More Than a Stranger: A Sealed With a Kiss Novel (22 page)

He’d had to call on his years of training in order to maintain a normal facade, even managing to laugh with Richard about some ridiculous thing or another. Regardless of whom he was looking at or talking to, his every sense had been trained on Evie, willing her to forgive him, to give him a chance to explain. To not hate him.

Somehow he got the impression that for her not to hate him was on the far side of impossible. And really, he deserved no less. That, however, did not stop him from wanting more.

He had to go to her. He yanked out his watch fob and checked the time. It was nearly eleven o’clock. He would wait another hour to ensure that the family and servants were abed, but not a minute longer.

With nervous energy still coursing through his body, he stood and began unbuttoning his shirt. He needed to clear his mind. He was no good to anyone in the state he was in. He changed into the lightweight pants he used for practicing, lit a few more candles, and retrieved his foil.

The motions were so familiar to him, he didn’t need to think, only move. He concentrated on each breath and listened to the pounding of his own heartbeat.
Advance, advance, ballestra, retreat, retreat, recovery. Lunge!
He went through all of the drills he had practiced for years, from simple to complicated. He ignored the pouring sweat, the screaming of his muscles, the pounding of his heart.

A soft tap at the door stopped him midthrust, his pulse thundering in his ears. Hope roared to life within him as he snapped upright and tossed his foil atop the bed. Before he could take three steps, the door swung open.

And then there she was.

Evie slipped inside and shut the door before turning to face him. Benedict swallowed, arrested in his place by the sight of her. She looked as though she had just risen from bed, wearing a voluminous, white night rail and wrapper, with her hair plaited in a long rope tumbling over her shoulder. She should have looked innocent; instead she looked like a warrior poised for battle.

She was beautiful—and nearly glowing with the force of her fury.

“You deceitful, spurious, villainous, loathsome, cowardly
bastard
.”

Each word shoved a knife deeper into his chest. No one could quite craft an insult like Evie. He dipped his head slightly. “I agree completely.”

She hesitated for the space of a breath, her fiery gaze flitting over his body. He was suddenly very aware of her presence here in his room, late at night, and of his wearing naught but a thin pair of linen pants. Judging by the way her chin hitched up an inch or so, he’d wager she realized the same thing.

She drew a sharp breath and pointed an accusatory finger at him. “Don’t think you can sweet-talk me by agreeing with me. You’ve made a mockery of me in my own home, laughing at me as I trusted you, all the while knowing I would never stand for the likes of you at the Hall if I knew who you really were,
Hastings.
”
She spit his name as if it were poison on her tongue.

“I wasn’t mocking you, Evie,” he said, nearly growling the words.

“Not mocking? Well, I should very much hate to see what you believe mocking to be if not this.” Her hands swished through the air, vaguely encompassing the two of them and the interaction they had shared. “You took advantage of my ignorance, purposely spending time with me. Why? Was it so amusing to toy with me? A cat stalking its pathetic mouse?”

“I didn’t toy with you—”

“You
kissed
me,” she nearly shouted, cutting him off. “How could you do that?”

The hurt in her eyes plunged the knife the rest of the way into his heart. Damn it to hell, how had things come to this? How had he bungled his life so badly that he had hurt one of the few people on the planet who truly
meant
something to him? “I have no excuse, Evie. I tried to stay away, but I couldn’t.”

“No, you couldn’t, could you? It was entirely too much fun to toy with the stupid girl who used to write you. How you and Richard must have laughed at how easy it was to make me the fool.”

The low candlelight couldn’t hide the twin spots of color high on her cheeks. Her eyes were shining, heavy with the dew of unshed tears. He took another step forward, wanting, irrationally, to comfort her somehow—to draw her into his arms and soothe her pain away. His advancement only made her ball her fists at her sides.

“Evie, it wasn’t like that—it was
never
like that. I panicked when I realized you were here. I thought your family was in London for the Season, and when I ran into you at the stables, all I could think of was how stupid I had been so many years ago by ending our friendship the way I did. I didn’t want to hurt you by dredging up old memories.”

“So you lied?” She shook her head, setting loose a few golden wisps of hair from her braid. “What a brilliant plan. Lie about your name so as to avoid the repercussions, all the while convincing yourself it is all for my own good. Forgive me if I don’t fall on my knees in gratitude for your magnanimous gesture.”

He gritted his teeth. God, how he wanted to just tell her everything, starting with why he wrote that cursed letter, pouring his heart out about all of it, including the betrayal that had rocked him to his very soul. It would feel so damned good to have it out, to have one person in the world be privy to all his secrets and understand what he was facing. She might be angry, but he knew her well enough to know her heart would break for him. He knew without any doubt she would forgive him if he confided in her.

But he couldn’t.

Not because he didn’t trust her. Not because she wasn’t worthy. No, as much as he wanted to explain why he did what he did, it would only be an excuse, an unburdening of his troubles that would serve only to cast his motives in a better light. It would be the truth, but in the end it would only cause more heartbreak for her. Why would he bring her into his confidence now? Especially when there was nothing she could do—nothing anyone could do—to make things better.

No, his secrets would leave with him, but somehow he had to figure out a way to vanquish the hurt and unhappiness from her eyes.

He took another step closer, keeping his gaze trained on hers. “You are right. I was an absolute idiot. I’ve never forgiven myself for that horrible letter. I was young, and stupid, and there have been many times when I have thought on that moment and wished I could undo it.”

She stood there seething, her arms crossed protectively over her chest. “Yes, well, wishing will get you exactly nothing. You
crushed
me that day. I thought you were my friend, and you stomped my heart with only a handful of words.”

“I know. It was bloody wretched of me.” He rubbed a hand over the bunched muscles of his neck. He was desperate to make her feel better, to soothe her somehow. “I was scared of what I was feeling for you—a girl I had never met. I didn’t know how to handle it, and I was terrified of meeting you in person. I was only eighteen, and I made a bad decision.”

“And I was only sixteen,” she exclaimed, her delicate eyebrows arching up with the passion of her words.

“Yes, only sixteen. Young enough to forget me. I was just an amusement to you, someone to banter with when it pleased you.”

“Someone to ban—” She stopped and squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head in protest. “You weren’t some amusement to me, Benedict. It wasn’t some sort of game to me, as it apparently was to you.”

“It wasn’t a game to me, either,” he insisted, taking yet another step toward her. “I wasn’t exaggerating. I cared for you.”

“But I
loved
you!”

Chapter Seventeen

All teasing aside, I shall always smile for you, Hastings. Mama and Papa have agreed to allow me to come. These next few months shall be very long indeed.

—From Evie to Hastings

A
s soon as the words escaped, Evie gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as if to call them back.

Benedict’s own shock kept him rooted to the floor. She loved him?
Loved him?
No one had ever said those words to him. He had never known the comfort of love or even affection. His father had ignored him, his mother actively disdained him, and his brother had viewed Benedict as his inferior. He couldn’t name the silvery flash of emotion that simultaneously heated his blood and chilled his heart.

She had loved him, and he had tossed her aside. In the light of her revelation, the words of that damned letter went from harsh to heinous. He imagined her as she must have been, a beautiful, spirited girl, wounded by the strokes of his quill. And he saw her as she was now, trembling with the force of her emotions, devastated by his betrayal. Resolve threaded through him, hot and fast, steeling his bones and sharpening his vision.

He would leave tomorrow no matter what.

He would go to his superiors when he reached London. He would tell them everything and let the chips fall where they may. He wouldn’t cover the sins of another, no matter how many good people would be hurt by the truth; no matter how much his reputation would be damaged; no matter how unjust the consequences would be.

A single tear spilled down Evie’s cheek, and she dashed it away angrily. God, he couldn’t bear seeing her hurting so much, knowing it was all his fault. He reached for her, wanting to comfort her. She slapped his hands away, backing up until she bumped against the wall. “Don’t you dare touch me. I said
loved
, not love. I am no longer a silly girl with naive notions filling my head. You made sure of that.”

“Evie, I am so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you.”

She scowled at him, disdain wrapping around her like a cloak. “Save your apologies for someone who cares. I’m not here to be subjected to more of your lies.”

Pushing away from the wall, she skirted around him and went to the wing chair before the fireplace. She clutched the high back, keeping the furniture between them like a shield. “You owe me, Benedict. You’ve come into my home like a battering ram, and you owe me.”

What was she getting at? He walked to where she stood, allowing her to keep the chair between them. “What is it that you want?”

Evie squared her shoulders, tilting her head as if to look down on him. Candlelight flickered in her eyes, reflecting the fire within. “You mustn’t tell anyone that I know who you really are.”

His brow knitted in confusion. It wasn’t at all what he had expected. “Why not?”

He studied her expression. With her lips pressed in a thin line and her posture one of icy composure, she seemed to be withdrawing from her fury, moving to cold indifference instead. Only the rapid rise and fall of her chest betrayed her agitation.

“I don’t wish to complicate things with my family before they leave for London.”

She was lying. It was a valid enough reason, but he didn’t believe her for a minute. Something else was going on, he’d wager his life on it. He shook his head slowly. “No, there is something you’re not telling me. What is it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You know very well how important it is that my parents not be upset. I don’t want anything to interfere with my plans to stay here.”

“That’s part of it, to be sure. But that is certainly not your only reason. I know you better than that.”

Her nostrils flared as she glared at him. “You dare presume—”

“Yes, I do. There is a reason you don’t want the others to know who I am. What is it?”

“Fine,” she bit out, digging her fingers into the cushioned fabric. “My father would call you out if he learned of your deceit.”

“He’d be displeased, to be sure, but I doubt he’d call me out. Richard was part of the ruse, after all.”

“You’re wrong. It’s not the ruse; it’s
you.
”

“Why me? I know you never spoke of the way things ended. If you had, Richard would have been the first to know.”

She shook her head. “Richard wasn’t here. My father was, and he does know.”

“For God’s sake, Evie, it was seven years ago. I doubt he would call a man out for writing an ill-worded letter, especially since I was hardly more than a boy at the time.”

“You don’t know anything about what he’d do. He despises you, and I won’t have you upsetting him.”

“He
despises
me? That makes no sense at all. You’re leaving something out; I’m sure of it. What is it?”

“It’s none of your concern—”

“It
is
my concern! Something must have happened that would cause your father to despise me. Just knowing I sent a bungled letter isn’t enough to warrant that reaction.”

“Yes—”

“No! Tell me, Evie,” he begged, stepping closer still. “What happened?”

“I went after you,” she cried, her eyes flashing furiously.

Benedict reared in surprise. “What?”

“I packed a bag, I saddled my horse, and I went after you.” She hung her head, refusing to meet his searching gaze. “A groom alerted my father when my horse was missing come morning, and he rode out to find me, galloping as hard as his horse would carry him. I nearly ruined myself for a foolish, childish infatuation.”

She looked up then, her face tight. “He was very kind, despite his fury. He saw how dreadfully my heart was broken. He promised to keep my secret, and over the next few days he kept me by his side. That was when I started spending more time in the stables with him. It gave me something else to focus on other than Hastings the Betrayer.”

Benedict sucked in a sharp breath. Hastings the Betrayer? No other words could have turned him inside out more effectively. He knew what betrayal felt like. It had been tearing him to pieces since the moment Henry’s words had reached Benedict’s ears as he crouched in the dark, fog-shrouded courtyard in Folkestone not a week earlier.