Indiscreet

by Candace Camp

  Woollery looked uncertainly from Rawdon to Camilla and back. “Sir? Is it all right to tell her?”

  “Of course.” Benedict waved aside his doubts airily. “You are speaking to my wife. Camilla is the new Lady Rawdon.”

  Camilla swung toward Benedict, her eyes shooting sparks. “What did you say? Have you gone mad?”

  “Now, now, dear.” Benedict smiled at her soothingly, crossing the floor to take her hand and squeeze it—hard. “We don’t have to pretend with Woollery. You can admit that you know my real identity. The lieutenant is one of my own men. I do wish you had told me what you were doing over here. I could have cleared the whole thing up more quickly.”

  Woollery looked at Camilla apologetically. “I’m sorry, my lady, that I caused you concern. As I told you, my mother was French, and I have been in France for some time now, pretending to be a Frenchman, and, well, I must still have been thinking in the language. Sometimes it is a little difficult to switch back and forth.”

  “You see, Milla?” Anthony turned toward his cousin with a smug smile. “I told you it didn’t necessarily mean he was a spy.”

  “Ah, but he was,” Benedict told them. “It is just that he was spying on them for England. Winslow, Sedgewick and I set up the network some time ago. Winslow had some sort of arrangement with the smugglers to get our men and our information into England.”

  “So that’s why you were unloading the brandy!” Anthony exclaimed, looking at Woollery.

  “Caught, eh?” Benedict asked. “You must have gotten careless.”

  “It was that ring you wore on a string around your neck,” Anthony explained. “I knew you couldn’t be a common smuggler.”

  “I told you that ring would get you in trouble someday.”

  “But, sir, it was my good-luck charm. I couldn’t leave it behind. I’ve worn it ever since I was a child!”

  “It was no good-luck charm this time,” Benedict pointed out dryly.

  There was a moment of silence as all their thoughts went back to the young man’s injuries.

  “But what are you doing here, sir?” Woollery asked finally. “I thought you had come because I had gone missing.”

  “I came because some others had gone missing, as well. Someone is trying to destroy our network. We have had no word from Keswick, who should have returned three weeks ago, and no information from anyone, inside France or out. It’s been dead silence.” He sighed. “In Keswick’s case, I am afraid that I am speaking literally.”

  “You—you mean, he’s dead?” Woollery gulped.

  Benedict nodded. “Judging from your experience, I fear so. It was only your quick reactions and Anthony’s help that kept you from meeting the same end.”

  “This is terrible.” The young man turned even paler, and he closed his eyes for a moment.

  “Yes, it is. Sedgewick and I decided we had to come down here and learn something about what was going on.”

  “So that is why you were so—” Camilla began.

  “So eager to come down here?” Benedict interrupted her, his eyes staring intently into hers. “Yes, my dear, much as I wanted to meet my new relatives, I did have an ulterior motive. And, of course, now you can understand why we had to pretend that my name was not Rawdon.”

  Camilla stared at him. Why did he keep on insisting in front of this young man that they were married? It was bad enough that her family thought she was married to him, now that he had turned out to be a lord and a war hero. But somehow she could bluff her way through it, she thought. But to be telling other people that they were married, people who knew him as Rawdon, was simply disastrous.

  “Have you found out who is disrupting the network?” Woollery asked.

  “The man who killed Nat Crowder!” Anthony exclaimed suddenly. “So that is why you were asking all those questions about it! I thought you were an excise officer.”

  Woollery chuckled at the idea, and Rawdon smiled. “An excise officer. No wonder you were suspicious of me. Just as I was suspicious that you were pulling my wife into your smuggling scheme.”

  Anthony looked aghast. “Sir! I would never get Camilla involved with the smuggling! It would be far too dangerous.”

  “Too dangerous for you, too,” Benedict pointed out bluntly. “You have your grandfather worried sick about you—and Camilla, too, I’ll warrant.”

  “But—but how does he know?” Anthony goggled at him. “Milla! You didn’t tell—”

  “No, I didn’t tell Grandpapa that you were a criminal,” Camilla retorted. “Do you think I want to kill him?” She turned on Benedict with an accusing look. “Did you?”

  “No. I promise you.” Benedict held up his hands, as if in surrender. “Don’t pounce on me. The Earl already knew about it. It seems to have been common knowledge around the area. Did you think that Chevington, with all his friends, would not have been told about it? He asked me to help him, to find out if the gossip was really true and his grandson was about to put a blot on his family name by being caught and hanged as a thief.”

  Anthony’s cheeks flamed red. “Sir! That isn’t— Well, it wasn’t like that.”

  “No? How was it? You were not bringing in smuggled goods?”

  “Well, yes, of course I was.”

  “And if the soldiers or the excise men caught you, do you think that they would have let you go with merely a slap on the wrist because you were the future Earl of Chevington?”

  “I…” Anthony looked even more abashed.

  “Of course that is what you thought—provided you thought at all. Well, I can tell you that, had you been caught, you would have been hanged with the rest of them, or, perhaps, since you were nobility, they might have lessened the sentence to transportation. In either case, your family would have suffered the scandal. And if you were hanged, you know, your cousin Bertram would have become the Earl of Chevington. I can imagine how well pleased your grandfather would have been about that. Provided that he hadn’t had another bout of apoplexy, of course.”

  “Benedict! Really, that’s enough!” Camilla cried, seeing Anthony’s crushed expression. “I think Anthony realizes what he has done.”

  “Does he? Perhaps he does—now. But I think that before this he saw it as some lighthearted lark. And you, my dear, certainly did nothing to dissuade him.”

  “You must not blame Camilla, sir,” Anthony put in manfully. “It was all my doing. I didn’t even tell her until she arrived, and then she made me promise that I would quit. And I will. I will tell Jem that I can’t go out with the men next time.”

  “No, you won’t quit,” Benedict told him. “Not just yet.”

  Anthony stared. “I beg your pardon? But I thought you—”

  “Yes, I do want you to quit. More than that, I insist on it. I have spoken to your grandfather about letting you off the leash a little. He has agreed to consider letting you go to Oxford, though I have heard you’ve little liking for your studies.”

  “Oh, I would, sir, if it meant getting out of Edgecombe.”

  “I think it would be just the thing for you,” Benedict agreed. “But before that, you have to go out with the smugglers one last time. And you will take an extra helper with you.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Have you gone mad?” Camilla cried. “You just got him talked out of it!”

  “Ah, but this time he will not really be a smuggler. He will be working for his country. He is going to take me with him.”

  “You are going to find the leader!” Anthony exclaimed, his eyes lighting up. “What a bang-up adventure. You and I will capture him.”

  A faint smile touched Benedict’s lips at the boy’s enthusiasm. “Something like that.”

  “You can count on me, sir. You won’t regret it.”

  “I better not,” Benedict wa
rned him sternly. “You have to obey my orders to the letter on this, Anthony. No flying off on larks of your own.”

  “No, sir, I won’t. I shall do exactly as you say.”

  “I’ll help, too, sir,” Woollery spoke up.

  “Of course. If you’re feeling up to it.”

  “Benedict! You can’t be serious!” Camilla was horror-struck. “This is even worse than Anthony’s smuggling. At least all the other men doubtless looked out for him, protected him.”

  “They did not!” Anthony protested.

  “Do grow up, Anthony. They certainly did. They would all fear Grandpapa’s wrath too much if anything happened to you. But this—this is terribly dangerous. You will be dealing with someone who has killed other people—Nat Crowder, for one, and probably this Keswick man that Benedict was talking about. He obviously did his best to do in Lieutenant Woollery, as well. Why, now I see it—he is the one who put that hole in our boat, too!”

  Benedict glanced sharply at Camilla. He should have known she would have reasoned out that their boat had been tampered with. A reluctant smile of admiration tugged at his lips.

  “He is dangerous,” Camilla went on adamantly. “If you two corner him, I am sure that he will not hesitate to kill you.”

  “Oh, pooh,” Anthony dismissed her fears. “Don’t be such a worrywart, Milla. Nothing is going to happen to me.”

  “Don’t be so sure,” Benedict told him. “I don’t want you going into it with that sort of attitude or you’ll get us all killed. This man is dangerous, and we shall have to be on our toes.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Benedict turned to Camilla. “But one thing you don’t know about me, my dear—I am a dangerous man, also. Rest assured that I will watch out for Anthony.”

  “Oh!” Camilla let out a groan of frustration. “You think that you are invincible.”

  “Not entirely.” He smiled. “But I have gotten through some tight spots before. I know how to take care of myself—and my men. I’ve always brought them through.”

  Camilla would have liked to protest, but she knew that it was pointless. Once men made up their minds about something, especially something dangerous and foolhardy, there was no changing them.

  “Then I suppose that I shall simply have to go along with you,” she said calmly.

  “What?” The word chorused from all three men, but only Woollery looked surprised.

  “Absolutely not,” Benedict pronounced, his brows rushing together sternly. “I forbid it.”

  “You what?” Camilla’s voice was dangerously silky.

  Anthony groaned, knowing that those words were like a red flag waved in front of his cousin. Quickly he jumped in, “Be reasonable, Milla. You can’t go. You would be recognized in an instant. No one would think you were a man.”

  “I’m not much smaller than Jem Crowder,” Camilla protested.

  “Maybe not, but you are shaped rather differently.”

  Camilla’s color rose a little at her cousin’s blunt words, but she said stoutly, “Nonsense. In rough workman’s clothes, you won’t be able to see my shape.”

  “There is your walk,” Benedict pointed out, seeing the wisdom of Anthony’s course. “The way you move, even the tilt of your head, is distinctly feminine. And don’t tell me you can heft a keg of brandy like a man.”

  “That’s right.” Anthony nodded emphatically. “As soon as you tried to lift a heavy object, your masquerade would be over. Then the rest of us would be doomed, too.”

  Camilla did not like to give in, but she could see the wisdom of the men’s words. She decided to try a different tack. “But how are the rest of you going to pass as smugglers? Don’t you think they will notice if Anthony shows up with an extra man or two?”

  Anthony nodded regretfully. “She’s right about that. I don’t know how you can pull this off.”

  Benedict looked thoughtful. “What if…some of the regular smugglers were taken ill and couldn’t go—right on the very night of the run? Wouldn’t the group need extra men—and quickly?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “You know who the smugglers are, don’t you? At least some of them?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is there a single family that contributes several of the men?”

  Anthony nodded. “The Matsons. There are three of them. Two brothers and one brother’s son. They all live together in one house. But how are you going to make sure they’re sick?”

  “There are herbs that will do the trick. Aren’t there, my dear?” Benedict looked toward Camilla.

  She grimaced sourly. “I wouldn’t know. I am not in the habit of trying to poison people.”

  “It won’t seriously injure them,” Benedict argued. “We’ll slip it in their food at noon, and it will make them sick at their stomachs for a while, long enough for the smugglers to realize that they will be shorthanded. When you hear this—” he nodded toward Anthony

  “—then you can tell them that there’s a gardener or groom or some such at the Park whom you know would love to earn a little extra money, no questions asked.”

  Anthony nodded. “I can do that.”

  “You are all mad,” Camilla said flatly. “You will wind up getting killed.”

  “Do you have some other suggestion?” Benedict challenged her quietly. “Another way that we could trap the man who is betraying this country to our enemy? Or perhaps you think we should allow him to continue to do so?”

  “No, of course not.” Camilla gazed back at him, a trifle sulkily. He had her neatly trapped. She could not, of course, sanction letting the traitor work at will, but neither could she think of another way to capture him. “I am simply saying that it is dangerous.”

  “My dear girl…a little danger is the spice of life.”

  “Yes, and I have known from the beginning how much you like spice,” Camilla retorted bitterly.

  Both Woollery and Anthony looked at her oddly. Only Benedict could guess the reason for her bad humor, and he could say nothing to soothe her in front of the others. He cursed his bad luck. This was not the way he had meant for her to find out about his true identity. He could see now how wrongheadedly he had handled the whole thing. He should have realized that Camilla would not be mixed up in treason, or even in the smuggling—not even to help out her cousin. He should have revealed to her who he was and what he was seeking. Then he would have had her help the whole time. She would have come to him and told him all about their mysterious patient. Everything would have been easier—and she wouldn’t be in such a snit now, either.

  “Well,” Camilla went on coolly, “I have other things to do. I shall leave you gentlemen to make your plans for your expedition.”

  She turned and strode out of the room.

  “Camilla! Wait!” Benedict started to follow her, but Anthony laid a restraining hand on his arm.

  “I would let her be alone for a while if I were you,” Anthony told him. “She’ll just take your head off if you try to talk to her now. I know. I’ve tried it often enough.” He gave a rueful smile. “She’s angry because she can’t go with us on the smuggling run. But she will come around, you’ll see. She’s always been a right ’un. And she won’t tell anyone about it, either.”

  “No, I am sure she will not,” Benedict agreed, looking after her in indecision. He suspected that Anthony was right, and if he did try to talk to her now, it would only lead to a furious argument. They both might very well say things they did not mean, and he would end up in a worse position than he was in now. He sighed. “You are right. I will talk to her later.” In their bedroom, where he could soften her with kisses and caresses.

  * * *

  CAMILLA STORMED OFF the island and across the path to the beach, ignoring the water that lapped only inches from her feet. Such angry emotions churned wit
hin her that she felt almost physically sick. Lord Rawdon, indeed! She did not pause to examine her emotions. She only knew that she felt utterly betrayed and bereft. Her life was ruined, and it was Benedict who was the cause.

  When she reached the house, she did not go into the breakfast room. She was feeling too ill. Instead, she went up to her bedroom and rang for her maid. It was there that Benedict found her, directing the activities of two footmen and the maid, when he came in an hour later.

  He stopped and looked at the cot, set up in one corner of the room, on which the maid was busily tucking in sheets. The footmen, standing at either end of the cot, busily avoided his eyes. Benedict looked from the group over to Camilla, who folded her arms across her chest and gazed back at him coolly. He turned back to the servants.

  “Out.” His clipped voice and the peremptory jerk of his head were enough to send the three servants scurrying out of the room. The maid prudently closed the door behind her.

  “What is this?” Benedict nodded toward the makeshift bed.

  “That is a cot. Surely you have seen them before. I imagine in the army that you even slept on one.”

  “Stop playing the fool. You know what I mean. What is it doing here?”

  “I should think that would be obvious. As for playing the fool, I am afraid I can be nothing else. After all, isn’t that why you chose me for this charade?”

  “If you will remember,” Benedict said through clenched teeth, “it was you who chose me, not the other way around.” He realized that over the past few days he had forgotten how utterly maddening the girl was.

  “Of course. I suppose that makes this all my fault, then.”

  “It is no one’s fault.” He struggled for a reasonable tone, though he was not even sure any longer what they were talking about. “It just happened, and we need to make the best of it.”

  “That is what I am doing. We have been trying to think of a way this whole time to get you a bed to sleep in, and now I have. You will remember we even talked about our having a spat and your sleeping on a cot in the dressing room. Well, it’s been long enough now. A fight would be quite believable—and not at all difficult for us to pretend, don’t you think? So I had the men bring down a cot from the attic. I tried it in the dressing room, but it seemed terribly cramped and dark. I thought this was a better place.”