Free The Rake Revealed by Kate Harper Page B

stop somebody reopening whatever he put into place. It was a vexing question and one that she knew she could not simply put aside.
    Hurrying back between the bedcovers, she lay for some time, shivering. Smugglers, neighborhood rakes, and curious collection of local landed gentry. And she thought she’d be bored after the chaos of France.
    ‘ Oh , de s’ennuyer ,’ she thought ruefully, wishing she’d thought to put on bed socks.
    Perhaps she could do with a little more boring in her life.

 
    Chapter Four
     
     
     
    The next two days passed without incident for Camille. She contemplated going into Kingsdown and engaging a carpenter, but nothing more disturbed her peace and she decided that she was overreacting. She did receive invitations from her welcoming neighbors; two dances and a musical soiree. With these engagements in mind, she went into town, collected some of her newly finished gowns, and ordered some more, just to be wicked. She interviewed and hired her new lady’s maid, a pleasant girl called Merry, who had her wardrobe organized in a surprisingly short time. After only twenty-four hours of having Merry about, Camille decided that she could never again do without her, for the girl was sweet tempered, efficient, and looked to her new employer's comfort with impressive vigor. So much so, that Camille had been forced to quell a riot in the kitchen when Mrs. Hibbert had taken against the girl and her ‘jumped up airs’.
    She had come firmly down on Merry’s side. It was time that the housekeeper understood that it was not she who ran the household, but Camille herself.
    For two days, she did not encounter the man who occupied her thoughts far more than he should. Lord Tapscott remained mercifully absent, giving her an opportunity to put the whole kiss into the perspective it deserved. It was really quite simple. Lord Tapscott was a rake. Rakes kissed ladies who, more often than not, kissed him back. She was new to the area and, as yet, un kissed, which must necessarily prove a challenge. Really, if she considered it impartially, it was inevitable that his lordship should kiss her. The only thing that was the least disturbing about the entire episode was her own response to it, but she was becoming more adept at glossing over that particular part of the encounter. It had been a long time since a man had truly kissed her and Tapscott was rather good at it.
    Perhaps she should just absolve herself on the ground of temporary madness and move forward.
    Shortly after luncheon on the third day (after that kiss) Lady Fallston and Mrs. Harkness paid a call, not together, but at the same time, encountering each other at the front door. Camille had been half expecting visitors, the right amount of time having elapsed, and so had changed into one of her new gowns, a pretty thing of deep russet crepe with worked Flemish lace in a fichu that tucked into the bodice, touches of the same lace on either wrists. The little dressmaker had proved to be quite gifted and Camille had adopted her suggestions with enthusiasm. It was nice to have one of her new maids show in her guests, even nicer to order tea and not have the sullen Mrs. Hibbert serve it. All in all, Camille was beginning to feel more like the lady of the house and less like a rustiques provinciaux who smelt of straw and the stable.
    Both ladies greeted her with effusive friendliness, their eyes taking in Camille’s dress, her new staff, her drawing room (which was glowing with cleanliness, if nothing else), even as polite words were spilling from their lips.
    ‘My dear Lady Durham,’ Lady Fallston cried. She was a thin, nervous creature whose hands fluttered restlessly and who had enormous blue eyes that dominated her face. ‘How delightful to see you.’
    ‘And you, my lady. Mrs. Harkness. You are so kind, coming to see me. I was thinking it was time to pay a call on my new neighbors and you have pipped me at the post. Is that the right way to say it?’