correct?”
Damn! Why had she assumed she’d get anything past a man whose senses far surpassed her own? Camille’s pulse fluttered in her dry throat. “I do have a rush order from that mysterious Mr. Swann who came today—”
“And just as I foretold, he’s turning your world upside down.” Slowly the medium descended the narrow staircase, his gaze fixed upon her as though he could see through her to the footman who was no doubt listening at the keyhole…as though he didn’t need to ask her any questions to know the truth. Rubio’s hair waved in dark disarray around his finely boned face, and as he pulled his plaid wrapper around his lean body, Camille realized he was naked beneath it.
He circled her once. “You came straight from your bath—”
“That’s none of your concern! We must discuss this stranger who—”
“And with your hair still damp and the scent of lemon floating about you,” the medium continued in a faraway voice, “you fill this salon with your sexual, sensual presence, Lady Bentley. I’ve never before seen you in such a state, and that’s notable, is it not?”
Camille stiffened. “I didn’t come here to be interrogated! I—”
“Why did you come? First you said you wanted to see Alice, and to sew, yet now you’re looking at me as though much more…pressing matters weigh on your mind.” Rubio glanced up the stairway. “Go back to bed, Alice. Discussions with my clients are confidential.”
The seamstress’s mouth fell open. “And who might you be, givin’ me orders ta go—”
“Please, Alice. I apologize,” Camille said with a sigh. “Working on those designs for Mr. Swann was the reason I gave myself for coming here at this hour, but Rubio’s right. I’m very upset and I’ve come for his advice.”
The seamstress stalked back to bed but impishly switched off the light on her way. Her laughter echoed between the high walls as the velvety darkness enveloped the large main room again. Camille stood absolutely still, keenly aware of Rubio’s breathing…of the way he continued to look into her heart and soul from a few feet away. When he shifted, his eyes glimmered in the light from the window and he looked strangely…feral. Predatory.
She swallowed hard. Had she gotten herself into a predicament she’d regret?
“I’ll not play upon my advantage, but yes, I’m naked beneath my wrapper, and yes…yes, dear Camille, my fingers itch to take down your hair and caress the silk of your lovely face.” Rubio’s robe whispered as he shifted closer. “But these are the very things that frighten you rather than attract you, are they not? Does your husband know where you are?”
Ah, that damning question! She swallowed. Looked at the pattern of the carpet runner rather than endure those probing obsidian eyes.
Rubio lifted her chin with a single finger. “What has he done to you? Does your sister know you’ve come here?”
“Nothing!” Camille spouted. “And no! Last I knew, Colette was teasing Heath toward their bedroom, and—and—” The air around them vibrated with her fear. Or was Rubio causing that inexplicable tension that chased rational thought from her mind right now? But what would she accomplish by fibbing again? A medium like Palladino would cleverly trap her into admitting what he already knew.
She closed her eyes as heat flared in her face. “Rutledge…for the first time, he touched me tonight, after dinner—on the table—and damn it, the servants were snickering at me from behind the Chinese screen.”
Rubio reached through the darkness to embrace her. “You poor lamb! I suspected as much about your husband but—well, I’m sorry. Dear, dear Camille, you’re the proverbial bird in the gilded cage, are you not? As the song lyrics say, your treasure was sold for an old man’s gold—but then, we often do what seems expedient, to survive.”
There it was. He knew.
Camille rested her head against his shoulder. Rubio was weaving a very enticing spell with his words and his low, sonorous voice, and she’d say too much if she weren’t careful. Time to change the subject. “What distresses me most,” she rasped, “is the way this follows your predictions from Monday. I scoffed when you said our worlds would be overturned by a sudden flaring of passion—”
“A volcano. A hurricane of passion.”
“Yes, well…and then there was the matter of that mysterious stranger and the veiled lady. I fear he showed up today—”
“No need to be afraid, Camille. Knowledge is power.”
“And he ordered a white dress for a special lady, as he called her. And a veil. Just like you said.”
Rubio eased away so he could study her face in the dimness. “Is this why Rutledge touched you tonight? Did he react when you mentioned this exotic mystery man coming to your shop?”
Camille scowled. “Not that I’m aware. I assumed that for some reason, Heath and Colette’s flirtatious ways made him recall sexual adventures from his youth, and—”
Rubio’s expression waxed catlike. Half his face was lit and half remained in a velvety shadow, so when he smiled the tiny gold ring in his nose twinkled at her as though it, too, knew a secret the medium wouldn’t reveal to her. “I sense you and your sister have made plans, Camille. You didn’t intend to include your surprise visitor in them, but he’s come to play his part. The lightning is only beginning to strike, Lady Bentley. Prepare yourself.”
Her mouth fell open before she could catch it. No one could know of their plan to switch husbands at the masquerade ball! It was simply impossible! Or was Rubio pushing her into a confession, calling her bluff by hinting at things he didn’t really know? “Will you help us if things get out of hand?” she blurted.
His lips twitched. “As the spirits move me, I will.”
“That’s not an answer and you know it! Just because you can foretell—”
A thundering knock on the door made them both jump. Rubio laid a silencing finger across her lips and then shifted them into the deepest shadows against the back wall. The racket continued.
“Camille! Unlock the door! I know you’re in there, and by God I’ve come to find out why!”
Rutledge! And he’d come to the back alley—had seen the carriage, and quizzed Charlie by now—so there was no evading him. No point in digging herself into a deeper hole by lying.
But what would she say? What could she say? Before she could fabricate an answer—before she could escape Rubio Palladino’s embrace—a key turned in the lock and the door flew open.
7
Lord Bentley’s bulk blocked the pale light that came in through the open door, yet he had no trouble seeing the situation for what it was. “And why did you leave the house unescorted, late in the evening, and without my permission, Lady Bentley?” he demanded.
“And how did you know I was here?” she retorted. There’d be hell to pay for her sass, but she was too incensed to care.
Rutledge inhaled noisily. “You should be grateful to those who feel compelled
