More Than a Stranger: A Sealed With a Kiss Novel (17 page)

The little fool.

He ground his teeth together to keep from saying what he really felt. Taking a long breath, Benedict inclined his head in deference to her. “It doesn’t. I just hope you have thought this all through.”

She crossed her arms, her azure eyes cooling considerably. “You know, I was just beginning to like you. Clearly my ability to judge one’s character is slipping. Thank you for letting me see your true nature in a timely manner.”

“If showing my true nature means that I present the voice of reason, then you are more than welcome, my lady.”

She screwed up her face as if she smelled something rotten. “Voice of reason? You must be delusional.”

“Delusional, correct,” he said, pantomiming the up-and-down motion of a scale. “It’s all a matter of interpretation, I suppose.”

“What is there to interpret? You are presumptuous enough to assume I don’t know my own mind. Why? Is it because I am a mere woman?”

“I never said—”

“You might as well have,” she exclaimed, color staining her cheeks. “You don’t know me well enough to have come about your conclusions any other way. Therefore, you must think that because I’m a female, I—”

“It’s because you have so much to offer!”

* * *

They both froze.

Benedict looked even more surprised than Evie felt. With a muttered curse, he dragged his hat from his head and raked a hand through his hair. “Forget I ever said anything. You may do as you please, and I shall keep my delusional opinions to myself.”

Evie stood there blinking, utterly mute. How could she
ever
forget he had said such a thing? Pleasure at his praise raced through her body, warming her more effectively than even the brightest sun. “You think I have a lot to offer?”

He blushed—actually blushed—and rubbed a hand over his mouth in agitation. He gave a quick, jerky nod. “Yes, of course. Richard has always spoken so highly of you. And with all of the ingrates procreating within the
ton
, they could use as much fresh blood as they can get.”

She gave a quick snort of laughter before slapping a hand to her mouth. “I cannot believe you just said that.”

“You don’t agree?”

“Of course I do. I simply can’t believe you verbalized it.”

They grinned at each other, the tension from before melting away. For a moment, neither one of them spoke; then Benedict cleared his throat and gestured for them to carry on. “Shall we continue, or would you like to head back?”

“Let’s keep going. The day is young yet.” Her heart felt oddly buoyed, like a cork bobbing in a lake. It was nice, walking quietly beside him. With nothing but the sound of their boots on the dirt path and the occasional chirping bird, it was very peaceful. It felt normal, as if they had been together like this before, enjoying simply being with each other. “Thank you for saying that,” she said quietly, keeping her eyes on the path in front of them.

“What?”

“That I have a lot to offer. I do realize I am not the ideal example of femininity.”

“Thank God for that. Do you really want to be the
ton
’s ideal anything?”

Evie grinned. Now he was catching on. “Not in the least. I may be in the minority, but I am perfectly happy just the way I am. However,” she said wryly, glancing up to meet his gaze, “my unconventional nature does have a way of getting me in trouble. For example, when I unintentionally call a perfect stranger a nitwit.”

Benedict chuckled, his brown eyes alight with mirth. “I’ll admit—that was a new experience for me.”

With her attention wholly on him, she didn’t see the rock in front of her until she stumbled over it. His hand shot out to steady her, and she gasped at the sudden contact. Their eyes met briefly, and she smiled before looking down to watch the path.

Benedict didn’t drop his hand. Instead, he readjusted his grip so that he supported her elbow in the palm of his hand. She swallowed the urge to giggle. They were both adults. If he wanted to offer her a guiding hand, it was perfectly acceptable to do so. It was no one’s business but her own if her whole body was positively humming with awareness of the man at her side.

“So you truly are happy?” His voice was low and smooth as he spoke. “I mean, there is nothing more you want from life?”

Her muddled brain struggled to think past the tingle of his hand at her elbow. “At the moment, I enjoy my life exactly as it is.” It was absolutely true. She could be with him like this all day and be perfectly content.

The path narrowed, and they were forced to move a little closer to each other. His spicy cologne blended beautifully with the mossy, earthy scents wrapping around them.

He dipped his head, lifting a single brow. “Exactly as it is?”

She slowed to a stop, and he followed suit, turning so they were face-to-face. She knew at once they were closer than was proper, but neither of them moved. She licked her lips and nodded once. “Yes. Mostly.” Why was it so hard to think with his hand pressing against her, warm and sure?

The trees above them rattled in a light gust of wind, and sunny spots of light danced over the broad expanse of his chest and shoulders. “Mostly?” he said, the deep timbre of his voice nearly a caress. He tilted his head slightly, holding her gaze the whole time. “What is it that is missing from your life?”

Only yesterday, she would have said nothing. Nothing was missing from her life. So why did her long-dormant heart suddenly protest that answer? Longing, unlike anything she had felt in years, snaked within her. She opened her mouth to respond to him, but no words came to her lips. Finally, she simply shook her head. She couldn’t think about it now; she couldn’t answer him when she didn’t know the answer herself.

A few wisps of hair that had worked free of her pins during her ride lifted in the wind and fluttered across her cheeks. As naturally as if he’d done it a thousand times before, he reached out and touched the errant strands. His fingertips whispered along her cheek as he brushed the lock behind her ear. She held perfectly still as gooseflesh tightened the skin on the back of her neck and swept down her arms. It was all she could do not to turn her cheek into his palm.

“Nothing you would wish for?” He persisted, his words barely above a whisper.

Evie’s heart hammered within her chest as she breathed in his enticing scent. The new, delicious sensations coursing through her warmed her from the inside out. She looked up into his dark penetrating stare, losing herself in the velvet depths. Without even intending to, she swayed toward him, lifting her chin as she did. His nostrils flared slightly; he was not unaffected by her nearness. The knowledge weakened her knees even as it emboldened her. Instead of answering his question, she slowly shook her head, her eyes never leaving his.

He lowered his head just enough for her to feel the heat of his breath upon her cheek. The rapid rise and fall of her chest betrayed her own emotions, but she didn’t pull away—not when only inches separated their lips. Was this to be her first true kiss?

“Nothing at all?” he murmured, moving his hand from her elbow and skimming up the back of her arm.

She swallowed, her gaze dropping to his lips. “Nothing is perfect, Mr. Benedict.”

Chapter Thirteen

If I told you what I wished for, then surely it won’t come true. I will say, however, that my dreams have nothing to do with possessions, though I am certain you already knew that. Can you truly not guess what this daughter of a marquis wants?

—From Evie to Hastings

I
t took a moment before her words penetrated the haze of desire clouding Benedict’s mind. “Mister?”

“Benedict,” she said softly. “Nothing is perfect, Benedict.”

But it was too late. All at once, the truth of his situation came rushing back. He wasn’t Benedict, and she wasn’t his Evie. He was
Mr.
Benedict, and she Lady Evelyn. For a moment in time, he had forgotten who he was supposed to be; forgotten the role he played. As much as he might wish things had ended differently between them, he could no more change the past now than he could escape the drama he’d found himself entangled in. Damn it all to hell, how could he have forgotten himself? How could he have let himself get so caught up in the moment?

He took a small step backward, only a few inches physically, but emotionally the distance was much greater. “You are absolutely correct about that, my lady.”

Evie blinked several times, confusion clouding her eyes. A tiny crease appeared between her brows, and he cursed himself for ever having gotten so close to her in the first place.

He offered her a small smile, trying to soften the sting of his disengagement. “Jasper will be wondering what’s become of us. I think perhaps we should head back.”

“Yes, of course,” she said, visibly rallying. He could have happily flogged himself for causing the hurt coloring her voice. He had been a fool to ever think he could be alone with her and not risk losing himself. More than that, he had been reckless.

When they returned to the house, Benedict was, to be quite blunt, anxious to get out of Evie’s company. Entering the paddock, he hopped down from Brutus and handed the reins to the waiting groom. Evie dismounted using the three-step mounting block, thank God. Contact between the two of them should be kept to a strict minimum.

“I must admit I am weary from all of our exercise today. I believe I shall go rest. May I escort you to the house?” He kept his expression bland and his tone impersonal as he made the offer, hoping she would refuse.

She studied him with solemn eyes, concern and a little hurt reflected in their depths. He willed her not to press him, not to make things harder for him than they already were. After a moment she shook her head. “Um, no. Thank you. I think I shall stay for a while longer and see to some business matters. Rest up, and I shall see you at dinner.”

He nodded in reply and made good his escape to the house, careful not to look back at the rightly bewildered young lady behind him. If he stopped now, well, he didn’t think he’d ever be able to walk away from her.

* * *

Standing in the courtyard of a weatherworn inn at twilight, Ned Barney knew he had found the right person. He was getting closer and closer to tracking down his quarry, and he felt in his bones that this was the man who would lead him to Hastings. Before him, the innkeeper eyed the tantalizing pouch of coins Barney held in his hand.

Leaning toward the man conspiratorially, Barney said, “As I said, all I need is a direction.” He jostled his hand, letting the innkeeper hear the clink of the coins.

Muffled laughter filtered through the thin ivy-covered walls of the first-floor tavern. The man glanced around the courtyard again, making sure they were still alone. The lamps had not yet been lit, and heavy shadows surrounded them as effectively as a cloak. He licked his lips, settling his eyes on the coin purse in Barney’s outstretched hand. Finally, the man reached forward to take the prize. Barney quickly withdrew the bait. “Uh, uh, uh. You tell me wha’ I need to know, and I give you the money.”

The innkeeper scowled at him and crossed his arms. “How am I to know you’ll do as you say?”

Barney grinned. “I suppose you are just going to have to trust me.”

“Not bloody likely. I wouldn’t trust you as far as I could throw you,” the man retorted.

Barney shrugged and turned away.

“Wait!”

He stopped, allowing himself a quick smile before clearing his expression and swiveling to face the greedy bastard. “Yes?”

The man lifted a finger and pointed eastward. “They went on to Hertford Hall in Alyesbury. That yellow-haired gent be the marquis’s son.”

Triumph! Barney executed a shallow bow. “Much obliged, sir,” he said, before punching the man square in the face. The innkeeper fell like a stone, landing in a heap at Barney’s feet.

Shaking his hand once, he turned and limped toward his horse, pocketing the money purse. Finally, he had a firm destination. He whistled as he mounted his horse and turned in the direction the innkeeper had pointed. Now that he had an address, it was only a matter of time.

* * *

“How was your ride?”

Evie grimaced and looked up from the letter she had been trying to compose for the better part of half an hour to absolutely no avail. Beatrice stood framed in the doorway of Evie’s small study, her eyes alight with curiosity. Or was it mischief? With Bea, one could never be sure.

“Fine,” Evie said, tossing her quill on the desk. The ink was dry by now anyhow. Every time she looked at the vellum, all she could see was Benedict’s shadowed face in the forest, looking down at her as if she were the only person in the world.

Or so she had thought at the time. Apparently she had misread him—dreadfully so. What she thought was interest was only some sort of polite attention. Or was it even that? He could have been loathing her for all she knew. She
really
wished she knew what she had done to change his mood so drastically.

Beatrice’s head cocked to the side as she looked Evie up and down as if she were a horse at auction. Evie stifled the urge to roll her eyes. Oh, superb—now she was garnering looks of concern from a sixteen-year-old. Coming fully into the room, Beatrice settled on one of the blue-and-green-patterned chairs in front of Evie’s desk. “You don’t look fine. Did something happen with Mr. Benedict?”

Evie gave a half snort, half laugh. She did not even know the answer to that question.
No, something didn’t happen, and that is the problem.
Somehow she didn’t think Bea would understand. “How did you know I was with him?”