Chapter Fifteen

London was awake from its night’s sleep. The peddlers were hawking their wares. Outside the Langdon residence two overblown fishwives were slapping it out with oily flounders to determine which of them would secure the Langdon trade that day.

Regan had just dozed off into a fitful sleep when his bride-to-be was stirring for the beginning of another day.

It irritated Camilla that she had to dress herself and arrange her own hair. Her pretty face settled into a heavy frown as she looked into the mirror trying for a seductive effect with her long, yellow curls. Disgusted that nothing she could do would ever disguise her girlishness, she threw down the brush and stamped from the room. Why did she have to be all pink and white? she wondered with a pout. Why couldn’t she look like that Spanish woman her father seemed so enamored of lately? Her own coloring and features required a softly feminine style of dressing while Sirena Crdez’s ivory skin and luxurious jet hair commanded more sophisticating grooming. Camilla hadn’t missed the way Regan’s interested gaze had followed the sultry Sirena at the Sinclairs’ ball. The thought of losing Regan set Camilla into a panic. The Dutchman was the best catch of the season aside from Prince Charles himself, and Camilla wasn’t taking any chances on losing him to a dark-haired, green-eyed beauty who was at least five years older than herself!

When Camilla joined Stephan at the breakfast table, her mood hadn’t improved. She looked with distaste at the thin slice of bread and at the nearly empty marmalade pot. She knew she would have to distract her father somehow if she wanted to have the jam on her bread. There wasn’t enough for two. “You seem in fine fettle this morning, Father,” she trilled as she snatched the pot from beneath his nose. Quickly, she smeared her bread with the thick, golden spread and then licked the spoon. Correctly interpreting his look, she spoke bitterly, “Yes, it’s come to this. I hope you have good news today. You did win at whist last evening, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Stephan sighed, “but a paltry amount.”

“I hope it was enough to pay the cook. She’s threatening to leave, you know. She said she’d finish out the week and, if she wasn’t paid her wages, she wasn’t coming back,” Camilla sneered, her rosy mouth curled in distaste. “I’d love to know just how that hag manages to keep so plump and fat while I’m wasting away to nothing! I’d wager she steals more than she cooks for us! She constantly complains the allowance you give her isn’t enough to cover the price of food, but she looks healthy enough.”

Langdon looked up from the billet sheet he was reading and smiled perversely. “A certain gauntness adds mystery to your charms, darling.”

“Gauntness! Starvation is more the like! It was all I could do to keep from bolting my food at the Waver-sons’ dinner last evening. It’s different for you. A man eats a hearty meal and his hostess approves. But women must pick daintily and leave half on their plate. I tell you, I’m starving!”

“Child, self-denial is an attribute to be cultivated,” Stephan said piously.

“I don’t see you denying yourself anything!” Camilla retorted, her rosy mouth puckered into a bow. “Every night you manage to dine out while I must listen to my innards rumble with hunger. Did you at least win enough to buy some eggs and cheese?”

“Something can be managed, perhaps a few staples. Remember, I have to keep enough for the next game. My credit is doubtful, to say the least.”

“Then cheat!” Camilla cried heartlessly. “I’m your child and I’m starving!”

“It’s only a temporary state of affairs,” Stephan said airily.

“You’ve been saying that for over two years! I’m warning you, Father, if I don’t get a substantial meal in me, I’ll be too weak to make it to the altar with Regan. And then all your bubbles will burst!”

Suddenly remembering something, Camilla ran into the parlor and came back with the reticule she carried the night before. From out of the small purse she withdrew a linen napkin. Carefully, she unwrapped the cloth and revealed a leg of pheasant. Ignoring Stephan’s disapproval, she began to tear into the tender meat as though it were the last food she would ever see. Stephan Langdon had to clench his fists to avoid snatching it from her hands. He watched as her small, sharp, white teeth tore into the succulent meat, savoring each bite.

“That was a dangerous thing to do, Camilla. What if someone saw you?”

“What if someone did? I don’t care any longer. I’m hungry and I could eat a dozen more just like this,” she said, licking her fingers and then sucking on the bone.

“Which of us will answer the door today to ward off the bill collectors?” Stephen asked.

“I’m tired of pretending to be the maid,” Camilla complained. “You do it. You do make a rather impressive butler, Father.”

Stephan eyed her with disgust and turned back to his billet sheet, studying the advertisements.

“Father, I hate to bring this up, but my seamstress is demanding payment and is threatening to spread the word of my poor credit. We really must do something. Your own tailor is making noises about taking the same action. I cannot think of another lie to save my soul. You must do something. Ask Baron Charles for another small loan. He is your cousin; surely he can’t refuse you when you tell him how impoverished we are!”

“As for asking Baron Sinclair for a loan, I refuse. It mustn’t get about how we’re fixed for money. It would immediately get back to van der Rhys. And our fortunes are looking brighter. Only last evening the Baron asked me for my expertise in schooling young scions in the art of fencing. I won’t have to invest anything, I’ll just reap the profits.”

“But that could take months! If only you’d allow me to convince Regan to hasten the wedding. At least in his house there would be food on the table.”

“My dear,” Stephan placated, “I’ve been toying with an idea. I think you should go to Tyler and ask for a small advance. He wouldn’t dare tell his parents for fear of their disapproval.”

“I knew you were out of your mind,” Camilla screamed, her fair complexion blotched with rage. “That is the worst suggestion I’ve ever heard.”

“I’m afraid we’ve no alternative. It’s either ask Tyler or starve,” he said craftily, watching her carefully.

Camilla looked at the cleanly picked bone and then at the empty jam jar. “Very well.”

“Today, Camilla,” Stephan urged. “I looked in your engagement book and you have no dinner invitation for this evening. Nor do I. You’ll have to do it today or we’ll both go to bed without eating. Of course, we could always stop at the Radcliffs’ near the dinner hour on some premise or another.”

“We did that last week, or have you forgotten?” Camilla snapped.

“We haven’t visited the Beckmans or the Palmers lately.”

“That’s because when we do their butler tells us they’re not at home. Father, soon all of London will be wise to us. Must you keep coming up with such weak solutions? Either you’re going to have to become more adept at cards or you’ll have to take up stealing.”

“There will be no need for such drastic measures. Not if you go to Tyler. His money will tide us over for a while.”

“How much do you think he’ll give me? Enough for a few days and then we’ll be right back where we are now. Starving!” she cried bitterly. “And another thing. Why must I do all the worrying about our credit. You’re the man of the house and you’re my father. You’re supposed to take care of me!”

“True, true, my dear. But then I have my reputation to think of,” Stephan commented affably.

“What reputation?” Camilla snorted. “If anyone’s reputation is hanging for inspection, it’s mine. I still cannot believe I’m doing what you ask. Do you realize, Father,” she asked, leaning over the table, “if Tyler takes it in his mind to stop my marriage to Regan, where does that leave us? In Newgate! That’s where! Bigamy is a serious charge. And if Regan discovers that I’m still married to Tyler Sinclair, he’ll kill both of us!”

“Camilla, if this little act of yours is to get me to agree to extend our credit against the Dutchman’s name, give over now, child. I’ve told you. Regan is a serious, sensitive man. And I don’t believe his love for you would stand in the way of his better sense. And if you are worried that Tyler will reveal your little ... er ... secret, I’ve told you often enough, I can remedy that situation. I’ve merely to make a widow of you.”

All the color drained from Camilla’s face. “You wouldn’t! You always said Tyler was our ace in the hole! Father, you must use your brain! The trouble here is Regan, not Tyler!”

“Sweetheart, have you ever thought of becoming a rich widow, or do you feel black is not your color? And while we’re discussing your position in life, have you given any thought as to how to pay for this wedding?”

“How else, I’ll be married on credit!” Camilla sniped. “That is, if there is anyone who will still extend us any. A promise to pay up the day after the wedding should suffice.”

“As always, you’re very astute. I was more or less thinking the same thought. I do hope you will have the foresight to have the larder well stocked before hand.”

“You can count on it.”

“Tell me, my dear, how did you get Tyler to agree to remain silent about all this?”

“You know as well as I. He knows bloody well if he marries, he gets cut off without a farthing.”

“I don’t think you have that quite right, Camilla. You mean that happens if he marries you,” Stephen said smugly. “I told you it was a mistake not to endear yourself to the Baroness.”

“It wasn’t me the Baroness objected to, Father. It was you! She has no closeness of kinship to give rise to her conscience. Besides, Tyler isn’t a fool. He knows our circumstances as well as his own. He agreed to say nothing and that is it in a shell. He also realizes it was a mistake for us to have eloped. And he knows full well the Baroness’ unforgiving nature where we Langdons are concerned.”

“Thank God for small favors and for Tyler still being in love with you,” Stephan said sincerely.

“And what of you? How is your romance going with that witch, Sirena Córdez?”

“I think the lady is quite impressed with me. It’s too soon to close in for the kill. I want to woo her a while longer. I’ve looked into her affairs and, if anything, she’s wealthier than your van der Rhys. I feel it safe to say I have the inside peg with her.”

Camilla looked at her father and wanted to tell him the chances of making a match with the sultry Spaniard were almost nil. “There must be something to eat in this house,” she said, rising from the table. “I’ll just bet that miserable cook has a larder stashed away somewhere and she’ll tell me where it is if I have to tie her to the spit and roast her for our dinner!”

Stephan watched his daughter with an amused look and thought she was the most endearing little cannibal in all London.

 

The weather was fair; and when Sirena rose she was aware of a vague boredom which she knew would increase before the day was through. She scowled to herself. She wasn’t used to this indolent life. Even as a child, she had been physically active. On Java there had been horseback rides into the jungles and along the inland river. On board ship she used her muscles to hoist rigging and stand watch at the wheel. Here, a lady was tightly restricted as to what activities were offered her. Sirena didn’t care to adopt the fashion of entertaining vendors and merchants in her suite while she attended to her toilette. In fact, there was nothing she considered more a waste of time than to sit before a mirror half the day while some simpleton dressed her hair and she puzzled over one length of cloth after another.

She longed to walk through Saint James’ Park, but that was unheard of among the upper classes. Either a lady went attended in a coach or not at all. The weather still prohibited a picnic in the country where she could stretch her limbs and enjoy clear, fresh air. The prospect of spending another day indoors fell on her like a blight. Suddenly, her eyes fell on a billet sheet which had been brought in with her breakfast tray. It announced the opening of several new shops in the Royal Exchange. The idea interested her and she determined that she would go there in the company of Frau Holtz later that morning.

Frau Holtz busied herself about Sirena’s room, happily looking forward to the shopping expedition. Like all other women, the prospect of perusing the many shops and bargain tables at the “Change,” as it was popularly called, excited her. Mentally, she made a list of the things she wished to buy. Money was really no object for the Frau as she had been well paid throughout her years as the van der Rhys housekeeper and her needs were few. Besides, on Java, what did a woman of her status need in the way of luxuries save a few new gowns every year and a pair of sensible shoes. But the city of London fired the Frau’s tastes. Her few excursions into the park and the marketplace alerted her to the fact the servants of the rich reflected their employers’ tastes and pockets. She had become dissatisfied with her plain, black bombazine gowns and yearned for a frill or two at the neckline and sleeve.

Sirena turned to the looking glass for the full effect of her costume. She was wearing a new aquamarine outfit. The color of the Mediterranean, she thought when she selected the velvet fabric. The gown sported a snug-fitting jacket, deeply embossed with golden scrolls at the lapels and full sleeves. Her hair gleamed darkly against the pale color and her eyes were enhanced, looking brighter and greener from under her black lashes. Although severely tailored, the delicate hue lent a femininity to the costume. On her head she set a narrow, peaked hat with wispy veiling falling over her face and an array of exotic feathers decorating the crown. Pulling on white kid gloves, Sirena was ready to depart.

“Is the carriage ready for us, Frau Holtz?” she asked, smiling as the older woman hastened to clamp her plain hat firmly on her gray head and don her heavy, woolen cloak.

“Ja, and Jacobus is waiting for us. He thinks it all fun and games to play footman to you, Mevrouw. Sometimes I wish he’d go back to the ship,” she complained. “All he does is spruce himself up in that fine livery you bought him and hang about the house all day plying cakes and pies out of Cook.”

Sirena’s smile broadened. “Frau Holtz, do I detect a spur of jealousy?”

“Nein! And why should I be jealous of the likes of him? I can’t shake loose from the man! He’s taken it upon himself to watch over the two of us and he does a fine job of that. Whenever I turn about, he’s there. He’s always underfoot! And God forbid you should return from a party or dinner later than he thinks you should, Mevrouw! Ach! The man’s a fool!” she exclaimed, but Sirena noted there was a softening in her eyes when she spoke of the old man.

At the intersection of Corn Hill and Threadneedle Street stood the Royal Exchange. The immense building was in the shape of a quadrangle and encircled a courtyard and galleries that were divided into tiny shops which were attended by comely girls to draw the trade of the gallants and fops who frequented the pubs and eateries. The traffic surrounding the famous marketplace was thick and disorderly.

After a lengthy ride through town along cobblestoned streets and the various disputes with hackneys over the right of way and interminable processions of chicken carts and tallow carts and vehicles bearing every variety of goods, Jacobus’ patience was at an end. “Just give a man the freedom of open water,” he complained to Sirena. But she knew Jacobus would be heartbroken if she ever sent him back to the Sea Spirit with the rest of the crew. Jacobus would be lost without the Frau and herself to look after. He had appointed himself their guardian and he meant to see the job through, whatever the costs to his temperament.

As Sirena and Frau Holtz went into the Exchange, they were assaulted by myriad aromas coming from cookfires and heard the hawkers displaying their goods. Ascending the stairs to the top gallery with Frau Holtz close behind, Sirena pretended not to hear the compliments extended in her direction by fastidiously dressed gallants who hung about flirting with the shopgirls and unescorted ladies. Frau Holtz sniffed and sent them scourging looks as she huffed up the steps after her Mevrouw. Daunted, they left the women to their shopping and bedeviled other likely prospects.

Through the shops the women wandered, stopping now and again to examine a pair of gloves or a length of ribbon. Sirena was caught up in the enthusiasm of the Change. She bought seven pairs of gloves, each in a different color. Frau Holtz, too, was enticed by the bargains. She also bought gloves, two pairs, both black.

Stockings, feathers, fans, laces, buttons, needles, spices, exotic essences, all found their way into their packages. On the lower gallery, Sirena and Frau Holtz happily neared the end of their adventure. The Frau’s feet hurt and Sirena’s head ached and her nerves were taut from being jostled by the crowd. In the center of the courtyard, merchants dickered over the prices of stocks and mortgages and their prospective cargoes which were coming by ship.

Just as they were about to leave, they rounded a goldsmith’s shop and Frau Holtz stopped to admire a pair of earbobs. On impulse, Sirena stepped into the stall and bought them for her friend. The jeweler looked at Sirena with a speculative eye, noting her rich dress and obvious wealth, and he said in a low voice, “If Madame would be interested in a most unusual piece of jewelry, she has come to the right shop.”

Sirena glanced at him and was reminded of the wealthy old Jews who used to come to her father’s house in Cádiz. She instinctively knew the goldsmith was to be trusted in the quality of his merchandise. Jewelers’ reputations were more precious to their trade than diamonds. “If you would care to show me,” she said, “I would be most interested.”

The man’s expression brightened as he glanced warily around his stall. It wouldn’t be wise to advertise to the scoundrels who hung about the Change that he had something valuable in his possession. Swiftly, he bent over to bring out a box from beneath the table, and Sirena caught a glance of the spotlessly clean yarmulke covering the crown of his head. The tiny satin cap was in such contradiction to his otherwise seedy appearance that Sirena knew him to be a wealthy man under the guise of a poor merchant. She realized the goldsmith knew it was unwise to sport his comfortable circumstances.

His hands shook slightly as he raised the lid for her. “This came to me by way of the Orient, madame, and when I saw your eyes, I knew it had been crafted for you.” Sirena’s eyes were fixed on the jewels which lay on a bed of black velvet. There was the most spectacular piece of jade jewelry she had ever seen. It was in the shape of a mandarin dragon with two glowing rubies for eyes. The craftmanship of the pendant and gold chain were exquisite.

Thinking of the gown she had commissioned Mrs. Wittcomb to create for her out of the serpentine silk, Sirena knew she must have the piece. “You are truthful, sir. It is by far the most beautiful necklace I’ve ever seen.” Her voice was excited and, try as she might, she could not disguise the thrill the object caused in her. She knew it was bad bargaining to allow the merchant to see this, yet she would gladly pay thrice what the pendant was worth to wear it with the gown.

Breathlessly, she told the merchant where she lived and invited him to come by. He introduced himself as Solomon Levy and gave her one of his cards. When Sirena reluctantly placed the royal dragon back in its case and walked away with Frau Holtz, Solomon Levy smiled with satisfaction. He certainly could pick a likely prospect, he congratulated himself. The jade was beautiful, rare and worth every cent Sirena would pay for it.

Goldsmith Levy was an honest businessman with insight as to character and means. When Sirena hadn’t inquired about the price, he knew she could afford whatever he asked.

Tucking the box safely beneath the table again, he thought to himself that it had been a profitable day. He experienced a small regret at having sold the pendant. Sometimes at night, when he was all alone and safe from prying eyes, he would take out the velvet box and look at the Chinese jade in the flickering light of a candle. His consolation in losing this enjoyment was that Sirena was as lovely as the pendant itself.

Frau Holtz and Sirena bustled out of the Change, laden with packages. “You wait here, Mevrouw,” the Frau said. “Look at the filth on the streets. You’ll ruin your shoes. I’ll go and fetch Jacobus and the carriage. I wear sensible shoes!”

Sirena succumbed to the Frau’s mothering. “All right, but leave the parcels with me so you won’t have to carry them around.” Looking up at the sky, she muttered, “It looks like rain. We’d better get home as soon as we can. I’ve heard of carriages turning over on the slick cobbles.”

“Ja, I hurry!”

Standing alone, Sirena ignored the inquisitive glances and bawdy appeals directed at her, a lady without escort or companion. Across Threadneedle Street carriages were lined up waiting for their charges. Sirena strained to see if her coach was among them. A chill washed over her which she attributed to the sun going behind clouds and the change in the air. From out of the corner of her eye, she saw a hired hackney pull out of line on Threadneedle Street and block the traffic behind it. The drivers swore epithets at the impeding vehicle, which seemed to be having some sort of difficulty. Just then, Jacobus came up behind her.

“I’ll take those packages off your hands, Capitana,” he said softly, relieving Sirena of her burden. “We’ll have to cross the road. Corn Hill’s impassable; there’s been an accident.”

Jacobus stepped into the street, Sirena behind him, her thoughts on the royal dragon. When she was nearly across, the hired hack drew into the road, the team of horses broke into a gallop, their driver whipping them into a frenzy. They were almost upon her before she saw them and then it was too late.

Whinnying, snorting, the steeds came. She looked up and saw the dark driver with whip raised, standing with his cloak billowing about him. In that instant, Sirena saw death!

Jacobus saw it, too. He threw the packages away from himself and rushed back to Sirena, tumbling her to the ground and knocking her out of harm’s way. The coach plunged forward, the thundering of the horses’ hooves loud on the cobblestones.

It was a full minute before Sirena and Jacobus collected themselves to get to their feet. Numerous passersby looked on, but none offered aid. Sirena’s velvet suit was ruined; the filth of the gutter staining it beyond repair. Her hands were scraped right through her gloves and she had twisted her ankle painfully.

Jacobus inquired if she had been injured. “I’ll be fine, good friend, but what of yourself?”

“I’m only glad I’m not too old to take swift action. You were very nearly killed, Capitana! I swear that vehicle bore down on you with intent!”

“Nonsense, you’re imagining things!” she scowled, remembering something vaguely familiar about the driver of the onrushing hackney.

“Don’t tell me nonsense, Capitana. I saw it myself!” Embarrassed by the commotion she had caused, Sirena was grateful to see her carriage round the corner and drive up to where she and Jacobus were standing.

“Liebchen!” Frau Holtz cried, “what happened? You old fool!” she scolded Jacobus, “what did you do to her!”

“He saved my life, is what he did,” Sirena stammered, still shaken. “Move over Frau Holtz, Jacobus has had as much a shock as I did. I want him inside with us.”

“Ja, ja,” the Frau uttered, a new respect for Jacobus in her eyes.

When they had settled in the coach and were on their way home, Sirena thought of her near miss with death. She must keep her wits about her in this city, she scolded herself. London is a busy place and can be cruel to those who don’t keep their mind on the affairs at hand.

Sirena rested her head against the plush interior. The vision of the hackney and its wild, heavily cloaked driver pierced her thoughts. There was something about him she found familiar. Was it the size of him, or the set of his shoulders or the tilt of his head? She sighed and admonished herself for being fanciful. Perhaps it was because of her interest in the arts of self-defense. Fencing required her to develop a certain perception of the way a man moved, his height, his agility. Somehow the driver of the hack reminded her of someone but, for the life of her, she couldn’t think who it was!

 

The ride from Drury Lane to Tyler’s offices on New Queen Street should not have taken over half an hour, as Camilla knew quite well. But just before she left the house, dark clouds had descended over London and the populace prepared for the oncoming storm. Hackneys and coaches jammed the streets as people rushed toward home before the downpour obliterated the kennels in the streets and sewage and filth floated about, foul-smelling obstacles to foot and vehicle. Checking the tiny timepiece pinned to her dress, she realized she had been riding for forty-five minutes and was still quite some distance from Tyler’s office.

In the gloom of midday Camilla tried to relax. As a native of London, she knew it was useless to prod the driver to hurry or to curse the weather. She lifted the paper shade covering the mud-spattered window and looked out. If anything, the sky grew blacker, the impending rain making the air thick and still. Suddenly, the hackney came to a stop and she leaned forward to see what the trouble was. There, coming out of St. Bride’s Lane, was a cart rigged with wooden slats that made it a cage. Inside was a woman, her hair matted with filth and her body emaciated. Camilla shuddered, knowing the cart was taking the poor soul across London to the Bethlehem Royal Hospital, popularly known as Bedlam.

Camilla watched, mesmerized by the woman’s suffering. Her rags hung in tatters, revealing her scrawny form and the raw, bleeding sores across her upper chest and bony arms. A sign on the cart stated that it belonged to Bridewell, a combination prison and hospital for women and children. Desperation and panic clutched at Camilla’s heart. The vacant apathy and confusion in the eyes of the incarcerated woman brought back fearsome memories Camilla had thought were long forgotten.

How many years ago had it been when she had seen that same vacant terror in her own mother’s eyes? She had been only a child, no more than ten. “Mother is very ill, dear,” she could still hear her father’s voice. “Papa is going to put her in a hospital where they can help her.”

“No, no! Please, Papa, don’t take Mummy away! Please, Papa, I’ll watch over her, don’t take Mummy away!” But he had. Stephan had explained to his young daughter in the gentlest of terms that Lady Langdon needed more than the loving care of her family. She needed expert help. Help she would receive from the doctors at the Bethlehem Royal Hospital.

Camilla squeezed her eyes shut against the vivid memory of that last afternoon when she had run into her mother’s room and threw herself into her arms in spite of the nurse’s protests. But there had been no answering embrace, no loving kiss.

And when, at the last, Stephan had led Lady Langdon down the stairs and into the carriage, Camilla had hated him. Hated him for the times he had spoken bitterly to his wife. Hated him for the cries in the night that had awakened the little girl from her sleep. Hated him for always being a kind, loving father, yet a bitter, cruel husband to the gentle Lady Langdon.

When Camilla looked into the street again, her coach had begun to move and the cart from Bridewell had passed on. Surprised to find her cheeks stained with tears, Camilla searched in her reticule for a handkerchief. The pain was still there, the loneliness of a child missing her mother was still able to come up from the bottom of her soul and engulf her in a black web of helplessness.

Camilla loved her father, Stephan Langdon, in the emotional, all-encompassing way an only child loves her sole surviving parent. She blinded herself to his shortcomings, turned a deaf ear to his outrages and attributed to him all the endearing qualities of a storybook prince. Even their constant financial difficulties she did not really blame on his penchant for gambling and his inbred lack of responsibility. Rather, she believed him when he decried his bad luck. Even being hungry did not daunt her affection for him. If there was no food, they starved together. If they were besieged by creditors; they banded together; if they were homeless, they were homeless together. The only thing she had ever come to count upon in life was his true affection for her, and she rewarded this with her loyalty.

And yet, whenever confronted with a reminder that there was such a place as Bedlam, Camilla experienced a deep-seated hatred for Stephan. It had become the fashion among the gallants and popinjays to pay a penny and tour the asylum to gawk at the miserable inmates. Camilla always constricted with fear and dread as she listened to these tales with a macabre interest. To this day, she did not believe Stephan was forced to commit her once lovely mother to that institution. She harbored the niggling belief it was because Stephan wanted his wife out of the way.

As Camilla squeezed her eyes shut again against the boiling brew of mixed emotions which welled up inside her, she had the familiar recurring memory of Lady Langdon laying in her husband’s arms without protest as he carried her to the waiting coach, her eyes vacant and staring. Camilla remembered thinking how easily her father had lifted her mother. How delicate and thin she had been, a mere shadow of the lovely, bright-eyed girl whose portrait hung over the mantle in the parlor. And, at the last, when Stephan had closed the carriage door and turned back to the house, Lady Langdon had turned to look at her daughter who was standing in the open doorway, tears running down her face. For the first time in months, Camilla saw her mother make a voluntary movement. Slowly, ever so slowly, the thin, skeletal hand reached up to wave good-bye.

Stephan must have seen a change in Camilla’s expression, for he immediately asked, “What is it? What did you see?” and quickly turned to look back at the carriage. For a reason she’d never been able to explain, not even to herself, Camilla looked at Stephan. and said, “Nothing, Father. I saw nothing!”

But her little girl’s eyes had followed the vehicle down the drive and into the street, waiting for her mother to turn back and look after her. She never did.

By the time Camilla’s hackney turned onto New Queen Street, she had made the necessary repairs to her appearance. All traces of tears were gone and she had smoothed and straightened her deep-brown velvet gown. Tyler loved her in dark, rich colors; she had worn the gown expressly for him.

Tyler happened to be looking out his window down onto New Queen Street when Camilla arrived. He was surprised to see her out on such a rainy afternoon. He knew Camilla abhorred thunder and, from the looks of the sky, thunder seemed more than likely. Sourly, he thought to himself, the only thing that could drag Camilla out on a day like this was the need for cash. Tyler mentally calculated how much he could spare her and took a quick glance into his billfold. Since turning that quick bit of profit by selling van der Rhys back his own cargo, it was a good deal more than she would ever expect. Aware of her suspicious nature, he decided he would only give her ten or twelve pounds. It wouldn’t do to have Camilla or her sly father poking about in his affairs. All it would take was the smell of money and they would delve into his activities like gophers in a turnip patch.

It was only a minute before he heard her enter the outer office. He smiled to himself as he opened the door and saw his clerk, Whipple, stammering and gawking at Camilla, trying to speak intelligently. Whenever Camilla came to the office, Whipple acted like an ass.

“Hello, darling,” she breathed when she noticed Tyler. “Have I come at a bad time for you? Now, you haven’t been overworking sweet Mr. Whipple, have you? The poor dear seems overwrought.” She smiled in Whipple’s direction and the young man’s pimples glowed fiercely beneath his blushes. Camilla knew full well the effect she had on the skinny clerk and she reveled in it.

“Not at all, sweetheart,” Tyler said, motioning her into his office. As he closed the door behind him, he laughed, “Tell me, Camilla, do you come in here to practice your charms on unwitting Whipple? It’s a blasted sin what you do to his nerves. The youth’s complexion will never clear if you keep at it.”

Camilla laughed, the sound light and girlish and tinkling with gaiety. “Don’t be silly, darling, how could little me have such a devastating effect?” she pouted, her eyes sparkling.

“You little pagan, you know you love it when I accuse you of being a femme fatale,” Tyler smiled affectionately.

Sighing, Camilla kissed Tyler lightly on the cheek. “You know me so well, dearest, it’s a wonder you still like me.”

Roughly, Tyler pulled her into his arms, kissing her sweet mouth with savage earnestness. Then, holding her away from him, he teased, “Now that you’ve gotten what you came for, get away with you and let me be on with my accounts.”

Undaunted, Camilla patted her hair back into place and adjusted the brim of her flowered hat. “Tyler, you know why I’m here. Don’t make a muddle of it. Father’s been having a turn of ill luck at the tables and I’m near to starving! Can you spare me enough to buy a good meal!”

Tyler laughed aloud. “Really, Camilla, from the bloom on your cheeks I wouldn’t say you were starving!”

“That’s only because I’ve not taken to eating my red Spanish paper. The bloom you see, dear, is artificial, applied with a deft hand. Believe me, Tyler, I’m starving!”

“Don’t burden me with your affairs; go tell your Dutchman. He’s more able to fatten you up than I am.”

“Darling,” Camilla pleaded, “you’re not going to be tiresome and have me beg, are you?”

“No, sweetheart, I’m not. Will ten pounds see you over? It’s all I can spare right now. It’s near the end of the month and Whipple tells me he’s taken up the nasty habit of eating right along with the rest of us. It would be a shame to stint the chap of his earnings.”

“Ten pounds?” Camilla asked, obviously not caring whether Whipple received his salary or not. “Can’t you do better than that? I’m telling you, Tyler, the larder is empty!”

“Twelve pounds, then.”

“Fifteen, not a penny less!”

As Tyler pulled the extra five-pound note out of his pocket, he said seriously, “Camilla, sweet, do you always get what you want?”

“Whenever I set my mind to it,” she replied, snatching the fiver out of his fingers and looking with interest at his half-opened billfold.

“I think that’s what I admire most about you. You set your sights on something and you go after it.”

“Father’s training,” Camilla murmured as she poked the notes into her reticule. “You’re certain you can’t spare any more, Tyler. My seamstress is badgering me for payment.”

“I’ll feed you, Camilla, but I won’t clothe you. In a matter of weeks van der Rhys will see to both,” he scowled.

“Darling, you’re jealous!”

“Bloody well right I’m jealous! If your dear father hadn’t such an influence over you, things might be different between us. Mother never objected to the fact that you were penniless, Camilla, only to the fact that you’re a little schemer and you’d do anything for your father. Even to the point of selling every one of us Sinclairs down on pauper’s row.”

“Not all the Sinclairs, darling, even a white slaver wouldn’t have the Baroness and I doubt the wisest Jew could profit a penny from your doddering old father. Only you, sweet, would bring a handsome profit. I can see you being set loose in the streets of Verona and making your fortune as a gigolo to an Italian Countess.” She tossed her yellow curls and giggled, “Remember, I can speak for your talents, darling.” She stepped closer to him and trailed her hand down his chest, feeling his heart beating wildly beneath her touch. His hand came up and imprisoned hers and they looked into each other’s eyes with a world of longing between them.

Suddenly, a low rumble sounded outside the window and a flash of lightning streaked the sky. Camilla stiffened and buried her face in Tyler’s chest, clinging tightly. His arms went around her, feeling the trembling slimness of her, the childlike framework beneath her budding womanhood. At last, she raised her head, tears glistening in her eyes and Tyler was drowning in the droplets skimming down her cheeks. They kissed, tongues touching, breaths mingling, urgent needs blending. And they were lost in one another as they had been when they were little more than children.

Masterfully, Tyler led Camilla to the wide, leather couch in a dim corner of the room. He had not lit the lamps before the start of the storm and the gray halo of light penetrating the windows gave a feeling of intimacy and solitude to the spacious office.

Somewhere between hungry kisses, Tyler had removed his vest along with Camilla’s light jacket. And she, impatient with her cumbersome skirts, had slipped them to the floor, leaving on only her chemise and petticoat.

Claiming his lips with her own, she pushed him down on the couch and settled herself in his lap. Under the warm pressure of her thighs, desire was renewed in Tyler. Her tongue slowly followed the outline of his mouth, moistening it, penetrating it. A tremor passed through her to Tyler and she seized his hand, which was resting on her knees, and brought it against her breast.

He could feel the perfect symmetry beneath his fingers. His left arm made a support for her back and Camilla arched herself toward him. The purity of her breasts when he pulled her chemise to her waist astonished him. It had been so long since they were together like this. Not since immediately before Regan came to London. Her skin was a glowing white that seemed almost luminous in the dimness of the room. Slowly, very slowly, despite his lusty impatience, which he was having difficulty restraining, his fingers grazed her satin skin. Her petticoats rocked up and Tyler was excited by a glimpse of a creamy thigh above her stocking.

Fiercely, Tyler cupped her face and kissed her with breathtaking swiftness. Beneath her legs Camilla was aware of his passion for her and of the building need within herself for Tyler. He felt the change in her, felt her rosy crest stiffen beneath his palm, felt the heat from her loins and knew a sense of power over her. He could never get enough of her. The freshness of her skin, the delicate paleness of her hair, the sweet spareness of her breasts and torso; all of her was created to entice him, fever his desires, quell his want for any other woman. And when she was beneath him and her legs clung fiercely to his hips, he knew a sense of coming home. Of a familiar welcome, of a path much traveled and greatly loved. His brown eyes burned with exaltation when he entered her and she trembled beneath him, opening herself to him. Camilla moaned softly, relishing the weight of him. Loving it when he talked to her, whispered to her, told her how he enjoyed her, loved her body, the feel of her. And Tyler knew her almost better than she did herself. Others could be confounded by her unpredictability, but her moods were like phrases in an often read book to Tyler. He loved her in spite of herself.

He crushed her mouth beneath his, savoring the fullness of her lips, tasting the nectar of her passions. And when he leaned near her ear, he whispered in throaty tones intimate things, bawdy phrases, sultry words.

He withdrew from her, and entered again so forcefully, she cried out and raked his back with her nails, knowing what his next move would be. Tyler rolled over onto his back, bringing her with him, both still firmly joined.

Camilla’s heart pounded violently, her tumultuous breathing heaving her breast. “Oh, Tyler, we are made for each other; we are like hand in glove.” She looked down at him, at the adoration there in his face. She was aware of his hands, possessing her, driving her to the brink of ecstasy. She felt his muscular torso between her knees and the heat where their flesh joined. And when they both approached the apex of desire, Tyler gently laid her under him once again. He covered her mouth with his as she began to cry out for fulfillment. and together they soared and spun out beyond the stars, seeing the moon with rapture in their eyes.

 

The rain was pelting against the windows as Camilla fussed with her hair and completed the buttons on her jacket. Another sudden clap of thunder unnerved her. If the sky had opened up and lightning had rained down upon London when she and Tyler were locked in each other’s arms, she had not been aware of it. She didn’t care for the thought of traveling across town in a hired hack while the elements still crashed, but there was no help for it. If she was to get home in time to pay Cook and lay in ample provisions, she would have to leave immediately. Her innards were already growling in protest over the scanty breakfast she had had.

“Are you certain you want to leave right away, Camilla?” Tyler asked. “I know how much you detest storms.”

“Yes, but I detest starvation even more. Really, I must depart. Before I do, though, have I thanked you for your little loan?”

“More than adequately, sweetheart,” Tyler kept his voice light and even. Yet Camilla perceived a hint of contempt edging his words and looked at him inquisitively.

“You’re quite a girl, Camilla. One can always say you never take without giving. You always pay somehow or other for what you get, don’t you?”

Fury fired Camilla’s eyes. “I’d like to think this afternoon was worth more than fifteen pounds to you, Tyler,” she said caustically.

“I could have gotten the same and more down on Rotten Row for a shilling,” he lied, wanting to hurt her.

“Then it’s to there you should go, Tyler. And a pox be on you!” her temper flared. “How would you like it if I dropped it in the Baroness’ ear that her son frequents the whorehouses in the slums?”

Tyler laughed. “I wouldn’t do that, Camilla. My mother is apt to ask you where on Rotten Row your father has opened a house for you.”

“You pig!” Camilla screamed, slapping Tyler soundly across the face. “Perhaps I should let all be damned and confess to your beloved parents that we’ve been married for nearly three years now and you’re simply waiting for them to pass on to their reward to claim me as your bride!”

“What, and have me disinherited? Camilla, you shock me,” Tyler remarked scornfully. “When I wanted to tell my parents, you and your father talked me out of it. ‘Don’t do it,’ he said, and like a fool I listened to him! I tought it was my skin he was saving, but we both know that’s not true. I would be ostracized, disinherited and, along with me, your father would find himself resting in the dung heap! It was his own skin he was watching out for. He knew my parents would banish him from their society and the only reason he is acceptable at all among his peers is that he has my father’s endorsement. Without that he’d be cast out of those fashionable drawing rooms like a leper!

“Besides, I’m interested to see to what lengths you’d go to please your Papa. I’ll reach my majority of twenty-five in two years’ time and that is when I intend to lay my claim to you. Whether you’re married to van der Rhys or not! I’ll come forward and demand you, Camilla. I have warned you before and you don’t seem to believe me.”

“You wouldn’t dare! You agreed to pretend our marriage never happened. My father paid thousands to have the records obliterated! You couldn’t prove a thing!”

“Ah, sweetheart, but I could. You forget the mariage paper both you and I signed, and I’m happy to say your father’s signature giving his consent is also present. I have that document, Camilla, and I’ll use it. You know how little I care for society. I much prefer my parents’ country estate. And a little scandal never harmed a man’s acceptability. It’s you and your father who will suffer. I’ve begged you not to go through with this farce, but you insist. You refuse to stand up to Stephan Langdon. Then pay, Camilla, pay by never knowing when I will strike.”

“You’ll never have the chance! My father would kill you first!” Her eyes blazed, her skin flushed, yet her voice was smoothly controlled. “Only this morning father told me he’d make a widow of me. Beware, Tyler, you know as well as I what he is capable of doing when crossed.” Swiftly turning on her heel, she stamped from his office, slamming the door behind her.

Tyler smiled, chuckled, then broke into a raucous laugh. The Langdons both thought Regan was far wealthier than he was in reality. Everything he had been able to secure from Sirena’s holdings he had poured into his business. It also occurred to Tyler that Regan thought the Langdons well endowed with property and stocks. He laughed again, the sound bounding hollowly off the walls. They deserved each other, he thought, and he intended to be somewhere about when they learned the truth concerning each other’s state of affairs.

Tyler stepped over to the window and looked out. Camilla was just stepping into the hackney carriage. He experienced a knot of jealousy deep in his gut. There was no sense to it, but he knew he loved her. He probably always would. Why couldn’t he pull himself up by his bootstraps and go to his parents and tell them the truth? What difference if they did disinherit him?

Sadly, he knew the truth. The difference lay in the fact that if he were penniless Camilla wouldn’t have him. The only small satisfaction he could reap from the whole stinking situation was that Camilla was marrying Regan for the money, not for the man.