More Than a Stranger: A Sealed With a Kiss Novel (12 page)

The lamps were turned back and the house was nearly silent, much as it had been the previous evening when she had run into Benedict. As she entered the library, the musty smell of books seemed stronger in the darkness. She didn’t bother with lighting a lamp; she knew exactly the bookshelf that she wanted.

The circle of light cast by her candle illuminated only a small fraction of the vast array of books housed on the many shelves before her. Shivering a bit—the room had not seen a fire in a while—she rubbed her arm with her free hand as she inspected her choices. Her father’s old adventure novels, including
Robinson Crusoe
and
Gulliver’s Travels
, were peppered among the more modern novels that she preferred. After searching for a few moments, she settled on her favorite standby—
Sense and Sensibility
.

Clasping the worn copy of the book to her chest with one hand, she lifted her candle with the other and slipped out of the library. She retraced her steps to the second floor and turned toward the west wing where her bedchamber was located.

Thump!

Letting out a little squeal at the unexpected sound, she whirled around instinctively toward the direction it had come from. The swift movement caused her candle to flicker and die, and she was immediately plunged into darkness.

For a moment, she stood stock-still, trying to listen past the thud of her own heartbeat as her eyes adjusted.
Calm down,
she chided herself.
It’s probably nothing
. Still, her heart hammered as she strained to either hear or see anything.

Thump!

She started, squinting in the direction of the east wing. What
was
that? The family’s chambers were located in the west wing, and the servant’s quarters were upstairs. Benedict alone was currently housed in that wing.

What could he be up to? A niggling thought in the back of Evie’s mind admonished her that it was none of her business what Benedict did in the privacy of his bedchamber, but it was not loud enough to make her turn away and return to her own room.

Instead, she cautiously tiptoed toward the Blue Room, only two doors down the corridor from the stairway. She struggled to make out shapes in the gloomy corridor, but mainly she was slinking along on memory.

“Oofff!”

She hopped up and down, silently cursing the blasted table that had reached out and bit her toe. Had that table always been there? Shaking off the pain, she moved on, proceeding more slowly and with exaggerated caution this time.

Thump!

The noise was definitely coming from Benedict’s bedchamber. Movement caught her eye—swiftly moving shadows in the faint, flickering light spilling from beneath the door.

She paused to consider her options. She could, rather, she
should
, turn herself around and return to her bedchamber at once. She should climb into her bed and settle in with
Sense and Sensibility
for a few calming chapters before going to sleep. Tomorrow, when she saw Benedict, she should inquire if he had slept well and smile disinterestedly when he responded yes.

It was really rather unfortunate that Evie never seemed to do what she
should
do.

Squaring her shoulders, she took a few more steps, stopping several feet away from the door. At this distance, she could hear other faint noises coming from within. She leaned forward and tried to make out what was going on. It was no use—the sounds were even more mystifying now that she was closer.

Evie chewed her lip for a moment, suddenly feeling as though she were spying on the man. All right, so perhaps she
was
spying on the man, but he was the one who had drawn her attention in the first place. Yes, it was all
his
fault she was standing outside of his room in the middle of the night.

Really, she should leave. He was given the chamber to use as he pleased, with a door to close as he pleased.

But she couldn’t just walk away now—her curiosity was absolutely
killing
her. Very well, she would have a quick listen at the door to make sure he wasn’t injured or something; then she would be on her way. She nodded; it was a reasonable plan. Bending down, she placed the book and the useless candleholder on the floor before straightening and running her damp palms over the soft fabric of her night rail. She took a deep breath, sidled up to the door, and slowly placed her ear to the cool wood. Doing her best to ignore the thundering of her own blood in her ears, she tried to concentrate on discerning the sounds coming from within.

She could just make out odd rustling noises—and there was another thump. She wrinkled her brow. Why wasn’t he sleeping? Never mind that
she
was not only awake but prowling the corridors and working on her burgeoning career in espionage.

As she listened, she looked down at her bare feet, which were illuminated by the light filtering from beneath the door. Shadows moved smoothly in the wavering light, sliding back and forth. There seemed to be a certain rhythm to motion. Was he dancing? No, the movement seemed too . . . aggressive for that.

She watched for several moments before breathing a quiet sigh. It was no use. Whatever he was up to, she wasn’t going to figure it out through a two-inch-thick slab of solid wood or by attempting to interpret the vague motions of shadows. Perhaps she could figure out a way to question him.

Thoroughly frustrated, Evie turned and started to retrace her steps, then jerked to a halt. At the same time, the door rattled in its casing, the sound like a gunshot to her suddenly racing mind. Her gown had caught on the doorknob!

There was a sudden cessation of noise from the room, followed by the swift sound of footsteps toward the door. Her heart dropped to the floor. Good heavens, he was going to catch her spying on him!

Panicking, Evie wrenched the skirts of her nightgown free, hiked them knee high, and sprinted for the west wing. As she reached the staircase, she skidded around the railing, dropped to the floor, and huddled behind the massive carved banister at the very moment the door swung open.

Her heart pounding hard against her ribs, she watched as Benedict poked his head out past the frame and cautiously looked from left to right. Dim candlelight spilled into the corridor from the room behind him. She hoped desperately that she was out of his range of vision and said a small prayer of thanks for the dark night and extinguished lamps.

She fought to control her breathing, afraid any noise would alert him to her presence. Evie would never recover from the mortification if he caught her snooping outside his door. Slowly he stepped into the corridor.

As he emerged, she sucked in a startled breath, her eyes widening in shock. Good heavens, he was practically naked! He wore nothing but a loose-fitting pair of what looked to be linen pants. His bare torso glistened in the flickering light—he must have been sweating from his exertions.

Her pulse fluttered wildly as she watched him, unobserved, from her hiding place as he investigated the corridor outside his bedchamber. His chest looked as though it had been carved from marble, smooth and taut with clearly defined muscles. What would it feel like to trace a finger down the valley running the length of his belly? Fighting the sudden urge to fan her cheeks, she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, trying in vain to maintain even an ounce of decorum—not easy to do after spying on a houseguest in the dead of night.

Seemingly of its own volition, her right eye cracked open to get another look. Evie slammed it shut again, this time laying her hand firmly across her eyes. She needed to think of something else, anything to distract her.

Kittens!

Kittens were adorable, innocent creatures. They didn’t have broad, muscled chests. Their bellies weren’t flat and lean, toned to perfection. . . .

Her eyes popped open again. Clearly, distraction was not working. She snuck another peek in his direction, feeling the tickle of butterflies and an unfamiliar sensation in her stomach. Good heavens, no wonder unmarried women were not permitted to look upon the male form. His lean figure must surely be as fine as any of the Greek statues of the gods she had glimpsed.

His bare feet were silent as he prowled outside the room and he squinted into the darkness, obviously trying to discern the perpetrator in the gloom. Finally, he shrugged and made to return to his room.

Evie went limp with relief. If he had—

She came up short, biting her lip when he stopped in his tracks and looked to the floor outside the room. She held her breath, her pulse roaring back to life. What did he see? Bending down, he picked up a small object, turning the item in his hands.

The blood drained from Evie’s face as she realized what he had found.

Oh God.

She might never leave her bedchamber again.

Chapter Nine

There are always secrets, whether we intend there to be or not. But, if I am honest, I don’t believe anyone knows quite as much about me as you do. How, I wonder, did that come to be the case?

—From Hastings to Evie

S
itting on the edge of his bed near the candle on the nightstand, Benedict flipped absently through the pages of the novel that had been abandoned outside his door. A slightly boyish grin tugged at the corners of his lips as he considered the object in his hands.

Evie. It must have been her. He simply could not imagine one of the young sisters prowling the house in the middle of the night, romantic novel in hand. Even if one of them had ventured outside his door, she would have surely tittered or giggled, or in some other way given herself away as Beatrice had when he arrived.

No, the perpetrator had been none other than the ever-curious Evie. She must have been going to or from the library. Was she just being nosy, or had she heard him? The smile quickly disappeared as he considered his carelessness.

Damn. He had best be on his guard if he was to keep his cover. He took for granted that, since he had been placed in a room in his own wing, he could practice without worrying about being discovered. He had to be more cautious—carelessness like tonight could get him killed in the real world.

He looked to the silver rapier he had tossed on the bed in haste upon hearing the noise outside his room. He had been concentrating deeply on the swift and graceful moves of fencing, charging forward and leaping back, jabbing and parrying an invisible foe. The practice was more than just keeping his body agile and his skills fresh; it was to clear his mind and spirit of all the clutter. He had always particularly enjoyed the meditative aspect of practicing fencing alone.

With the metal shaft glinting in the candlelight, he was very glad now he had the forethought to abandon the weapon before investigating the cause of the noise in the corridor. He could only imagine the trouble that would have arisen had he burst from his bedchamber brandishing a sword. Evie likely would have screamed and brought the whole household down on them.

Worse than that, it might have given her a clue as to his true identity. She knew very well Hastings was an avid fencer, his favorite of all the sports at which he was proficient.

His thoughts focused again on his golden-haired enchantress, and the smile returned unbidden. She had been so close, standing right outside his room in the middle of the night. What would he have done if she had still been there when he opened the door? He pictured her as she had looked on the stairs in her night rail the night before, her hair loosely braided and draped over her shoulder. Had she even worn anything beneath the gown? His mouth went dry at the thought.

It was a very good thing she had retreated before he pulled open the door.

Shaking his head, he returned his attention to the book in his hands. The gold-leaf lettering winked in the flickering light.
Sense and Sensibility.
Should he give it back to her? No. He rather wanted to see what she would do, first.

He rose and went to the water basin resting on the bureau by the bed. He splashed the tepid water across his face and chest and quickly toweled off. Looking up, he caught a glimpse of his own expression in the mirror above the bureau. He smiled at himself with real amusement.

Suddenly, he was quite looking forward to the morning.

* * *

After what seemed like five minutes of sleep, Evie awoke to the sound of her maid bustling into her room and swishing open the curtains to a ridiculously bright and sunny day. All at once, the memory of last night assailed her. Evie groaned and yanked the covers over her eyes.

“Ugh, Morgan, it is brighter than a dozen suns outside. Do please close the drapes.”

There was a moment of silence on the other side of the counterpane. Hesitantly, Morgan said, “But my lady, it is an exceedingly fine day today. It’s exactly the sort of weather you love. And Mrs. Hargrove has prepared quite a feast for breakfast this morning on account of the lovely day.”

Lovely day, her foot. How on earth would she face Benedict this morning? Beneath the counterpane, she wrinkled her nose and blew out a breath. There was no help for it. She would have to say something to him. Besides the fact she couldn’t stay beneath the covers forever, no matter how much she might wish to do so, it simply wasn’t in her nature to let something like this fester.

With a great, gusty sigh, Evie threw off the covers. “Please tell me there is a large, steaming cup of chocolate waiting for me.” If she had to eat crow, at least she could wash it down with chocolate.