Free The Glass Orchid by Emma Barron Page A

she could go back to the way she was — independent, in control of her own destiny, free.
    Instead, she had been left wanting more. She wanted more time in his presence, more quick-witted conversation, more of the stolen glances and small touches neither of them could curtail. The encounters with Ashe and Hutchence and shown her how futile it was for her to pursue even a friendship with Camden, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to stay away from him. He had come round her townhouse the day before and suggested they take a stroll through the park, and she hadn’t been able to stop herself from agreeing. She had tried, it had been on the tip of her tongue to tell Camden they could no longer see each other, in any capacity, but the words had died in her throat. It was as if someone else, a person who wasn’t struggling to defend herself against the vagaries of fate and society, had overtaken her and it was that person who told Camden in a far too eager voice that she would love to spend the afternoon with him. Again, she told herself the lie that she would soon tire of him, that her interest would be sated and she could walk away from him. And once again the falsehood was revealed at the end of the afternoon when, as Camden had walked her home and she had dallied at her door, she was loathe to leave him.
    Del was pulled back to the present by a sudden gust of cold wind and the sound of rain pelting her townhouse. She hurried to the window and shut it before the rain could soak her carpets. She was about to pour herself more brandy when she was stopped, decanter held mid-air, by an insistent knocking on her front door.
    Blakely
, she thought as she entered the foyer. She knew he would show up at her door eventually and demand to know why she had been avoiding him. She wondered what she should tell him, because it certainly couldn’t be the truth. She wasn’t even ready to fully admit it to herself — that she hadn’t been able to be with anyone because her mind had become too crowded by thoughts and memories of Camden. That it felt somehow wrong to be with a man that wasn’t him. She would have to eventually, she knew. She couldn’t be with Camden and she couldn’t support herself staying shut up in her townhouse, alone.
    She put her hand on the knob, ready to disarm Blakely with a dazzling, if not altogether sincere, smile and some carefully spoken platitudes. Her smile froze and any witty remark flew from her head as soon as she opened the door, however. It wasn’t Blakely standing on her step.
    It was Camden.
    His great coat was pulled tight around him to ward off the wind and rain, and his hat was pulled down low on his brow, nearly concealing his blond hair, but Del knew instantly who it was. She had replayed her memories of him often enough to know his stance, the way he stood with his feet apart and his head tilted slightly to the left. She knew him by his long, strong fingers holding his coat close around his neck, by the squareness of his shoulders, his height. She knew she could identify him by the smallest part.
    He looked up at her, his dark brown eyes on hers. “Del,” he said simply, softly, and she could tell something had upset him. She had seen him ungoverned once before, when he was riding his horse in Hyde Park. It had been unrestrained happiness she had seen in him then, but it was something else — anger? frustration? — that now seeped out from behind his carefully controlled exterior.
    “Camden. Come in.” Del stepped back to allow him entry and took his hat and greatcoat as he passed.
    He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair, causing droplets of rainwater to fly off him.
    “Let me get you a drink.” She led the way back to the study and poured him a brandy. “Please sit,” she said, gesturing to the chair opposite the settee.
    They said nothing for a moment, though they watched each other from over the rims of their tumblers. Del wondered what had him so riled. He sat