More Than a Stranger: A Sealed With a Kiss Novel (9 page)

As her mother slipped from the room and closed the heavy oak door with a quiet click, Evie’s smile fell. Drat. She had a sneaking suspicion her mother had not given up on Mr. Benedict, after all.

Chapter Six

Proper punishment, indeed! When it comes to you, I shall never respect my elder. And by the way, I just added that last letter to my list of letters to send to Grandmama Hastings. The poor dear—I hope her heart can handle her grandson’s wickedness.

—From Evie to Hastings

“G
ood God, man—who tied your cravat—a wild animal?”

“And good evening to you, too,” Benedict said, pulling back the door to admit Richard into his chambers. Outfitted in a deep blue velvet tailcoat with silver buttons, light blue trousers, and an elaborately tied white cravat, Richard could not have looked more the opposite of Benedict. “At least I don’t look as though I’ve been assaulted by a French dressmaker.”

Richard’s mouth dropped open in mock affront. “I’ll have you know, my
tailor
,
Mr. Babcock, is as British as I am.” He waved a dismissive hand in Benedict’s direction and grinned. “You, on the other hand, don’t look as though you even
have
a tailor. Where did you even find such a plain jacket? And those trousers—good God, is that a frayed hem on the bottom of the left leg?”

Benedict chuckled. “It sounds as though I look the part of an academic short on funds and fashion sense.”

“You can say that again. You do realize it wouldn’t kill you to wear some color now and again. After all, I have it on the best authority that women love a stylishly dressed man.”

“I’ll leave the rainbow to you, my friend.” Benedict had learned long ago that the simpler his wardrobe, the broader the range of situations into which he could blend. Besides, he preferred not to look like a damned peacock. He bent to search through his bag for the pair of evening gloves he had brought. Slipping them on, he took one last look in the mirror. Plain, but classic. His physique did look a little more toned than one would expect of an academic, but all in all, it would do.

Turning back to Richard, he said, “After you.”

When they arrived in the drawing room, only Lord Granville was present, despite their being right on time.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” the marquis said, rising from his position on the sofa to greet them. “Well, Richard, what did Benedict think about the hunt?”

The hunt? Benedict looked askance at his friend.

“Actually, it completely slipped my mind. Earlier, my father and I were discussing his new Irish hunter—the one he was riding when we arrived. We are most anxious to put the horse through its paces. Would you like to join us for an impromptu hunt on Friday? It will merely be an exercise, an informal affair. It is quite the end of the season, but we are sure to enjoy ourselves, nonetheless.”

Enjoying himself was not exactly something Benedict could imagine doing at the present moment—or in the foreseeable future, for that matter. But of course, Richard had no way of knowing the circumstances that weighed like boulders hanging from Benedict’s neck. And he was not yet ready to confide in his friend. Richard surely saw no reason why Benedict couldn’t enjoy himself while they were there, especially since Richard knew what an accomplished horseman Benedict was. Having no way to get around it, Benedict nodded reluctantly. “A hunting expedition would be most agreeable. It would be my privilege to accompany you.”

“Excellent. I’m certain we will be able to find a horse for you that will suit. Buttercup, perhaps?” Richard laughed at Benedict’s look of disgust.

He was sorely missing his own horse, but he hadn’t intended to go traipsing across the countryside when they left him behind in London.

“Ah, here are the lovely ladies now,” Granville interjected, turning to watch his wife and daughters file into the room. Dressed in their elaborate evening gowns, the young girls smiled broadly while Evie and her mother followed more serenely. White slippers peeked from beneath the gowns as the girls walked, their skirts swishing around with each step, and white gloves covered their hands.

As if of their own accord, his eyes immediately sought out Evie. Her calm manner was a distinct departure from her younger sisters’. The candlelight added a gentle, golden tint to her slightly—and unfashionably—tanned skin. The effect was surprisingly attractive. He swiftly averted his gaze. It wouldn’t do to be caught as he had been in the garden earlier.

As the marquis offered compliments to the girls, Lady Granville smiled to Benedict. “Good evening, Mr. Benedict. You are looking quite rested. I trust you are enjoying your day?”

Benedict bowed before responding, “Absolutely, my lady. One cannot help but take delight in a grand house such as this.”

“And the grounds? I caught a glimpse of you touring the gardens earlier.” Her eyes were alight with interest, and he inwardly groaned. If she had spied him in the gardens, he could imagine with whom she spied him.

“Equally lovely.” He decided to continue before she asked about his conversation with Evie. “Fortuitously, it appears I will have the opportunity to explore the estate at large. Lord Granville and Richard have just invited me on a hunt to be held at the end of the week.”

A groan escaped Richard. At the same moment, Evie’s features lit with pleasure. “A hunt? Oh, fantastic! I have been positively cooped up for days. A hunt would be just the thing.” She rubbed her hands in anticipation.

Richard clamped a hand on Benedict’s shoulder. “Oh, now you’ve gone and done it. I was hoping we could sneak off without her noticing so I would have half a chance at the hunt.” He dropped his hand and sighed. “Now
she’s
going to be there to show me up. Can’t a man ever catch a break?”

Benedict blinked. Evie participated in the actual
hunts
? Apparently, a lot had changed since the last letter they exchanged. He knew very well she was an exceptional rider, but to actively participate in a foxhunt was rather beyond the pale. He didn’t know whether to be massively impressed or absolutely appalled. He decided to go with the former; she was, after all, still in one piece—for now.

Evie chuckled at her brother. “Oh, don’t be such a spoilsport. It will be a fair fight, I assure you.” She grinned innocently at him. “I may even allow you to have a head start.”

“My, aren’t you just the very soul of fairness and generosity,” Richard grumbled. He shook his head in Benedict’s direction. “My father should have never allowed her to join us. Mother protested, but Evie is a bit, uh, strong willed, shall we say?”

He laughed when Evie smacked him, rubbing his arm before continuing. “Well, you did pester him for almost a year before he finally gave in to your demands and allowed you to accompany us on our hunts.” He turned back to Benedict. “Only on Hertford’s estates, mind, and so long as only family intimates, locals, and Hertford staff are involved.”

Benedict’s plans to avoid talking to Evie went up in a puff of smoke as he looked to her in admiration. Memories of their plans to race when she visited him that last weekend at Eton lifted a corner of his lips. The chance to see her in her glory in person was too much to pass up. “You must be quite a remarkable horsewoman, Lady Evelyn.”

Pride and pleasure lit her crystalline eyes, and he felt as though he had just won a prize. “Actually, Mr. Benedict, just this once I will flatter myself and say I am indeed a skilled rider.”

Richard scoffed. “Skilled, maybe. Bordering on crazy, definitely.”

Evie seemed to take no offense. “Oh, pray do not listen to the protestations of losers, Mr. Benedict. Richard is merely jealous of my aptitude and flair for riding. Sadly, the Moore legacy of fine equestrianism seems to have passed over my dear brother. But what he lacks in skill, he makes up for in charm. Is that not right, Richard?” Her expression bordered on wicked as she verbally sparred her brother.

“Very funny, but you are ignoring the true issue of the matter.” Richard’s hands went to his hips as he turned again to Benedict. “She always manages to be at the front of the field, which is really quite annoying for us mortals. The real problem arises when she is first on the scene. If she is the first to approach the cornered fox, she clears the way for the thing to escape while heeling the dogs. She claims since she is the ‘victor,’ it is her prerogative to do as she wishes with the prize. It is a wonder we do not have foxes positively blanketing the countryside.”

“Oh, that is just stuff and nonsense, as you well know,” she countered. “First of all, I am not
always
at the front of the field; I am merely always ahead of
you
. Second, I call the dogs off only when the fox has gone to ground. It is not as if it happens often. And really, it is no fun to stand around while some poor terrier spends hours trying to dig the pitiable thing out. Call it a game of tag, if you will. Third, if
you
can look that poor, adorable creature in the eye and kill it, by all means, go right ahead.” She put her finger to her lips. “Of course, you do need to get to the fox
first. . . .
Well, that
is
a problem, is it not?” She laughed merrily at Richard’s comically sour expression.

“If it makes you feel any better,” she said, apparently taking pity on her brother, “I suspect we will be drag hunting this time around. No foxes chased; therefore no foxes pardoned. It is the perfect opportunity to try out the hunter without involving dozens of people, and we can all be back in time for tea.”

“Well, fox or no, Benedict will have the opportunity to witness the whole farce for himself, I am sure. Be nice; it is not polite to trump one’s guests, after all.” Richard smiled winningly to the room at large.

Lord Granville merely shook his head at his two older children’s exchange. “Have no fear, Mr. Benedict. I am sure a pleasant day will be had by all.”

The butler, dressed impeccably with every sparse hair on his head in place, came in at that moment and announced dinner. The group shuffled to relocate to the dining room. Each of the twins vied for the opportunity to be escorted by Benedict, then appeared crestfallen upon realizing the honor would go to Beatrice.

As he offered her his arm, she looked up to him with sly eyes. “You’ve made my sister very happy,
Mister
Benedict.”

He clenched his jaw for a second before responding. Dipping his head closer to hers, he said in a low voice, “It is all I’ve ever wanted to do, Lady Beatrice.”

Her eyes widened the smallest amount. She was quiet for a moment as they entered the long dining room. Then she leaned toward him slightly and whispered, “I remember how happy she used to be when the post came.”

“Oh?”

“And how melancholy she was when it stopped.”

As they approached her chair, he met her eyes. “Nobody regrets that as much as I do. That is why I wouldn’t want to remind her of that time. My lips are sealed if yours are.”

She gave him an appraising look. “They are as long as she is happy. All the paints in the world are not worth my sister’s getting hurt.”

Clearly she’d had time to think the issue through. He respected her willingness to stand up for her sister, even if he was the one she stood against. He held her eyes for a moment before dipping his head in a shallow nod.

“As it should be, Lady Beatrice.”

* * *

He thought her a skilled horsewoman.

Evie swallowed her grin and surreptitiously stole a glance at Mr. Benedict as the footmen served the second course. Never mind that he had never actually seen her on a horse or knew anything at all about her; just seeing the admiration in his eyes had been very heady indeed.

She raised a spoonful of pea soup to her mouth, sipping dutifully but barely registering the rich, creamy flavor Cook had no doubt labored to achieve. Instead, she was focused on the delicious sound of Benedict’s low, smooth voice as he conversed with her brother—discreetly, of course. Mama would undoubtedly be keen to observe any interaction between Evie and the newcomer.

It was like her own little ballet: Take a bite of soup; smile to Papa; nod at what her mother said; steal a glance at Benedict; dab her mouth with her napkin; ask one of her sisters a question; laugh at the answer; steal a glance at Benedict.

She dipped her spoon once more and was surprised when it clinked on the bottom of the empty bowl. She set the utensil down and picked up her sherry glass, continuing her spying over the rim of the crystal.

He was not what one would expect of an academic. It was hard to imagine his broad shoulders and lean, muscled limbs at home in a library or study. His physique spoke of a more rigorous lifestyle.

Evelyn put down the goblet and pressed her napkin to her lips. She nodded vaguely in agreement with whatever Papa was saying, then snuck a peek at Benedict’s arms, the outlines of which were just visible through his tightly fitting jacket. Rigorous lifestyle, indeed—it was difficult not to stare. She looked up, a question about his sports of choice on her tongue. The remark, however, fled as she found herself looking directly into his slightly amused gaze.

Gads, he had caught her!

Mortified, she fought the blush she could feel rising up her neck. Clearing her throat, she rallied. “So if not communing with nature, Mr. Benedict, what activities do you enjoy?” There, that came out nicely. It was an absolutely
wonderful
recovery after being caught ogling his person.

For a moment, she would have sworn she caught a wicked gleam in his eye before it vanished behind polite interest. “There are many
activities
”—did she imagine the emphasis?—“I enjoy, Lady Evelyn. While in school, I participated in boxing, as it was a less-structured sport that did not impair my studies. I do enjoy the occasional walk through a well-tended garden and, indeed, the odd riding excursion. And you, my lady? When not spreading goodwill to vermin across the countryside, how do you spend your time?”