Jenkins headed back toward the house. The other three started cautiously after the pony train. They could not use the lantern, even shuttered, because their light would give them away, so it was slow going. Camilla only hoped that she would not turn an ankle in the darkness. It was all they could do to keep the end of the train in sight as they struggled along over the dark countryside. More than once the ponies disappeared over a hillock and they were afraid that they had lost sight of them altogether, but each time they were able to get a glimpse of them a while later.

It seemed as if they would walk all night. Camilla wondered if they would make deliveries tonight. It seemed most unlikely, but she could not imagine why they kept hiking. The smugglers finally turned away from the cliffs and the sh.o.r.e and headed inland. They reached a wooded area that Camilla recognized as Varner Wood, and she nearly groaned. Surely they were not going to plunge into the woods, where it would be even darker and more difficult to see.

But then, ahead of her, she saw a faint flicker of light. She and the others moved even more slowly, creeping toward the light, until finally they saw a clearing, where the pack ponies stood. The smugglers had placed their lanterns around on the ground and lifted up one or more shields, so that the lanterns put out enough glow to allow them to see what they were doing.

Camilla and her companions crouched behind a rock and a couple of bushes, spreading out a little from each other. Camilla watched as the men, still dark and featureless in the dim glow, unloaded the ponies and carried the boxes and barrels-down into the ground? It took a moment for Camilla's mind to make sense of the scene. Then she realized the men must be going down steps built into the ground. There was some sort of cellar there, where they stored their smuggled goods until they could deliver them. Now Camilla could even make out the outline of a wooden door flung open against the ground. They probably even camouflaged it to keep it from being discovered.

It was a far cry from the caves, which she had always a.s.sumed must be the hiding places for the smuggling activity in the area. It felt odd to watch the men going about their tasks, almost as if she were witnessing some secret, sacred rite. She supposed in a way she was. No doubt it would be blasphemy to these men to give away this location.

They watched until the men had unloaded all the ponies and closed the door to the secret cellar, covering it up with a tangle of brush and branches. Moving quickly, but without particular haste, the men began to pick up their lanterns, to separate and leave, some of them leading ponies with them.

Camilla squeezed down tightly under her bush as a man strode in her direction. She was breathlessly certain that he would discover her and all would be lost She hated to think of what they would do to someone who had seen the secret hiding place of the smugglers.

But the man walked away along a barely visible path. Camilla crawled back farther into the brush, away from the path. She looked across to where Purdle had hidden, but she could see nothing of him. She could sense Woollery's presence behind her, much closer.

She watched intently, trying to keep track of all the men who were leaving, to see if any of them reminded her of Benedict or Anthony. Suddenly, her attention was drawn to a man. He was tall, and she wondered if perhaps he was her cousin or Rawdon. Then she realized that there were two men with him, following him by just a few steps. She understood, too, what had drawn her eyes to him. It had been the very furtiveness of his movements. He stopped now and glanced around, making sure that no one was watching him. Then he walked away quickly, almost melting into the brush. His two companions followed.

It couldn't be Anthony and Benedict. There were, after all, three of these men. Of course, it could just be a family of smugglers, a group who were more cautious about being known than the others. Perhaps a respectable family.

But Camilla could not get it out of her head that the furtiveness of the men's movements was sinister. She wondered whether they should follow me men. Just at that moment, two more men slipped off in the same direction, looking around them, then following the route the first three had taken.

Benedict and Anthony? They had both been tall, one slightly shorter and more slender than the other. The description would fit Anthony and Benedict. Camilla glanced back toward Woollery and found him right behind her. He pointed in the direction of the two men, and she nodded. They slipped out of the hiding places, joined by Purdle, and made their way cautiously through the trees.

She thought that they had lost all five of the men amid the growth, but when they left the shelter of the woods, Woollery spotted the figures of two men in front of them, walking purposefully up a rise in the ground. Camilla and her two companions followed them.

This chase went on for several minutes, with Camilla and her men finding their quarry, then losing them, then spotting them once more when they crested a hill or were in some other way silhouetted against a paler sky or rock.

The men were almost to the top of a long slope, a few feet from a low stone wall that crested the ridge. Camilla, Purdle and Woollery waited at the bottom in the shadow of a tree, not wanting to be exposed on the long, treeless slope, letting their quarry crest the hill and start down the other side.

But as the two men reached the top, there was a sudden loud pop, and one of the two men flung up his arms and staggered backward. Camilla sucked in a sharp breath, paralyzed, as she watched three men leap over the low wall, attacking the two men.

A shriek of rage erupted from Camilla, and she tore up the hill toward the struggling group. She pulled out the pistol in her pocket as she ran, but she knew that she was too far away to take a shot. Lieutenant Woollery, a faster runner than she, pulled ahead of her, firing his pistol in the air in hopes of startling the combatants. It was obvious that there was no hope of actually using the pistols against any of the men, for all five of them were in a seething, struggling ma.s.s.

Woollery reached the group of men and launched himself into the pile, laying about him with the b.u.t.t end of his pistol. Two men rolled away from the others, punching and wrestling. The one currently on top still wore a mask; the other one's face was bare. It was Benedict Camilla threw herself onto the back of the man on top. He smashed his fist into Benedict's face, but then reared back at Camilla's sudden weight on his back, trying to throw her off. Camilla held on for dear life and sank her teeth into his neck. He let out a roar like a wounded bull and lashed backward with his hand, hitting her so hard on the cheek that she fell back. He completed her fall by whirling around and knocking her across the stomach with his arm. Benedict scrambled to his feet, roaring, and the man took to his heels. His two companions, one of whom Purdle had cracked across the back with his cudgel, quickly followed.

Benedict gave chase. Camilla sat up rather dazedly and shook her head to clear it. She looked across the gra.s.s and saw her cousin lying there, and fear gripped her chest. She crawled across the ground to him.

"Anthony! Anthony! Are you all right? Are you shot?"

Anthony let out a groan and sat up, clutching his arm. "Winged me, dammit." He stopped and goggled at Camilla, suddenly realizing how strange it was that she was there. "Milla! What the devil are you doing here? And what are you wearing?"

Lieutenant Woollery knelt beside Anthony and examined his wound. "Good. Ball went right through it. You'll do fine." He took a knife and slit Anthony's shirt at the sleeve, ripping the sleeve from the rest of it He pulled it off and began to wrap it tightly around the wound, binding it.

Camilla gingerly felt the side of her face, where the attacker had hit her. It felt quite tender. She had the sinking feeling that she was going to be sporting a bruise the following day.

"Did you see him, Anthony?" she asked. "Did you see who it was?"

"No! Even when we were fighting, he didn't lose his mask. I got a look at one of the men with him, but he was n.o.body I recognized. A stranger."

Benedict was returning to the group, his face set in grim lines. "b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l! I lost him!" He strode straight to Camilla, pulling her to her feet "Camilla! Are you all right?" He pulled her to him, men held her at arm's length to search her face. "Did he hurt you? G.o.d, I wish I'd gotten hold of him!" He scowled. "What the devil were you doing here, anyway? You said you would stay home."

Camilla, who had almost melted against him when he took her in his arms, now jerked away from him, stung by his angry words. "I said I would not join the smugglers. I said nothing about not following you."

"d.a.m.n! You could have been killed, you little fool! I told you to stay home, and that is where you should have been. Woollery, I'll have your hide for helping her with this escapade."

"Escapade!" Camilla shrieked, goaded. "We saved your lives! We followed you to give you help, which you obviously needed. You didn't almost capture him, you almost got yourselves killed!" Fury bubbled up in her, fueled by the fear of the past few minutes and the unbearable tension of their recent life together. "I wish I hadn't come! I wish I had stayed at the Park and let him kill you!"

With those words, she turned and ran for home.

Chapter 18.

Camilla awoke the next morning with muscles that ached with every movement and a face that felt swollen to twice its size. One look in the mirror showed her that her face was indeed swollen around her eye and sported a swam of purplish blue. She looked like a street brawler. It did not help any that her eyes were bloodshot, her hair was tangled and her face was dirty, with streaks of tears running through the dust.

She had run all the way home last night and locked herself in her bedroom, ignoring Benedict's loud knocking on the door and repeated calling of her name, until finally Aunt Beryl came out and told him in no uncertain terms to take himself elsewhere. Camilla, who had been crying throughout the whole experience, then cried herself to sleep.

She unlocked her door in the morning to her maid, who had been gently scratching on it for several minutes. The maid, after one horrified gasp, left the room and returned with a piece of raw meat, which she insisted on laying upon Camilla's bruised and swollen cheek, shaking her head and making sympathetic noises.

"What happened, ma'am?" Millie asked, her eyes wide with horror and avid interest. "Were you hurt with Master Anthony, then?"

"Uh..." Camilla realized that she had no story ready to explain her injuries. "Yes," she said cautiously. "How is Anthony this morning?"

"Oh, fine, ma'am. The doctor came last night, even late as it was, and he said the young master's fixed up all right and tight. Mr. La.s.siter said it was a climbing accident."

Camilla glanced up and caught the knowing look in the girl's eyes. No doubt all the servants suspected that Anthony had been involved in the smuggling and that likely his wound had come from that. The servants always seemed to know everything. Now they would have something new to speculate about-Camilla's obvious black eye and apparent involvement in Anthony's escapade. Camilla sighed. Belowstairs would be buzzing this morning.

"Yes," she said coolly. "I'm afraid I fell against a rock trying to help him. Foolish of me."

Millie helped Camilla clean up and dress. It took some time to get all the tangles out of Camilla's hair. But at last she was dressed and looking almost normal-if one ignored the black eye, of course, Camilla thought wryly.

She did not feel like eating breakfast, and she was afraid that she might run into Benedict if she went downstairs. He was the last person Camilla wanted to see. She didn't know where to go. She wanted to talk about her problems, but Anthony, she knew, would be no comfort. Millie had told her that he was upstairs in his bed, a sling supporting his wounded arm, letting Nurse fuss to her heart's content over him. Besides, the way things had been going, he would probably side with his beloved Benedict over her!

Feeling ill-used and miserable, Camilla decided to visit her grandfather. It had always been he she turned to in times of trouble. Jenkins opened the Earl's door at her knock and let out a shocked gasp. His reaction was quickly seconded by the Earl.

Chevington sent his man away and held out his arms to Camilla. With a little gulping sob, she flew to him and let him take her in his arms, as he had when she was little. She had thought that she had no more tears, but they flowed all over again. Haltingly she poured out the story of what had happened the night before, and Benedict's furious reaction.

"All I did was try to help him!" she wailed. "He hates me."

"I am sure he does not. He would not have reacted so violently if he did not care for you."

"Humph! He has an odd way of showing it."

"No doubt he does. But when one is scared, one reacts stupidly sometimes. Don't you remember that time when Anthony got lost in the caves when he was little, and you screamed at him when Silsby brought him out?"

"I was certain he had died!" Camilla exclaimed, remembering. ' 'I was so furious with him.''

"Because you were scared. Believe me, I wanted to give him a caning myself. 'Tis the same thing with Rawdon. He was scared by your showing up there and getting into the midst of a brawl. I have to tell you, Camilla, it is not something I can think about with equanimity, either."

"I didn't get hurt. I mean, not all that badly. It looks awful, I know, but nothing is broken. I did it to help him. There were three of them against only him and Anthony, and Anthony had been shot."

"I suspect it is not a pleasant feeling to be saved by one's wife, either," Chevington mused.

"Poppyc.o.c.k! Masculine pride!" Camilla scoffed, but she could not help feeling somewhat better. "Besides, I am not really his-" She stopped abruptly, casting an apprehensive glance toward her grandfather.

"Not really what?" the old man asked pointedly, raising an eyebrow. "Not really his wife, were you going to say?"

Camilla stared. "How did you- What are you talking about?"

The old man raised an admonishing finger. "Don't play sly with me, young lady. I've known you since before you could walk. I am talking about this story you've been trying to hoodwink me with since the day you walked in here. Before that, really. Shame on you, for trying to deceive an old man."

"Obviously I didn't succeed. How did you know? Does everyone?"

"I shouldn't think so. The reason I know is because he told me."

"Who?"

"Rawdon. Your supposed husband. He came to me and made a clean breast of the whole thing."

"But... why?"

The old man shrugged and cast a significant look at his granddaughter. "I suppose his conscience was bothering him about deceiving me. It was the day you two almost drowned. He must have had second thoughts about meeting his Maker with a lie on his soul."

"That was before he discovered Lieutenant Woollery," Camilla murmured, more to herself than to her grandfather.

"Who? Oh, that lad. Benedict told me about him."

"What did Benedict say?"

"About Woollery?"

"No. About me, about marriage, that day."

"I'm not sure I remember exactly. He told me who he really was and apologized for deceiving me. Told me why he was here, playing that sort of game, and how that featherbrained Lydia had put the two of you in a worse position. I told him it was going to be a d.a.m.ned scandal, and he said no, he would make sure that it was not. Then he told me that he had a scheme, but he didn't tell me what it was."

The old man let out a loud "humph" and went on, "Doesn't matter, I guess, since now it looks as though his saying he would marry you must have been a lot of folderol, too. Don't see any signs of it. I have been mightily deceived in him."

"You know as well as I that he did intend to marry me," Camilla told him crossly. "I refused. I am sure he came and told you that, as well."

"Actually, he didn't, although I have guessed as much from the foul mood he's been in the last few days. Why the devil did you turn him down?"

"I didn't turn him down, exactly, because he never asked me to marry him, exactly. He just decided that we would."

The Earl let out a grunt. "Bungled it, didn't he? Just as I thought. Young people today have no suavity. No sophistication."

"That has nothing to do with it. I told him I wouldn't marry him because I knew that he didn't really want to marry me. He did it because he was too much of a gentleman to compromise me and then not marry me."

"I see. So it's because he is a gentleman that you don't want to marry him?"

Camilla rolled her eyes. "Of course not."

"Oh. I thought perhaps you preferred the sort of man who would not offer marriage to a woman whose good name he had sullied."

"He didn't sully it. It was my fault, not his, that we were even in this stupid situation, and I am not going to make him pay for the rest of his life for my mistake. I am glad he is the sort of man who would offer marriage in that situation. But I am not the sort of woman who would take him up on it."

"I see." Chevington was silent for a few moments, then went on, "You know, he didn't seem reluctant about it the night he told me what he intended to do."

"No doubt he would put a good face on it in front of you."

"Have you asked him why he wanted to marry you? Or did you just a.s.sume that he did it for the sake of honor?"

"That is all he talked about," Camilla told him miserably. "Scandal and my reputation and how his plan was the only thing that would save me from disgrace. He never, ever said a word about love. I didn't have to ask him. I knew."

"Odd..." Chevington drawled, watching his granddaughter. "He spoke to me of honor, also. He thought that argument would convince you. Don't think the fellow knows much about women. But I asked him why he was doing it, and he said it was because he loved you."

Camilla's head snapped up and she stared at him in astonishment. "What?"

"I said, he loves you. Does that make a difference in your thinking?"

"Oh, Grandpapa! Truly?"

He nodded, and she jumped up and threw her arms around him. "That makes all the difference in the world!"

Benedict rode to town in grim silence. Lieutenant Woollery, riding beside him, was wise enough not to try to initiate any conversation. Benedict had been like this all morning, and the fact that Camilla had not come downstairs to breakfast had not helped his mood a whit. When, a few minutes earlier, he received a note from Jermyn Sedgewick, informing him that he was back in Edgecombe and needed to talk to him, Benedict had crumpled the note up with a growl.

For a moment Benedict had thought about not answering Sedgewick's summons. He could not remember a time in his life when he had felt so low. Annabel's jilting him seemed laughable now, in comparison to this pain. He knew that he had managed to ruin everything with Camilla.

Once he had had time to reflect, he had realized that Camilla's following him with that ragtag group of protectors had been an indication that she did, indeed, care about him. Obviously she must have been worried about what would happen to him, and she had done her best to protect him. Indeed, she had probably saved his and Anthony's lives by following them. But instead of thanking her for risking her own neck to help him, instead of taking her in his arms and pouring out his grat.i.tude and his relief that she was herself safe, he had barked at her. He had been so filled with icy fear when he saw that it was Camilla who had launched herself at the man he was fighting that he did not think at all. He only reacted. It had not been anger that drove him, but sheer terror at the thought of what could happen to her.

But now he saw that he might as well have slapped her in the face. She hated him for what he had said. Benedict did not think he would ever forget her scornful, bitter words last night, when she had lashed back at him, telling him that she wished she had let him be killed.

He had tried to make it right with her after he got home, but she had locked her door against him. This morning she would not even come near him. He had lost the only woman he had ever loved-and he had not even managed to succeed in discovering the ident.i.ty of the traitor. They were just as much in the dark as ever, unless he could somehow search through the village and find the man whose bruises and battered knuckles would prove that he had been in a fistfight.

Benedict sighed, his hand going up to gingerly touch the darkening bruise on his own cheekbone. It might work, if only he could think of some way to get a glimpse of everyone's hands and face. But the villain would know the marks would identify him, and he would be certain to stay in today-just as Benedict wished to do. He did not want to expose himself to his friend Jermyn's quick mind and probing questions. It wouldn't be long before Jermyn had the whole story of what had happened between Benedict and Camilla, and he would not hesitate to tell Benedict how he had mishandled the whole affair.

He knew he would go. He had to, given Jermyn's urgent summons. His decision, however, had been sped up by the fact that Purdle came in and announced that Harold Elliot had come calling. Benedict rose to his feet immediately, but he was unable to escape the vicar completely. Cousin Harold strode in, smiling beatifically, before Benedict could get out the door and commented in shocked tones on the bruised condition of Benedict's face. Another ten minutes had followed of Cousin Harold's regrets that they would not be able to enjoy another little chat before Benedict was able to make his escape. By that time, Lieutenant Woollery had risen to his feet and been following Benedict, explaining that he was certain Benedict would need help with his errand.

The ride helped clear Benedict's head a little of its cobwebs, and while he did not feel cheerful when he strode into the inn a few minutes later, at least he was no longer in the sullens. He and Woollery were immediately ushered into the private room. Jermyn Sedgewick, seated on a bench beside the fire, jumped up at his entrance.

"Benedict! It's good- Good G.o.d, man, what happened to you?"

"Oh." Benedict raised his hand ruefully to his bruise. "That. An encounter with the man we are seeking, I'm afraid."