Indiscreet Part 23

By the time Benedict had finished, a flush was rising in the old man's face. "Well, that sounds exactly like something Camilla would have done. She was always one to fall in with any harebrained schemes-as bad as Anthony. But who the devil are you, and why did you agree to it?"

"I am Lord Rawdon."

"Rawdon! Ha! Better come up with a better one than that, my boy. I know Lord Rawdon, and he is an old man, nearer my age than yours. Name's Sylvester, and we've played cards together."

"I don't doubt that. My uncle was ever a gambler. Fortunately for the family, he won more than he lost."

"Your uncle?"

"Yes. My father was his youngest brother. No one thought his line would inherit, but, except for Sylvester, the Wincrosses were a remarkably short-lived group of people."

"But-I thought Sylvester had a son."

"He did." A faint smile touched Benedict's lips. "Do you think to trip me up? I promise you, I know whereof I speak. In his middle years, my aunt, only a few years younger than he, produced an heir, much to everyone's surprise. While I was at war, the boy succ.u.mbed to a chest fever and died. Therefore, when Sylvester died last year, I came into the barony."

Chevington gazed at him unblinkingly for a long moment. "Perhaps you could explain to me why a lord would agree to pretend to be my granddaughter's husband."

"I know it sounds absurd."

"No more so than the rest of the story, I suppose." Chevington crossed his arms, waiting.

"I had a reason. I am here to catch a traitor."

Whatever the old man had expected, it obviously had not been this. He gaped at Benedict. "A traitor! What the devil are you talking about?"

Benedict proceeded to explain about the Gideon network and the recent problems, including Winslow's death, that had sent them to Edgecombe. The old Earl listened with rapt attention, and when Benedict had finished, he sat back with a sigh.

"Are you trying to tell me that Anthony is mixed up with treason, also? Because I don't believe it"

"No. I doubt very seriously that Anthony is in any way involved. However, someone among the smugglers must be. The odds are that it is this new leader. I will admit to you that I am hoping to use Anthony to find him. I intend to get your grandson out of it clean. I cannot, after all, have my wife's cousin on the gallows."

"But Camilla is not your wife."

"I plan to marry her when all this is over."

"I shall be interested in seeing how you bring off a wedding to a woman to whom everyone thinks you are already married."

Benedict smiled. "I have a plan."

"No doubt you do. I can see that you are a fitting partner for Camilla." He raised his hand as Benedict started to speak. "No, I don't even want to hear what it is. I believe I am growing too old for such shenanigans." He paused. "Does Camilla know all this?"

"No, sir. She thinks I agreed to help her because she offered to pay me. She was of the opinion that I am a thief."

The ghost of a smile played at the corners of Chevington's mouth. "What makes you think she will agree to your plan?"

"I am confident that I can convince her."

"Are you, now?" The old man grinned. "Would you care to take any bets?"

Benedict, who himself had some doubts on that score, was irritated by the other man's patent disbelief. "She will have to agree," he pointed out crossly. "Otherwise her reputation will be ruined."

"I wouldn't use that argument, if I were you. Camilla doesn't take kindly to being coerced. Nor, I would think, to a husband who is offering only to save her reputation."

"But I am not!" Benedict flared. "I love her."

"Do you? Then I would suggest that you do what I always did with her grandmother."

"And what is that?"

"Beg."

Camilla awoke and stretched sensuously, very aware of her body. She glanced over at Benedict. He was still asleep, sprawled on his stomach. She reached out and tenderly stroked a hand down his hair. He had awakened her last night getting into bed, and they had made love all over again. It had been even mere wonderful than the first time, if that was possible. A little pain stabbed her as she thought about the future, but she quickly shoved the thought away. There would be time enough for that later, when the bleak moment came that Benedict left.

She had no regrets about what had happened, but neither did she have any illusions. She loved Benedict, and she had wanted to experience that love in every way. But she did not expect him to return the feeling. Benedict was here for reasons of his own, and as soon as he had accomplished what he wanted, he would be gone. Camilla told herself that she was resigned to that, and she refused to let regrets about what would happen in the future spoil her time right now.

Curling a strand of his hair around her finger, she thought about staying in bed and waking Benedict by kissing him all over. It would be a most pleasant way to start the day.

But duty called her. She had neglected her patient, and she must go over to the island to see how he was progressing. She was not even sure that Anthony had been able to go back over to the island, because of the storm. She was doubly worried for the man's safety, for aside from his fever, there was the added danger of whoever was stalking him.

She would have laughed if she knew that Benedict hoped she had not noticed that their boat had been tampered with. She had realized immediately that someone must have drilled a hole in it in order to sink them. She had no idea who would have done it, but she had the uneasy feeling that it must have something to do with the man she and Anthony were hiding on the island. Did the would-be killer know that she was helping him? Had he figured out that the man was on the island? She did not understand the connection between causing her to drown and killing the stranger, but it seemed too coincidental to think that there were two different killers trying to murder two different people. Whatever was going on, she knew she had to see if her patient was all right.

She slipped out of bed and washed and dressed as quietly as she could, then eased out the door into the hall. She made her way quickly to the kitchens, where she wheedled some foodstuffs out of Cook before she set off for the island. It took her longer than normal to reach the ruins, for she stopped every few minutes to look around, uneasily aware that the killer could be hiding and watching her movements. The last thing she wanted was to lead him right to the man he wanted to kill. Once she thought she heard something behind her, but when she whirled around, she saw nothing out of the ordinary. Telling herself that she was letting her nerves get out of hand, she pressed on across the strip of land to the old keep.

with a last long, careful look around her, she descended into the cellars. Pulling out the candle she had brought, she lit it and made her way to the door of the room where the patient lay. Suddenly the door opened, and she jumped, almost dropping her taper in her fright.

Anthony stood in the doorway.

She let out a gusty sigh of relief. "Anthony! You nearly frightened me to death! What are you popping out like that for?"

"I heard you coming," he answered cheerfully, ignoring her crossness. "Camilla, the most wonderful thing-our man is awake!"

"What?"

"Yes. He came out of his fever." Anthony came out to her. "I came over last night and found his fever had gone down. He awakened and spoke. He didn't say much of anything, just asked where he was and who I was, things like that, and then he went back to sleep. But he is obviously much improved."

Camilla leaned close to whisper, "Did you find out anything about him?"

"No. Very little. I didn't like to press him, as weak as he was feeling. But I am sure that when he awakens this morning, he will feel more up to talking."

They continued into the small underground chamber where the man lay. Camilla crossed the room to look down at him. He lay curled up on his side, blanket wrapped around him like a coc.o.o.n and one arm cradling his head. She noted with satisfaction that his color was much better this morning and his breathing no longer seemed labored.

He seemed to sense her watching him, for his eyes flew open, and he sat up quickly, wincing at the pain. He stared at her for a moment, then relaxed, saying, "Oh. You must be the kind lady my young friend here told me about."

"You are looking much better this morning."

"Thank you. It is entirely due to your care, I understand." He started to struggle politely to his feet, but she waved him back down.

"Never mind the niceties. No point in wasting your energy." She set down the box she carried and began to dig in it. "Here. I brought you some nice hot tea to drink, and some fortifying gruel."

Anthony leaned over and looked down at the pot in the box and grimaced. "Ugh."

"Hush. Gruel will be quite good for our patient He needs something warm and filling to help get his strength back."

"It sounds delightful," the other man replied, smiling at her. "Frankly, the way my stomach feels right now, I would eat anything."

Camilla smiled back at him. He was a nice-looking young man, she thought, even with the scraggly beard that had sprouted while he was sick, and the wildly tousled hair. As if reading her thoughts, he combed through his hair with his fingers and gave Camilla an apologetic smile.

"Sorry. I must look like some vagrant."

"Nonsense. You look like a man who has been very ill for several days," Camilla corrected crisply, dis.h.i.+ng up a bowl of gruel from the pot. "Here. Are you strong enough to hold it, or shall I help you?"

The color heightened a little in his face, and he said quickly, "Thank you. I think I'm not that bad yet."

But she noticed that his hand trembled a little under the weight of the bowl. He was far from well. He took a few slow bites. The color in his face improved, and he smiled at Camilla.

"Thank you. I feel much more the thing now."

Anthony put aside his dislike of the gruel long enough to eat a heaping bowlful. When their visitor had drunk his tea and eaten the last bite of gruel he could stuff down, he leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes.

Camilla was afraid he might slip back into sleep, so she said quickly, "Well! Now that you are feeling better, there are a few things that we really need to talk about."

His eyes opened and he looked at her-a trifle warily, Camilla thought.

"For instance, your name," Camilla went on. "We have no idea who you are."

"I know. And you are a most kind and gracious woman to give aid to a stranger like this."

There was something a little foreign in the inflection of his words, Camilla thought-or was it just her imagination?

"Thank you. But I am not looking for compliments. I would simply like to know your name."

He hesitated for a moment, then said, "It is James. James Woollery."

"I see." She found herself wondering if he had given her the compliment in order to have more time to think up a name for himself. "What happened to you to put you in such a condition?"

"Camilla..." Anthony put in. "Perhaps he isn't feeling well enough for all these questions. Anyway, I told you what happened."

"I would like to hear it from him."

"No. It is all right, Anthony," Woollery a.s.sured him. "I understand her curiosity. I only wish that I could be of more help. I was attacked, but by whom or why, I do not know. He was hiding in the rocks along the sh.o.r.e, waiting for me, and when I pa.s.sed, he jumped out at me with a knife. We struggled. I'm not sure exactly what happened. I was cut and losing blood, but I managed to pull my pistol from my pocket, and when I did, he ran off. I fired at him, but I don't think I hit him."

"But you have no idea who he was?"

He shook his head. "He wore a kerchief around the lower part of his face, like this, and a cap pulled down low on his head. I could see nothing but his eyes, and it was quite dark. I did not recognize him, certainly. I don't even think that I could pick him out if I saw him again."

"What size was he? Large? Small?"

"Tall," he replied. "Taller than I. Strong enough."

"Did he steal anything from you?"

"No." He s.h.i.+fted, for the first time looking away from her. "I presume that was his intent, after he killed me, but he did not get that far."

Camilla nodded, wondering if it was mere coincidence that he had looked away just then. "It seems odd, though. Why not just tell you to stand and deliver? It seems extreme to kill a stranger to rob him, don't you think?"

The man shrugged. "I do not know what he was thinking."

"Mr. Woollery, where are you from?"

His eyebrows rose. "Well, I am from Dorset. I was on my way home."

"From France?" Camilla asked coolly.

Woollery went still. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that I know you were among the smugglers. That you came in on the boat carrying a load of brandy the other night."

"I'm sorry." He smiled politely. "But you are mistaken."

"Am I?" Camilla gazed back at him levelly. "Mr. Woollery, I am sure that you can appreciate my position. My cousin and I have helped you because we felt compa.s.sion for you, as we would for anyone injured as you were. However, we know that you came in with the smugglers. That ring of yours was seen, and it is the sort of thing that one does not easily forget."

His hand went instinctively to the cord around his neck, but he said nothing.

"You were at the very least engaged in the activity of smuggling. But it also appears that you came here from France. You spoke French in the midst of your delirium."

"I did?" He looked surprised and, bizarrely, a trifle pleased.

"Yes. You did."

"That is not difficult to explain. You see, my mother was an emigre. French is almost as much my native tongue as English."

"That may be, but it still does not explain what you were doing here the other night, helping a band of smugglers. It does not tell me how you got here or why you are here."

The man pa.s.sed a shaky hand across his forehead. "I know how odd all this looks. But I promise you, I am as English as you are, and I love my country just as much. I do not know the ident.i.ty of the man who attacked me, nor do I know why he attacked me. As for the rest of it, well...I am sorry, but I simply am not at liberty to tell you."

"Not at liberty!" Camilla exclaimed.

"What does that mean?" Anthony spoke up for the first time. "I say, Woollery, this is hardly the time to be resting on scruples. Your life could be at stake. Or ours, for that matter. You have to tell us. What it going on?"

"Yes," echoed a deep voice in the doorway. "I'd like to know that, as well. What is going on?"

"Benedict!" Camilla gasped and whirled around to face the doorway, automatically stepping between the wounded man on the floor and the man who stood in the door. Now the fat was really in the fire. "What are you doing here?"

"I believe that is my question," Benedict replied calmly, stepping into the room. "I followed you, my dear. I was rather interested in what kept you running out here to the abandoned keep. Sorry to arrive so late, but it took me a while to find the cellar door. I was too far behind you to see where it was, you see."

"You-you mean, you knew? The whole time?"