Part 48 (2/2)

After a few moments of silence, there was an echoing of boots. His uncle reappeared with . . . what appeared to be two black strips of cloth in his hands. The old man strode towards him. ”She just arrived. Apparently, she couldn't decide on which gown to wear.”

That most certainly was Gwendolyn. He was of the mind that a woman should only be allowed one gown. That way, there'd be no more indecision.

His uncle paused before him.

Camden watched as his uncle casually draped one of the black velvet sashes over the chair, then snapped the other strip of black velvet taut between his hands. ”Lean forwards.”

Camden pulled his shaven chin against his silk cravat. ”Whatever do you mean 'lean forwards'? What the blazes do you intend to do with that? Put that away!”

His uncle's bushy brows went up as he extended the black velvet blindfold. ”Do you or do you not wish to save your marriage?”

Camden choked. ”I . . . My marriage? What is all this?”

”Lean forwards, d.a.m.n you. I will not ask again.”

Camden huffed out a breath, knowing that when it came to his uncle, one did not ask questions. One simply hoped for the best. To accommodate the height difference between them, he leaned forwards, as told. But for some reason, the room swayed.

Camden caught hold of his uncle's shoulder with his free hand and steadied himself as port splashed outside the gla.s.s he held in his other hand.

Lord Truesdale glared up at him. ”Why would you ply yourself before her coming? The idea is to save your marriage. Not destroy the last of it.”

Regaining his balance, Camden s.h.i.+fted towards his uncle. ”I am not in the least bit pleased with my wife and am merely trying to ensure I am sedated enough to entertain her.”

”She may just entertain you.” His uncle smirked and placed the thick, double-folded soft velvet against the bridge of Camden's nose, covering his eyes.

Darkness flooded Camden's vision as his uncle secured the blindfold firmly against the back of his head. The gla.s.s was suddenly yanked from his grasp and, before he realized what was happening, both of his hands were yanked hard behind his back and tightly bound together.

”What-?” Camden struggled against the ties that bound him. ”What is this? Untie me!” he boomed, unable to free his wrists from the tight binding.

Shuffles and movements floated around him in the fuzzy darkness. ”Have at it,” his uncle announced to someone, his booted feet disappearing out into the corridor. ”I intend to go for my walk. Expect me in two hours.”

The rustling of skirts filled the room.

”Gwendolyn?” Camden demanded.

”Yes, Camden?” Her voice was soft and flirtatious. ”What is it?”

He froze. It had been months since her voice had been that soft or that flirtatious. ”What . . . You'd best untie me. Do it. Now.”

”Why would I do that? You are supposed to remain bound for the rest of the evening.”

He choked. ”The devil, you say. I am demanding you untie me. Before I acquire a divorce on the grounds of this alone!”

”Oh hush, already. Where is your sense of adventure? You always take everything too seriously.” A pair of firm, small hands grabbed hold of his forearm and waist and guided him forcefully forwards in a direction that was anything but straight.

He scrambled forwards, trying to keep his body upright, though with his hands tied behind his back, it was difficult to balance. He stumbled and winced. ”I should probably point out, madam, that I've had far too many cognacs. And port. Lots of port.”

”So I've noticed.” She eased their pace, and tucked her pet.i.te, curvaceous body against him, tightening her hold on his waist, to a.s.sist in his movements.

Camden swayed and awkwardly adjusted himself against her. Soft, abundant hair grazed his skin as she slowly led him forwards. He unwittingly leaned into her, willing himself to submit to whatever was happening to him.

The rustling of her skirts, which brushed up against his trouser-clad legs, was all that met his ears. Seeing that they weren't climbing any stairs fortunately for him his guess was that she was opting for the closest private room there was.

His uncle's library.

She brought them to a halt and slid out of his reach. There was a creaking of double doors opening.

A warm, soft hand grabbed his and carefully guided him through. Her other hand took hold of his arm, encouraging him to remain where he was, before releasing him again.

The doors thudded closed, and a click told him that they were not only locked, but he was now officially at her mercy.

And then . . . there was nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Camden stood in blinding darkness and silence, sensing Gwendolyn was still nearby. ”What are you doing?” he demanded. ”Do you find yourself amusing?”

Her skirts rustled against the movement of her legs. And without a word, gentle, yet firm, warm hands smoothed their way under his coat and against his waist in a seductive manner that made him suck in a breath.

She placed her warmth close against the front of his body, forcing him to feel every soft inch of her. Her skirts pushed against the length of his trousers. The stiffness of her corset and her full b.r.e.a.s.t.s beneath pressed against the front of his b.u.t.toned waistcoat.

She continued to tenderly hold him and did not attempt anything more. His pulse drummed. It was as equally wrenching as it was awkward, knowing how long it had been since she had so willingly touched him.

G.o.d save him, all he wanted to do was . . .

Camden lowered his shaven chin into a soft ma.s.s of soap-scented curls that touched his lips. ”Gwendolyn. Please.”

Gwendolyn readjusted in his arms and laid her head on the expanse of his chest, sighing ever so wistfully. As if it was the only place she was ever meant to be.

Camden swallowed. The way that sigh escaped her lips, and the way her hands and fingers dug possessively into the back of his waist, achingly reminded him of the way their marriage used to be. Perfect. Romantic. All the things he and Gwendolyn had lost with each and every miscarriage.

d.a.m.n her. d.a.m.n her for not using their separation to heal her body and her soul as they had agreed on. ”I want an explanation as to what is going on between you and Westbrook. And I will have that explanation after you b.l.o.o.d.y remove this blindfold and untie my hands. Is that understood?”

Her head lifted from his chest. Pulling her arms from around his waist, she scrambled outside of his grasp. ”You will get an explanation after we play a little game.”

He blinked against his blindfold and huffed out a breath, trying to focus. ”I would sooner demand a divorce than entertain any of this.”

A hush met his ears.

Camden raised his chin slowly. Then lowered it. He tried to see her through the blindfold. ”Are you there?” he ventured. ”Or did I cause you to faint and somehow missed the thud?”

When she didn't answer, he attempted to move his hands against the velvet binding. He staggered during the attempt. ”Your humour knows no bounds. This is all very symbolic, I a.s.sure you.”

He suddenly froze, sensing Gwendolyn was not only standing before him, but was actually leaning in towards him. He swallowed, as the heat of her body seemed to pulse against his own, bidding him to forget everything and give in to the temptation of touching her intimately.

She obviously wanted them to be intimate. But . . . why?

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