"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 embarra.s.sment, 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 embarra.s.sing 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 embarra.s.sment 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 embarra.s.sed, 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 mere."

"Mm-hm."

"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 pa.s.sion, 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 learner 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 b.r.e.a.s.t.s, 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 had felt to have his thigh there, rubbing against her, both soothing and increasing the ache. Her hand seemed a very poor subst.i.tute 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."

"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 rea.s.suringly. "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 Martin'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 inst.i.tution 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 att.i.tude 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 embarra.s.sment of their encounter. She forgot the embarra.s.sment 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 re-gather 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 pa.s.sion 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 yesterday."

"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 a.s.sume 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 tremor, 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.