More Than a Stranger: A Sealed With a Kiss Novel (37 page)

“Right here, Renault.”

* * *

Standing in the doorway to the house, Benedict felt hot fury slide like molten lava through his veins as he surveyed the scene in front of him. His brother lay crumpled on the ground at Renault’s feet; Richard was on his knees a few feet away with his hands frozen at his sides.

At the sound of Benedict’s voice, Richard immediately took advantage of the distraction and launched himself at the closer of the two enemies, Armand. His head caught the unsuspecting man in the belly and knocked him to the ground.

Upon impact, Armand’s pistol discharged. The rogue bullet thudded harmlessly into the trees. As the two scuffled on the ground, Renault and Charles swung their pistols wildly between Richard, Henry, and now Benedict. Two pistols were at least better than three.

Henry tried to scuttle backward on his hands and feet but succeeded only in snagging Renault’s attention. The Frenchman lunged for Henry’s collar and dragged him to his feet in front of him, using him as a human shield. Though Benedict’s aim never wavered, his trigger finger immediately relaxed.

Bloody hell
.

Renault smiled. “It appears, Monsieur Hastings, that we are at an impasse. I hold your brother’s life in my hands. How appropriate—an eye for an eye, a brother for a brother.” There was no mistaking the cold malice in the Frenchman’s eyes. Benedict’s heart slammed in his chest, but he did not move even a fraction of an inch.

“However,” Renault continued, his voice deceptively calm, “if I kill him, you will surely kill me. What is it that you suggest, I wonder?”

Benedict regarded his enemy through squinted eyes. The answer sprang easily to his lips. “A duel.”

“A duel?” Renault laughed derisively. “You expect me to fight you to the death? But of course, monsieur. What will it be, pistols or swords? I assure you, I am much more accomplished than my brother was. You are no match for me at either one, so you may choose.”

“Swords,” Benedict replied tersely.

“How do I know your friends will not simply try to kill me if I succeed?” Renault’s eyes were narrowed to slits.

“The same way I know your men will leave if I am the victor. We are all gentlemen here, and we have standards. In an honorable duel, the winner must be respected. Now, I assume your man here will be your second?” Benedict nodded to Armand, who was currently being sat on by Richard.

“But of course. And I assume your brother will be yours?” Renault asked with amused condescension.

“You assume wrong. Richard, if you will do me the honor, please?”

Richard’s eyes went momentarily wide, and he nodded quickly.

“Excellent. Gentlemen, please lay down your weapons and let us take our places. I believe the drive will suffice.” Benedict lowered his weapon first, and Richard got to his feet.

Renault pushed Henry away, causing him to stumble in order to keep on his feet. Slowly, Renault lowered his own weapon and stepped back. “Where is Lawrence?” Though his weapon remained pointed at the ground, Benedict had no doubt he was poised to attack at the slightest provocation.

“Not to worry, he is alive. He is being tended to by Nigel.”

Renault nodded and finally released the cock on his weapon.

Warily, everyone got into place. With Henry standing in front of the door and the seconds behind their primaries, Henry called out, “Ready!”

Both Benedict and Renault brandished their swords. Henry lifted Benedict’s pistol skyward and let off a single shot.

The duel had begun.

Chapter Twenty-eight

Will you ever stop haunting my dreams? I sincerely hope not.

—From Hastings to Evie, spoken into the hush of dawn a year after his last letter to her.

E
yeing the freshly trampled ground leading to an ill-used driveway several miles outside of Amersham, Evie breathed a heartfelt sight of relief. This had to be it. The turnoff looked exactly as the old farmer just south of the small village had described it.

She slowed Epona to a walk as she turned the horse’s nose up the drive. She had long since abandoned the restrictive sling, and she took advantage of the slower pace to rub her shoulder. She ached in places she had never felt before, in ways she had never experienced before. Nothing, however, ached as much as her heart. She could only hope she wasn’t too late.

During the ride, she freed her mind from the discomfort and relived his breath on her skin, his silken voice in her ear, his heat against her lips. She recaptured the love she had fostered for him all those years ago. She hadn’t even known that was what it was until now. No wonder she had been so crushed, so utterly distraught at his final letter. He was her first—and her only—love, and she would fight for him now.

She rubbed a weary hand over her eyes and squinted up the drive ahead of them. The curving path made it impossible to see what lay ahead. Who knew what she was walking into? She had little in her favor as far as protection or weapons, so maintaining stealth was probably the best tactic. Urging Epona off the drive, she steered them into the forest, keeping the drive in sight.

What was that? She yanked back on the reins, stopping Epona in her tracks. Indistinct, odd sounds rang through the woods from the direction of the house. A flash of movement caught her eye. She pressed her heels into her mount’s flanks, and they surged forward toward the edge of the clearing. Something was happening, and she had to know what. At last she could see a clearing and then the house, and she hauled up on the reins before breaking from the cover the forest provided.

The clashing of steel rang clearly through the air. She quickly drew aside the leaves blocking her view and gasped when she saw two combatants locked in swordplay. Benedict! She urged Epona closer still, until she was almost at the tree line. Ahead of her, the men wielded their weapons, their movements graceful and deadly all at once. The blades flashed with blinding speed as they attacked and counterattacked, parried and thrust.

As if joined, their feet moved forward and back as one, knees bent and stances wide for optimum balance. Both men’s shirts were beginning to darken with sweat.

She dragged her eyes away from the fight long enough to take stock of the others watching the duel. She recognized Richard, and the man standing beside her brother bore a rather striking resemblance to Benedict. It had to be the earl. Two other men stood alert nearby.

Unable to keep her eyes from Benedict for long, she returned her attention to the escalating fight. She felt no physical pain in that moment, nothing at all. Every fiber of her being focused on the movements of the two men locked in battle.

Benedict’s movements were as graceful as a waltz, each move gliding smoothly into the next. His opponent was shorter, more compact, and he executed his maneuvers as a blacksmith wielded his hammer. The contrast was striking, and her heart pounded unbearably within her chest.

What if the other man wore Benedict down? What if Benedict slipped, or fell, or his aim was off? Everything within her longed to scream out, to make them stop. But she didn’t move or make a sound. She would not be responsible for distracting Benedict, not when distraction could lead to injury.

Or worse—much worse. Evie pressed her hand to her mouth and waited.

* * *

Renault was better than Benedict had expected, easily countering his every move, putting him on the defense several times. He concentrated hard on learning his opponent’s technique and was gratified when he quickly began to see a pattern in the way the other man fought.

At last Benedict had the upper hand, and his movements became more forceful and dynamic. Renault was retreating more than advancing now, and the diabolical grin was diminishing. The Frenchman’s confidence began to waver, and his technique suffered. He began to lash out in frustration, clumsy jabs that Benedict easily parried.

Suddenly, Benedict saw his chance, and he attacked with a second intention. Exactly as he wanted, Renault responded with a riposte, in which he was open to Benedict’s powerful counter-riposte. He knew victory was his as his blade sank into the flesh of Renault’s side, drawing an agonized growl of pain.

Benedict quickly drew back his sword and stepped away, panting. Renault’s left hand went immediately to his injured side where blood was quickly blooming.

Benedict bowed his head slightly, “First blood, sir. Victory is mine. I ask that you please remove yourself and your men from this property at once.”

“First blood,” Renault spat. “What has this to do with anything? This is a duel to the death.”

Benedict looked down at the injured man, silently considering him. “I have no desire to kill you, Renault, just as I had no desire to kill your brother. I am satisfied that the battle is won, and I should think you would appreciate my benevolence. Now I ask you again: Be gone from this place, sir.”

Renault straightened, grunting with the effort, and regarded him silently for several seconds. Finally, he bowed his head. “Merci, Monsieur Hastings.”

Thank God
. Benedict nodded and turned to walk away. He had not taken two steps when he heard Renault’s hoarse roar and swiveled to see him lunge forward with his sword. Benedict swung up his own sword even as he knew it was too late to stop the onslaught.

Crack!

* * *

“No!”

Evie shot from the brush and into the clearing, screaming as Benedict and his opponent hit the ground together. Benedict’s brother held a smoking pistol in his hands while Richard and one of the unknown men wrestled for another pistol.

Dear God, had the earl shot his own brother? It couldn’t be; it simply could not be. Her last words could not be words of anger, their last encounter full of animosity. She had to reach him.
He has to be alive!
She urged Epona faster, stopping only when they reached the low rock-wall border lining one side of the drive. Heedless of her soreness, she scrambled down onto the wall before jumping to the ground and running for Benedict.

The second unknown man had already reached the prone pair and pulled Benedict’s groaning opponent off him, dragging him several feet away.

She was too late. She could see the blood soaking his shirt, the thin fabric clinging to his heaving torso. Her stomach clenched violently at the sickly, metallic smell clinging to him like an aura. She wanted to smell his sandalwood scent; she wanted to cleanse away the horrible smell of blood. She collapsed on the ground at his feet, desperately glad he was still breathing.

“Benedict! Benedict, say something. Anything.” She grasped his shoulder in her right hand, shaking him roughly. Tears pricked her eyes as her gaze took in his beautiful, haggard face.

He blinked and looked at her as if she were a ghost. “Evie?”

She nodded jerkily. “Benedict, you’ve been shot.”

“Evie, what are you doing here?” His hand went to the back of his head, and he winced.

Was he delusional? Disoriented? She placed her hands on either side of his face and said earnestly, “Didn’t you hear me? You’ve been shot.”

He gave her a small smile and shook his head, wincing again. “No, Renault was shot. I just hit my head when he knocked us to the ground.”

Evie’s hammering heart froze completely before roaring back to life. Could it be true? She eyed the blood on his shirt uncertainly. “But the blood . . .”

Benedict pushed to a sitting position and patted a hand across his chest. “Is his, not mine.” He reached a hand up to cup her cheek, and she pressed into his hot, dirty palm. “I’m all right, Evie; I promise.”

Relief surged through her so strongly it made her light-headed, and she sagged against him. Footsteps approached, intruding on their moment. Evie looked up to see the earl standing over them. He looked to Benedict, his expression dazed. “He was going to kill you. He was going to stab you in the back.”

“I know. I know. Henry, you saved my life.” Benedict looked to her again and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I’ll be right back, sweetheart. Don’t move.”

He stood and crushed his brother to his chest, hugging him tightly as Dennington’s legs seemed to give out. She didn’t understand what was happening, but she knew they had shared a strained relationship. It looked as though they had just found each other again. Evie stood and turned away, giving them a bit of privacy.

She looked to Richard, who was watching her with drawn features. He didn’t look at all pleased to see her. A man emerged from the house, and her brother handed over the pistol he had trained on the enemy and trotted over to her.

“What in God’s name are you doing here? Papa may very well kill you when he discovers what you have done.” Despite his harsh words, he wrapped an arm around her and gave her a quick, tight hug.

She ignored the lingering burn of her shoulder, having become accustomed to it hours ago. “I couldn’t stay away. I had to come, to tell him I forgive him.”

He shook his head, clearly disapproving. “And this couldn’t have waited a few days? You could have gotten yourself killed.”

“Leave her be, Richard.” Benedict left his brother’s side and came to stand beside Evie. “I’d like to have a word with your sister, if you don’t mind.”

He and Richard stared each other down, engaging in a silent battle. At last, Richard stepped back and nodded. “Go get yourself cleaned up. We’ll take care of everything out here.”

Benedict nodded and pressed a firm hand to the small of Evie’s back, guiding her inside. He directed her up the stairs and to a stale-smelling bedroom. “I need to clean up. Can you give me a minute?”

She nodded, not trusting her voice after the violent swing of emotions she had experienced in such a short time. He disappeared through the door, and she collapsed on the stiff chair positioned in the corner.