Part 17 (2/2)
”Better to do that than to let him sink the family with his mischief.”
Jenkins winced at his choice of words, but said only, ”Yes, I tried to convince His Lords.h.i.+p to let him go up to Oxford now that he is eighteen, but he would not hear of it. And as for the army, which is what Master Anthony wants to do...well, it doesn't bear thinking of.”
”Why do you think he is involved with the smuggling ring?”
”Purdle and I have seen him sneaking out at night. It isn't the first time he has done so, by any means, but it's been much more frequent of late. Every time we have seen him sneaking out, the next morning our delivery of brandy is on the doorstep.”
Benedict sighed. ”Everyone turns such a blind eye to the smuggling here. It's no wonder the boy was intrigued by it.”
”Mayhap, sir, but for an Elliot-a future Earl, no less-to be involved in it...! Why, it would break His Lords.h.i.+p's heart if anything were to happen to that boy. That would be even worse than the scandal. And G.o.d knows the scandal would be bad enough.”
”Yes, well, we must make sure that there is no scandal.” He paused, then continued cautiously, ”Antony is a smart lad, and daring. He could turn his frustrated yearning for the army into another sort of campaigning. Could it be he who is the gentleman leading the smugglers?”
”No!” Jenkins's face flushed red with anger. ”Never. You don't know Master Anthony like I do, or you would not say that. It is one thing to help out for a lark. But he would never, ever, murder anyone.”
”Soldiers kill. You say he has a longing to be a soldier.”
”On command. For his country. Yes, then the lad could kill, I suppose. And he would do so to protect his family or, indeed, any innocent person who was threatened. But he has a good heart. He would never kill anyone for gain. Especially not Nat Crowder. Nat was Jem Crowder's brother, and Jem and Master Anthony have been friends since they were little tykes. It'd be almost like killing one of his own family. Worse, really, if you were talking about the rector, whom he cannot like.” Jenkins stopped abruptly, looking embarra.s.sed. ”Oh. Pardon me, sir. I should not have said that.”
”Perfectly understandable. I have visited with the Right Reverend Harold Elliot, you see.”
”Yes, sir.”
”Well, thank you, Jenkins.” Benedict rose from his chair.
”Anything to help ease His Lords.h.i.+p's mind, sir. If you don't mind my asking...have you told Miss Camilla about this?”
”No. The Earl told me to keep silent.”
”Ah. Very good, sir.” Jenkins looked relieved. ”I was hoping that was the case. I fear Miss Camilla would get in a regular taking if she was to find out about the young master's escapades.”
Benedict suspected that, far from not knowing about them, Miss Camilla was probably neck-deep in them, from the way he had seen the two of them whispering together like conspirators. However, he said nothing to disillusion the aging servant, just bade him goodnight and walked back down the hall to his own room.
The room was silent when he walked in. A lamp burned low on the table, lighting the room dimly. In the faint golden light, he could see Camilla's sleeping form on the bed, as well as his own couch, a blanket and pillow thoughtfully left upon it.
He walked to the sofa and began to undress, glancing over now and then at Camilla's rec.u.mbent form. She was turned on her side, away from him, and all he could see was the dark cloud of hair above the covers. He wondered if she was really asleep. He thought of a pair of fine blue eyes and of the way her lips had yielded sweetly beneath his.
A few days ago, the pretense of marriage had seemed like nothing but a nuisance, and sleeping in the same room with her had been a fine jest on her for creating such a pretense in the first place. Tonight, sleeping fifteen feet away from her bed did not strike him as particularly funny.
Mentally cursing, he lay down on the couch and wrapped the blanket around him. He adjusted me pillow beneath his head and closed his eyes. But sleep would not come. He kept imagining what it would be like to go to her bedside and pull back the cover, to look at her lying there in her nightgown. The gown would be white, he knew, and he could picture it rucked up around her legs, exposing her shapely calves and thighs. He would be able to see the dark circles of her nipples beneath the thin material, the soft swell of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and hips. He thought of tracing her sleeping face with his forefinger, of touching her forehead and cheeks and lips, of trailing his finger down over the velvet softness of her throat.
Benedict turned his head into his pillow to stifle a groan. He was so suddenly, poundingly hard he felt as if he might burst, yet he could not stop thinking about her. About kneeling beside the bed and taking her nipple into his mouth, cloth and all, and pulling gently. When he pulled away, the wet cloth could cling to the hard pink bud, inviting his return. He thought of sliding his hand down her body to the apex of her legs, slipping in between them and stroking until she was hot and damp with pleasure. He could hear her moan, feel her thrusting up against his hand, wanting more.
This was insane! He bit into the pillow and wrapped his arms around his torso, willing himself under control. So he lay, wide awake, refusing to give in to his desires, through much of the seemingly interminable night.
He did not drift off to sleep until the pale light of dawn began to show around the edges of the drapes. Then, just as he was finally sliding down into the darkness, the creak of the door brought him wide awake.
Benedict turned, his hand sliding down to his boot, beside the sofa, and the knife that was strapped inside it. He pretended still to slumber, watching through slitted eyes as a man tiptoed across the room toward where Camilla lay sleeping.
The man crossed in front of him, and Benedict relaxed, recognizing the slender form as that of Camilla's cousin Anthony. He started to sit up and comment on the young man's unusual visiting hours, but he restrained himself. The wiser course, he knew, would be to watch and find out exactly what had brought the young Viscount here at this hour of the morning.
Anthony leaned over the bed and shook Camilla's shoulder. She came awake with a low cry, and Anthony quickly clapped his hand over her mouth.
”Shh...Camilla, it is I.”
Camilla recognized Anthony's voice, and, blinking the sleep from her eyes, she could see his features now in the dim light. She pushed his hand away irritatedly.
”What in the name of heaven are you doing?”
”Waking you,” he answered reasonably, still in me same low whisper. ”Get up. I need you.”
”Why?”
He shook his head and turned to look over his shoulder at the couch where Benedict slept Camilla followed his gaze and understood. He was afraid that Benedict would awaken, and he did not want him to know why Anthony was here. She nodded her understanding and slid quietly out of bed. She stuck her feet into her slippers and wrapped the heavy dressing gown around her, all the while keeping a cautious eye on the sleeping form on the sofa. With Anthony on her heels, she stole out of the room.
Outside in the hall, she strode across to the long, narrow table where Anthony had left his candle and turned to face him. ”All right. Now what is going on?”
”Shh,” he cautioned her again. ”You'll wake everybody up.”
”Oh. You mean the way you woke me?”
He grinned sheepishly. ”All right I'm sorry. I wouldn't have done it Milla, except that it's an emergency.”
”Isn't it always?”
''No. I really mean it. There is another man's life at stake here.”
”What?” Camilla straightened, all teasing erased from her voice. Her eyes flew instinctively toward her door across the hall.
”No, not him,” Anthony said impatiently, picking up the candlestick in one hand and taking her by the arm with the other. He started down the hall, pulling Camilla along.
”Then who?” Camilla asked as she hurried along beside him.
”I don't know.”
”Anthony, you aren't making any sense. Are you bosky?”
”No!” he answered indignantly, forgetting his stricture to be silent. ”I haven't had a drop to drink since a cup of wine at dinner last night...where, I must say, you and Mr. La.s.siter were acting most peculiarly.”
”Don't be silly.” Camilla was grateful that the dim light of the hallway hid her rising .blush.
”I was not the one being silly,” he replied significantly. ”The two of you were making sheep's eyes at each other all night. And don't think that I am the only one who saw it. Mama was going on about it for ages after you left last night. Even that cipher Thorne noticed it. He kept blathering on about love in bloom.”
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