More Than a Stranger: A Sealed With a Kiss Novel (10 page)

She gaped at his teasing comment. Where had
that
come from? Narrowing her eyes slightly, she replied, “Aside from
rescuing
hapless animals, I enjoy reading, riding, and—”

“Arithmetic, my lady?” he cut in with a completely straight face.

“Riding, not writing, you nitwit,” she replied tartly before she could catch hold of herself.

Her mother choked on her soup at the same moment her father’s outraged, “Evie!” echoed across the dining table. Evie immediately clamped a hand over her mouth in horror. Merciful heavens, had she just called the man a
nitwit
?

How could she have let the insult, teasing though it was, actually leave her lips? There was no fighting the blush this time; her cheeks burned as hot as the summer sun. Cringing, she stammered, “Oh, my goodness, I—I beg your pardon, sir. I did not mean that. I have grown used to bantering with my brother, and inadvertently extended the rhetoric to you. My deepest apologies, Mr. Benedict.”

She could feel Mama’s eyes boring into her from across the table. Evie bit the inside of her cheek. What was
wrong
with her?

“No harm done, Lady Evelyn,” Benedict responded graciously, keeping a straight face, though she felt strongly he was amused. He dipped his dark head in acceptance of her apology and said, “Please forgive my impertinence, interrupting you as I did.”

She couldn’t be sure, but he looked to be biting back a smile. At least the man was a good sport about it. For some reason, she wouldn’t have expected that. “Oh, I do believe you may call me Evie, Mr. Benedict. I daresay you have earned the right.”

A groan escaped in the direction of where her mother was seated. Evie swallowed and looked down the table—oh, yes, her mother was
not
pleased. Evie could only hope the flickering candlelight made her mother look more exasperated than she truly was.

Mama turned to Mr. Benedict. “Ours tends to be a rather informal household when we are among family.” She paused to send a pointed look in Evie’s direction, but Evie knew her mother would not detract the offer now that it had been made. For heaven’s sake, why couldn’t she have just kept her mouth shut? “I do hope this total affront to protocol does not offend you?”

“Not at all, my lady,” he replied. The corners of his eyes crinkled as he turned to Evie and gave her a broad grin. “Thank you, Evie. I am honored. Nobody calls me James, but I’d be pleased if you called me Benedict. Most of my friends do.” Again, the dimple creased his left cheek.

Richard made a noise not unlike a snort, but Evie ignored him. “You are too kind, Benedict.” Her stomach did an odd little flip as she said his name. It didn’t make any sense. She had merely dropped the mister, but for some reason, losing the formality of the title seemed surprisingly intimate.

The moment was broken as Carolyn piped up. “Carolyn—you must call me Carolyn.”

Her twin was only a second behind. “Oh,
please
, call me Jocelyn!”

“Girls! Where are your manners?” her mother cried, shaking her head at her girls’ impertinence. Taking a measured breath, she looked apologetically to Benedict. “It appears, Mr. Benedict, that all my children wish to toss aside convention. In for a penny, in for a pound, I suppose.”

“I am pleased your children consider me a friend already.”

Mama gave him a relieved smile, and when he looked away, Evie caught the warning glare she doled out to each of the girls, including her. Her mother might wish for Evie to make a match, but heaven help her if Evie pushed a toe across the line of propriety. She really needed to show more reserve—not to mention restraint.

“So, what was the third interest you were speaking of before I so rudely interjected?” Benedict’s question startled her from her thoughts.

“I beg your pardon? Oh, yes, uh, that would be astronomy.” She was surely making an outstanding impression. Could she please stop sounding like a scatterbrained miss? At least she had carried on a normal conversation with him in the garden. “The country affords a spectacular view of the night sky, provided one can be patient enough to wait for a cloudless night. I often enjoy sitting in the garden at night, surrounded by the sweet scents of roses, lilac, sweet pea . . . even the faint scent of evergreen in the winter. It is the perfect setting for stargazing.”

The footmen began clearing away the dishes, and Benedict waited for the clinking of silverware on porcelain to die down before answering her.

“Astronomy, you say. How unusual.” He furrowed his brow in thought. “Have you been to the Royal Observatory in Greenwich?” He paused, and Evie shook her head in the negative. “You can see the heavens as you have never imagined there. I was fortunate to be visiting when a meteor shower occurred several years ago. Quite the most amazing thing I have ever witnessed.”

He was a student of astronomy as well? So they had something in common after all. Most men thought the hobby tedious and pointless, save for the few naval officers she knew. As the conversation carried on around her, she found herself lost in thought, the words around her swirling meaninglessly past her ears. Perhaps while Benedict was here, he would join her in the garden if the night sky ever cleared for a night of stargazing.

A little shiver went through her at the thought—the two of them, alone in the dark, with nothing but the plants and the heavens as witness. . . . She swallowed loudly and looked down at the plate of roasted lamb a footman placed before her. The smell of rosemary and thyme barely registered in her mind as she imagined the two of them nestled among the roses and lilacs.

She could hardly wait for the clouds to clear.

* * *

As the dinner crowd thinned around him, Ned Barney shifted in his seat and shot yet another look at the door. Where the hell was his bloody employer? He’d been sitting in the godforsaken place for nearly an hour, nursing a warm ale and carefully avoiding engaging any of the other patrons in the dim, gloomy room. The pub had a dark, cavelike interior that generally suited the clientele whose purpose seemed to be to get drunk or get into trouble—or both.

The firelight barely penetrated the smoke-filled room, serving more to cast flickering shadows than actual illumination. The mutton stew before him did nothing to alleviate the pervasive smell of body odor and smoke, so Barney merely took another draft of his ale. There was a low hum of conversation and a few random angry shouts, but most of the patrons kept to themselves and their pints. The golden rule, however tarnished, was steadfastly observed: Do not nose into other people’s business lest they nose into yours.

At last, the door swung open, and a tall, lean figure stepped inside. Though Barney couldn’t make out the man’s face, his shining, black Hessian boots and finely tailored clothes stood out among the sea of solid, working-class men surrounding him. Without glancing around, he headed immediately for Barney’s table. With his hat pulled low over his brow and the collar of his greatcoat pulled up around his chin, clearly the man wished not to be seen, or more particularly, recognized.

Barney shook his head—the high-stepping fool stuck out like a sore thumb.

As he approached the table, his employer didn’t hide the look of derision that clouded his features. Barney suppressed a snort; a fine guv like that would hate to be seen with the likes of him. He certainly fit in better than Lord High-and-Mighty, whose eyes raked over Barney’s greasy brown hair, tied as always with an old piece of leather, and his coat, which, thanks to days of rain, was uncomfortably stiff with dried mud and shed clumps of dirt every time he moved his arms. Barney wasn’t about to apologize for his appearance.

For all he cared, His Highness could look at him with all the disgust in the world. He thought he was so much better than Barney, but look who came running when Barney sent the man a missive this morning.

Sitting with his back to the wall, Barney took a moment to sweep his eyes around the room. If someone had taken notice of them, he wanted to know.

“Cease looking around so much. You are bound to only attract attention, you bloody fool,” the man growled, slipping into the empty chair before tugging the collar of his coat up higher.

The peacock was dressed like that, and he had the gall to say Barney was the one who would attract attention? He wanted to tell the man where he could go, but of course that would send his money away as well. Trying to look contrite, Barney dropped his gaze and ground out, “Sorry, m’lord. Wanted to know what’s what, is all.”

He could tell his lower-class accent grated on the gentleman’s nerves—it had since the first day they met.

“For God’s sake, man, do not call me that. Have you no brain at all?”

This time Barney remained mute, staring into his ale. It was better than putting a fist through the man’s skull.

“Have you managed to find him, then? Is that why you sent for me?”

“Nay, but I’m close, I know it. Just a li’l longer, ’e’ll be mine.” He shifted in his seat. Now, to get to the point of the meeting. “I called you because ’e went deep, ’n far at that. If I’m to chase ’im ’cross the ’ole of England, I’m going to need more funds, is all.” He hazarded a glance at his employer. The anger and disdain were clear in the man’s eyes, and Barney quickly looked down again. He took a bracing draft of ale to fill the silence his employer let stretch.

“I gave you what you said you needed. On what did you manage to piss it away already?” He hissed each word, and Barney shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“There’s expenses, tryin’ to find a man that’s gone to ground. I’ve been payin’ servants and grooms and all sorts to track ’im.”

After a few moments of consideration, the man reached into his pocket, withdrew a small leather pouch, and tossed it on the table. The heavy clink was music to Barney’s ears, and he made an effort to conceal the satisfaction from his expression.

“If I do not hear of his whereabouts within five days, I will personally track you down and extract my money from your worthless hide.” He stood and glared down at Barney. “Is that understood?”

Barney, still seated at the table, met his eyes and gave a curt nod. “Aye, my lor—uh, sir. I catch your meanin’.”

Barney watched as the man turned on his highly polished boot heel and strode to the door. Without a backward glance, he pushed through the exit and was gone. Only then did Barney allow a smile to crack his face.

Leaning back in his chair, he tossed the bag in his hand once, feeling the weight of it, before pocketing the money. Dropping some change from his own meager supply on the table, he rose to his feet. The meeting had gone better than expected. He made his way toward the door, limping in favor of his left leg.

His employer didn’t realize that at this point, the job had become personal. Having someone to pin the blame on, and getting paid to do what he already would have been doing, was just a bonus. His target was about to find out that no one made a fool of Ned Barney and got away with it. He could hardly wait for the moment when he would pay one Benedict Hastings a surprise visit.

Chapter Seven

You may threaten all you want, Evie, but you forget I hold the trump card. You would never betray me to my grandmother. How do I know this? Because I would then betray you to your parents. Of the two of us, who do you think would suffer the greater consequences? Were we playing chess, I believe I would have just declared checkmate. Now then, you were saying?

—From Hastings to Evie

H
e had been right to sever his ties with Evie before embarking on his career some seven years earlier. If Benedict had met her as they had originally planned when he graduated Eton, he would have never been able to leave her behind to serve the Crown.

After all, a spy must have full concentration to play his part.

Benedict closed his eyes and dropped his head back against the curved lip of the copper tub. It was not that he had forgotten her completely. When Lisette whisked him off to the Continent, he had lain awake many a night, wondering how Evie was doing and whether or not she was happy.

Wondering whether or not she hated him.

Eventually, he had stopped thinking of her every day, or even every week. She became a distant, fond memory that came to him only on rare, special occasions. And now, here he was, in the middle of the most unthinkable situation, needing nothing more than to concentrate on what the hell he would do next, and he was utterly captivated by her once more. Honestly, what was it about the girl—
lady
—that seemed to erode his willpower so effectively? She was just so damned engaging. He was quite sure it was the only time in his life a young lady had ever referred to him as a nitwit.

A small smile came to his lips. Really, it was exactly the sort of thing she might have said in one of her letters. She had never failed to put him firmly in his place back then, either. His heart tugged within his chest, and he took a slow, deep breath, filling his lungs with the hot steam rising from the water. He had made his choice seven years ago, and now he must live with that.

If he could just stay out of her way—or better yet, if she would stay out of his—then he could decide his next step and move on from this place without causing her any pain.

He slid lower into the almost painfully hot water until it lapped at his chin. He couldn’t put it off much longer. He had pushed it aside earlier, but it was time to face his demons. It was time to decide which was more important to him: his loyalty to his country, or to his blood.

Damn Renault. Damn him for finding Benedict’s one weakness with the precision of a master swordsman, plunging the tip of his blade into his enemy’s heart. Benedict had thought himself so bloody clever when, after three years of working his way into the Renault brothers’ smuggling ring, he had finally set them up for the ultimate fall.