Page 49 of Private Arrangements
Gigi searched all around, but there were no signs of Camden anywhere outside Croesus Lending Co. She rode the landau back to Adams's and allowed the Scotsman to hail her a cab, which took her to Madame Elise's, where she had fifteen minutes to choose fabric for a new shawl before her own brougham arrived outside, having unloaded her two hours earlier.
She arrived home and found Camden in his bedchamber, dropping a stack of starched white shirts into a traveling satchel.
“What were you doing following me?”
“Curiosity, my dear Mrs. Croesus. I happened to be at the carriage place when you came around,” he said without looking at her, a small smile about his lips. “If you saw me dressed like the king on coronation day, calling myself Lord Bountiful and going about on mysterious business, what would you have done?”
“Gone about my own affairs, of course,” she said, not very convincingly.
“Of course,” he murmured. “But rest assured, your secret is safe with me.”
“It's not a secret. It's but anonymity. The women who come to Croesus Lending for help aren't exactly what the holier-than-thou set would call ‘the deserving poor.' I don't want to have to explain anything to anyone, that's all.”
“I understand.”
“No, you don't understand.” What could he possibly understand, Mr. Mighty-and-Perfect? “These are hardworking, enterprising women who happen to have a less-than-spotless past. All they need are a few quid to get them on their feet again.”
“How much money did you lend out today?”
She hesitated. Was he expecting a numerical answer? “Sixty-five pounds.”
His brow lifted. “A goodly sum. Did any of it go to Miss Shoemaker?”
“Ten pounds.” Ten pounds was a significant amount of money. It was not uncommon for working girls to earn two quid a month.
“What about Miss Dutton?”
“Eight pounds. Miss Dutton is an unusually talented calligrapher. She will have a secure future if she keeps her more destructive tendencies in check.”
He placed three cravats in the satchel and looked up. “On the strength of her own words? I assume Miss Dutton didn't have a character either.”
“I have a private investigator on retainer. In six years I've had only three women default on me, and one of them was run over by a carriage.”
“Admirable.”
“Do not condescend to me.” She grew angry at his facile comment. “Croesus Lending may operate outside conventional boundaries, but it is legitimate and honorable. I sleep better at night for it.”
He buckled the satchel and came to her. “Calm down,” he said, placing his hands on her shoulders. And when she jerked away from his touch, he took one more step toward her and placed his palms on her cheeks.
“Calm down. I think what you doisadmirable. I'm glad someone remembers the forgotten. And I'm glad it's you.”
She could not be more astonished had he announced he was nominating her for sainthood. He dropped his hands and ambled to the demilune table to wind his watch, but her cheeks remained hotly imprinted with his touch. “I just want to give someone a second chance,” she mumbled.
She'd never received one from him.
His fingers paused in their motion. He glanced once at her before resuming the winding of his watch. He said nothing.
She suddenly felt she'd stayed too long. Said too much. “Well, then, I'd better let you get on. A pleasant trip to you.”
“I'm going to Devon to dine with your mother and the Duke of Perrin. My train leaves Paddington in an hour. Have the kitchen pack you a sandwich. You can come with me.”
A dozen thoughts raced through her head. He wanted her conveniently nearby so he could get on with impregnating her, so that Mrs. Rowland couldn't pester him about the divorce, so that it'd be less awkward at dinner with the duke. But the quake of pleasure brought on by his invitation refused to subside.
“I already told her I wouldn't come,” she said.
“Give her a second chance,” he said, slipping the watch into his pocket. “She'd like that.”
Chapter Twenty
