More Than a Stranger: A Sealed With a Kiss Novel (8 page)

—From Hastings to Evie

H
e really needed to get some air.

After the excruciatingly polite tea with Richard’s family, Benedict needed to get away from everyone, outside where the crisp evening air could help to clear his mind. Perhaps when he was away from the house, he could think of something else besides the delectable Lady Evelyn. God, he felt like a damned degenerate for even thinking of Evie in those terms; seeing her and Richard together for the first time had truly driven home that she was his best friend’s little sister. Still, there was simply no denying Benedict’s attraction to her.

Being in the same room with Evie was an almost dreamlike experience. For all of the very personal things he knew about her—her aspirations, her interests, her occasionally sharp tongue—he had never considered how much he
didn’t
know about her. He hadn’t known she fidgeted when she sat, smoothing her hands over her gown or tapping her foot lightly beneath her skirts. He had never thought about which flavor of biscuit she preferred—chocolate—or how she took her tea—one lump of sugar, no milk. And he had certainly never pictured her babbling on about ancient peoples.

A smile lifted the corner of his mouth. God only knew what all that had been about. Was it possible that his presence here somehow flustered her? It was certainly flustering
him
.

The small smile vanished. He knew what he was doing. Without conscious thought, he was allowing himself to be diverted from the real issues in his life.

He paused by one of the windows, pushed aside the heavy damask drapes, and rested his forehead against the cool glass. His whole reason for coming here was to figure out what the hell he was going to do about the unthinkable decision he had to make, and in a matter of hours he had been distracted. The window began to fog where his skin touched the glass, and he stepped away.

The problem was, he wasn’t ready. He needed just a little more time before he could look on the situation with any amount of objectivity. Not that one could ever look on betrayal with any amount of detachment. Ruthlessly, he shoved the whole ordeal to the back of his brain.

Later. He would deal with it all later.

He strode to the door, pausing only long enough to retrieve his hat and gloves, and headed for freedom.

The earlier sunshine had given way to clouds, obstructing the setting sun. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the satisfyingly clear country air—
English
country air, which was infinitely sweeter than, say, French country air. He had missed that indefinable quality of English air. After everything that had happened in the last week, he couldn’t for the life of him recall why he had ever thought it thrilling to leave the country. After the last few years, he had treaded on far more foreign soil than was healthy.

“Oh, I beg your pardon!”

Benedict’s breath caught. Without even turning around, he already knew who it was. Already her voice was imprinted on his brain, along with many of the letters they had shared through the years. She was, after all, the one and only person who had ever written to him in all his years at Eton.

Smoothing his expression, he swiveled on his heel and dipped his head in greeting. “Lady Evelyn. Have I intruded upon your privacy?”

Of course, it would have to be her—the one person he should avoid. She looked completely adorable in her mud-speckled riding habit, her cheeks flushed with color and her hair slightly mussed where it was coiled below her hat. A small smudge of dirt decorated her chin, and he very nearly reached out to wipe it away. Instead, he clasped his hands tightly behind his back.

She smiled up at him, somehow looking sunny despite the weather. “Not at all. I was taking the long way back to the house after a lovely ride. I’ve been a bit cooped up this week. How are you enjoying the gardens?”

“I find them quite agreeable.” He offered the briefest possible smile—more of a grimace, really—before looking past her into the distance. He was so damned curious about her, but no good could come from engaging her in conversation.

She hesitated for a moment, and he steadfastly avoided looking back at her. Finally, she said, “I’m glad to hear it. Are you a nature enthusiast?” Her voice carried hints of determined politeness, and he firmly suppressed a grin. How long would it take for her sharp tongue to emerge? Would she be able to hide it from her brother’s guest?

Turning slightly away from her, he lifted one shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. “Not particularly.”

She tilted her head, her golden eyebrow hitching up. “Really?” There was no hesitation this time. “I find the outdoors to be quite refreshing. Even when the weather is less than agreeable, the air is always fresh and clean—provided one avoids London.” She gave a little shudder, as if London constituted the worst of fates. Of course, he was well aware of her aversion to the city—one that for the most part he agreed with, but he wasn’t about to commiserate with her. Instead, he simply nodded in polite acknowledgment.

She eyed him for a moment, and he wished he could read what was going through her mind. She rubbed a gloved hand absently along her arm. “Am I to believe you share my brother’s preference for the city life?” Her statement was punctuated by the muted whinny of a horse in the near distance.

“I harbor no preference one way or the other.”

“Truly? I can hardly conceive of a man without an opinion . . . whether it is warranted or not.” The last was said beneath her breath, but he was glad he had caught it. That tongue was catching up to her.

“Oh?”

She colored faintly, like the first hint of sunset on a warm summer evening. “It is just that most gentlemen of my acquaintance tend to express their positions on subjects rather freely, whether or not they have any actual knowledge to support their views.”

“It is a good thing a woman would never do such a thing.”

She raised her eyebrows in surprise. Blast, why did he let the quip slip out?

“Touché, Mr. Benedict. However, women rarely force their opinions on others. Men, on the other hand, seem to do so at every possible opportunity. Alas, since men are in a position of authority, women have no choice but to acquiesce.”

He made a sound that sounded rather close to a snort. “If only that were true.”

Her eyes abruptly narrowed into a scowl. Damn it, he shouldn’t be provoking her. He offered her a conciliatory smile. “A joke, Lady Evelyn, although, apparently a poorly executed one.”

Her face relaxed, and she crossed her arms, looking at him as if taking his measure. “I wouldn’t have taken you for the joking type. Clearly I need to work on my powers of perception.” A gust of wind tugged at the loosened strands of hair, which fell from beneath her hat. He had a sudden, clear image of tucking the pieces behind her ear.

“No, you were right the first time. I generally keep to myself. As a matter of fact, that is why I fit well in academia.” His heart squeezed within his chest. Speaking falsehoods to the one person he had always been so honest with felt like a crime against the heavens. Wasn’t that why he had ended their correspondence in the first place? He half expected her to narrow her eyes and brand him as the liar he was.

Instead, she merely nodded, turning to look out over the gardens. “Well, normally, you could not have chosen a better place for solitude. Other than when Beatrice comes outdoors to paint, I am generally the only one who spends much time out here. And really, I was just passing through on my way back to the house.”

He surreptitiously glanced around. He wouldn’t put it past Beatrice to hide among the bushes somewhere. She had behaved perfectly at their little gathering, but it galled him that she knew who he really was. Distractedly, he offered Evie a polite smile. “Don’t let me keep you, then.”

Despite his words, he could clearly picture himself reaching out to her, sliding his hands around her waist, and embracing her like the long-lost friend she was. He pushed the vision from his mind.

Oblivious as she was to his thoughts, her eyes reflected disappointment. “Well, I shall leave you be. I merely wished to see what you thought of one of my favorite places in the world. By day, the lovely plants showcase their beauty, but at night . . .” Glancing to the clouds above them, she trailed off, her expression softening. At night . . . what?

With her eyes averted, he drank in the sight of her profile. He still could not grow used to her beauty—masses of honey blond hair, shiny even in the dull light of the overcast day and elegant despite the effects of a brisk ride, and those expressive blue eyes that were so like Richard’s but somehow so much
better.
Realizing he was holding his breath, he discreetly exhaled.

At last she lowered her gaze to his. Her eyes widened the smallest bit, but it was enough for him to wonder what his expression betrayed. Years of training in the art of deceit, and all it took was one blond, impish young woman to ruin it all. He had always known she would be his weakness.

Her lips slowly turned up in a pleased grin. “Do forgive me, Mr. Benedict, for interrupting your solitude. Enjoy the afternoon, sir, and I shall see you at dinner.”

With that, she turned and headed toward the house, leaving him slack-jawed behind her. Damn it all to hell,
what
had she seen on his face?

* * *

Well, goodness.

Clearly, Mr. Benedict had some amount of interest in her. His words might be few, but his eyes spoke volumes.

Evie felt the hint of a giddy smile come to her lips. She didn’t know what had possessed her to sneak up on him like that. It
might
have had something to do with her inability to quite put a finger on how he viewed her. He went from utterly disinterested one minute to rather startlingly intense glances the next. She supposed one liked to know where one stood with others. The truth was, he represented a challenge, and Evie
loved
a good challenge.

Particularly when the challenge looked like a modern day, in-the-flesh Greek god. Not that it mattered in any way, shape, or form, but it was awfully delicious to realize that someone as handsome as he held some amount of regard for her. It occurred to her when she saw him strolling through the garden alone that he would be leaving in a few days. Surely it couldn’t hurt to indulge in a little harmless flirting. Even if she wanted to lose her heart to him—which she didn’t—she wouldn’t have time to. And it was rather fun to meet a man outside of the
ton
, outside of her set altogether. She relished the freedom of being far away from the prying eyes and wagging tongues of the gossipmongers who filled every ballroom in London this time of year.

And the hint of mystery about him only served to make him more . . . alluring.

She smiled as she made her way into the house and headed up the stairs to change. As she reached the landing and turned toward the west wing where the family’s quarters were, Mama emerged from her private sitting room, grinning.

“How was your ride, dear? Lovely, I hope.”

Evie slowed, suspicious. It was not the question itself that was unusual, but rather the way in which it was delivered. Mama looked like the cat that had gotten the cream. Evie didn’t know what her mother was up to, but she had a feeling she wasn’t going to like it. “Yes, quite nice. Thank you for asking.”

She pushed open her door and rang for her maid. The room seemed overly warm after the brisk air of the outdoors. She pulled off her gloves, tossed them on the bureau, and set to work unbuttoning the stiff wool jacket of her habit. Her mother followed in behind her and placed a casual hand on the back of one of the chairs facing the fireplace, brushing her fingers idly over the moss green velvet. “Anything of interest happen afterward?”

Ah. Clearly, she had been spotted with Mr. Benedict. Evie shimmied out of the jacket and laid it on a nearby stool, careful not to drop any mud on the carpet. “Interesting? Not that I can think of. Why do you ask?”

Her mother grimaced at Evie’s deliberate obtuseness but wasn’t about to be deterred. “I happened to see you outside in the garden speaking with Mr. Benedict. I merely wondered what the two of you were talking about.”

A little warning bell went off inside Evie’s head. The last thing she needed was for her mother to think there was a chance Evie would fall for their guest. For heaven’s sake, the man might be handsome, but he certainly wasn’t worth abandoning her dreams for. The alarm quieted somewhat when she realized she had a ready out—thank goodness for Mr. Benedict’s fellowship. Even she knew that in order to accept the position, one must be unmarried.

Perhaps a little reminder was in order. She busied herself removing her hat, offering a perfectly innocent smile to her mother. “His new position, of course. He is looking forward to beginning the fellowship. Apparently, the position opened up unexpectedly when the last fellow married, and he is quite pleased with the opportunity.” At least, Evie hoped that was what had happened. With any luck, her mother would not bring that particular fib up to Mr. Benedict.

Mama’s face fell, and Evie
almost
felt guilty. “I see.”

A scratch at the door announced Morgan’s arrival. Evie breathed a sigh of relief as the maid bustled in and stood to the side to await Evie’s instructions. “Well, I believe I will get out of these clothes and perhaps take a bath before dinner.”

Her mother smoothed a hand over her hair and nodded. “That sounds like a very good idea.” She walked over to where Evie stood, licked the pad of her thumb, and brushed it over Evie’s chin. “I don’t believe mud is intended to be a cosmetic, after all.”

Evie wrinkled her nose at the gesture. “And here I thought it was the newest thing.”

Her mother chuckled, the skin around her soft gray eyes crinkling. “Well, I suppose that explains a great deal. Enjoy your bath, dear, and I will see you at eight.” She patted Evie’s cheek before heading for the door, then paused just before exiting. Her hand on the doorknob, she half turned and said over her shoulder, “Do be sure to wear something nice.”