Indiscreet Part 4

"Benedict! I say!"

Benedict raised one amused eyebrow. "A man's got to live, hasn't he?"

"But that's more than a servant would make in...in years!" Camilla protested.

"Ah, but you couldn't take a servant in to meet your family, now, could you?"

"It is only a few days' work."

"It's not the time, though, is it? It's my keeping our little secret I'll take fifty pounds, and not a penny less."

"Oh, all right. I have money in my reticule in the chaise. But I haven't that much there. The rest of my money is in my trunk...." Her voice trailed off as she thought about the fact that she would be alone in the dark night with this man. What was to stop him from knocking her over the head and taking all her money? Certainly not her coachman, whom he had already rendered unconscious once tonight.

Her face must have given away her thoughts, for Benedict grinned evilly. Mr. Sedgewick hastily put in, "Don't worry, he would not dare take your money and run. Remember, I will have seen the two of you drive off, and if anything should happen to you, he would be hunted down immediately."

"Of course. Thank you." Camilla smiled at Sedgewick, who smiled graciously back, then turned to give Benedict a scowl.

Sedgewick escorted them out of the inn, and the innkeeper hurried out to see her off, too. "There now, my lady, I've replaced that fool of a driver of yours, and I'm sending a boy with a lantern, too, to light the way. Don't you and your man worry a bit." He leaned forward, grinning, and whispered, "'Twill make your grandfather happy to have you marrying, my lady, and there's no doubt about it. A fine strapping gentleman, too, if I may say so. We'd been wondering a bit why he and that other one were hanging about, but now I see that he was only waiting for you to arrive."

"Thank you, Saltings." Camilla felt a twinge of guilt. She hated deceiving people, and she realized that this was only the next of many times in the chain leading from the lie she had told her grandfather.

Sedgewick handed her up into the carriage, and Benedict climbed in after her, sitting down on the seat across from her. Sedgewick closed the carriage door, and with a sharp cry from the driver and a slap of the reins, they started forward.

Camilla looked at the stranger across from her and wondered what she had gotten herself into.

Chapter 4.

Camilla picked up her reticule and dug into it, finding the roll of banknotes she had stuck there earlier. Carefully she counted out twenty-five one-pound notes and handed them across the carriage to Benedict.

"Why, thank 'e, my lady," he told her, again affecting a thick lower-cla.s.s brogue and tugging at his forelock like a peasant.

"It is only half the money," Camilla said crisply, refusing to let him draw her into irritation. "You will get the other half when you have finished your role."

"Afraid I might run off as soon as we get there?" he asked in his normal voice, the usual sardonic smile playing about his lips. "I suppose that would be rather embarra.s.sing."

Camilla ignored his words. "What are you?" she asked. "An actor? A sharp?"

"You surprise me. An Earl's granddaughter, so familiar with gambling cant?"

"I've heard enough of sharps and flats and the sort of gambling dens that innocents are drawn into. They use well-spoken apparent gentlemen, don't they, to lure the young men in?"

"So I have heard."

"You are not one of them?"

He shook his head. "I thought we had established that I was a common thief."

"I am not aware that we had established anything about you," she responded coldly. "The only thing that I am certain of is that I do not trust you."

"No doubt you are a wise woman." Again his dark eyes glinted with amus.e.m.e.nt. "But, then, a trustworthy man would hardly suit your purpose, would he?"

Camilla looked at him, nonplussed by his words. He was right. A scrupulously honest man would never have agreed to such a charade as this. The fact did not reflect well on her, she realized, since she was engaged in the same deception as he-worse, really, since it was her own family that she was deceiving.

She looked away from him, doubt sweeping over her for the first time. The warmth that the rum punch had brought her had gradually melted away, and there was a small, insistent throbbing at the base of her skull that betokened the beginnings of a headache. Had she really been inebriated as this man had claimed earlier? Had she made a foolish, drunken decision that she would regret tomorrow morning?

She cast a sideways glance at him, wondering what she was doing, bringing a thief right into her family's home. Was she simply being weak, deceiving her grandfather this way? Was she doing all this merely for the sake of her pride? Doubts a.s.sailed her.

"What?" he asked in a smooth, oily voice. "Having second thoughts, my lady? Wondering if your course is less than honorable? Or is it doubt about letting a thief have access to the treasures of Chevington Park? Perhaps you should have thought of that earlier, before you invited the viper into your bosom, so to speak."

"Don't be absurd," Camilla said boldly, managing to keep the tremor out of her voice. "Even you would not be so stupid as to steal something, when it would be so obvious who had done it. When I could identify you."

"As what? Mr. La.s.siter, was it?"

Her eyes flew to his, startled.

"That's right," he went on. "You don't even know my name, do you?"

"But...is it not Benedict?"

"Aye... my first name.''

"Your first name! But I thought Mr. Sedgewick meant your last name. What is your surname, then?"

"Why, La.s.siter-what else?"

She merely looked at him, wide-eyed, momentarily bereft of words.

Suddenly, startling her even further, he reached across the carriage and grabbed her, pulling her across the carriage and into his lap. One arm went around her shoulders, the other around her waist, pinning her arms very effectively to her sides.

"What are you- Stop it! Let go of me at once!"

"You seem to have forgotten one other little thing in your rush to fool your family. A fiance, you know, has certain expectations."

He bent, and his lips fastened on hers. They were hard, almost bruising, pressing into her soft lips with an insistent force. Camilla gasped in surprise, and he seized the opportunity to slip his tongue inside, amazing her even more. She had been kissed only once or twice, and then only by gentlemanly beaux overcome by a moment of ardor. But she had never felt anything like this. His mouth seemed to feed on hers, hungry and urgent, demanding that she give in to him.

Just as suddenly as he had begun, he stopped, raising his head and gazing down at Camilla for a long moment His face was flushed, his chest rising and falling rapidly, and there was a glitter to his dark eyes. Camilla stared back, mesmerized, for once unable even to speak. She thought for an instant that he was about to kiss her again, but then he abruptly set her back on the seat across from him.

"Remember that," he told her darkly, "the next time you decide to pretend some man is about to become your husband."

Anger flooded Camilla, wiping away her astonishment, as well as the stab of fear she had felt a moment earlier. "How dare you!"

"I dare anything," he returned flatly. "Do you think I care that you are a supposed lady, or that your family is respected? You know nothing about me, least of all my character. You were a fool to agree to this."

"Then perhaps I should end it right now!" Camilla's cheeks flamed with color. "Why don't we stop, and you can get out and walk back to the inn?"

"Oh, no, my lady, we made a bargain, and I intend to see it through to the bitter end. Are you planning to renege on it?"

Camilla drew herself up proudly. "I never go back on my word. But don't get the idea that you can claim any fiancees rights. I am paying you good money, and if that is not enough for you, then I suggest you leave right now. For you are not going to get anything else." Her fierce gaze would have melted iron.

Her words seemed to amuse him, more than anything else, for he only smiled faintly and murmured, "You don't scare easily, do you?"

"Is that what you were trying to do? Frighten me?" She gazed at him in perplexity. "To what purpose?"

"'Tis better not to go into a situation blind."

"So you were testing me?" Her mouth twisted with exasperation. "Well, I can promise you, Mr.... whatever your name is...that if there is a weak link in this plan, it is not I." She looked at him pointedly. He returned her gaze without expression, and after a moment, she drew herself up n her most prim, governesslike manner and said, "I believe it would be best if, instead of indulging in juvenile tests, we settled down to make certain of our story. Now, your last name is La.s.siter, as you have said. I think that we could use your own name, Benedict, as your first name. That way, if I slip and say it, it won't seem odd. I have never spoken of you as anything but Mr. La.s.siter in my letters home, so they don't know what your given name is."

He nodded agreement. "Tell me, where do I live? How do I spend my time?"

"You live in Bath. Your parents have a small estate in the Cotswolds. You are a gentleman of leisure, and you write."

"I what?" His expression turned pained. "I hope you don't mean poetry."

"Oh, no. You are a very scholarly gentleman. You are interested in ancient history, particularly the Romans. You have written several articles, and are working on a book."

"Good Gad, you mean I will be expected to converse on the subject?"

"Oh, no," she a.s.sured him airily. "Grandpapa generally dislikes scholarly subjects. I just thought it sounded like an admirable thing to be interested in."

He grimaced and went on, "All right Now, what else should I know about this paragon?"

"You are a most kind and well-mannered man- there is where you will need to work on your role. Mr. La.s.siter would never dream of pummeling a coachman or wrestling a poor defenseless woman to the ground."

"Sounds like a dull dog to me."

"He is not! He is a superior gentleman."

"Well, your description makes me wonder why any woman would want to marry him."

"You obviously have no understanding of women."

"So I've been told."

"Mr. La.s.siter respects women, and he believes that women are as intelligent and as capable as men."

Benedict cast her a sardonic look. "Doing it rather too brown, aren't you? Don't you think he is a little too perfect to be believable-intelligent, gentlemanly, a man who prefers a woman to be a bluestocking?"

"No. I wouldn't have agreed to marry him otherwise. He will be perfectly believable, as long as you act that way."

"You may be stretching the limits of my acting ability."

"You are stretching the limits of my patience. Now, will you kindly pay attention and do what you are supposed to?"

"I shall try my humble best," he promised sardonically. "Pray go on. Tell me about my most excellent qualities."

They spent the remaining minutes of the journey in conversation about the fict.i.tious Mr. La.s.siter, with Camilla trying to remember everything she had written her grandfather about the man.

Finally, just as they pa.s.sed through the gates to Chevington Park, Benedict thought to ask, "Do I look like him?"

An odd look crossed Camilla's face. "What?"

"Do I resemble this chap physically? Surely you must have described him."

"Well...I certainly did not picture him looking like you," Camilla admitted. "He would not be so large and so...physical." Her brow wrinkled. "But I'm not sure I said anything to Grandpapa about his size. I might have said he was of average height."

She looked at him doubtfully. Benedict's six feet would hardly be called average. But at least she had not mentioned whether his shoulders were wide or whether his long legs filled out his breeches to perfection. She tried to remember exactly how she had pictured her imaginary fiance, but she had some difficulty. She had not really thought that much about his looks, only about his characteristics, and besides, the actual man sitting in front of her kept intruding on the image she tried to conjure up in her brain. He had an irritating habit, she was finding out, of dominating whatever scene he happened to be in.

"I said his hair was brown." Camilla looked at Benedict's short, thick black locks. "That should be close enough." She paused. "However, I think I said his eyes were gray." There was no possibility that anyone could have mistaken this man's gleaming dark eyes for gray. "Well, he probably won't remember, anyway."

"Hopefully."

At that moment the carriage pulled to a halt in front of the house. Camilla pushed open the door before the lantern boy could get to it to open it, and stepped out Benedict followed her. Camilla looked up at the venerable old house, warm affection on her face. Benedict followed her gaze. It was a graceful house, built in the shape of the letter E, and the white of its native stone gave it a warmth that was enhanced by the lights that blazed beside the ma.s.sive front doors and poured out the windows.

"Oh, dear." Camilla belatedly noticed the mult.i.tude of lights. She had been hoping that her family would have given up on her and already gone to bed, so that she and Benedict would not have to face all of them now. Obviously that was not the case.

As if to emphasize that fact, the double front doors were opened wide and held by two liveried footmen, and a rotund man dressed in sober black came rus.h.i.+ng down the wide stone steps toward them, a grin stretching across his face.

"Miss Camilla!" he cried. "It's wonderful to see you."

"Purdle!" Camilla flew forward and gave him a hug. "You shouldn't have waited up."

"As if I could go on to bed, not knowing where you were, and leave you here to be greeted by the footmen?" The beaming man looked affronted by the idea.

"No," Camilla agreed. "I can see that you could not." She turned toward Benedict. "Dear? Do come here and meet Purdle. He is the butler, and has been running all our lives for years. Purdle, this is Mr. La.s.siter. He-"

"Yes, yes, I know!" He grinned broadly at Camilla's companion. "The Viscountess has told us all about him. Congratulations, sir. Much happiness, miss. 'Tis a wonderful thing. And, I must say, His Lords.h.i.+p is very happy. The news has picked him right up. He's looking forward to seeing you, too, though I'm sure that comes as no surprise to you, miss. He wanted to stay up to greet you himself when you came in, but the draft the doctor gave him put him right to sleep after supper. The doctor said it was too much excitement for him. 'Course, the Earl will be mad as hops tomorrow morning, when he wakes up and finds out he missed your arrival."

Benedict eyed the butler in fascination as he ushered them up the steps and into the house, talking without ceasing. He had never seen a butler quite like this one, beaming and chattering like a magpie. Of course, he reminded himself, he might have known that nothing and no one connected with this girl would be normal.

"It looks as though everyone else is still up," Camilla said, a little questioningly, as Purdle swept them through the wide front hall.

"Oh, yes, the whole family," he agreed, not noticing the way Camilla's face fell. "Well, except the young master, of course."

"Anthony?" Camilla named her cousin, who at eighteen, was the old Earl's heir and the closest to her of anyone in her family. When her parents died, his mother, Lydia, had raised Camilla, and the two of them had grown up like brother and sister.

"Yes. He retired early this evening."

"Anthony?" Camilla repeated in disbelief. Her cousin was the liveliest of souls, always getting into some mischief or the other. He would be the last person she could imagine going to bed before everyone else, especially when she was expected tonight. "Is he sick?"

"Oh, no, miss. He's, well, he's been retiring earlier the past few months. Since, um, Mrs. Elliot came to visit."

"Ah." It was clear to her now. Anthony abhorred Aunt Beryl, perhaps even more than Camilla did. She always seized every opportunity to lecture him about his duties as the future Earl and to opine about the fact that her own husband had been the second son and therefore Anthony would inherit instead of her own sons, who were, by implication, much more worthy of the honor and position than Anthony.