Page 65 of A Duke's Keeper
Camille had heard enough lies in her life to recognize the truth when spoken. She set down the plates, thoroughly chastised. “Forgive me, my lord. That was unfair of me just now. I hope you didn’t take offense?”
“Not at all, Miss Forthright. I appreciate a woman who is so delightfully...forthright.”
Camille smirked at the man’s joke, feeling an odd sense of comfort in the older man’s company, like what she suspected a grandfather might be like.
“And for being such a good sport and laughing at an old man’s bad jest, I’ll share my guilty pleasure with you.” Lord Quickner beckoned her towards a small pot on the range, his eyes brightening with mischief. He lifted the lid, and the sweetest smell cut through the lingering smoky air that plagued all kitchens.
“Is that cocoa?”
“Do you fancy a cup?”
“I’ve never had it before. Is it better than tarts?”
Lord Quickner laughed. “Nothing is better than tarts, but this comes close.” He ladled a spoonful into a cup and handed it to her. “Careful it doesn’t burn your tongue.”
Camille took a sip and came dangerously close to moaning. “That’s sinful.”
Lord Quickner plucked the cup from her hand and ladled two more spoonfuls, earning her eternal love.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, my dear. Now, if you’re interested in a more daring venture, there’s a lovely game—”
“I’m not interested in any poking or prodding.”
Hetskedat her, his smile warm. “I was inviting you to a bit of archery for tomorrow’s lawn game. What a perverted mind you have, Miss Forthright.” He sounded delighted. “I promise, the only prodding will be with the proper equipment at intended targets.”
“Nothing you said makes it sound any less filthy.”
Lord Quickner hooted. “What a gem you are. Clarice called you an angel. I’m so very pleased to disagree.”
“You know Madam well?”
“Going on near... thirty years! What a most unpleasant realization. I do believe that makes me properly old.”
Thoughts of Renard baking tarts came unbidden. She pushed the thought away and said honestly, “I’ll take a distinguished man who knows the worth of cocoa over some puppy any day.”
A feline smile took those thirty years off a still-handsome fifty-year-old face. “Now you’ve done it, Miss Forthright. I do believe you have renewed this old body’s youthful vigor. I insist you join me for archery tomorrow.”
Camille hesitated. Conversing with a houseful of aristocratic party guests sounded like a good way tobecomethe target. If any of the partygoers connected her name with the article from six months ago...
That mischievous glint in Lord Quickner’s eye was back. “I’ll have Cook set aside a tray of tarts just for you.”
Knowing Syd would kill her if she refused, Camille laughed. “Done.”
*
Camille decided totake a more direct route through the main house, her plundered plates in hand, when she came to the mainstaircase and felt an invisible tug that had her turning towards the foyer.
She glanced over her shoulder to see a young man arriving, his relinquished hat revealing fair hair.
The man waved away the butler’s attempts to escort him through the house and took long strides towards the hall that led to the library. He stopped suddenly, and that invisible bond seemed to claim him as well. He turned.
Their eyes met, and Camille felt her body jolt with awareness.
Renard’s eyes widened. “Camille?”
He crossed the foyer, moving around the massive center table, two chairs, and three busts of Lord Quickner’s ancestors as if she’d vanish before his eyes. Stopping before her, his wide eyes looked like he refused to blink for the same reason.
