Indiscreet

by Candace Camp

  He knew that he was behaving like a fool. They were in a cave that was a perfect hideout for the smugglers, and instead of paying attention to it, he kept letting his eyes go to her. Worse, his thoughts seemed to stay there, too. It had been that way all morning—indeed, ever since their embrace in the garden. All the time he was talking to the servants or looking around the house and grounds, his mind had kept straying from smugglers back to kisses and clear blue eyes and a body as soft as her tongue was sharp.

  Moreover, what he was thinking of was impossible. Camilla was not the sort of woman whom he could have and then leave, no seller of flesh, nor a dissatisfied wife or lonely widow who was interested in a casual affair, the only sort of women whose company he had allowed himself the past few years. No, she was an unmarried girl of good name, a virgin, no doubt, and despite the fact that she had gotten herself into this compromising situation, he could not in good conscience take advantage of it. To sleep with her would be to commit himself, and that was something he had vowed never to be so foolish as to do again.

  But at this moment, he was having difficulty remembering his promises. There was something so entrancing about the white column of her throat…and that errant black curl that clung to her cheek…the softness of her arms beneath his hands. He realized that unconsciously his fingers had begun to caress those arms.

  He told himself that he should leave, walk out of the cave and back to their horses. To stay here was insane…dangerous.

  “To hell with it,” he murmured, and leaned closer.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CAMILLA TOOK A shaky step backward but came up against the wall of the cave and stopped. He moved closer still and braced his hands against the wall on either side of her head. He ached to lean into her, to press his suddenly hard, throbbing flesh into her softness. Only a remnant of good sense kept him from doing so.

  “You have a curious effect on me,” he murmured, taking the straying curl between his fingers and gently rubbing it. The silken feel of it sent tendrils of heat curling through his abdomen.

  “I do?” Camilla’s voice came out breathless and high. All she could think about was how close he was and how she would like to trace the sensual curve of his lower lip with her finger.

  Acting on the impulse, she reached up and ran her forefinger along his lip. It was smooth and warm, and the feel of it sent a shiver straight down through her. Benedict’s eyes darkened, and he bent toward her until his head was almost touching hers. She could read the passion in his eyes, and it stirred her.

  He placed his lips where her curl had lain against her neck. Gently he nuzzled her skin, and shivers darted through her. Her breath caught in her throat, and she was aware only of the heat of his body so close to hers, the tingling of her skin where his lips touched it, the strange flowering of heat between her legs. His hand came up and cupped her breast. His thumb found and caressed her nipple through the cloth of her bodice. The little point elongated at his touch, engorged and hard, and her other breast ached for a similar touch. As if he knew, his other hand slid down and found her breast and began to gently knead it.

  His mouth explored her throat at length, teasing and caressing, even gently nipping with his teeth, and with each new sensation the fire between Camilla’s legs grew. She moved her legs a little apart, hoping to ease the heat. Feeling her movement, Benedict slipped his knee between hers, opening them more. Then, to her surprise, he put his hands beneath her hips and moved her up and forward, seating her firmly on his thigh.

  Camilla gasped at the shock of pleasure that ran through her. He rocked her gently upon his iron-hard leg. She felt as if her loins had turned to flame. She whimpered, unconsciously moving her hips with the rocking of his hands, and moisture flooded between her legs. Benedict let out a low sound of satisfaction, pressing her even harder against him. He raised his head and sealed her mouth with his, tongue and lips taking hers with an almost savage ardor.

  He filled her senses. She could not think, could scarcely breathe, rocked as she was by delightful sensations. She could not contain small animal noises of passion, but Benedict swallowed them with his kiss. His lips sank deep into hers even as he pressed his leg harder against the very root of her desire. Camilla thought she might faint, yet her arms clung to him, pulling him more tightly against her. It was not enough, she knew; she wanted something more and harder. The very gate of her femininity ached and pulsated.

  Now his mouth left hers, and her head lolled back against the cool rock wall. Her chest rose and fell heavily. He unbuttoned the top few buttons of her bodice and pulled it down, shoving down her chemise as well, and exposing one lovely white orb. Benedict groaned and bent to take it in his mouth. He suckled on it, somehow both easing and increasing Camilla’s ache. She dug her fingers into his scalp, murmuring, “Please, please,” over and over in a sensual cadence, though she did not even know what it was she asked for.

  Sensation was building between her legs, so delightful it was almost painful. She longed for something, felt as if she were racing toward it, and yet it remained maddeningly out of her reach. She moved frantically against his leg, unable to control the little moans and pants that escaped her throat. She felt as if she were tumbling out of control toward something that she could only guess at.

  Outside the cave, one of the horses whickered, followed by the indistinct murmur of a man’s voice. The sounds penetrated the haze of their desire. Camilla stiffened. Benedict groaned and stepped back, fighting to regain control. Outside, there was a masculine laugh and the scrape of a boot heel.

  Benedict grabbed Camilla’s hand and moved deeper into the darkness of the cave. They turned a corner. Beyond them lay only impenetrable blackness. They had to stop. Camilla slumped back against the wall, still stunned by the force of the emotions that had moved through her.

  Benedict looked down at her. She had not made a move even to straighten her clothing, so her bodice still hung off one shoulder, cupping her bared white breast and pushing it saucily upward. Even in the dim light of the cave, he could see that the nipple was red and swollen from his kisses, gleaming wetly, beckoning him. Benedict swallowed hard, forcing back the desire that surged up in him anew.

  There was a man’s voice again, echoing so that Benedict knew he had entered the cave. “There must be someone here,” the man was saying, his voice laced with disappointment. “The horses must belong to someone.”

  There was the yellowish glow of a light beyond the curve in the wall, and Benedict surmised that the man and his companion must have brought a lantern with them.

  “Doubtless. Perhaps it is Camilla. The stable boy said that she and her husband had ridden out this morning.” His voice rose as he called out, “Camilla! Are you in here?”

  Camilla sighed. “Cousin Bertram,” she whispered. “We’ll have to go out and meet them.”

  Benedict nodded, wishing Camilla’s cousin were at the devil. He reached out and pulled her dress into place, his fingers brushing tenderly over her breast as he covered it. There was nothing he wanted so much as to linger there. It seemed the purest form of hell to have to pull himself back into some semblance of order and venture forth to meet Camilla’s foppish cousin.

  He turned away, breathing deeply, as Camilla called back, “Bertram? Is that you?”

  She smoothed her hair into place and pressed her palms against her hot cheeks, praying that what they had been doing would not be too obvious. She plastered a welcoming smile on her face and edged around the corner. She let out a forced chuckle when she saw her cousin and his friend Mr. Oglesby.

  “Oh, my, you will think us foolish indeed,” she said, walking toward her cousin. Benedict followed behind her, smiling grimly. “When we heard voices, we thought it might be the smugglers or such, and we hid farther back in the cave.”

  Benedict cast her a sharp look at her words, but said nothing.

&nb
sp; “Smugglers!” Bertram exclaimed, bringing his hand up to his heart theatrically. “Oh, my. Why, Terence and I never thought of that, did we?”

  The taciturn Mr. Oglesby did nothing but shake his head.

  “I see you brought a lantern,” Camilla chattered on. She was so nervous she could not seem to stop talking. What if Cousin Bertram guessed what they had been doing? Was the dim light of the cavern enough to conceal the heightened color in her cheeks and the state of her hair and clothes? What if one of her buttons was undone or the skirt of her riding habit was hiked up? She did not dare to check anything, though her fingers itched to do so. So she kept on talking, hoping with her chatter to distract the other men’s attention. “We were not so wise. We decided to explore the cave on the spur of the moment. Obviously you planned your expedition.”

  Bertram looked at her oddly, but said only, “Yes. Mr. Oglesby had expressed an interest in the local caves, so I undertook to show them to him.”

  “And you brought a lunch, as well.” Camilla looked at the wicker basket and blanket in Oglesby’s hands. “How delightful!”

  Bertram smiled stiffly, and the other man seemed to find something of great interest on the cave’s wall. “We thought we might spend quite a bit of time exploring the cave, so we had Cook pack us a lunch. Would you care to share it, perhaps? I am sure there is ample for all of us.”

  “Knowing Cook, I dare swear there is,” Camilla agreed gaily. “But we would not dream of imposing ourselves on you. Would we, Benedict? Besides, I am not really dressed for exploring.”

  Benedict agreed, nodding and smiling as he steered her around the other two and out into the sunlight. Camilla sagged against the cliff in relief. “Oh, God,” she said with a sigh, “what idiots we must have appeared.”

  A giggle rose to the surface, and she quickly clapped her hand over her mouth. But the nervous tension she had felt was quickly dissolving into laughter as she thought of the absurdity of the situation. “Oh, what we must have looked like!” she cried out softly, and began to laugh again.

  Benedict grabbed her arm and quickly walked her toward their horses. “Hush! They will hear you.”

  “I cannot help it,” she whispered back, struggling to stifle her giggles. “They are no doubt laughing at us, too! When I think of what the expressions on our faces must have been when we came around that corner! Cousin Bertram is too well-bred to betray anything, but I am sure he must have thought we were mad.”

  “I suspect your cousin Bertram has seen enough of the world that he had a pretty fair idea of what was going on,” Benedict retorted dryly.

  Camilla’s cheeks flamed anew with embarrassment, and she brought her hands up to them, as if to hide them. “I don’t know how I shall ever look him in the face again!”

  “Well, we are married,” he pointed out as he tossed her up into her saddle. He mounted his own horse, and they started to ride away. “There would be nothing wrong in newlyweds sneaking a few kisses away from a crowded house.”

  “Except that we are not really married. And it is still embarrassing to know that he is imagining what we were doing—or worse.” She was aware suddenly, as she had never been before, of the motion of the horse beneath her. Her fear and embarrassment over Cousin Bertram’s arrival had driven it away momentarily, but the hot ache between her legs had not completely gone away, and she could feel it building again as they rocked along. Desperately she sought for something to say to take her mind off her physical self. “Did you see poor Mr. Oglesby’s face? He kept trying to look at anything but us. I would have felt sorry for the man if I hadn’t been so busy feeling sorry for myself. No doubt he thinks Bertram’s family is a scandalous lot.”

  “Yes, I would say he was embarrassed, although a wooden countenance appears to be the man’s usual expression.”

  Camilla chuckled. “You are right. I should not be so unkind, I know, but Mr. Oglesby seems such a dull sort of friend for Cousin Bertram. Bertram is such a convivial man. He craves company, and he can always be counted on by a hostess to brighten up a party. I can’t think how he became friends with such a silent man as Mr. Oglesby.”

  “Perhaps it gives him more chance to speak.”

  Camilla shrugged. “Well, Oglesby is not the sort who is usually Bertram’s friend. I have met some of them, and they are generally a silly, frippery lot—more concerned about the cut of their waistcoats than anything else, and most voluble about their inanities, too.”

  “Interesting.” He was silent for a few more minutes as they rode back toward the house. Then he asked casually, “Is Bertram much given to caving?”

  “Bertram?” Camilla laughed. “Hardly. It would muss his clothes, you see. I can’t remember when I’ve ever heard of him going into the caves. Even when we were children, he had little liking for it. No, I am sure that their going there would be Mr. Oglesby’s doing. And carrying a picnic lunch, yet! They must be planning to spend some time there.”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “Odd sort of a place to choose to have a picnic,” Camilla went on. “I mean, it’s damp and cool, and nothing to sit on but hard rock.”

  “Doesn’t sound very inviting.”

  “There’s only one reason that I can think of to go there.”

  Benedict looked at her, intrigued. “Really? And what is that?”

  Camilla grinned impishly. “Why, to get away from Aunt Beryl, of course.”

  “Of course. I should have thought of that.”

  He smiled back at her, and a rush of pure desire swept through her all over again. How could this man make her feel this way? No other man had ever had such an effect on her. This afternoon in the cave, when he kissed and caressed her, it had been the most exciting, most breathtaking, thing she had ever known, and somehow she had been positive that there was something waiting for her along that path, something earth-shattering—if only she could reach it.

  She wondered if this feeling was what she missed by refusing to marry. Maybe other women routinely experienced this. Aunt Lydia? Aunt Beryl? Her mind boggled at the thought. She could not imagine her prim aunt swept up in throes of passion, no matter what the provocation.

  Camilla sneaked another glance at Benedict. Perhaps it was just him. Not a routine thing a woman felt with a man, but what a woman felt with just this one man. She looked at his hands on the reins. They were gloveless now; she didn’t know what had happened to his thin leather gloves. Had they wound up on the cave floor during those wild, wonderful moments? She looked at his long, supple fingers, at the backs of his hands, lightly sprinkled with dark hair. His hands were slender, yet strong, and they handled the horse firmly, capably. She remembered those same hands on her body, caressing her breasts, capable still, and oh, so gentle. Just thinking about it, she felt her nipples flame with heat and harden.

  She looked away, her eyes going to his broad shoulders and then sliding down his straight back. They strayed to his thighs, which were clamped around the horse, muscled and taut. Camilla swallowed and turned her head away. She was being a fool, she told herself. She would not, absolutely would not, let him see what effect he had on her.

  When they reached the stables and the groom came running out to take their horses, Benedict bowed and begged her pardon, saying that he thought he would take a walk around the estate before tea time. Camilla readily agreed. There was something in her that desperately wanted to remain in his company, but at the same time she wanted very much to be all alone to examine her feelings. So she turned and hurried into the house and upstairs to her room.

  She closed and locked the door and flung herself facedown across her bed. Her thoughts were a jumble; a wild mixture of sensations tingled through her. There was still a pulsation between her legs. Unconsciously her hand stole down her body and slipped in between her thighs. She pressed against the throbbing flesh, closing her eyes as she recalled how it ha
d felt to have his thigh there, rubbing against her, both soothing and increasing the ache. Her hand seemed a very poor substitute for him.

  Camilla groaned and rolled over. Whatever was the matter with her? She had never had such wild, licentious thoughts or feelings before. She hopped off the bed and rang for Millie. She had to do something; if she lay there thinking and remembering much longer, she was sure that she would go mad. When the maid came, she had her draw a bath. Then she bathed and washed her hair and dried it out by brushing it in front of the fire. By the time she was through with that, she was congratulating herself that she had gotten her unruly emotions under control again. She dressed in the most severe dress she had brought with her and had Millie wrap her hair up in a plain bun.

  Satisfied that there was nothing about her of the wild woman who had returned from their excursion, she went up to visit her grandfather.

  “Good Gad, girl, what have you done to yourself?” were the old man’s first words when she walked into the room. “You look like a nun.”

  Camilla rolled her eyes. “Oh, Grandpapa.”

  He motioned for her to sit on the bed beside him and took her hand. He studied her face for a moment, nodding to himself in satisfaction. Finally, he said, “Well, you may have taken it into your head to dress like a dried-up old spinster, but I’ve got eyes enough to see you don’t feel like one.”

  Camilla looked at him blankly. “What do you mean?”

  He chuckled. “Don’t be coy with me, missy. It’s obvious that your young man has put a sparkle in your eye.”