Indiscreet Part 7

"Sleeping together in this room is not enough to convince everyone that we are married. When you were speaking to me just now, you didn't meet my eyes. You did not smile. You treated me as a stranger, not as a woman treats her husband."

Her eyes widened. "I didn't realize...."

"I know. That is exactly what will trip you up. Whatever you feel about me, however little you like me or think me worthy of you, you must look at me as you would look at a man you loved."

"I-I am not sure how that is." Camilla could feel a flush rising in her face.

He looked disbelieving. "You mean to tell me that you have never been in love? Or at least thought yourself in love?"

"I would think, from your words earlier, you wouldn't believe a woman capable of feeling it," Camilla reminded him wryly.

"I've often wondered." He allowed himself a small smile. "No doubt I spoke too hastily. There are women who love, I know." He thought of Bettina, and the way she looked at Jermyn. "I have a sister, and when her husband enters the room, her face glows as if the sun had come back into her life." His voice was low and a little wistful. "She smiles up at him with a look in her eyes as if..." He shrugged. "I'm not sure...as if they were the only two in the room. At a party, they always drift back together, as though they cannot stand to be apart."

His words stirred Camilla. She thought of loving a man like that, of feeling as if every fiber of her being were being drawn to him. "How does he look at her?"

"As if he could consume her."

"Is that how you want me to look at you?" Camilla gazed up into his face, softened a little now, and darkly handsome. She wondered how it would feel to look at him as if she loved him, to have him return the look. It made her feel strange and breathless even to contemplate it.

Benedict made no reply for a moment. Her words had sent a strange, piercing yearning through him, a coiling of desire as strong as if she had touched him. Her blue eyes were huge and dark in the dim light He remembered the feel of her soft flesh beneath him as they had rolled in the mud this evening, the s.e.xual intimation as he had sat up, pinning her beneath him. He thought of sleeping on the couch not ten feet from her bed.

Benedict swallowed and stepped back, saying gruffly, "Yes. As much as you are able. We are supposed to know each other intimately. It is presumed that we have deep feelings for one another. It is patently false if our eyes rarely meet or we turn away from each other."

"Yes. Of course. I understand that. I...I will endeavor to look at you-in that way...." She trailed off, embarra.s.sed, looking everywhere but at him.

But Benedict did not notice, for he had turned away and started pacing, as if deep in thought. "We must spend a good deal of time together, also,'' he went on. "Newlyweds are forever in each other's company." He had not thought of this when he agreed to the masquerade. It would certainly limit his movements. But he would have to find a way around that. The most important thing was to make the marriage seem real; if everyone thought it a sham, they would be suspicious of him, and he would have difficulty learning anything.

"All right." Camilla did not like the idea of being around Benedict all the time, but she could see the logic of his words. He was right in saying that there would be no scandal in their sleeping together as long as everyone thought they were married. Therefore, it was much more imperative than before that they give no one cause to suspect that they were not married. They had to put on a good act.

"We can go walking together. You can show me the beach."

Camilla nodded. "We can go riding around the estate."

He paused, tapping his forefinger thoughtfully against his lips. "What else?" His head came up sharply. "Oh, yes. A ring."

"A ring?" Camilla drew in a breath as she realized what he was talking about, and she looked down at the blatantly bare ring finger of her left hand. "Oh, dear, I had not thought about that."

"I thought about the lack of an engagement ring, but I hoped that we could somehow sc.r.a.pe through. But you must have a wedding band."

"Of course." She thought for a moment "I have rings, but Aunt Beryl has probably seen them all, and none is really suitable for a wedding ring."

Benedict sighed and reached inside his coat, fumbling with the chain of his watch. After a moment, he slid off a small ring and refastened the chain. He strode forward, holding out the ring on the palm of his hand. "Here. You had better use this."

Camilla's eyes widened. It was a beautifully engraved gold ring, centered with a bloodied ruby. She reached out and took it between her fingertips, bringing it closer to examine it. "But...it's beautiful!"

Benedict raised an eyebrow. "I hope you did not a.s.sume that I was a thief without taste."

"Oh." Camilla's delight in the ring's beauty lessened. "You stole it."

"You may tell some romantic tale about it Say it belonged to my beloved grandmother and that is why I gave it to you for your wedding ring."

Camilla nodded, her eyes beginning to gleam as she slipped the ring on her finger. Benedict groaned. "For mercy's sake, don't make it too complicated. And," he added scowling, "whatever you do-don't you dare lose it."

"I won't I promise." Camilla held her hand up, admiring the workmanship of the ring. It really was beautiful. It would be quite easy to weave a romantic tale around it. She wished she did not know that it didn't belong to him.

There was a knock upon the door, startling them both. Camilla glanced at Benedict and called to the visitor to come in. The door opened to reveal a young girl dressed in the plain gray dress and starched white ap.r.o.n of one of the maids.

"I'm Millie, miss, I mean, mum. I'm one of the upstairs maids."

"Yes, of course, Millie. You are one of Rose's sisters, aren't you?"

The girl flushed with pleasure at being recognized. Mrs. Elliot never knew her name, despite the fact that the woman had been here for several months. "Yes, mi-uh, mum, I am. Mrs. Blakely, she said I was to come and be your abigail."

"How kind of her," Camilla murmured, but a cold chill ran down her spine at the girl's words. Millie was here to help Camilla undress and get into her nightclothes. It was a service she was accustomed to and needed, for her bodices usually fastened with a long row of b.u.t.tons down the back. Millie would not think it was odd to help Camilla undress with Camilla's husband standing there in the room. But she could not change into her nightgown in front of a man! She could not allow him to see her in her undergarments.

Camilla glanced over at Benedict. The amused glint in his eye told her that he was quite aware of her predicament. She knew that there would be no help coming from that quarter. No doubt he would find it quite funny to see her humiliated.

"I, uh..." Camilla glanced around her, trying to think of some excuse. She supposed she could insist on going into the dressing room to change, but it would look odd. They had just agreed to put on a convincing show of being married, and her hiding to undress would certainly damage that.

"Why don't you take down my hair first?" Camilla suggested, and walked stiffly to the vanity table. She sat down in front of the mirror, and Millie obediently came up behind her and began to unpin Camilla's hair. Camilla's mind raced, trying to think of a way out of her predicament.

Benedict lounged on the couch on which he had proposed sleeping, watching her lazily. Camilla knotted her hands together in her lap. Perhaps if she sent the maid down to the kitchen to get a cup of warm milk for her, she could talk to Benedict and convince him to leave the room while she finished undressing.

She cast a quick sideways glance at him. He was watching Millie brush out her hair now, and there was a warmth in his eyes that did strange things to Camilla's stomach. Why was he looking at her like that? What did it mean? His eyes made her jittery; they were no longer amused. Of course, he had said that they must look at each other differently, as if they were in love. That must be what he was doing. However, it made her nervous, and she wished he would stop it Millie finished brushing out her hair. The maid's hands went to the top b.u.t.ton of Camilla's dress. Camilla tried to say something to stop her, but her throat was suddenly dry, and only an odd noise came out.

"My dear." Benedict rose lithely from the sofa and strolled over to the vanity table. "If you will excuse me, I believe I shall step outside for a cigar before we go to bed." He smiled on her benignly. "I know how much you hate the smell of it."

Camilla glanced at him, amazed. "Thank you."

He reached down and took her hand and raised it to his lips. The touch of his lips across her skin sent a shiver down through her. "Anything for you, my darling. You know that."

He walked out the door, and Camilla went limp with relief. She glanced up at the maid then, afraid that she had noticed her reaction to her supposed husband's departure. But Millie was paying not the slightest attention to her. Her hands had fallen away from Camilla's dress, and her eyes were fixed dreamily on the door through which Benedict had departed. She released a long sigh.

"Oh, mum, what a handsome man he is. And so polite..."

"Yes, thank you, Millie."

Millie returned to unb.u.t.toning Camilla's dress, but her irrepressible tongue did not stop. "Everyone in the servants' hall is so happy for you, Miss Camilla. They been talking of nothing else ever since Her Ladyship told Mrs. Elliot about it. And tonight-when you come in with him, well, you can imagine, they were that excited. Such a fine gentleman."

Camilla squirmed a little inside with guilt She wished everyone was not so excited about her supposed marriage. It made her feel like a wretch. For the first time, it occurred to her what outpourings of sympathy she would get when her pretend husband "died." The thought made her feel even worse.

She hurried through her undressing, afraid that Benedict might walk back in, right at the worst moment, though she did take time for a quick bath to rid herself of the last vestiges of mud. When Millie seemed inclined to linger and talk, she practically shooed her out the door. Millie smiled knowingly at this behavior, and Camilla realized with a blush that Millie thought she was eager for Benedict's return.

She closed the door behind the girl and turned the oil lamp on the small bedside table down to its lowest, then hopped into the high bed. She wanted to be in bed and at least pretending to be asleep by the time Benedict returned.

As it turned out, she had quite a while to wait. She tossed and turned and squeezed her eyes shut over and over again, but sleep did not come, only boredom and a growing curiosity over where Benedict was and what he was doing. She was on the point of wondering whether he had gotten cold feet over the whole project and decided to scale the garden wall when at last she heard the sc.r.a.pe of a bootheel in the hall outside and the door to her room opened quietly. She closed her eyes immediately, watching through her lashes as Benedict eased into the room and shut the door softly behind him.

He glanced toward her, then crossed the room almost stealthily. It occurred to Camilla that perhaps he had intentionally waited until he thought she would be asleep before he came back to the room. She wondered if he had done it to be thoughtful or simply because he did not want to have to talk to her again. She suspected it had been for the latter reason. He carried a single candle with him, which he set down on the small table at one end of the fainting couch. He shrugged out of his jacket and folded it, carefully laying it across the back of a straight chair. Camilla's chest tightened as she realized that he was about to undress.

She closed her eyes tightly at the thought. But she could not resist opening them a narrow slit again. It occurred to her that she was violating his privacy as he had not violated hers, but she shoved the thought aside. It was not as if he were going to take off all his clothes, she told herself. Surely he would not lie on the couch naked. Nor could she quite picture him undressing and pulling on a nightgown such as her grandfather wore. But if, perchance, he did, she would close her eyes.

Benedict removed his cuff links and set them aside, then rolled up his sleeves, revealing tanned, muscled arms. He sat down on the couch and began to pull off his boots-a gesture so masculine and at the same time so intimate that it stirred an odd sensation deep in her abdomen. His hands were large and long-fingered, their movements supple. Camilla remembered the strength of them around her arms, and the way they had slipped over her body as she and he had struggled in the mud, touching her in places where no man had ever touched her-and not entirely by accident, in her opinion. His muscles moved beneath the skin of his arms as he tugged off the boots.

Camilla's mouth felt dry as dust. His boots were off now, and he stripped off his stockings and wiggled his feet appreciatively, leaning back against the couch with a sigh. His fingers went to work on the intricacies of his cravat, and after a moment, he pulled off the long strip of white cloth and dropped it on the floor. His waistcoat he removed more carefully and placed with the jacket. He stood and began to unb.u.t.ton his shirt.

Camilla knew that she should stop watching now, but she could not close her eyes. They were riveted to his chest as the sides of his shirt fell away, b.u.t.ton after b.u.t.ton, revealing a swath of flesh all the way down to his trousers. He peeled the shirt back off his shoulders and dropped it on the chair. Camilla's eyes traveled over him, from the bony outcroppings of his shoulders down the length of his chest, smoothly padded with muscle, to his narrow waist. Camilla had never seen a man's naked chest before, and she could not control her curiosity enough to look away or close her eyes. She stared at the dark circles of his flat masculine nipples and at the dark, curling hairs that grew in a vee down his chest, narrowing into a thin line as it drew near his stomach. A dark line curved around his lower rib cage on the right side; she realized that it must be a scar.

Benedict turned away and walked over to the fireplace, and Camilla studied his back. The muscles were thick along his shoulders and back, curving to the bony outline of his spine. Camilla was aware of a curious desire to touch his back, to feel the contrast of hard bone and smooth muscle beneath the skin.

He squatted beside the fire and stuck the poker into the coals, sending up a shower of sparks and making the coals burn a bright red. He was half turned from Camilla, and she could see the play of the firelight on his face and chest, lighting his skin with a golden glow. She pressed her legs together tightly, aware of an unaccustomed warmth between them.

When he had the fire adjusted to his liking, Benedict rose and turned, starting toward Camilla's bed. Camilla barely suppressed a gasp, and she squeezed her eyes shut. She lay tensely, listening to the approach of his soft footfalls. He was almost there, she could sense his presence, but she did not dare to open her eyes. He stood beside the bed for a long moment. Her heart raced. What was he doing? What was he going to do? He leaned forward, and it was all Camilla could do to keep from shrinking away from him.

He stretched over her. She could feel the heat of his body, sense his bulk. Her throat tightened; she could scarcely breathe.

He picked up the pillow on the other side of her and straightened up. Tucking it under one arm, he pulled a blanket from the bed, as well, and started toward his couch. Camilla's taut muscles went limp.

He turned back to look at her and, in a mocking whisper, asked, "Well, Miss Camilla? Did you see enough to satisfy you?"

He had known she was awake and watching him!

Her eyes flew open. He was standing two feet from her bed, his eyes alight with amus.e.m.e.nt, a smile curving his lips. Heat flooded her face, and she was glad for the concealing dimness of the room. In that moment, she hated him. She picked up the closest thing at hand, a pillow, and, with an unintelligible shriek, she threw it at him. He laughed, ducking and lifting an arm to deflect the soft missile. He blew out the oil lamp burning beside the bed, then turned and walked back to his couch, still chuckling to himself.

He pinched out the candle, and the room was plunged into darkness. Camilla lay in the darkness, still flooded with humiliation, and thought furious thoughts about him. It was even worse when, in a few minutes, she heard the slow, steady sound of his breathing and knew that he had fallen asleep, while she lay wide awake and thoroughly humiliated.

She tossed and turned, trying to find a comfortable spot, but it seemed hopeless. She was still awake some time later when the door-to her room opened stealthily, and a man crept into the room.

Chapter 6.

For an instant, fear paralyzed Camilla. Then the man turned toward her bed, his candle casting light on his face, and she recognized him. She started to speak, but in the same instant Benedict came off his makeshift bed in one smooth motion, a drawn pistol in his hand.

"Stop right there," he barked.

The other man jumped, startled. "Ow! d.a.m.nation!" He let out a string of oaths. "You scared the devil out of me. Burned myself with candle wax." He peered across the room at Benedict. "Who the b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l are you, anyway, and what are you doing here?"

"I might ask you the same question," Benedict retorted. "Who are you, and what are you doing in my wife's bedroom?"

"Your wife!" the other man e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, staring.

"Oh, hush!" Camilla said to the room in general, scrambling out of bed and running across the room to the young man. "Anthony!"

"Milla!" He grinned and opened his arms, catching her as she flung herself at him. He lifted her up and hugged her tightly.

Benedict, surveying them sourly, lowered his pistol and waited.

The young man set Camilla down with a final squeeze, saying, "Careful, you're going to light your hair on fire. Lord save us, what sort of game are you at now?"

Camilla giggled. "Shut the door and come in and I'll tell you." She turned as he went to the door to do as she said. "Oh, Benedict, do put that gun away. 'Tis not a thief, only my cousin, Anthony."

Benedict put the gun down but continued to look at Anthony with disapproval. "What's he doing creeping into your bedroom at this time of night, anyway?"

"Who is this man?" Anthony countered indignantly. "And what in the name of all that's holy is he doing in your bedroom, Camilla?"

"Well..." Camilla grinned, a look of mischief coming over her face. "Actually, he is my husband."

"What?"

Camilla laughed at his outraged expression. 'I'll tell you all about it. I promise you. But first come over here and let me look at you. I swear, you've grown at least two inches since I saw you last."

She lit the oil lamp, turning it up, and pulled Anthony into the circle of its light. Its glow revealed a young, gangly man, already grown to a man's height, but with the narrow leanness of youth. His face was square-jawed and handsome, his eyes a pale blue, and his hair a fine blond cloud of curls. He would have looked angelic, had it not been for the spark of mischief that usually lay in his eyes and the burgeoning muscles of his arms and shoulders.

"I was disappointed when we got here and Purdle said that you had retired," Camilla told him, smiling. "I was sure you must be sick."

Anthony groaned. "I can't stand sitting around with Aunt Beryl after dinner, making polite chitchat and listening to Kitty and Amanda murder Mozart. It's even worse now that Mama has arrived with that puppy Thorne in tow, always spouting off poetry to her eyes and such. Why, do you know, he wrote an ode to her brow the other day. Her brow! Now, I ask you... what can one say about a forehead? Then there's Cousin Bertram, with all his airs, and that silent chap with him. It's enough to drive a fellow straight into a megrim, I'll tell you." He looked aggrieved, thinking of the many wrongs he had to endure. "But, wait, you are not getting me off the subject that way. We were talking about him." He scowled in Benedict's direction.

"She told you," Benedict said blandly. "I am her husband."

"You can't be."

"Why not?"

"She's never said a word about you."

"Why, hasn't Lady Marbridge told you that Camilla is now married?"

"But that's just some flummery of hers," Anthony protested. "It isn't true."

"Stop teasing him," Camilla told Benedict, then turned to Anthony. "Of course it isn't true. Benedict is merely pretending to be my husband."

Anthony stared at her, thunderstruck. Benedict let out a low growl. "Camilla, I thought we agreed..."

"But that was not to tell Aunt Lydia. Anthony is different. I promise you, he can be trusted with a secret. He's kept hundreds of mine over the years. And he tells bang-up lies."

"What a recommendation," Benedict said dryly.

"Well, it is. He could always tell whoppers with the straightest face."

"Yes," that worthy young gentleman agreed, "it was always you who got us caught"

"That's not true!" Camilla protested.

Anthony arched an eyebrow. "Oh, no? What about that time we hauled the pig up the stairs to-"