More Than a Stranger: A Sealed With a Kiss Novel (3 page)

All his attempts had ended up either crumpled or burned, each filled with completely inadequate words to the girl who had somehow become his closest confidant over the years. Evie knew everything about him.

Almost everything.

He sighed and looked around at the nearly empty room. She knew all but the one most important thing about his life. And he knew that if he kept up their correspondence, there was no way he could keep his secret from her. His only choice was to say nothing at all.

In a week’s time, when Miss Dubois—Lisette, he must remember to call her—arrived to whisk him off on their supposed Grand Tour, he would have no problem looking his school friends in the eye and waggling his brow when they asked why he had decided to accompany the seductive older woman instead of pursuing university.

When he informed his parents that he was hopping over to the Continent to see the sights for the next few years, they wouldn’t bat an eye. They’d probably rejoice at that prospect of seeing even less of their
worthless
second son.

But the moment he wrote a letter to Evie filled with the falsehoods of his practiced story, he had no doubt she would see right through it. And, even if it was for the greater good, he couldn’t bear to feed lies to the one person to whom he’d practically bared his soul.

He smacked a fist on the desk, welcoming the burst of pain. Why now? Why did his orders have to be for Thursday, and not two days later, when he could finally meet Evie in person? For five years he had tried to picture her, first as an annoying little girl, then as an amusing young sprite of a female, and then . . . Well, he didn’t know when it had happened, but lately visions of a blond-haired, blue-eyed beauty with a devilish smile haunted his dreams.

If he was honest with himself, there was another reason he had to set her aside. She would be a distraction he couldn’t afford. His chosen path would be dangerous enough without complicating things further with a female. There was simply no way around it. His letter must be written in such a way as to assure she wouldn’t try to contact him again.

Benedict squeezed his eyes shut. The mere thought of hurting and subsequently losing Evie stole his breath and seared his heart. Resolutely, he opened his eyes and reached for his quill. It was for the greater good, he reminded himself. Besides, no matter how much she had meant to him, he was surely just a small, faceless part of her childhood. She had plenty of other people who cared about her. In a few months she would forget all about him and move on to the next thing in her life.

As he set to work, his nib scratched over the paper with resolute strokes, severing the ties that bound them with each callous word. Though he knew she would never notice, he carefully composed the letter so that the unforgiving words offered up something else all together, if she but only read it the right way. When at last he signed his name, he carelessly dropped his quill and reread what he had written.

It was exactly right and terribly wrong all at once.

Chapter One

’Tis very easy to make pronouncements of equestrian greatness when you have forbidden me from visiting Hertford Hall. If I were to simply arrive unannounced one day prepared to race, I wonder—would you be so brave?

—From Hastings to Evie

Alyesbury, England, 1816

S
he had done it. She had actually done it, and it was all Evie could do not to burst with excitement before making a dignified exit. Shutting the door behind her, Evie did a silent little victory dance right there in the corridor outside her father’s study.

She was one step closer to achieving her ultimate goal. Now all she had to do was come up with a way—

“Mama will never allow it.”

Evie squeaked in surprise as her hand flew to cover her thudding heart. Blast it all,
where
had her sister come from? “Good heavens, are you trying to stop my heart? Really, Beatrice, you shouldn’t sneak up on people.”

“I didn’t sneak up on you. You just didn’t see me. And as I was saying—”

“I know what you said,” Evie said, scowling. “I can’t believe you are speaking on a matter you know nothing about. And even if you did, it doesn’t concern you in the least.”

In a household with three younger sisters running around, Evie should have known her private conversation with Papa wouldn’t be private at all. At least it was only Beatrice lurking about and not the twins. Evie loved them all dearly, but she knew Jocelyn and Carolyn well enough to realize that if they had overheard Evie’s conversation with Papa, the whole household would be privy to the details by nightfall.

Beatrice crossed her arms over her small chest and returned Evie’s scowl. “You’re my sister; of course it’s of concern to me. And it matters not whether or not it is my business, Mama still will never agree to your proposal. It’s utterly ridiculous.”

Leave it to Bea to put her finger on the exact thing Evie was worried about. After nearly seven years of working by her father’s side, she had been fairly sure she could garner his approval, and indeed she had. But only with the caveat that she win her mother over as well. That was a much more challenging proposition.

Evie cast a furtive glance at the study door, then hooked an arm none too gently around Beatrice’s thin elbow and towed her down the corridor. Best not to chance Papa—or anyone else, really—overhearing them. Pulling her into the formal Rose Salon, Evie shut the door with a soft click and turned to face the little spy.

“First of all, my proposal was not ridiculous, and it is unkind of you to say so. Second of all, Papa was perfectly amenable to the idea, and third of all, sixteen is a little old to be listening at keyholes, don’t you think?”

Faint pink blotches appeared on her sister’s cheeks, making her deep blue eyes even darker. “I was only passing by when Papa had his not-so-
amenable
outburst. You must admit that is a strange enough occurrence to warrant pausing outside the door.”

She had a point. Not that Evie could blame Papa. What other reaction would a father have when his daughter announced that, after five tedious Seasons, she wanted to withdraw from the marriage market altogether? After his initial cry of objection, inquiring as to her sanity, Evie had eventually won him over with her well-laid arguments. After all, one mustn’t approach a battlefield unless one was prepared to do battle.

She sighed and made her way over to the busy floral sofa overlooking the decidedly soggy gardens. The dull gray skies cast little light into the room, even though all the drapes were wide open. “He was just a bit surprised, is all. He came to see the logic of my reasoning.”

“Evie,” Beatrice said, plopping down on the cushions beside her, “just because you haven’t yet found the man you wish to marry doesn’t mean you won’t ever find him. You can’t just give up.” She fluffed her pale yellow skirts out demurely around her legs, one of a thousand little things she did lately to remind Evie that her little sisters were turning into proper young ladies. Well, somewhat proper young ladies who occasionally spied on others.

Evie pulled a gold-tasseled cushion into her lap and eyed her sister. She really did not want to have this conversation right now. After her partial victory with Papa, she had thought to head straight to Mama and begin her campaign. But without Beatrice’s support—and more important, silence—Evie had little hope of winning Mama over.

Perhaps the best tactic was to simply be frank. “You must not have been listening too closely if that is what you think. If you had, you would have heard that I am not giving up—I’m finally getting what I really want. I’m very happy with things just the way they are. I absolutely love working with Papa in the stables, and, to be quite blunt, there hasn’t seemed to be a man in the whole of the
ton
who is not conceited, or dull, or old, or status climbing, or simply
wrong
for me in one way or another. No offense to Richard or Papa, but I vastly prefer the company of a horse to that of a man.”

Beatrice giggled, covering her mouth as she always did to hide her crooked front tooth. “I thought I heard something about horses’ manners being superior to those of gentlemen.”

Evie exchanged a grin with her sister. It might not say much for the male population of England, but it was true. In five Seasons, she had yet to meet even one man with whom she could imagine spending a month, let alone a lifetime. Of course, she had learned early on that even if one thought one knew a person, one could be completely wrong about that person’s character. What if she found someone she thought she could love, only to have him turn out to be just another thoughtless, lying male, intent on toying with her? Evie’s jaw clenched as she pushed back the memories floating to the surface for the second time that day.

Now was not the time to be thinking of Hastings the Betrayer.

She squared her shoulders a bit and met her sister’s eyes. “I’m simply finding a way to take control of my own future, not leaving it in the hands of some man. It’s all I’ve ever wanted, really.”

“You say that, but you’ve never even given any of your suitors a fighting chance.”

If only Beatrice knew how wrong she was. The memories pushed past the barrier Evie had erected in her mind, bringing an uncomfortable pang to her heart. She had given one man much more than a fighting chance, and she had paid the price. Never again.

At least her sisters would never know how foolish she had been. Her father was the only person who knew about her rash actions some seven years ago. Not even Richard knew. She had a sneaking suspicion that Papa’s knowledge of that day had a lot to do with his agreement to her proposal.

Sighing, Evie nudged Beatrice’s shoulder, offering a small, teasing smile. “You should be happy, you know. When you come out next year, you won’t have a nearly on-the-shelf older sister holding you back.”

“No, I’ll have a
firmly
on-the-shelf sister missing out on all the best things in life. Marriage, children . . . dancing.”

“You know dancing has never been my forte. Now foxhunting, on the other hand . . .” She grinned when Beatrice rolled her eyes. “Bea, it’s the right thing for me. Now, you must promise me that you will keep your mouth shut about my plans until I figure out the best way to present it to Mama.”

“There
is
no best way to present it—because it’s a
bad
idea.”

“Oh, stop,” Evie said, shaking her head. Would it be so hard for her sister to support her? “I just need to butter her up a bit. Papa is delaying the trip to London in order to have a little more time with the new Irish hunter. That leaves me with seven days to convince Mama to allow me to stay behind and live my dream. Now promise you’ll keep mum.”

Bea sighed. “Very well, I promise.”

Evie released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. If she were to have any hope at all with Mama, she couldn’t have Beatrice ruining things at the wrong moment. “Thank you. I do hope I can trust you.”

“Of course you can.” She stood and shook out her skirts, still eyeing Evie skeptically. “I suppose I should wish you good luck.”

“Why thank you, Bea. I appreciate the sentiment.”

“Yes, well, you’re most definitely going to need it.”

* * *

Generally speaking, Mayfair was where one went to attend a much-anticipated ball, call upon a highly regarded peer, or stroll down the street in one’s finery in order to see and be seen. It was not where one went when one’s whole life came crashing down like a centuries-old tree, struck down by a single, searing bolt of lightning.

And yet, here he was.

Standing in the shadows across the street from the stately old building he had visited only a few times before, Benedict counted the windows a second time.
Oh, thank God.
He exhaled a long breath, the puff of warm air in the chilly London night a visible testament to his relief.

Richard was home.

Benedict waited for a break in the early night traffic before dashing across the street and up the stairs. Though Richard kept these rooms year round, he occupied them only when his family was in town for the Season. The lighted windows above meant two things: Benedict’s oldest and most trustworthy friend was home, and Hertford Hall was unoccupied.

He had taken only a few steps toward Richard’s door when the muffled sound of angry footsteps and the shrill voice of an aggravated female brought him up short. Seconds later, the door burst open and a dark-haired, flush-faced beauty stormed into the corridor. She clutched her half boots to her chest while her long, thoroughly tousled hair tumbled down her back. Oblivious to Benedict’s presence, she shouted over her shoulder in Italian, a language Benedict knew well enough to raise his eyebrows at her choice of words.

A second later, Richard appeared in the doorway, hastily buttoning his wrinkled breeches. “Isabella, wait! Don’t be like this, angel.”

She whirled around, pointing a long, thin finger at Richard’s chest. “No, I no wait for you anymore. You can go to the devil, Raleigh.” With that, she turned and hurried for the stairs, pushing past Benedict without a break in the colorful Italian curses flowing like water from her ruby red lips.

Frozen in place, Benedict looked back toward his old friend. “Still have that golden touch with the ladies, I see.”

Richard’s gaze snapped to his, confusion flashing for a half second before he broke out in a grin. “Bloody hell, Hastings, what cat dragged your sorry arse in?”

Simply seeing his old friend—someone who actually gave a damn about him—brought a trickle of light to relieve the darkness in Benedict’s heart. He crossed his arms and hitched up a single eyebrow. “You know, I’m not sure I’m comfortable conversing with a half-naked man in public. Do you think you can make yourself decent before commenting on the state of my arse?”