Indiscreet

by Candace Camp

  Camilla was so flooded with fury that for the moment she could not speak.

  Benedict went on as if nothing were wrong, “We cannot continue with you and your aunt saying the first lie that pops into your heads. We have to have a story and stick to it. That is number one.” He held up his hand, starting to tick off the numbers.

  “I agree. But that does not mean that you are the one to make up the story. And why did you tell Aunt Lydia that whopper about our being married? We don’t need to fool her. She already knew the truth. It just makes one more lie we have to tell.”

  “No. It means one less opportunity to get tripped up. If she knows the truth, she’s likely to slip up and say something to Mrs. Elliot that will reveal that you are not married. If she thinks we really are married, then she cannot. It’s that simple. And tell her to absolutely not make up any more lies on her own. Tell her that if she does, you will deny what she said, and she will look remarkably foolish.”

  “I can’t say that to her! She’s like a mother to me! She helped raise me after my parents died, even though she was barely more than a bride herself, with a baby son to raise.”

  “I am sure she is a wonderful woman,” he replied disinterestedly. “She is also featherheaded.”

  “You don’t even know her!”

  “One doesn’t need to know her. It’s obvious. Only a nincompoop would have told Mrs. Elliot you were married, knowing that you weren’t even really engaged.”

  “I thought it was rather clever of her to give us that hint, though, when we first came in the drawing room.”

  “It would have been more clever to have waylaid you before you reached the room and told you the whole of it. At least that way you wouldn’t have looked like a landed trout when she called me your husband.”

  “You are the most insulting man I have ever met.”

  “No doubt. But that has nothing to do with what we’re talking about.”

  “It certainly does. I don’t want Aunt Lydia to think that I actually married someone as boorish as you.”

  “Tell her I have lots of money. That always makes up for a great deal of boorishness. Besides, just think how pleasant it will be when you can tell everyone that I have died.”

  “Perhaps we could arrange an accident tomorrow,” Camilla said pointedly.

  A smile flashed briefly across his face, surprising her. “At least you have a sense of humor. That will help.” He paused. “Well, are you willing to do those things? To tell Lydia to keep quiet and to not inform her about me or the charade we are playing?”

  “But what will I tell her? Why wouldn’t I have told her about you before? And why would I have gone through all that pretense about a fiancé if I were planning to marry you?”

  “I don’t know. You are the one who is so creative. Maybe it was very sudden. Or tell her you had to keep our love a secret for some reason. We thought there was no hope for us or something. Say I was betrothed to someone else.”

  “So I kept silent about my feelings, even with Aunt Lydia. Hmm, I suppose it might work. I could say that was why I refused to ever marry, that I wanted no one if I could not have you. But then your fiancée died, and you were free.”

  “What is this morbid fascination you have with killing people? Just say the poor girl realized what a boor I am.”

  Camilla grimaced. “I told you, I cannot have a boor for a husband. You are simply going to have to pretend to be pleasant. Anyway, I have a much better idea. I shall say that you lost your fortune, and she, the girl you were betrothed to, cast you off because you were penniless.” She paused. “Why are you looking at me that way?”

  “What way?” His voice was guarded.

  “I don’t know. You just looked…odd.”

  “I was stunned by your aptitude for embellishing any story with melodrama.”

  “Well, it makes it much more interesting. I mean, her just deciding that you wouldn’t suit is so…ordinary.”

  “Ordinary is the most believable,” he pointed out. “Not to mention the easiest. Why don’t you stick to plain lies? Tell Lydia that you and I were in love, but I was promised to another, and then this fictitious girl broke it off, and you and I were free to marry. Because of your grandfather, we decided to get married without delay, knowing how it would please him.”

  “All right.” Camilla sighed and turned away. For the first time since they had entered the room, she actually became aware of it—the soft light, the intimate setting…the large, postered bed that dominated the room. She swallowed hard. She was going to spend the night alone in this room with a strange man. Not only that, everyone in the house, even Aunt Lydia, thought that he was her husband.

  Camilla cast a nervous glance back at Benedict.

  “Don’t worry,” he said roughly, interpreting her look. “Your reputation will not be damaged, not as long as we convince everyone that we are married. There is nothing wrong with sleeping with your husband, and once you ‘do away’ with me, you will just be a widow, and no one will ever know.”

  “Except me. And you.”

  He regarded her for a moment, then said, “Are you suggesting that I might take advantage of the situation?”

  “It had occurred to me.” She faced him resolutely.

  “Don’t worry,” he told her bluntly. “I have never yet taken an unwilling woman, and I don’t plan to start now. Least of all with you.”

  Camilla drew a sharp breath at the casual insult, her eyes flying to his face. He chuckled, his brows going up questioningly. “What? Would you rather think that I will be lusting after your lily-white body the entire time we are together here? Well, I am sorry to disillusion you, but I will not. I prefer a woman with more experience. Coy virgins are not for me.”

  “I see,” Camilla said sharply. “Then you prefer a woman who sells herself?”

  “All women sell themselves. It is just the price that varies. Personally, I prefer an honest whore to the sort of pristine miss who teases and lures a man, all the while keeping her legs locked, until he’s willing to put a ring on her finger and his goods in her purse.”

  Camilla stared at him, amazed. “I hate to think how you acquired that view of women.”

  He gave a small, humorless laugh. “From experience.”

  Camilla turned away. She went to the window and pushed aside the drapes, gazing down into the moon-washed garden below. “How can you do this?” she asked slowly. “How can you pretend to be married, when you have such a view of women?”

  He was silent for a moment, then said, “For money. Don’t you remember?”

  “I don’t mean why did you agree. I meant, how could it be possible for you to act like a married man, feeling as you do?”

  He looked into her eyes, and there was a long silence. “I can remember.” His voice was hoarse, and he cleared his throat. “I can remember the fool I was before.”

  Something about his voice sent a sympathetic pain through Camilla’s chest. “You must have loved her very much.”

  “There was nothing there to love.” His face and tone were as cool and hard as glass. “I think we are straying from the subject. Our problem is convincing your aunt Beryl that we are married. To do so, we must sleep together in this room. She will not believe that you would risk such scandal if you were not married to me. I give you my word that I will not seduce you or force you.”

  Camilla’s cheeks pinkened at his blunt words. “But what will you— I mean, where will you sleep?”

  He glanced around the room and pointed toward a door. “What is in there?”

  “It is the dressing room.” Camilla’s face brightened. “Oh! It is rather large. I remember when I was sick, Nurse used to bring a cot down and sleep in there, so that she could hear me if I called.”

  “Is there a cot in there now?” He opened the door and
stepped inside, surveying the room.

  “No. She had one of the footmen bring it down. I don’t know where it came from—the attic, perhaps. I could have one brought in.”

  “No. Too blatant. We must not give Aunt Beryl any reason to doubt the union. Perhaps, after a while, we could have a ‘lovers’ spat’ and you could kick me out onto the cot.” He came back into the room and walked over to the fainting couch that stood against the opposite wall. “But for the moment, I think this would be the best place for me to sleep.”

  Camilla looked at it doubtfully. “It is too short for you. You wouldn’t be comfortable.”

  He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Perhaps you would rather sleep there? No? I thought not. Just give me a blanket and pillow, and I will be fine. Believe me, I’ve slept in far worse places.”

  “All right.” Camilla started toward the bed to get the pillow, but he caught her wrist as she turned away.

  “Wait. That’s not all.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that we haven’t finished talking.”

  “Why not?”

  “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 sexual 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, embarrassed, 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 scrape 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 bloodred 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 assume 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 apron 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 buttons 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 button 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.”