The Companion's Secret. Susanna Craig

he said, extending a hand. “You walk with the ladies.”

      Fox was clearly surprised by Gabriel’s request—and clearly reluctant to accede to it. Despite the conventional wisdom that sporting dogs were never to be thought of as pets, that their sole value lay in their ability to be led or bred, Fox lived with these dogs—in his house, not a kennel. Ate with them. Likely slept with them. In short, since their rescue, he had taken all their care and handling to himself, trusting no one else with the task. Until today, upon Lady Felicity’s request.

      “What? Why?” Fox demanded. Then he spotted the fourth member of their party, hanging well back. “Oh, did the pups give you a turn, Miss Burke?”

      Lady Felicity laughed. “Cousin Camellia, afraid of dogs? Nonsense! She takes admirable care of Mama’s pug, you know,” she added by way of explanation. “Feeding him, walking him, even bathing him.”

      Gabriel felt his brows knit together but quickly wiped the frown away. Lady Merrick’s treatment of her companion was not his concern. “Indeed, ma’am. Utter nonsense,” he acknowledged, allowing himself one backward glance as he added, “Miss Burke is afraid of nothing.”

      What accounted for her expression of bewilderment, Gabriel would not venture a guess. He certainly did not allow himself to dwell on the delicately carved angles of her upturned face, the inviting softness of her parted lips as they searched for the right words to form.

      Ridiculous, really, for him to be making such a show over the comfort of a woman who was little more than a servant. After all, he had arranged this outing on behalf of the woman he intended to marry, to begin to accustom her to his presence. Nevertheless, he grabbed the tangle of leashes from his friend’s hand and gestured for Fox to lead the way out of the park. Ever the true gentleman, Fox quickly recovered and offered one arm to Lady Felicity, the other to Miss Burke.

      To Camellia.

      The name was unusual…befitting the uncommon woman to whom it belonged.

      Separated from the others by a distance conducive to her ease, rather than his own, he made his way back to Trenton House. Half an hour after that, he was home. Alone. Settled in his customary chair, listening to Remy tut-tut over the dog hair that clung stubbornly to everything it touched.

      The guide to the peerage was still perched somewhat precariously on the chair’s broad, rolled arm. Absently, he tapped one finger against the book’s worn cover. Then, flipping easily to the page bearing the Trenton family tree, he found Felicity’s name.

      Her ancient family lineage bid fair to match his own. A noble English bride perfectly suited to a man in his position. Innocent. Lovely, yet not so delicate that one might fear for her ability to bear him a son.

      And when he thought of her, he felt…nothing.

      No fire in his blood. No spark of interest in his mind.

      Nothing.

      In other words, she was the ideal woman for a man with a history of killing those he loved. He might at least be able to spare the girl that fate.

      Tracing his way upward along the delicate web of lines, his fingertip moved from Felicity to her father, from Merrick to his only sibling, a sister who must be Miss Burke’s mother, although the book contained no information about her marriage or children. But if she had wed without her family’s approval, wed an Irishman, and been disowned… Well, that would explain much.

      Miss Burke’s dependent position in her uncle’s family.

      Her fiercely independent streak in spite of it.

      This afternoon, as he had watched her study him from behind those spectacles, he had begun to suspect that he was not alone in his reluctant fascination. Hidden behind those drab clothes, she was like a plainly wrapped package, inside which he felt certain lay something bright and sensuous and unexpected. Under the right circumstances, he would quite enjoy unwrapping such an unanticipated gift.

      Gabriel snapped the book shut and tossed it aside. He could ill afford to dally with Merrick’s niece while planning to marry the man’s daughter. A successful gamester could calculate instantly the probabilities for every fall of the cards. And he was a very successful gamester. The smart money was on a decorous if expeditious courtship of Lady Felicity, followed by an equally expeditious, if dull, marriage. An entanglement with Camellia Burke was a losing hand.

      Why, then, was he so damned tempted to bet against the odds?

      Chapter 4

      “This dreadful turn in the weather certainly seems to have cooled Lord Ash’s ardor. He hasn’t called for two days.” Aunt Merrick’s voice, rendered rough by the sudden onset of a head cold, gouged its way through Cami’s consciousness like dull shears through delicate muslin.

      Embarrassed at having been caught not attending, Cami blushed. Truth be told, she was not entirely certain she had ever stopped blushing after the walk in the park. In spite of herself and at the most inopportune moments, Lord Ash’s words returned to her—along with the memory of the suggestive manner in which he had spoken them, in a voice that had sent a shiver down her spine.

      He was a perfect villain, all right. And she had to keep her cousin out of his grasp.

      But at that particular moment, she had been turning over in her mind how best to use her conversation with Lord Ash to make the fictional Lord Granville into a more convincing antagonist. The difficulty, she had begun to suspect, was that Lord Ash was too wicked to be believed.

      “I—er, I wonder, Aunt, whether we oughtn’t to search for some permanent way to discourage that gentleman’s attentions to my cousin?”

      “Discourage him?” A weary sigh deteriorated into a cough. “We have not that luxury. Merrick gave young Trenton too free a rein, I’m afraid.”

      “But Mr. Fox happened to mention something about Lord Ashborough’s past—”

      Her aunt’s forceful sneeze cut her short. “Oh, not that dreadful story about his father’s death again? I am surprised to hear you repeating gossip, Camellia,” she reprimanded with a sniffle, her lips thinning. “And in any case, it’s old news.”

      “But you yourself seem to have some reservation about the reputation he has acquired since—”

      “He needs a wife.” Aunt Merrick spoke across her, as if settling the matter once and for all. “And an heir. The responsibilities of life will settle him down.”

      But if they do not? Cami longed to ask. How terrible to imagine her young cousin trapped forever in a marriage to a faithless, cruel—perhaps murderous—man. Why, he might prove a veritable Bluebeard!

      Well, perhaps that was a bit extreme. She could not truly believe he kept a locked room filled with the bloody corpses of his conquests. But he surely would not scruple to keep a mistress, perhaps several. Oh, he had not anticipated that she—a woman, and a spinster at that—would understand his bold reference to keeping “pets.” She knew very well how men’s minds worked, however. Her brother Paris fancied himself quite the young buck about town—even if the town was Dublin.

      “You have something suitable to wear to the Montlake ball tonight, I trust, Camellia?”

      Cami started. “Why?”

      “Someone must chaperone Felicity,” her aunt explained with an impatient frown at her lack of comprehension. “Lord Ash expects to see her there.”

      “Surely, you will attend Lady Montlake’s ball with Felicity. There can be no question of my needing a dress.” Cami tried to modulate the note of panic in her voice. “With a few more hours’ rest, you will feel yourself again.”

      “No, Camellia.” Her aunt shook her head. “By the time I’m fit to go out again, Lord Ash is likely to have proposed.” A grimly triumphant smile curved her lips. After all, however undesirable Lord Ash’s attention might otherwise be, it promised to help her fulfill her primary duty as Felicity’s mother: to see her daughter