Indiscreet

by Candace Camp

  “Ideal,” he replied dryly.

  “I thought so. Anyway, we met there, and we fell in love. But you could not ask for my hand, you see, because you had to stay with your mother, who had consumption.”

  “Good Gad.”

  “I was too young, anyway. So we said we would wait. But in our hearts we felt as if we were engaged. Only then your uncle—”

  “Ah, the wicked uncle.”

  “Yes. He did not want you to marry me, so he intercepted our letters and concealed them from us. We each came to believe that the other one no longer loved us, since we never got any letters, and of course I was heartbroken. I refused to marry, because no other man ever measured up.”

  Benedict chuckled. “How could they?”

  Camilla made a face at his quip. “Only, unknown to me, you, too, did not marry, still carrying the flame of passion for me in your heart.”

  “I was such a nodcock that this whole time I never thought to come to London and check with you? Ask you why you stopped writing and whether you no longer loved me?”

  “Of course not. You could not have, obviously, for that would have ruined my whole story.”

  “So I am not only lovesick, but a fool?”

  “No! You were very noble. You knew that your fortune was not grand and you had no title, so you felt you were not truly worthy of me, although, of course, none of that mattered to me.”

  “Ah, better and better. Foolish, tied to my mother’s apron strings, and now penniless and baseborn, as well.”

  “No, not baseborn. I never said that. Nor penniless, either. Aunt Lydia would not really approve of my marrying you if our stations were that disparate. She is romantic, but not completely impractical.”

  “I am relieved. Tell me, if we were at such a standstill, no longer communicating and never seeing each other, how did we ever get married?”

  “Oh, that is because I moved to Bath last year. You see, when I turned twenty-four, I knew that I was quite old enough that, being unmarried, I would be considered a spinster. And, having my inheritance, I could live on my own, with a companion, of course. So I hired a companion, an in-law of my father’s sister.”

  “Not one of the boring Barringtons.”

  “Oh, no. They, unfortunately, are blood relatives. Drucilla is much nicer and only related to me through my aunt’s husband. We took up residence in a sweet little house in Bath.”

  “This part of the tale, I assume, is true?”

  “Yes.”

  “I am surprised your grandfather allowed you to do such a thing.”

  “He did not like it, I assure you. But I am a grown woman, and it was all perfectly respectable. And since I was living in London with Aunt Lydia at the time, he really could not stop me. He wrote me letters, of course, threatening to come up and bodily move me back here, but Aunt Lydia and I were able to soothe him enough in our letters that he did not do so. Of course, he continued to write and tell me I was a terrible influence on Anthony, who was now wanting to come up and live with me, to provide safety for me. As if it would have been respectable for my cousin and me to be living there together with no older relatives! Otherwise, I would have begged Grandpapa to let him, for he is so terribly bored here. I worry about him.”

  “I worry about you. I do not think I have ever met such a female in my life.”

  “Probably not,” Camilla agreed judiciously.

  “I don’t think you would know the truth if you met it driving to Newcastle. You have told so many falsehoods since I’ve met you that I have no idea how you even keep them all straight.”

  “It is getting difficult,” Camilla admitted. “But you were the one who wanted me to develop another lie to tell Aunt Lydia about our marriage. I had intended to tell her the truth.”

  “Then there’s the way you went off and lived by yourself, as if you were a widow or something! Twenty-five is not an established spinster, my dear girl, and even if it were, you should hardly be living on your own, with only a hired companion. One would think you have no relatives, instead of quite a few loving ones.”

  “But loving relatives can be the worst. They can make you feel simply smothered, you know.”

  “No. I am afraid I don’t. I, you see, have only the wicked uncle.”

  A little gurgle of laughter escaped her lips. “Do you really have an uncle?”

  “I did have. But he is dead now—and when he was alive, he was a good fellow who would never have dreamed of interfering with my love life.”

  Benedict stopped, pulling Camilla to a halt with him. Putting his hands on her arms, he turned her to face him and smiled down at her as if they were having an ordinary conversation. No, not quite that. He was looking at her as if…as if he were hungry.

  “Don’t pull away,” he told her quietly, all the while gazing at her in that odd, unnerving way. “Your aunt Beryl is in the bay window, watching us. No! Don’t look. Keep looking at me.”

  “Why?”

  “And smile at me, as if I had told you you are beautiful.”

  She could not keep from softening into a smile at his words.

  “Good. That’s it. Now…we are going to put on a little show for your aunt.”

  “To convince her that we are married?”

  “Quick girl. Yes. So please don’t pull away or slap my face.”

  His face was lowering to hers. Camilla felt her breath coming faster in her throat. She knew that he was going to kiss her, yet still she asked, “Why?”

  “I am going to kiss you.” His lips brushed lightly over hers, soft as a hummingbird’s wings. “Kiss you as if I had lain between your legs.”

  She gasped at his words, and then his mouth covered hers.

  His lips were gentler than they had been last night in the coach, but still firm and insistent. They moved on hers, digging deeper, pressing her own lips apart. Then his tongue flicked out, teasing at her lips, and it slipped inside her mouth, moving with velvet softness around her own tongue. His arms went around her tightly, pulling her hard against his body. Camilla trembled, glad for the support, yet even more unsettled by the feel of his hard body against hers. Her fingers curled unconsciously into his jacket, clinging to him in the maelstrom of sensations that enveloped her.

  Finally he raised his head and looked down at her. Camilla, aware of a deep pulsation within her abdomen, hoped that he would not release her now, or she might fall. Breathlessly she asked, “Is that enough, do you think? To convince her?”

  A sensual smile curved his lips, and he answered huskily, “No, I think she should see at least one more.”

  He bent his head toward hers once more, and this time Camilla went up on tiptoe to meet him. He let out a low groan at this evidence of her eagerness, and his lips sank into hers hungrily. He kissed her deeply, fully, as if he would consume her, but Camilla, a little to her surprise, was not at all frightened by his hunger, only stirred in a most delightful way. Every nerve in her body was suddenly alive and sizzling, and heat blossomed low in her abdomen. She had never felt this way, never even guessed that such feelings existed. Her arms went around his neck, and she kissed him back, her tongue twining around his.

  Benedict’s hands moved down her back, curving over her hips and pressing her up into him. Camilla was aware of something hard against her, pushing urgently. He lifted her almost off her feet, rubbing her abdomen against him. Moisture flooded between her legs, thick and hot, and there was a deep, pulsing ache there. She realized with some amazement that what she yearned for was to feel him there. She was flooded with heat at the thought, embarrassed and excited all at the same time. She wondered if he knew what she was feeling, what she was thinking. It would be humiliating for her if he realized that he had such power over her, and yet…there was such need pouring through him, so much so that she felt a tremor pass through h
is arms, that she knew she had this heady power over him, as well.

  He tore his mouth away from hers and trailed hot, greedy kisses down her throat. Camilla shivered at the delightful sensation, and she lolled her head back, offering up her soft white throat to him. He made an inarticulate noise, and his hand slid up and around her body to cup her breast. A fierce white heat speared through her at the intimate touch, and she moved against him unconsciously. He mumbled something against her skin, his hot breath tickling her. Camilla let out a soft sigh, melting against him as his hand caressed her breast. His mouth moved lower, onto the quivering top of her breast. Camilla’s hand slid up and into his hair. Heat enveloped her, and she found it hard to think. She felt as if she were slipping away, sliding down into a red-hot maelstrom of desire, and she had no idea where it would end.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “CAMILLA! WHERE ARE YOU?” A male voice came booming across the yard, plunging Camilla and Benedict back into stark reality.

  Camilla gasped, stiffening. Benedict’s head came up, his dark eyes glittering.

  “I’ll kill him.” He grated out the words. “Who the devil is it?”

  “Cousin Harold,” Camilla said with a groan, pulling away and smoothing her dress back into place.

  “Bloody hell! How many cousins do you have?”

  “Too many. There is only one more of the Elliots, but he is in the army, so hopefully we shan’t see him.”

  “With our luck, his regiment will come to town tomorrow.” Benedict turned aside, combing his fingers back through his hair in an impatient gesture.

  “Halloo!” came the booming voice again, and now a tall man came around the corner of the box hedge. He was dressed in severe black and wore a low-crowned hat. Around his neck was a white clerical band.

  “Good God! Your cousin’s a clergyman?”

  Camilla nodded. “Grandpapa gave him the living at Edgecombe.” She raised her hand and waved toward her cousin, forcing a smile to her face.

  Benedict drew a deep breath and released it slowly, tugging on the lapels of his jacket to straighten it. He turned back to her, his face under control, and cast an assessing glance down her. He stepped forward and, with a proprietary air, retied the ribbon adorning her neckline, which had come loose during their heated embrace. His eyes for a moment glowed with their earlier heat, and his mouth softened sensually. His gaze went to her breasts, the nipples still pointed with arousal. As his hand pulled away from the ribbon, he brushed his knuckles across one nipple.

  Camilla drew in her breath sharply. He glanced back up at her face. Her lips were rosy and faintly swollen, and just looking at them sent desire spearing through his gut again. “There’s no hiding that you have been well and thoroughly kissed.”

  “Benedict!”

  There was no time to say anything else, for by this time the vicar of Edgecombe was upon them. He swept his hat from his head, executing a creditable, if somewhat stiff, bow. “My dear cousin!”

  He came forward, ignoring Benedict, and grabbed Camilla’s hands.

  “Hello, Cousin Harold.” Camilla tugged vainly at her hands. “It is so nice to see you. May I introduce my husband, Mr. Benedict Lassiter?”

  Harold looked shocked and, to Camilla’s relief, dropped her hands as if they had burned him. “Your what?” He turned toward Benedict.

  “Husband,” Benedict supplied helpfully. “How do you do?”

  “But— I thought—”

  “Didn’t your mother tell you?” Camilla asked.

  “Why, yes, she did say something about it, but, frankly, I thought it was all one of Aunt Lydia’s little faradiddles.”

  “Oh, no. Benedict is quite real,” Camilla assured him.

  “This is so—so surprising.” He looked at Camilla, saying earnestly, “You know that I had always cherished the hope…”

  “Ah, Cousin Harold.” Camilla smiled winningly. “Don’t try to pretend you meant any of those blandishments you were always giving me. Why, everyone knew you were merely being gallant. The two of us would never have suited. I am far too frivolous.”

  “Only because you are still young. I am convinced that in time you would have settled down and…” His eyes dropped down to her full breasts, then skittered away. He cleared his throat. “Um, well, become a proper wife and loving mother.”

  “Indeed, I am sure she will be,” Benedict interjected, taking Camilla’s hand and tucking it into his arm possessively. His hard eyes bored into the other man’s. “Why don’t we return to the house, where we can have a more comfortable visit?”

  “Oh, yes,” Camilla agreed quickly as they started to walk back into the house. She was a little surprised by Benedict’s obvious antagonism toward the other man. “I am sure everyone else wants to see you, as well. Indeed, I am quite surprised that Aunt Beryl allowed you out of her presence so soon after your arriving.”

  “She did not know I was here. As soon as Purdle told me you were in the garden, I rushed out to see you.” He paused, considering. “It would have been more dutiful of me, no doubt, to have gone first to visit my mother. However, since she has been living here for some months now, we see each other several times a week, and I do not think it is slighting her to go to you first.”

  “No, I am sure it is not,” Camilla agreed, for her cousin’s always sober face was set in even grimmer lines than usual. “I know that your mother would say that you are her most dutiful son.”

  “Since Graeme is always off with the regiment and Bertram thinks of no one but himself, I cannot feel that that is the highest recommendation.”

  They returned to the sitting room, where Cousin Bertram and Lydia still sat, now joined by Anthony.

  “Hello,” Camilla announced merrily. “Look who we came upon in the garden!”

  She was not sure which of the occupants of the room looked up at them with most horror. Anthony glanced quickly around, as if seeking escape, and Lydia turned a reproachful gaze upon Camilla. Cousin Bertram merely sighed in a resigned way.

  “Hallo, brother dear,” he said languidly, rising to execute an elegant bow. “So we are to have the pleasure of your company again. I had not realized it was so near time for luncheon.”

  Camilla had to press her lips together to keep from giggling. Harold was well-known for dropping in right at the time for a meal, though no one was entirely sure if this was due to his parsimoniousness or to the quality of his housekeeper’s cooking.

  Harold’s eyes narrowed at his brother’s comment, but he replied blandly, “Is it that late? I was unaware of the time. I have been out all morning visiting the sick of the parish.”

  “Of course.”

  Harold greeted Anthony, managing to annoy him by clapping him heartily on the shoulder and calling him “son.” Harold had decided since Anthony’s own father had died that it was up to him to act in a father’s stead to Anthony, giving him frequent advice and even more frequent lectures on the wickedness of his ways.

  “How are your studies?” Harold went on to ask Anthony, sitting down beside him.

  “Fine.”

  “I shall have to ask you a few questions later to make sure of that,” Harold told him in a ponderously playful manner, wagging his forefinger at him. More seriously, he turned to Lydia and said, “You know, I am not completely convinced that Mr. Forbes is an adequate tutor for Anthony. Last time I talked to Anthony, it seemed to me that his Greek was woefully lacking.”

  “Lacking what?” Lydia returned sweetly.

  “Mr. Forbes is an excellent tutor,” said Anthony belligerently, despite the fact that his usual views on the aforesaid Forbes were that he was an “old bore” or a “stuffy bagwig.”

  Harold patted Lydia’s hand in an avuncular way, though he was in fact much younger than she. “My dear Viscountess, I know that you find the subject of
Anthony’s studies confusing, but you must see that it is vastly important to the boy’s future. How can Anthony assume his place among his peers with a country education? I have thought time and again that he should have been educated at Eton, as all of us were.”

  Anthony shut his mouth, looking frustrated. For once, Harold’s opinion happened to coincide with his, and he could not argue with him, no matter how much it pained him not to do so.

  “Perhaps I should take it up with the Earl….”

  “No!” Lydia and Camilla exclaimed in almost the same breath.

  “You will give him apoplexy again if you start arguing with him, Cousin Harold,” Camilla told him bluntly. “You know he cannot abide your telling him what to do.”

  “Camilla, you wrong me. I would never think of telling a man as old and respected as my grandfather what to do. It would be a gross impertinence.”

  “You are right there,” Anthony stuck in.

  “However, I am sure that the Earl would not be averse to listening to a reasoned argument regarding the future Earl’s education.”

  “Then you don’t know Grandpapa.”

  He smiled at Camilla indulgently. “Dear Camilla, I must differ with you in that regard. You forget that I have held this living for some years now and have visited our grandfather often. I know him very well indeed. I think I can say with assurance that the Earl values my advice regarding Anthony.”

  Camilla could see from the expression on Anthony’s flushed face that he was getting close to being unable to keep a lock on his tongue. She cast about for something to divert Harold from the present course of his conversation.

  To her surprise—and relief—Benedict spoke up. “I am sure the Earl does value your advice. I find him to be a very sensible man.”

  “Yes, of course,” Harold agreed, adding a caveat. “Although he can be a trifle careless about certain virtues.”