often witnessed. She refused to be the one left broken with her heart torn.

She'd leave first.

His butler bowed and gestured for her to wait in the parlor. The room opened to the street, the curtains pulled from the windows to allow in the day's little light. Camilla stepped away from the windows; she had no desire to be on display for the entire town, and she turned, purposely keeping her back to them. She wanted to watch Gareth enter, though she had no real reason why she wished so.

She heard him on the stairs first, a quick gait to signal his rush. Her heart sped up in time with his pace. Camilla licked her lips and willed herself not to move.

Gareth entered the room, stopped, backed up a step, and closed the doors. Camilla couldn't help it; her lips ticked up at his actions.

He crossed the room in two steps and gathered her close. His mouth covered hers, hard and hungry, and he swept her up in his passion. She opened to his kiss, pressing her fingers into his shoulders and her body to his.

Slowly he drew back.

"What an unexpected and delightful surprise." The words were slow and sinful, and sent a shiver down her spine.

Her hand rose of its own accord and caressed his face. "I wanted to see you before I left to visit my clients."

His warm hand took hers and felt so intimate, it sparked that same warmth in her heart. "Perhaps I'll come with you." His mouth curved up, a wicked glint in his eye. "Follow in a service carriage, if I must."

Camilla chuckled and allowed herself to relax slightly. "What a sight that would be." She cleared her throat and stepped back just a step, enough to put much needed distance between them. "I've come to discuss another matter with you, Axton."

And she saw it then. How closed off he became. The shuttered look in his beautiful blue eyes, the way his face hardened. He dropped her hand and crossed his arms over his chest. Tilting his head back, he watched her and waited.

"We've had quite the wonderful time together, have we not?" she asked.

"Of course." He waited, then asked, "What's this about, Camilla?"

"I don't wish to ever feel resentful of you. Nor do I wish you to ever resent me."

"That won't ever happen," he promised. She almost believed him. Almost.

"It might," she whispered. "One day when you tire of me and take another lover. Or if my attentions were to be given to another man."

Not that she ever saw that happening, but it might. Maybe. She cleared her throat.

"I don't want that to ruin a very treasured friendship." Camilla paused, but he said naught. "We are intelligent individuals who understand the delicacies involved in an affair. Since we do have this comprehension," she continued, "we should also both understand when the time has come to step back and release each other. So that we may preserve our friendship."

She doubted she'd ever be able to return solely to friendship with him, but the words sounded good. Like she meant them. And of course she meant them.

"What the hell are you saying, Camilla?"

She honestly had not expected such forceful anger from him. Camilla expected relief that she did not wish to cling to him, did not wish to trap him in a marriage even if he were the one to originally bring it up, to first propose it. She expected simple acceptance.

No, she had no expected Gareth's vehement anger. Not at all.

"I'm not stepping back!" The anger darkened his voice, his face. "Did you come here today to end what we have?" he demanded. "Have you found someone else?"

"Axton," she began.

He stepped closer. "Have you found someone else?"

"No." The honesty ripped from her. She should've lied, but that wasn't in her. "However," she said in a clearer voice, or what she hoped was a clearer voice. "It'll be inevitable you or I will find another—"

"I've no interest in Lady Julianna or _anyone_ else." He spat the words that lay between them. They were open and honest and so real, she didn't know how to understand them.

"I believed you agreed to give us a chance," he said between clenched teeth. "For more than an affair, more than secrets behind closed doors. The woman who kissed me, whom I kissed, who slept in my arms, has feelings for me as I for her."

Axton stepped to her and looked down at her with blue fire blazing in his eyes. He didn't back down, didn't agree to her break-up. He fought. And Camilla, back to the wall figuratively if not literally, tossed her head and fought back.

"Why would you throw what we share away?"

"I'd rather throw it away now before we ruin it," she snapped. "I value you too much as my friend—"

"We are not friends," he interrupted. "And never will be. We're lovers. We are meant to be married."

Camilla sniffed and snarled. "How do you know this? How do you know we're meant to be married? What if we drive each other mad? What if we each engage in too many affairs? Make each other miserable?"

His hands wrapped around her arms, gentle for all his anger. "Why are you so afraid?"

"I no longer know."

The words surprised even herself, with their echoing honesty. Camilla wanted to take them back, but they lay there, between them, and it was too late, far too late.

"Then stop." His words were quiet, seductive. "Take a leap with me." His fingers caressed her arms, drew her closer. "We won't hurt each other."

She shook. Her hand, when she raised it to his cheek, trembled just enough for her to see. But Camilla was helpless to stop it. He tempted her, his words, the force behind them, made her want to leap. With him.

"Trust me completely." His promise, his invitation, wrapped around her. "I won't fail you."

He meant it; she knew that as surely as she knew how deeply she loved him.

It spread through her, this acceptance of her love. Camilla fought it and held her breath. But she watched him for a very long moment—the fire in his gaze, the set line of his beautiful mouth. The way his hands clenched, not in anger but because he was hurt.

Because she hurt him.

Camilla's breath caught and she tried to breathe through that realization, tried to ease the band tight around her lungs. This was to be a leap of faith, she thought. A leap of faith they wouldn't fall prey to the human nature she so often saw in society.

Gareth wasn't only a duke or a member of the _ton_ or a soldier come home from war. He was her friend, her lover. And at this very moment, Camilla understood him. Understood what lay between them.

Yes, they shared laughs and a bed, they had wonderful sex and conversation that didn't bore or annoy her. She loved spending time with him, not only in his, or her, bed but in all the little ways they managed over these last weeks.

More than that, however, Camilla knew she'd grieve him if he wasn't at her side.

Camilla wrapped her fingers around the base of his neck and drew him to her. She kissed him—in answer or not, she wasn't certain. She made this move, the first move, and opened herself to him here and now.

The kiss was light but certainly not gentle, and when she pulled back she met his gaze. Camilla leaped. "Do not fail me."

"Never," he promised.

Gareth didn't sweep her off her feet and carry her to his bedroom, but they did find themselves there rather quickly. Camilla had no idea what the rest of his house looked like or even what his bedroom looked like and didn't much care.

His mouth caressed down her throat, along her collarbone. She frantically pushed his coat off his shoulders, her fingers working on the buttons to his vest. She heard fabric tear and was not at all surprised when he tore her gown, his fingers gentle on her skin despite his rush.

"I should charge you with a felony," Camilla gasped as she tugged his shirt over his head.

"I'll buy you a new gown," Gareth promised, tossing her chemise behind her. "I'll buy you dozens of them."

Her laugh sounded breathless to her own ears, but then his fingers circled her nipples and he kissed her hard, and all thoughts of clothing vanished.

Camilla pulled back, gasping for breath. She stepped back and took Gareth's hand, leading him to the bed. She wanted to rush, to feel the urgency of passion, the flash of it in her blood. But she also wanted to take her time, to savor ever moment.

Not only for the desire, but for all this moment meant.

She wanted to tell him all he meant to her, the depth of love she felt for him, the admiration and adoration. Feelings she never had before Gareth.

Instead she kissed him and deepened the kiss, tilting her head to get the angle just right, and sank into him. Gareth tangled his hands in her hair, tugging her closer. He slid his hand over her bare shoulders and along her exposed back.

His eyes never left hers, gentle and tender on her and dark. Focused. Camilla shivered and ran her nails over his shoulders, down his arms. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but instead pulled her against him and kissed her again. Hard, deep, taking and giving, it didn't even matter anymore. His hands cupped her face and brushed her hair off her cheeks.

She sighed into his touch, her body flush against his. She poured every ounce of affection and love she felt for this wonderful man into that single kiss, exploring his mouth, his taste. Gareth exploded across her senses, overpowering her and making her crave more.

Camilla pulled back for the barest heartbeat. She didn't care about anything save him. Gareth, she and Gareth, were all that mattered. And she wanted him.

She wrapped herself around him and kissed him back, grinding against him, and he growled into her mouth. Against her throat.

"Camilla." He pulled back, breathing heavily.

Gareth watched her, his fingers rolling her nipples to hard, pebbled peaks. She shuddered in his arms, her hips rocking against his. Her breath hitched and she wanted to beg him. Now, now. She grabbed his face and kissed him hard, a sloppy mess, and it was brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.

He pulled her with him and they fell to the bed in a tangle of grasping hands and messy kisses. For a moment, Gareth stilled and cradled her against him. With his mouth on hers, hands cupping her bum, and his hardness pressed to her warm, wet softness, he simply held her.

She arched into him, wrapped a leg around his waist, and wordlessly rocked against him. Camilla nipped at his neck, the pounding of his pulse, and he snapped. Whatever control he had, however limited, vanished.

Camilla grinned against his mouth as he took and took, kissing down her body. Blanketing her body with his, he kissed down her throat, nipping the tender skin.

"Camilla," he breathed against her.

She laid spread out beneath him—open and vulnerable. Camilla met his eyes heavy with arousal and love and need. All she was she offered him, and she knew without words that he offered himself to her as well. It humbled her. She didn't know if she deserved Gareth or not, but she loved him. And that was all that mattered.

He kissed down her body, ran his tongue over her flesh, and tasted her nipples. She sighed and tangled her fingers in his hair. Gareth tugged on one hardened peak, and she gasped his name, her body shuddering with pleasure. Her fingers cupped the back of his head, pressing him to her.

"Gareth!" Camilla cried, her back arched off the bed and hips rocking against his.

"Not yet. Not yet, Camilla," he chanted, tugging her other nipple into his mouth. "I intended to worship you, burn every taste and sigh into my memory. I want to make you come again and again."

His fingers slipped into her, light, shallow thrusts that sent her blood racing and kept her there, right there on the precipice.

"I've no intentions of wasting one more moment," he promised.

His fingers were rough on her hips as he held her still. He tasted her, his mouth firm on her sex as he drove her higher and higher. He sucked on her hip, laved the mark, and kissed lower, scraping his teeth then his two fingers roughly over her clit.

Camilla cried out, her orgasm hot and fast, hips bucking against him as she spiraled up and up. "Gareth!" she repeated, pleading for more as her body shook with need of him.

He moved his fingers harder, deeper. Camilla ground against his hand, his mouth, incoherent.

He brought her up again, a swift return, and just as she was about to climax, slowly withdrew. Camilla cried out, her fingers digging into his shoulder and scalp, her body throbbing. She tried to speak, desperate for more, her heart racing.

Once again, Gareth pulled back. His hard cock pressed against her thigh. She felt the desperation pounding through him and wanted him even more. Arousal tightened through her, and she wanted nothing more than to feel him moving within her.

His eyes were bright with need; his skin flushed with heat and the marks she made on him. Her nipples ached and her hips rocked against him, a silent plea. She opened her legs even wider; Gareth licked his lips and Camilla shuddered, trembling beneath his gaze.

"I need you, Camilla." The confession ripped from his throat.

He knelt between her legs, his fingers brushing her wetness, her swollen heat, and breathed her in. He gently lifted her right ankle and kissed his way up, placing gentle kisses on her sex but quickly moving to her other leg. His tongue traced random shapes over the inside of her thigh.

Her breath caught at the tenderness of his touch.

"I'll never be able to get enough of you." Gareth brushed his lips against her skin, so unbelievably gentle.

Camilla trembled beneath him, her fingers gentle now as they danced over his shoulders, down his spine, tangled in his hair. But he continued worshipping her. Loving her.

"Gareth," she sighed.

He skimmed his fingers up her inner thighs, over her hips, up her belly to her breasts. Settling between her legs, Gareth pressed the underside of his aching cock to her and rocked against her, teasing her. With her eyes on his, she trembled, her chest heaving for breath, hips rocking in perfect rhythm.

"I'll never leave you, Camilla," he promised. "Please." His voice broke, and he kissed her hard. "Please do not ever leave me."

"Garth," Camilla gasped, and the strength of her love nearly blinded her. She wound herself around him, her hips still moving in gentle time with his. "I'll never leave you. I'll always want you. Always need you."

"I don't know what I ever did to deserve you."

She almost laughed, but it caught in her throat. "I don't know what I ever did to deserve _you_." Then she gasped and arched into his touch, a strangled cry on her lips. "I love you."

He breathed in a ragged breath and pressed his lips to hers. "Camilla," he chanted. "Camilla."

Unbearably moved, she tugged him down and kissed him. She gave all of herself in that kiss: her love, her body, her very soul, and sealed her words to him. Pulling back, Camilla wet her lips and watched him. The darkening of his eyes, the softness there that tugged her heart.

She licked her lips and tightened her legs around him. Camilla took him in her hand, fingers gentle, and guided him into her. Perfection. He shuddered and rocked deeper, thrust harder, unable not to. She wanted more, wanted that wild pounding that fired through her blood.

Gareth thrust faster, harder; Camilla took every pounding thrust with the deepest pleasure as coiling energy built inside her. They joined with such fervor, such passion.

"Come for me, Camilla," he begged and kissed her.

With her face buried in his shoulder, arms and legs wrapped around him, Camilla rocked harder against him. Her teeth sank into his skin as she came, a long, keening sound of release.

Whatever control he had had snapped. He moved harder and she welcomed it, welcomed him. Camilla's body moved easily against his, so perfect she felt it deep within her. With one final thrust, he emptied himself into her and she held him close.

She'd never let him go.

# Epilogue

MAY 1818

"IT'S GOOD TO be home," Camilla said as she and Gareth walked into their townhouse.

"I see we'll be spending a lot more time in London than I'm used to," he said with a long-suffering sigh.

Then, despite the butler standing by and the footmen bringing their trunks in, Gareth grabbed her round the waist and pulled her against him. He kissed her gently, his lips lazy over hers. Camilla sighed into his touch and wondered how she ever thought she hadn't wanted him. Or that a quick, hidden affair was for the best.

Pulling back, she looped her arms through his and guided him to one of her favorite places, the gardens. She wasn't ready to look at a month's worth of correspondence and didn't wish to listen to the cook's recommendations for the week's meals.

And she certainly didn't want to contact Margaret for a list of clients.

"Duchess Strathmore availed herself of your services?" he asked and pushed open the glass doors off his study.

The afternoon was sunny and cool, a hint of warmer weather to come. Colorful spring flowers crowded against each other. Peonies and pansies, and lilacs and hydrangeas, bloomed next to wisteria and climbing roses.

Camilla breathed deeply of the scents and smiled, absolutely relaxed. She tugged him outside and tilted her face to the sun, enjoying the warm rays on her skin.

She gave him a slight smile. "Briefly. But we don't gossip about my charges," she added primly. Then grinned wickedly. "Or shall I tell the _ton_ the Duke of Axton is naught but a gossipmonger who fits in quite nicely with Mrs. Darlington?"

Gareth smirked down at her and led her to one of the benches lining the garden path. "If I recall correctly, Mrs. Darlington was amongst the first to send you a congratulatory missive."

"Hmm, she was." She felt her face flush slightly and grinned. "I admit, I hadn't expected the reaction we received when we announced our betrothal."

"I know," he said easily. "You expected nothing but doom and the hardship of scandal. However, you forget how much good will you earned with your matches, my love."

Her heart flipped when he spoke the endearment, as it did every time he said it. Gareth lifted her hand and brushed his lips along the inside of her wrist. Camilla shivered at the touch and leaned closer.

"I had not realized you are right," she admitted in a breathless voice. Clearing her throat she added, voice husky, "I didn't want to bring shame onto you or your title."

His lips pressed gently to hers. When she moved to deepen it, Gareth pulled back. He brushed fine strands of hair from her face, his fingers cupping her cheek.

"You've elevated the title," he said quietly. Then he grinned and chuckled. "Every father in London wishes to curry favor with me simply to have access to my wife."

Camilla laughed, a happy sound that made her feel lighter. "You are a very lucky duke to have found such a wife."

"Yes." He nodded. "Yes I am." Gareth kissed her again, once more soft and lazy.

No, the heat of their passion hadn't abated. Now, in their gardens far from the cold darkness of winter, Camilla realized she knew it never would, even then. But her own fears held her immobile, as frozen in place as the grip of winter on London.

Pulling back, she offered, "However, while I see no impediment to my work this Season, I do believe next Season I'll need to take an extended sabbatical."

"Sabbatical?" he asked, his eyebrow raised in confusion. "Does my wife plan on planting a new garden on our country estate next spring?"

Once more she laughed at him, at the hopeful look he gave. His fingers caressed the sensitive skin of her inner elbow, down to her palm, and up again. Shivering at the erotic touch, she pulled back just enough to make sure he looked fully at her.

"No." Camilla took his hands and held them to her still-flat belly. "But I do plan on growing a new heir."

Gareth blinked. He looked between her face and her belly, a smile slowly spreading across his mouth. Happiness fluttered in her chest and spread warmth from her center outward. She was positive her smile matched his.

He didn't say a word but merely lifted her off the bench to straddle his lap. Then he kissed her with that same reverence, that same softness he had all day. As if he knew her announcement before she spoke the words.

"Are you happy, Gareth?" she whispered against his mouth.

"More than you know, Camilla," he promised. And kissed her again.

#

# A Note to my Incredible Readers

I hope you enjoyed this next installment of my Regency series: _Scandalous Encounters_. I loved writing them! I'm sorry for the long wait between books, I've recently had a lot of family things that took all my time.

_Improper Wedding_ : James Hamilton had had dreams his entire life: dreams of Scotland, dreams of a woman he loved more than his own life. He never expected to meet the literal woman of his dreams until he saw Miss Rose Kendrick.

If you have enjoyed my stories, I'd greatly appreciate you sharing your views on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, or Goodreads. I'm always available through email if you have any comments, questions, or requests.

If you'd like to sign up for my newsletter, I post news about my stories, excerpts, and historical recipes exclusive to the newsletter. You can also find me on Twitter, on my Blog, on  Facebook, and pinning like mad on Pinterest.

As always, thank you so much for reading!

#

# About Kristabel Reed

Kristabel Reed lives on the East Coast and loves to explore the steamier side of historical romance. She loves all romances, but historical ménages particularly which add an element of danger and discovery not seen in contemporaries.

She loves reading, watching old movies, random quotes, and anything Cary Grant.

#

# Also by Kristabel Reed

### Improper Wager: Scandalous Encounters

Two years ago, Isabella Harrington defied her parents and society, and ran off with her lover to Milan. They thought they'd conquer the world at the gaming tables. But her dream of happily-ever-after led to nothing but debts and a shattered heart. Isabella needed a way back into the society she shunned and what better way than through a proper, aristocratic marriage? _Improper Wager_ is a 64,000 word m/f story about a ruined woman who knows her own mind but isn't sure about her heart.

### Improper Match: Scandalous Encounters

The daughter of a successful merchant, Selina Lyndell never expects to marry an earl. But that's exactly what is about to happen. Their first meeting is entirely unconventional but the moment Edmund Pembroke, the Earl of Granville, lays eyes on Selina, he's enchanted. But sometimes the fates are cruel and a vicious turn of events shatters all she holds dear. _Improper Match_ is a 648,000 word m/f story about a woman determined to clear her name and the man willing to do anything to help her.

### Improper Christmas: Scandalous Encounters

Miss Lillian Norwood is no longer the mistress of a formidable estate. Instead, she survives by the kindness of a distant cousin who wants little to do with her and the barely livable stipend from her childhood home's heir. Mr. William Pennington, formerly of His Majesty's Army, feels it his task to ensure the upcoming Christmas feast is the best the county has to offer. However, he does not expect Lillian and he certainly doesn't expect to fall in love with her. But as Christmas draws closer and she shows no signs of returning his affection, will William allow others to get in his way? Or will Lillian finally realize she has more to offer him than fortune and lands? _Improper Christmas_ is a 41,000 word m/f romance about a woman determined to stand on her own.

To Purchase:  Scandalous Encounters

### A Curvy Girl's Guide to Love Series

### Countess Curvy: A Curvy Girl's Earl

Audrey Mills is in London to organize a charity fashion event, where she meets Duncan Collins, the Earl of Thronhill. Confident in her curves, Audrey doesn't expect Duncan to want more than a holiday fling. But when things begin to heat up, will she panic and run? Countess Curvy is a 36,000 word m/f story with explicit sex scenes and a curvy leading lady that's curvy-licious!

### Boss Likes Curves: A Curvy Girl's Billionaire

VP of Development, Sabrina McKenna, has worked hard to get where she is with Gideon Hotels. When Gideon Marquez asks her to attend several important business functions, Sabrina agrees. It's only after 2 months of these functions that she realizes they've been dating. And she's fallen hard for her boss. Can Gideon convince her what he feels for her is forever? Or will Sabrina's insecurities make her flee? Boss Likes Curves is a 39,000 word m/f story with explicit sex and a company-wide, international, high odds office betting pool run by an evil genius and her equally evil cohort.

### Curvy's Cad: A Curvy Girl's Mistake?

Eliza Lyons knows she has a bit more plump on her frame than Craig Gran's normal tall, ultra-skinny type and decides to school Mr. Grant on the pleasures of a full figure. She is in it for the fun, the sex, the bragging rights. But when she discovers he wants more, will she take that final leap? Or will Eliza bolt right back to the comfort of the uncomplicated fling? Curvy's Cad is a 36,000 word m/f story with a sassy curvy woman and the debonair cad who wants her.

### Christmas Curvy: A Curvy Girl's Holiday Fling

Laura Dixon doesn't leap. She planned her life and career the way she wanted them to go. And does her best to ignore her family's advice on how to lose weight and catch a man. Maybe it was the ice skating or the Christmas music, or possibly the hot chocolate, that finally made her say yes when smart, handsome, and totally out of her league Tyler Kamari asked her out. Whatever it was, it was the right recipe for the holidays! This is a 38,000 word m/f story with explicit sex scenes, copious amounts of holiday cheer, and a curvy girl's Christmas to remember.

### Princess Curvy: A Curvy Girl's Italian Affair

Natalia Dolcini hadn't expected Adam Clayworth to bring her into a banking intrigue he investigated. Or for Adam to become her lover. But then Adam's investigation turned dangerous. Natalia finds it difficult to keep her own heart safe as they race from Milan to Portofino and back again. Will their Italian affair end after the danger does? Or will it be an affair to remember? Princess Curvy is a 36,600 word story with a fashion designer curvy woman and the banker who wants her.

To Purchase: Curvy Girl's Guide to Love.

