More Than a Stranger: A Sealed With a Kiss Novel (27 page)

Chapter Twenty-one

Please forgive me, Evie. I wish I could explain why I must cease our correspondence, but I cannot. Can you simply trust me?

—From Hastings to Evie; written but burned before posted

W
hen Evie came to the second time, her environment had changed considerably. Gone were the stiff riding habit, the squishy mud, and crisp spring air. Now she reclined against her own bed in a soft cotton nightdress. The popping and cracking of a fire blazing unnecessarily in the hearth was the only noise in the otherwise quiet room.

Heavens, she was hot.

Why on earth was a fire burning? Sweat dampened her skin, and she moved uncomfortably in an effort to find a cooler spot on the sheets. Instantly, pain ripped through her shoulder, and she gasped and immediately froze.

“Evie! Be still, darling. How do you feel, sweetheart?” Her mother’s voice was tense, fearful, and unusually strained. Her cool hands grazed Evie’s cheek, and Evie turned her face into her mother’s palm and opened her eyes.

“Good heavens, I feel hot.” Evie’s voice cracked a bit. Her mouth felt as dry as dust. As if her mother read her mind, a cool glass of water appeared at Evie’s lips, and she drank deeply. She had never tasted water so good in her life. Licking her lips, she took stock of her nerve endings before adding, “And rotten. Utterly rotten.”

Her mother smiled a bit at this, though it didn’t reach her strained eyes. “Yes, I suspect you do feel rather rotten. I do not imagine being thrown from one’s horse feels at all pleasant.”

Evie groaned. “Is it as bad as all that, then?”

Mama patted her hand and sighed. “You were fairly lucky, if one can call it that. Your arm was dislocated, but the doctor was able to set it right, and he does not believe any lasting damage will result. There is a rather nasty bruise on your ribs as well, but he was fairly certain it was superficial, and thankfully no bones were broken. There is a lump on your head that must have resulted from your fall. There is a very unpleasant-looking cut on your neck, and several smaller scratches crisscrossing your face. You also have quite a few bruises, but those will fade soon enough.”

Well, was that all?

Her mother paused, shaking her head as her eyes flitted over Evie’s various wounds. “This is exactly why I never wanted you to go hunting. I know, I know,” she said, putting her hands up when Evie opened her mouth to speak. “But I had to say it.”

“This wasn’t exactly normal circumstances—it could have happened on a leisurely walk.” Really, how often did one get shot at? Foxhunting could hardly be blamed for her injuries. At a sudden thought Evie struggled to sit upright, ignoring the pain that burned like a hot coal. “Benedict! Is he safe?” Pain and confusion swirled within her like mists in a coming storm. Her stomach churned with dread as she remembered his ashen face and serious, regretful eyes.

What had he done?

Her mother fluttered her hands in admonishment. “Lie down, Evie. For heaven’s sake, you will surely ruin the doctor’s hard work.”

Evie eased herself back down, but persisted. “Benedict, Mama? What happened after I, um, fainted again?”

Her mother pursed her lips. “I believe I will fetch Richard for you. He will want to know you are up, and he will best know how to answer any questions you might have.” She leaned forward and kissed Evie on the forehead. Squeezing Evie’s good hand she said, “My goodness, but you gave us all a scare. Mind you do not overtax yourself.”

She rose gracefully from the bed and left the room.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Evie began to fret. Had Benedict returned? Had he found the person who had shot at them? What had he gotten them into? What could he have possibly done to warrant such an extreme response? She could not seem to comprehend any of it.

Someone actually shot at them.

Evie shook her head with lingering incredulity. Of all the endings to the hunt one could imagine, that possibility had certainly never entered her mind. With a sigh she decided to assess the extent of her injuries and pushed the covers back with her right hand. The air, though warm, was considerably cooler against her skin than the heavy counterpane. She never could understand why a fire must be laid whenever someone became sick or injured. Honestly, it was not as if one could sweat away a dislocated shoulder.

Looking down, she took stock of the already vivid bruises staining her arm. She cringed—it was a rather awful sight. What was more, by the feel of it, the rest of her body was just as bad off, if not worse. She craned her neck as best she could to try to get a good view of her injured shoulder, but there was nothing to see. Someone had dressed her in her night rail, and a sling was fashioned to hold her arm up.

Well, that ought to be a lovely accessory for her next ball gown.

A knock interrupted her inspection. Her brother opened the door before she could bid him to enter and rushed straight to her side.

“Oh my God, Evie. How are you feeling?” He gingerly sat on the side of the bed. He lightly touched the back of her hand as though terrified of hurting her.

“I am all right, Richard. Truly I am.”
So long as I don’t move,
she amended silently. “Please tell me what has happened? Did Benedict catch the culprit? And speaking of Benedict,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him before continuing in a fierce whisper, “or should I say
Hastings
, would you tell me what in God’s name is going on?”

Richard flinched at her uncharacteristic vulgarity. “How did you know? Never mind—it doesn’t matter. Evie—,” he started, then paused and blew out his breath. He covered his eyes with his hand briefly before meeting her eyes again.

“I am not entirely certain what is going on. Benedict has not returned.” He held up his hand at her alarm. “I am certain he can take care of himself, so don’t waste a minute of thought on him. If he comes back, I have asked to be alerted the moment his horse is within sight. We have quite a lot to . . . discuss.”

Evie felt as though she had been punched in the stomach.
If
he came back? He had told her he would be back. Surely he wouldn’t just abandon her. . . .

Surely, nothing. What did she even know about the man? He could be a bloody pirate for all she knew.

As the silence stretched between them, Richard looked more and more agitated. “As God is my witness, I never imagined helping an old friend could bring harm to my family—to anyone! I don’t even know what is going on. He only said a man he knows from France has a grudge, whatever that means.”

“France!” Evie’s voice sounded shrill to her own ears. “When has he ever been to France?” A sick, sinking feeling began to tug at her. She had trusted Benedict. She had shared intimacies with the man. Had she misread his character?

Richard’s face went a dull red. “He’s lived on the Continent for years and apparently just returned. He told me he wanted to get away from the city for some peace and quiet. I shall never forgive myself for allowing him to come to Hertford Hall.”

She drew in a pained breath, trying to comprehend the new information. He had lived on the Continent. He had
enemies
, for heaven’s sake. What else didn’t she know about him?

Richard leaned toward her, grasping her good hand. “I don’t know what happened. I don’t know how they found him, or why they bothered. Hell, I don’t even know who ‘they’ are! I have been doing nothing but turning it over in my head since the shooting, and nothing seems to make sense!”

Restlessly he jumped to his feet and began to pace. Evie heartily wished she could throw back the bedclothes and stalk the length of the room along with him.

After their years of correspondence, she had thought she knew him so well. She had accepted his reasons for lying about his name and had believed him when he said it was to protect her. But what if it was to protect himself? What if he had been hiding out from some nefarious person the whole time?

She’d thought she was falling in love with the man of her dreams, but that man had been in her imagination all along. She pressed her uninjured hand over her eyes. She had fallen, all right. She had fallen for his lies. Nearly every word out of the fraud’s mouth had been utter balderdash.

Why? After all they had shared, why did he do this to her?

The tears that sprang unbidden to her eyes surprised her—Evie was certainly not the watering pot type. She dashed them away angrily. She struggled to draw a decent breath. What a silly little fool she had been. How foolish to think he might have had some sort of interest in her, when all along he had been lying through his teeth. She winced inwardly at how stupid she must have seemed.

“Just go away, Richard. I would like to be alone, if you do not mind.” She flicked a few more tears away with her fingertips.

“Evie—,” Richard began.

“No! Richard, I don’t want to see your face right now.” He looked so stricken, she added, “Perhaps later, but right now I want you to leave.” After all, she had never told him of Hastings’s betrayal, so Richard couldn’t have known how deeply he wounded her by bringing the man to her home.

“If that is what you want . . .” He trailed off, giving her a moment to contradict that it was indeed what she wanted. When she said nothing more, continuing to stare at him with all the hurt and anger she felt, he rose slowly and shuffled toward the door.

Looking back at her dejectedly, he sighed and said, “There is one more thing. Father assumed it was a poacher who fired on you. Please don’t disabuse him of this notion. It will be much easier on them if it is as simple a matter as that. And really, I—I can’t bear for them to know.”

Evie stared at him mutinously for a moment before allowing a curt nod. Richard dipped his head in acknowledgment and retreated, closing the door behind him.

She exhaled loudly and dropped her suddenly heavy head back on the pillow.

She wished now she had told her father about Hastings the moment she learned the truth. If only she had stormed into the dining room, pointed a finger, and declared him an imposter—at least then she could have seen him properly thrashed.

She pressed her hands to her eyes. She wouldn’t cry about him again. He wasn’t worth it. And what was the point? The damage to her family was done. She never wanted to see him again. She never even wanted to hear his name again, or any other alias he decided to go by.

As far as she was concerned, he could ride away and never come back.

Now if only she could convince her blasted heart of it.

* * *

Benedict, his prisoner, and one of Granville’s grooms rode in silence toward the estate. The other man had gone ahead to update the others of the capture. As they approached the stables, Dunley, the head groom, rushed to meet them, his face serious and drawn.

Benedict dismounted quickly and handed the reins over. “Please send for Lord Raleigh at once. I need to speak with him as soon as possible.”

Dunley nodded curtly as he accepted the reins. “I sent word of your return the moment Brutus came into view.” He looked uncertainly at the man draped over the unfamiliar horse.

“I will take care of our guest, Dunley. Thank you for seeing to Brutus.”

Benedict waited until Dunley bobbed his head and left before untying Barney from the saddle and hauling the still-unconscious man down. Barney groaned and shifted restlessly as Benedict shouldered him none too gently.

A short distance away, the door to the house slammed shut. He looked up to see a furious Richard storming toward him, still wearing the mud-stained clothes from the hunt. Gone was the red jacket, and the collar of the now-ruined shirt was open at the neck while the sleeves had been shoved up. Judging by his thoroughly mussed hair, he must have spent the last few hours shoving his hands through it as he generally did when he was stressed or worried.

Though the anger was expected and completely deserved, Benedict’s nerves still reacted; he not only stopped walking, but he also unconsciously took a tiny step back.

“Richard, please tell me how Evie is do—” His plea was cut off midsentence as Richard, who had not slowed as he approached, landed a solid punch on Benedict’s jaw, sending him flying backward. He landed hard on the gravel, the combined weight of himself and Barney driving him into the ground and the breath right out of his lungs. Barney groaned again, the impact undoubtedly jolting his injuries.

Richard stood over Benedict, his chest heaving while he clenched and unclenched his fists. “How dare you come back to this house? How dare you ask after my sister as if
you
are not the reason she was injured! Leave that degenerate bastard and get out of my sight.”

Benedict sat in stunned silence for a beat, shocked by his friend’s outburst of violence, even considering the circumstances. In all their years together, Benedict had never once seen Richard hit another man except for in a boxing parlor.

He kept his eyes on Richard warily as he hefted Barney off his lap and got to his feet. “Richard, I—”

But Richard was having none of it. “I don’t want to hear any of your excuses. As a matter of fact, I don’t want to ever see your face again—do you understand me?” The veins in his neck stood out at the violence of his reaction, while his hands remained balled into fists by his sides.

The condemnation in Richard’s eyes made Benedict flinch, and he tried to breathe past the crushing shame. He had to make Richard understand why he had come here, why he was forced to withdraw while he figured out his next step. He weighed his options, considering simply turning and leaving as his friend plainly wanted. But the truth was that Richard deserved more than that.