"I knew you and Anthony were sneaking over here. For what purpose, I was not sure. I had hoped that you would choose to confide in me, but as you did not, I took matters into my own hands."

Anthony strode over to Camilla's side and faced Benedict, his jaw set. "It wasn't her fault. It was all mine. She merely helped me when I told her what I had done."

"That I can well believe," Benedict responded dryly. "Now, if the two of you will kindly step aside and let me see who you are so a.s.siduously hiding..."

Benedict started around them, then stopped short. "Good G.o.d."

Camilla whirled around. Their patient was staring at Benedict in much the same way that Benedict was staring at Woollery.

"James Woollery..."

"M-Major!" Woollery struggled to his feet. "Lord Rawdon!"

Chapter 16.

"Who?" Camilla stared at Woollery, her word echoing hollowly in her ears.

Woollery swayed, his knees buckling, and Benedict jumped forward to catch him. "Here! Anthony! Help me lower him to the ground. Camilla, fetch some water."

Both of them hurried to do as he bade. Anthony and Benedict eased Mr. Woollery to the ground and propped him against the wall. Camilla picked up the jug of water and hurried back to the others. Benedict was lightly slapping Woollery's cheeks.

"You know him?" Camilla asked in amazement.

"Yes." Benedict poured a bit of water into the palm of his hand and began to sprinkle it over the younger man's face. "James. James. Wake up. It is I, Raw-don."

"But how?" Anthony asked, puzzled. "Do you know what happened to him?"

"No. Don't you?" He glanced around. "Aren't you holding him prisoner here?"

"Prisoner! No!" Anthony looked affronted. "We were hiding him! I brought him here to tend to his wounds and to keep his attacker from finding him again. What a thing to think!"

"That's exactly the sort of thing he would think," Camilla put in bitterly. It was becoming clear to her that Benedict had been deceiving her mightily all along. "Lord Rawdon obviously trusts no one."

Benedict sent her a penetrating look, but before he could speak, Woollery's eyes fluttered open. He glanced around vaguely for a moment, then focused on Benedict. "Lord Rawdon!" he said again in tones of awe. "What are you doing here? How did you find out?"

"So far I have found out d.a.m.n little. What happened to you, Lieutenant Woollery? Why are you in this state?"

"Someone attacked me. Right after I got off the boat. I helped unload, and I started walking. I was going to go to that village."

"Edgecombe?"

Woollery nodded. "Yes. I planned to hire a horse there. But someone attacked me. I have no idea who. It was dark, and his face was covered, except for his eyes. I managed to scare him off, and then, the next morning, this kind young man found me." He nodded toward Anthony. "I don't know what I would have done without him. He saved my life. He half carried me here and hid me, bandaged up my wounds."

"We didn't know who had attacked him," Anthony put in. "I was afraid he might try again. The only place I could think of to hide him was here. But he developed a fever. It was touch and go there for a while. That's why I brought Camilla to him. I knew she would be able to physic him better than I. And look-her potions brought him out of his fever." He beamed at Camilla like a proud father.

Camilla could have kicked her cousin for his cheerfulness. She felt thoroughly ill-used. She ignored Anthony, turning toward Benedict and asking in icy tones, "Who are you, anyway? What are you doing here? And what right do you have to ask us any of these questions?"

"Don't you know him?" Woollery asked, puzzled. "He is Lord Rawdon." He said it as if everyone in the world knew the name. "He was my major in the Peninsular campaign. Major Wincross, then, before he came into the t.i.tle."

"Major Wincross?" Anthony was frowning in concentration. "I've heard that name before." Suddenly he looked galvanized. "But that's- You're the man Graeme was always talking about!" He looked at Benedict almost worshipfully. "Oh, sir, I cannot tell you how honored I am to meet you."

"Meet him! You've known him for days," Camilla pointed out waspishly. "Are you talking about Cousin Graeme? Harold and Bertram's brother?"

"Yes, of course, Cousin Graeme. Who else would be talking about the hero of San Luis?"

"The hero of what?"

Benedict groaned. "Please, let us not get into that old thing."

But Woollery was nodding eagerly. "Yes. Yes, that is Lord Rawdon. Who is this Graeme you speak of? Is he with the army?"

"Yes. The Hussars. Graeme Elliot. He was forever talking about the way this Wincross chap and his men were trapped behind enemy lines, but somehow the major managed to avoid capture and get back to our own lines and-"

"I am sorry, gentlemen," Camilla said acidly, interrupting, "to put a halt to all this military bonhomie, but could we please return to the subject at hand-to wit, who are these two men, and what are they doing here in Edgecombe?"

Anthony looked thoroughly exasperated. "They have just told you who they are. This is James Woollery-he was a soldier, Milla, a lieutenant, not an enemy spy. And this is Lord Rawdon, the man who-"

"Yes, yes, I understand, the hero of San Something-or-Other. What I mean is, what do they have to do with the smuggling ring? And why was Lieutenant Woollery speaking French when he was unconscious? And why was Benedict down here, pretending to-"

Benedict cut in smoothly, smiling affectionately toward Camilla. "You will find that Lady Rawdon is a woman who wants answers."

"Who?" Anthony asked.

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 ident.i.ty. 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 Raw-don, 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 n.o.bility, 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 warned 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."