More Than a Stranger: A Sealed With a Kiss Novel (4 page)

Letting out a bark of laughter, Richard motioned for Benedict to join him. “Come on inside. I can’t wait to hear what has brought you to my doorstep tonight after nearly two years away.”

Richard led him into the small parlor and pointed to the crystal decanters on a sideboard. “Pour us some drinks, will you? I’ll go fetch the rest of my clothing. And sorry about calling you Hastings—I forget sometimes that you prefer Benedict now.”

“You can call me anything you want, so long as you put a shirt on.” He was glad Richard remembered, though. Going by the family name just seemed to give them more power over him, as strange as it might sound to others. Why would he go by the name of his father when the man hadn’t even cared that he’d existed? The point was moot, as his father had been gone for years, but now more than ever Benedict wanted—
needed
—to distance himself from his family.

As his friend padded barefoot down the hall, Benedict headed to the sideboard and sniffed at the various containers. The spicy, earthy scent of aged scotch caught his attention, and he poured a few fingers for each of them. At last the knot of tension in his shoulders began to unravel a little. He had no doubt Richard would grant him the use of Hertford, the haven Benedict so badly needed as he sorted out what the hell he was going to do next.

He sat in the chair in front of the small writing desk close to the crackling fire and took a long sip of the scotch. It burned a hot trail to his gut, though it still couldn’t warm the part of him that had gone cold the moment he heard the words that had changed everything. He doubted anything could. He rubbed a weary hand over his eyes, which were still gritty after his pounding ride from Folkestone only hours earlier. He’d never ridden so hard in his life. If he planned to leave tonight, he’d have to rent a horse—poor Samson deserved a rest.

He took another drink and leaned against the hard wooden back of his chair. He knew what it would look like if anyone discovered what had happened: escape, cowardice, guilt. But it wasn’t any of those things. Nearly a decade in the service of the Crown had taught him when retreat was most prudent, and that time was now. Until he could look on the disastrous events of the past twenty-four hours with any amount of objectivity, he needed to step away. He would regroup, reevaluate, and then come up with a plan.

He needed a place to disappear, and Hertford Hall was that place.

He’d never been, but in his mind there was no better place to go. Throughout his years at Eton, he had patched together a picture of what the Hall must be like from Evie’s glowing descriptions of her pastoral home. Ironically enough, Richard had lamented the same things she loved about it: the solitude, the peacefulness, the distance from London. In his battered state, Benedict knew it was exactly the sanctuary he needed. He was glad now for all the times Richard had suggested he visit.

Now all he had to do was figure out what to say to the man. He could tell him the truth, but Benedict knew his friend well enough to realize he would want to help—insist on it, in fact. But this was his fight. He didn’t want anyone else to be sullied by the inevitable repercussions.

Soft footsteps on carpet heralded Richard’s return. Benedict straightened and relaxed his features just as Richard reappeared, rolling up the sleeves to a plain white shirt. Pushing the whole mess from his brain, Benedict held out the second glass. “Here—I imagine you need this after displeasing the fiery Isabella.”

Richard chuckled, shaking his head. “Fiery indeed. She and I have enjoyed each other’s company for a few months now, and she told me tonight she had a very enticing offer from Lord Hamilton that she would accept if I didn’t counter.”

“I’m guessing you didn’t counter?”

Richard lifted his glass and grinned. “I told her I hoped they would be happy together.”

“And you waited until you were half dressed to bring this up?”

Settling onto a leather chair, Richard shrugged. “Her timing, not mine.” He took a long drink before continuing. “What can I say? I much prefer a more casual arrangement. Mistresses can be such a bother. She’s been angling for a more permanent arrangement for weeks, and I do believe I just called her bluff.” He waved his drink dismissively. “Enough about that. What I want to know is when did you get into town and what the hell were you doing on my doorstep?”

“Glad to see you, too.” Benedict ducked to avoid the small book Richard lobbed at him. “Actually, I came to ask a favor.”

“Now there’s something new. What is it that I can do for you, my friend?”

“I’ve only just returned to England—come straight from the coast as a matter of fact—and I can’t bear the thought of being thrown into all the chaos of the Season. You know I’ll not set foot on my brother’s estate, especially not with Mother demanding that I do my duty and marry some wealthy chit or another.”

“All these years of utter indifferences, and she thinks she can force you to do her bidding now?”

Benedict shrugged. “The estate needs money now.” His jaw clenched. He didn’t want to speak of his family more than absolutely necessary. Besides, any good spy knew the key to a good story was keeping it simple.

His chair squeaked as he leaned forward, rolling the tumbler between his palms. “It didn’t take long to decide to make the most of my time in England and head to the country for a spell. In the past, you had mentioned I could—”

The rest of Benedict’s sentence was cut off when the door banged open and the angry
signorina
stormed in once more. With her shoes and dress now properly in place and her hair pulled into a low knot on her head, she would have looked respectable if not for the sneer on her face. “I jus’ wanted you to know that nobody disrespects Isabella and gets away with it. Enjoy your parties this week,
signor
.”

With a sickly smile marring her lovely face, she backed up, slamming the door with enough force to rattle the furnishings. Silence engulfed the room as the two men stared at the closed door.

“You know,” Richard said, never taking his gaze from the front door, “the country suddenly sounds rather nice.”

Benedict glanced toward Richard, an unexpected smile coming to his lips. “Oh?”

“Yes. And I know just the place.”

Chapter Two

If you will recall, Hastings, it was you who suggested the compromise of abstaining from the Hall four years ago. I would happily trounce you at the location of your choice. The question is, would
you
be brave enough to try?

—From Evie to Hastings

E
vie had never before noticed how utterly
regular
the ticking of a clock was. Clip, clop, clip, clop—like the steady pace of an elderly workhorse, all the joy and verve beaten out of it long ago.

“Is something wrong, sweetheart?”

Evie looked up from her uneven, pathetic stitches to see her mother watching her, her gray eyes oddly amused. “No, of course not.”

Unless one counted being killed by boredom, because in that case, something was definitely wrong. After two days of pursuing nice, ladylike activities in an attempt to gain her mother’s good grace, Evie was beginning to wonder how the whole of the female population of England didn’t revolt against such mind-numbing boredom. Honestly, the rack would have been better.

It didn’t help that it was the most gorgeous day ever, with bright sunshine filling every corner of Mama’s cheery sitting room. Evie was dying to check on Ronan’s progress. The new addition to their operation was high-spirited and handsome, a full nineteen hands of burnished red, Irish glory. He had been her choice, and it was torture leaving his care to others. Of course, that was exactly what she would be doing for the whole of the Season if she couldn’t convince Mama to allow her to stay in the country.

Setting her own sampler down beside her on the cream cushions of the sofa, Mama folded her hands and smiled. “Evie, I never thought I would say this, but why don’t you go join your father in the stable block?”

“No, no. I’m perfectly happy here with you.” It was quite possibly the biggest lie Evie had ever told.

Mama’s eyes softened, and she reached over to take the mangled sampler from Evie’s hands. “Go, my dear. I so appreciate your desire to spend some time with me, but after two days of watching you fidget and fuss and make a perfect mess of those poor ivy leaves you have been attempting to stitch, I think it’s time you exhaust some of your restlessness.”

Oh, thank goodness.
Evie did her best not to look too satisfied. Her plan to play the perfect daughter wasn’t working in the way she had intended, but apparently it
was
working. Clearly Mama could see how ill-suited Evie was to such ladylike pursuits. Tonight might be the perfect time to present her proposal. But in the meantime . . . “Thank you, Mama, I believe I will join Papa.”

In less than fifteen minutes, Evie had changed into her riding habit and was headed for the stables. The brisk spring air was absolute heaven compared to the stuffiness of the sitting room. It rather felt like freedom. With the afternoon sun already dipping toward the trees, she didn’t want to waste a single minute she could spend on the back of her horse.

Lifting the hem of her skirt, she hurried along the gravel path, stepping carefully so as to avoid the puddles left over from yesterday’s rain. She half ran the last few steps, grasping the edge of the door with her gloved hand to propel herself around the corner.

“Oof!”

The air was knocked right from her lungs as she collided at full speed with an unmoving brick wall that she knew for a fact should not be there. Evie stumbled, almost falling backward when a pair of large strong hands grasped her upper arms and steadied her.

“I beg your pardon. Are you quite all right?”

The brick wall spoke surprisingly good English for an inanimate object.

Evie’s gaze traveled up the dark gray greatcoat, past the sharp, lightly stubbled jaw, and settled briefly on a very inviting set of masculine lips before reaching the man’s dark, velvet brown eyes. Words failed her completely.
Where
had this gorgeous man come from? For endless seconds she stood stock-still, held not only in his grasp, but in his curious gaze as well. He had the loveliest eyes she had ever seen, like the burnished mahogany of her father’s heirloom desk.

“Miss? Are you injured?”

Evie blinked. She should say something. She should
really
say something. “Um. . . quite.”

His dark eyebrows scrunched together as he tilted his head slightly. “Quite . . . injured?”

“No! Quite all right. I’m fine, really. Um, thank you.” Oh Lord, why must she lose her wits, now of all times? Here, now, with a gorgeous stranger very nearly holding her in his arms? She finally understood what it meant to be struck dumb by something, and at the worst possible time.

And now he was looking at her as if she was one horse short of a matched pair. “You’re certain?”

Evie almost laughed. Was she certain? Not in the slightest. She felt as though she had just been spun around in circles, but there was no way she would tell him as much. She took a quick step back, pulling away from his steadying hands. It was far enough to miss his warmth, but at least she could still detect the subtle, enticing hint of leather and sandalwood. She took a slow breath and offered him a smile. “Yes, I’m certain. Please accept my apologies for not watching where I was going, Mr. . . . ?”

“Evie!”

Evie jumped, whirling around at the unexpected voice from behind her. “Richard! What on earth are you doing here?”

She wouldn’t have been more surprised if Prinny himself had been standing in her stables. Joy swooped through her, and she opened her arms to her brother. Grinning, he came forward and scooped her up in a bear hug, giving her a little spin so that her feet swung out as if she were a child. “Richard, put me down!” The admonishment didn’t have much effect, couched by her laughter. Only her brother could make her feel like a ten-year-old girl again.

When at last he set her down, she giggled and stepped back. Evie looked him over, taking in his tousled blond hair and wind-reddened cheeks. She could hardly believe he was here at the Hall, now of all times. “What on earth
are you doing here? It’s such a lovely surprise!”

“Well, it’s good to see you, too, Little Bit. Are you headed out for a ride?”

“Yes, I was before I ran into our visitor. A friend of yours, I presume?” She motioned toward the stranger but froze when their eyes met. He was watching her with such intensity, she instinctively took a tiny step back. The look was gone in an instant. Evie blinked in confusion. How completely odd. Could she have possibly imagined the fierceness of his gaze? Surely she had—she had only just met the man! He’d have no cause to care one way or another about her. Nonetheless, a tiny shiver raced down her spine.

A chuckle drew her attention back to Richard. He flashed a broad, cheeky grin her way, shaking his head slowly. “I can’t believe I haven’t introduced the two of you yet.”

Evie raised an eyebrow. He was up to something.

Without thinking, she backed up a step. The move only made his smile grow. She cut her eyes toward the other man. She did
not
want to embarrass herself in front of him any more than she already had. Fortunately, he paid her no mind at all. The whole of his attention was focused sharply on Richard.

For some reason, her brother seemed to enjoy the moment. With his usual flare for dramatics, he said, “My dear Evie, it is my great pleasure to introduce you to my friend, the venerated, the enigmatic, the long-aw—”