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He was the quintessential gentleman, decorated with military honors, a favorite conversational partner of her father, not a single illicit affair to be dredged from his university days or even earlier, with a true sense of chivalry.
And handsome, to be sure, with his wheat golden hair and bright blue eyes, and a well-chiseled jawline that made even the most iron-spined debutante melt.
Victoria looked at him, feeling his hands cool against hers as he guided them through the minuet. Unlike the other couples swirling around them on the ballroom floor, they were silent. Onlookers would have called it a lover’s silence, each of them too enraptured by the other’s gaze to speak.
But no matter how Victoria spun it, Pascal was boring. He simply sparked no flicker of passion within her.
He was so staid, so perfect.
So unlike—
The shrill sound of a woman’s giggle grated against Victoria’s ears during a sudden lull of the music. Annoyed, she glanced over at the sound, and was rewarded with a jolt of unpleasant shock as her eyes met those of her half brother, lingering on the edge of the ballroom with a bevy of women surrounding him.
Cameron.
There was a brunette girl dripping off his arm in a decidedly unladylike manner, but he took no more notice of her than he would an end table. Sipping elegantly from a long-stemmed flute of champagne, his lips curved knowingly up at Victoria over the rim of his glass. Then he winked.
Victoria tore her gaze away from him so fast she felt dizzy. Pascal’s hand was on the small of her back, steadying. Such intimate contact would have made any other girl blush brilliantly red.
Try as she might, Victoria’s heart remained resolutely still towards Pascal. No amount of beautifully penned letters or fresh flowers, no matter how many times she cried and prayed by her bedside, kneeling til her legs ached and her knees were raw from the wood grain, clasping her hands under her chin until her knuckles went white, could bring her to feel anything other than cordiality towards the man she was going to marry.
It will be all right, she reassured herself. She looked up into Pascal’s calm blue eyes, taking a deep breath. Victoria pasted on a smile.
They would marry, and right away Father would truly see how dependable Pascal was. She would be the lady of Rougemerle. And she would send her bastard brother as far away from her as she could manage.
“My lady? Are you quite well?” were the first words Pascal had spoken to her in nearly twenty minutes.
“No, I…” Victoria missed a step and sighed.“Truthfully, I feel a bit light-headed. After this set I should like to sit for a moment, if that’s alright.”
“Of course. Shall I accompany you?”
“No, please don’t let me keep you from dancing. I know there are several young ladies in attendance who will be most disappointed if you do not appear for their set.”
They both smiled, almost a laugh but not quite.
The closest either of them had gotten to humor was this sort of conversation. Victoria remarking as vaguely and gently as she could about the inevitable crowd of women that flocked her fiancé the moment she stepped away. Pascal replying with equal vagueness that he did not know why he was so oddly popular among the young ladies in society.
The set ended, and Pascal led Victoria off the floor to a quieter corner of the ballroom, with the only few guests nearby speaking lowly and accepting flutes of champagne.
As Pascal guided her to one of the chairs pushed up against the jade damask-draped wall, Victoria found a glass being pressed into her hand by an overzealous maid. She settled into the seat and took a small sip, then another.
Hunger was making her dizzy—she had fasted for the past week in preparation of the series of balls and teas that would precede her wedding. This way, she could eat large meals all week, giving the impression of a naturally slim body and an enviable existence.
Her chair was an elegantly carved wooden one, and the slightly curved back made her already ramrod-straight spine stiffen further. She had been laced into a corset and stays, which on its own would have been fine, but with a shift underneath, paired with a wide, swinging hoop skirt and layers and layers of lace-edged petticoats, as well as starched ruffles laid across her chest under her gown to give the impression of a fuller chest, she was flushed and uncomfortable, and her heels were digging painfully into the backs of her ankles, rubbing the skin raw.
She hadn’t sat for what seemed more than a moment before a gentleman was standing in front of her. Victoria paused in the motion of raising her champagne to her lips.
He wore an absurd mix of imported silks and French fashion. On anyone else the combination of ivory waistcoat and and crimson sash would have looked clownish. On Cameron it made him look like a fairytale prince. Tucked into the waistcoat was a cravat of emerald green, one that matched his eyes exactly, and, with belated horror Victoria saw, also matched her dress. She hadn’t even thought to coordinate an accessory with Pascal as was fashionable.
“May I have this dance?” Cameron extended a hand, fingers beckoning invitingly, and she was half-rising to take it before she came to her senses and yanked it back as if she had been burned.
“I told you to stay away from me,” Victoria said tightly, her lips barely moving. Cameron had obviously noticed her misstep. If anyone else were to pick up on the strange atmosphere between the Rougemerle siblings…No. She felt nauseous at the prospect. “And why on Earth would you wish to dance with me?”
“You wound me, mademoiselle,” sighed Cameron, exaggerated hurt dripping from each syllable. The tell-tale flush of alcohol lit his pale cheeks, and his golden hair was soft and loose around his face. In the glow of the hundreds of candles lighting the ballroom he was unearthly beautiful. “I don’t recall our ever having shared a dance before. And why shouldn’t I waltz just once with my dear sister before she becomes Madame Pascal?”
He sought to humiliate her. Trick her somehow, lure her in with his glittering green eyes and his captivating tongue, and expose her shameful secret to every guest here.
“No.” She clasped her hands in her lap and looked away, unwilling to meet his gaze for a moment longer. Every time Cameron looked at her, she felt as if she were being slowly unwound. His eyes drew her in and held her.
“No? A shame. I must go discuss something with your fiancé after this set, then.”
Victoria sprang to her feet. “Don’t! Please, Cameron! I’ll—“
His smile returned full force, and Victoria realized she had swallowed the bait without even blinking. What a fool you are.
“So you’ll dance the next set with me?”
Why did he have to say it like he genuinely wanted to? As if he were happy? Victoria swallowed hard. “Fine.”
“Allow me.” She let Cameron lead her onto the dance floor, her entire body trembling as she followed. She could already feel the curious stares of the nobles who knew of the Rougemerle inheritance dilemma. Wondering why and how she and Cameron suddenly looked close enough to waltz.
They took their places among the couples waiting for the next set—Victoria scanned faces desperately and saw Pascal deep in conversation with his partner for the set. She ignored the strange envy that washed over her and turned back to Cameron.
One of his hands found her waist, the other took her hand, and she tried not to gasp when he stepped forward, til they were almost chest to chest and Victoria was forced to look up at him. She put her other hand on Cameron’s shoulder as the music swelled.
“One, two,” Cameron said in barely more than a whisper for Victoria’s benefit, and she pushed away the shudder that racked her at the sound of his voice so close, and focused on the steps. He danced lightly, gracefully, and though Victoria had struggled through lesson after lesson to achieve near perfection when she waltzed, she felt as dull and slow as a doll.
A doll that wanted nothing more than the love and affection of Cameron Rougemerle. When he was close like this, his hateful mouth shut for once, and his enchanting eyes on her, it felt as if she had not changed at all past the moment she had admitted she loved him.
I do not feel that way anymore, Victoria told herself firmly. Childish fancies, nothing more. She trod hard on Cameron’s foot and was gratified to see him wince as her heel ground into the toe of his shoe. “Apologies.”
“Worry not, dear sister.” Cameron’s grip on her waist tightened, the heat of his palm burning through the fabric to her skin. “I had rather thought your dress would be red.”
Thus the scarlet sash. “We ended up coordinating anyways.”
“We did. And I find I prefer you in green after all.” Cameron’s hand skated up further, til his grasp was just below the swell of her breasts. Victoria tensed, nausea threatening again. A drop of sweat made its way down the back of her neck. Pascal was somewhere in this crowd of dancing couples, and at any moment he could glance over.
At any minute Father could notice them together, or a servant, or anyone else that might remark on the oddity of it. Victoria could feel tears rising to her eyes, and she blinked quickly, willing them away.
Her ankles were burning with pain now, little white-hot sparks of agony every time she stepped backwards and the back of her heels rubbed against the raw spots. She looked down and saw tiny drops of red spattered across the dance floor, marking the places Victoria and Cameron had placed their feet as they waltzed.
Cameron followed her gaze. Something indiscernible flickered across his features. “If you don’t feel up to it at the moment, dear sister, I’ll accept a set later tonight.”
“Stop calling me that. I’m not your dear anything.”
“Am I yours, at least?”
Victoria longed to reach up and rake her nails across that insolent smile, shred his lips to bloody tatters. “You are nothing to me and will be nothing to anyone after Father leaves the estate to Pascal.”
“How terribly cruel you are, and how self-assured. What can you do, truly?” Cameron spun her around, her skirts swishing against his legs, and drew her back in close, leaning down to whisper against the shell of her ear. “You won’t get rid of me as easily as you hope. Nor do you really want to, for that matter.”
“You’re a bastard.” Victoria jerked away from him. “And you know nothing.”
The insult landed in both ways—Cameron’s smile faded, replaced with a chilling emptiness. “Watch your mouth, my darling Victoria.”
“Do not follow me.” Victoria turned on her heel and stormed off the floor, ignoring the buzz of whispers in her wake. Seething, she snatched a champagne glass from a passing servant and pushed out of the ballroom to one of the darkened hallways beyond to drink it.
He followed her.
“If you wanted a rendezvous in a more private place, you need only have asked.”
“Stay away from me,” Victoria said, her voice rising. “Please.”
“You act as if I’m going to hurt you.” Cameron moved closer, til Victoria was forced to back up, and they moved like that til her back hit the velvet drapes lining the wall. “I’d never do such a thing.”
Victoria’s knees felt weak. “I cannot believe that.” Cameron was boxing her in, one knee pressed between her legs, his hand on the wall beside her head. She swallowed. Her mouth was dry as dust.
“I should go back now. You left after me, someone might wonder…” Victoria avoided his eyes, hating the shake in her voice.
“What would they wonder? There’s nothing illicit about a sibling argument continued in private.” Cameron regarded her with a smirk. “It seems you’re the one who imagines something different.”
Then his mouth met hers with bruising force. She gasped against him, frozen. He tilted her head to the side to allow himself better access to her mouth, and his tongue slid against hers. She could taste the champagne on his lips, and the sharper bitterness of a stronger liquor behind it. Her hands came up to push at his chest, (not hard enough, was she even trying? Wicked, wicked thing. Her heart pounded so hard it was painful.) She dug her nails into Cameron’s chest, and he slipped an arm around her waist. Instinctively she arched into him, and felt his knee press hard between her legs. There was a pulse throbbing between her thighs, and she pressed them together, guilty.
Cameron’s lips left hers, moved down to her neck, her throat, the heat of his mouth burning as he lavished kisses upon her skin. Every time he took his mouth away the kisses he left behind blazed, sinking indelibly into her skin. If she took off her skin her flesh would be scorched in the pattern of Cameron’s fingerprints.
He nipped at her neck gently, not hard enough to bruise, and his tongue slipped over the reddened skin, soothing. “Sweet. You taste so lovely, dear sister. Tell me, does your Pascal also find you sweet?”
Victoria flushed, both at him and the derision with which he spoke Pascal’s name. “He’s—he hasn’t…touched me.”
“He’s more of an imbecile than I thought.” Cameron kissed her on the mouth again, and this time she kissed him back, hard. He kissed her jaw, her cheek, the hollow of her throat, and then dropped to his knees on the richly embroidered rug that spanned the corridor.
“What are you doing?!” Victoria shoved at Cameron’s shoulders, trying to push him away. “S-someone might come, Cameron, don’t! Don’t, please.”
“I want to taste all of you. Is it the same sweetness I dream of?”
He dreamed of her?
Cameron lifted her skirts and slipped underneath them, settling between her legs. “You really should learn to live a little.” His hand ran up her thigh, rucking her shift up to her hips, exposing her bottom half fully to him. “But it all makes sense now.” His low chuckle seemed to vibrate in her skin as he laid his cheek along her inner thigh and inhaled her scent. “Your worthy fiancé hasn’t so much as undone your stays.”
Victoria pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, hiding her face as Cameron’s fingers trailed through the dark curls above her slit and traced a line down her center. She was wet, dripping—dear God in heaven, however could she face Pascal after this?
“Because Monsieur Pascal is a gentleman,” Victoria snapped. “And as soon as he finds out all you’ve done, he’ll have you tarred and feathered and run out of town on a ra—!”
All thoughts went out of her head as Cameron licked her slit, laving broad strokes across her center. His tongue found her clit, and Victoria gasped, nails scrabbling for purchase against the wall she was up against. “Cameron…” She canted her hips against his mouth as he sucked at her clit, grazing it ever so slightly with his teeth.
Then he was replacing his tongue with a finger, rubbing lazy circles against her clit as his tongue found her entrance. This time, Victoria couldn’t stifle her moan. Touching herself was nothing compared to the feeling of Cameron’s tongue on her, in her. Making her sick with need.
How many girls had he unraveled just like this?
Her head snapped back, banging against the wall as Cameron’s tongue fucked into her, pushing deeper and deeper, devouring her. He was tracing tighter, quicker circles on her clit, and she fisted her hands deep in the fabric of her gown and bit her lip, crying out as she came. Her legs shook with the force of it, Cameron’s tongue relentless, and Cameron lapped at her slit as she came again and again, savoring the taste of her as if he would a fine wine.
By the time Cameron slipped out from under her skirts, Victoria felt as weak and jelly-limbed as a newborn colt. Cameron, damned Cameron, looked as if he had merely been for a brisk stroll, his cheeks only the faintest bit flushed—he wiped away the slick on his lips with the back of his hand and grinned insouciantly.
“Now, shall I call for a maid? I suggest a change of clothes before you return to your ball. And perhaps a bit of powder for your face. You look rather…” His eyes raked her up and down, glimmering with amusement. “Disheveled.”
Chest heaving, fists clenched so hard her nails cut into her palms, Victoria glared at him. She could feel her cheeks burning, and her ragged breathing was all the more traitor. “Cameron, you—”
“I what?” Cameron was tall, terrifying, his emerald eyes glinting. His lips were swollen and red as if he’d swiped rouge across them, and they were curved in a mocking smile. “Come now, sister. I did only as you requested; you cannot brand me a devil without marking yourself one, too.”
“I never—never asked you for this, Cameron,” Victoria gritted out. “And you’re a demon.” She turned to push past him blindly, but his iron grip on her shoulder stopped her.
“So what if I am? You still want me.”
“Let me go!”
Victoria struck him hard across the face, and his head jerked to the side with the force of it. Her palm stung as it impacted his flesh, but Cameron’s smile merely grew. In the dimly lit corridor, the verdant gleam of his eyes was all the more unsettling, and the wide, white smile in the shadows of his face seemed to belong to something inhuman. Victoria flinched as he reached out, but he did not slap her back. Instead, his thumb tenderly brushed Victoria’s bottom lip, coming away with a smear of red. She hadn’t even realized it was bleeding.
Cameron pressed his thumb to his mouth, the tip of his tongue darting out to taste Victoria’s blood. “Did that make you feel any better, sweet sister?”
“You’re sick in the head,” Victoria spat, unnerved. This time when she shoved past him he let her go. As she hurried down the hallway, she could feel his eyes on her retreating back, as if he were cutting through her flesh to see the heart that beat shamefully against her ribs.
Long after the ball ended, the sound of his mocking laughter was still ringing in her ears.