by Candace Camp
“Oh!” Camilla felt herself blushing. “Grandpapa, really!”
“Anyone can see that there’s that certain spark between the two of you. Not many couples have it. It’s no wonder you married him so quickly.”
Camilla squirmed, wishing that her grandfather would drop the subject. But, naturally, the old man was like a dog with a bone.
“I like him. You made a good choice, Milla.”
“Thank you, Grandpapa.”
“He came by to see me this morning. Did he tell you?”
“No.” Camilla felt a little uneasy.
“Yes. We had a good talk the other day, and he’s dropped in to see me a couple of times.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Oh, this and that. Nothing you need worry about. I can trust your young man.”
“Trust him? Grandpapa, I don’t understand.” Camilla’s brows rushed together. “Why would you need to trust him? What did you trust him with?”
“Now, now…” He patted her hand reassuringly. “He is just doing a little business for me. Nothing for you to worry about. That’s what you’ve got a husband for.”
Irritation rose in Camilla. “I don’t need a husband to take care of my affairs. Is that what you talked to him about? My business? My funds?”
“Don’t get your dander up, girl. We didn’t talk about anything like that. That’s more Marlin’s place, to be talking with him about your moneys.”
“No one need talk to him about it!” Camilla retorted, eyes flashing. “It is my money, and no concern—” She halted, realizing her mistake. Of course her husband would know about her financial affairs. As soon as they were married, her money would have become his. It was one of the many things wrong with the institution of marriage and for which she felt such contempt. “Of…of yours or anyone else’s,” she finished, trying as best she could to salvage her statement. “I told Benedict about my finances. He agreed that I should continue to handle them—along with Marlin, of course.”
Her grandfather’s mouth dropped open. “What nonsense is this?”
“He is a very modern husband, Grandpapa. He…he believes that my money should remain mine, and I…I shall leave it to our younger children someday. He has ample property.”
“Ah, I see. That is probably a wise choice. However, I don’t know what good can come of you managing your own moneys. Your grandmother never could keep her clothes allowance in order, let alone invest funds.”
“Well, I am not Grandmama. She was very good at herbs and such, and nursing people back to health. I am good at this. She did not need to invest her funds, but I have been doing so with Marlin for years now.”
Her grandfather scowled. Her direction of her own funds had been a source of argument between them since the day she turned twenty-one, and she suspected that the Earl was rather disappointed that her finances had not only not suffered under her guidance, but had actually made a substantial profit.
Finally he said, “Well, if that is the way the two of you choose to go on, I suppose it is none of my concern.”
Camilla could barely keep her mouth from dropping open. She had never expected to hear such a statement from her grandfather, who had always thought it not only his right, but his duty, to meddle in her life. She realized with some chagrin that his change in attitude was not due to her or to any recognition on his part that she was capable of making good decisions, but was solely because he liked the man who was pretending to be her husband. If only he knew what the man really was!
But, then, what was he? She realized that she knew as little about him as her grandfather did. And what was this piece of business that the Earl had entrusted to him? Camilla knew that if Benedict betrayed the Earl or took advantage of him in some way, it would be her fault.
As soon as she left her grandfather’s room, she charged down the hall to her bedroom, hoping to find Benedict alone there. She was determined to have a talk with him. She swung open the door and strode inside, then came to an abrupt halt.
Benedict was indeed in the room. He was sitting in the slipper bathtub in the center of the room, water up to his chest. Camilla stared at him. She felt as if her stomach had fallen to her feet. She opened her mouth and closed it, but no sound came out. Finally she let out a little shriek and whirled around, raising her hands to her face. “I’m sorry. I—I didn’t realize—”
“It is your room,” he pointed out reasonably. She could hear him standing up in the tub. “I was almost through, anyway.”
“I’ll leave.” It was evidence of how slowly her mind was working, she realized, that she had not left the room immediately.
“No need,” he replied easily. “It won’t take me a minute to dry.” Within moments, he went on, “All right, you can turn around now.”
She did so, slowly, unsure whether she could meet his eyes after the embarrassment of their encounter. She forgot the embarrassment when she realized that he was still clad in only his trousers. His powerful chest and shoulders were still bare, the skin gleaming and taut over his muscles.
“Ah…” Camilla cleared her throat, trying to regather her scattered thoughts. Benedict turned and picked up his shirt. Camilla found herself watching the play of his muscles across his back.
Benedict turned back and raised his eyebrows questioningly. “You had something you wanted to say to me?”
He was enjoying this, Camilla realized in irritation. It hadn’t rattled him in the slightest, hadn’t made him think of their passion this afternoon. She set her jaw.
“What did you talk to my grandfather about?”
“What do you mean? When? We have talked about several things. You, of course. How his weakness irritates him, the influence that the Elliots have in this part of the country.” He trailed off, looking at her as if he hoped that he had satisfied her peculiar request.
“I am talking about this ‘business’ he had with you.” She moved closer to him. The clean scent of his soap clung to his skin, distracting her. She turned away, trying to concentrate. “What was this business?”
“Business? My dear, how could I have any business with your grandfather? I had never seen him before.”
“He told me you were taking care of some business for him. And don’t call me ‘my dear.’ You have no need to put on a show of affection here. No one can hear you.”
He looked startled. “I hadn’t realized that I was putting on a show.” A sardonic smile curved his lips. “I must have grown so accustomed to thinking of you as my beloved wife that I have some difficulty dropping the role.”
Camilla’s lips tightened. “Don’t be absurd. I want to know what Grandpapa told you. Did he ask you to do something for him? If you take advantage of his trust in you, I swear that I will—”
“Will what?”
“I don’t know. But I will see that you pay for it, I promise you that.”
“I would not take advantage of your grandfather.” He felt a twinge of guilt as it occurred to him that he had done exactly that, using the old man’s permission to talk to the servants for his own ends of discovering what had happened to his agents. “I like the old gentleman. He is the last of a dying era.”
“He believes you to be my husband. It is only because of that that he entrusted you with information. If you have any decency, you will not use your knowledge to hurt him in any way.”
“I have no interest in hurting your grandfather. What do you think I am going to do, anyway?”
“I have no idea. I don’t know what he told you.”
“If the Earl did not tell you, then I must assume that he did not want you to know,” Benedict pointed out calmly. “I can hardly betray his confidence by revealing it to you.”
“You are saying that he trusted you, a total stranger, more than he trusted me.” She could not hide the trem
or, part fury and part hurt, that ran through her voice.
Benedict took an unconscious step toward her, his hand reaching out as though to soothe her. “No, do not think that. Camilla, he loves you very much.”
“We are not speaking of love but of trust. Confidence.”
“It is not that he does not trust you. It is simply that he does not want to burden you with it. He feels that a man—”
“Would handle it better,” Camilla finished bitterly. “Yes, I know. He does not feel that I can even handle my own life better than a strange man can. That is why he was so eager for me to marry. He thinks I need a keeper.”
“Someone to take care of you,” Benedict amended. “Not a keeper.”
“What is the difference?”
“Well, I— Do you never feel the need for someone else’s help? Are you that self-sufficient?”
“Help, yes,” Camilla responded stiffly. “But not someone to think for me and act for me.”
Benedict smiled faintly. “I think it would take a very brave or very foolish man to try to do that.”
Her eyes flashed. “You are right about that, at least. But such foolishness seems to be a trait quite common to men. Like Harold—always telling me how I should conduct myself or what I should say. And then he had the audacity to think that I would actually tie myself to him!”
“Your cousin Harold is a fool. You cannot say that most men are like him, I hope.”
“No. But whenever they start hanging about me, tossing pretty compliments my way, likening me to a rose—”
He chuckled. “That, at least, is an apt comparison. Beautiful, but full of thorns.”
“Ha! The similarity is more that they want to cut me off and stick me in a vase of their choosing.”
“Then you should see my house. No roses in vases. They are all growing riotously outside. Wild—for that is how I like them.”
Camilla raised her head sharply. His voice was low and rich, and his words stirred her. He was looking at her in a way that stirred her even more. “What—what do you mean?”
“I mean that you cannot judge all men by a single standard.”
He put his hands on her bare arms and slid them upward. Camilla’s knees turned to wax, and all the fiery sensations that she had so determinedly buried earlier came alive again, skimming through her.
She pulled away. “No.”
Light flared in his eyes, and he started to go after her, but he pulled up. “You are right. I’m sorry. We must dress for dinner.”
She had not gotten the answers she wanted, but Camilla was not going to press the point. She knew that she was lucky to have escaped so easily from him just now; Benedict was capable of much more determined pursuit.
She turned away and went to the dressing room to choose the dress she would wear this evening. Oddly enough, she found that she did not feel lucky. She felt…disappointed. Obviously Benedict had not been as affected by what happened at the cave as she had been.
Camilla looked through her evening gowns, and her eyes fell on one of deep royal-blue satin that complemented her eyes well. Its neckline was lower-cut than that of most of her gowns, but right now that suited her mood. In fact, she thought that she would not tuck into it the lace fichu that she usually did. And her hairstyle would have to be changed, as well. She rang for her maid and set about getting ready.
By the time she was ready, Benedict had left the room and was waiting in the hall, leaning against the wall with an air of great patience. When Camilla opened the door and stepped out, she was gratified to see that he straightened immediately, his dark eyes lighting with an unholy flame. His gaze raked down the front of her dress, and she saw his hands tighten at his sides. Camilla felt somehow vindicated. Gracing him with a smile, she took his arm.
Dinner was unusually tedious that evening. Camilla had difficulty keeping her mind on the conversation, which was dominated by her aunt Beryl, and it did not help matters that every time she glanced across the table at Benedict, she found him gazing at her. The meal was followed by a stultifying hour in the music room. The men were mercifully absent for the first few minutes, off enjoying a cigar and brandy in the study. But they soon joined the women, and Camilla discovered that if there was anything worse than having to listen to Aunt Beryl’s daughters play insipid piano pieces, it was having to listen to them under Benedict’s unswerving gaze.
Just having him watch her, his eyes drifting from her hair to her lips to her breasts to her legs, made her feel so warm that she was afraid she was flushing bright red in front of everyone. Camilla plied her fan to cool her heated face and tried to ignore the questions that hovered at the back of her mind: What was going to happen in their room tonight? Would he try to seduce her? And if he did, how would she respond?
When at last Aunt Beryl raised her fan to hide a yawn and announced that she was ready to go to bed, Camilla rose with alacrity, saying that she was rather tired herself. Aunt Lydia cast her an odd look, for usually Aunt Beryl’s retiring was the signal to break out the cards or launch into more interesting conversations. But then she smiled knowingly, her cheeks turning pink, and Camilla found her own face reddening in response. She glanced at Benedict, who had also risen and come forward to offer her his arm. He smiled at her in a way that denoted not amusement, but a sort of sensual satisfaction, and when she placed her hand on his arm, he brushed his other hand over hers.
They followed Aunt Beryl and her daughters up the stairs, neither Camilla nor Benedict speaking. When they reached the bedroom, they found her maid there waiting for her. Camilla tossed her fan and gloves on the vanity table, sneaking a glance at Benedict out of the corner of her eye. He was standing by the bed, his gaze fixed on her, his expression unreadable. Millie came forward and began to unbutton the multitude of tiny buttons down the back of her dress. The two sides of the bodice peeled away, exposing the smooth white expanse of Camilla’s back.
Benedict made a muffled noise. Camilla glanced at him. He was standing with one hand wrapped around the post of the bed, his whole body rigid and his eyes blazing in his set face. Suddenly he turned, as if wrenching himself away from the bed, and strode out the door.
Camilla turned away. She told herself that it was for the best, that Benedict had done the right thing. But her words could not get rid of the disappointment that filled her.
* * *
BENEDICT MARCHED RAPIDLY down the long hall, away from Camilla’s room. He thought he might very well go mad at any moment. He had told himself that he could be with Camilla this evening and not make love to her, but at the last minute he had had to bolt. When her maid unbuttoned the back of her dress and the sides fell away, revealing the sweet curve of her spine, something in him had snapped. He had known that he had to get away or he would fall upon her like an animal.
He came to the stairs and stopped, clutching the rail and trying to decide what he was going to do. Instead, he found himself thinking about Camilla. He remembered this afternoon, when he had stepped back from her, and the way she had looked—her face flushed with the heat of passion, her lips soft and swollen, slightly open in shock, and that one sweet white breast exposed, cupped and lifted by the neckline of her bodice, the nipple damp and rosy from his mouth, pointing eagerly toward him.
Just thinking about it made him almost groan aloud. His manhood was stiff as a board, and his skin felt as if he had been stripped and doused in burning pitch. There was nothing he wanted to do at this moment but turn around and go right back to her bedroom.
But that, he knew, would be insanity. He could not defile a woman under his protection. It would endanger his mission, violate his principles, and constitute a hundred other sins—none of which he could recall at the moment for the abominable thrumming of his blood through his temples. Why did she have to smell so good and taste so sweet, like the ripest, most succulent fruit?
The last straw had been when he stood there, rooted to the floor, while the maid began to undress her. He knew he could not take any more of this torture without giving in to his desires. That was why he had to occupy himself in some way until Camilla was safely in bed and asleep—and, hopefully, divert his own mind from these tormenting imaginings.
He drew a long breath and let it out. After a few more minutes, feeling somewhat calmer, he started down the hall to the Earl’s room. It was not late; he and Camilla had gone up to bed early, when Aunt Beryl did, so he was hopeful that the Earl’s valet might yet be up. He had not talked to Jenkins yet; he knew, ruefully, that he had been putting it off because the old servant resented him for the Earl’s sending him away whenever Benedict came to visit.
Well, it had to be done, and now, he supposed, was as good a time as any.
A soft tap on the door brought Jenkins to it. The old man frowned as he stuck his head out and whispered, “His Lordship is asleep, sir, and cannot be disturbed.”
“I understand. But it is you I wanted to speak to.”
“Oh. I see.” Jenkins hesitated, and Benedict felt sure he would have liked to refuse, but years of training won out. He reached back inside the room for a candle, then slipped out the door, closing it softly behind him and motioning for Benedict to follow him. He led him down the hall to the next door, which he opened, and ushered Benedict into the room.
