More Than a Stranger: A Sealed With a Kiss Novel (29 page)

“After what happened in the raid, I couldn’t risk going to my superiors unless I was certain the information was correct. So, early the next morning under the cover of darkness, I rode out to the place he was supposedly staying and investigated. My contact was correct. I heard Renault talking with another man about an upcoming shipment.”

He paused, reliving the emotions he had experienced in the quiet dawn. After a moment, Richard interrupted his wandering thoughts. “What is the point? So you ran into this Renault, turned tail, and led him here?”

Benedict held his gaze and shook his head. “I was just about to leave to report my findings, when I heard the voice that stopped me cold.” He swallowed past the lump that lodged in his throat. He could remember the exact words he had heard spoken in response to Renault’s query on the upcoming shipment:
I assure you, I intend to see this done with all possible haste
.

“Richard, it was Henry.”

Richard blinked. “Henry. As in your
brother
,
Henry? The bloody Earl of Dennington?”

Benedict nodded. “I left town with a heavy heart, not sure what I was going to do, and decided I needed time to come to grips with the decision before me. My main concern was that I did not want to be found by the War Office, or anyone really, until I knew what I would do. I believed until today there was no way for my brother or Renault to know I was there. But, as it is now so completely obvious, I was wrong.”

His story finished at last, Benedict bowed his head, allowing the full magnitude of the truth to settle around them like a layer of winter frost. Richard did not say a word; he did not even make a sound. Benedict silently sent up a brief, fervent prayer that the truth would at the very least help Richard to understand why Benedict had done what he had.

When at last Benedict looked up, apprehensive, almost fearful at what he would see on Richard’s face, it was with a rather grim sense of validation that he saw the shock on Richard’s pale features. Not wanting to push him in any way, Benedict waited patiently until Richard spoke first.

“Bloody hell.” Richard shook his head slowly, then looked Benedict in the eye when he said again, “I didn’t know. Of course, how could I have? You should have told me. We could have come up with some other plan, one that didn’t involve endangering my family.”

Richard turned away from him, stalking several paces away and running his hand through his hair in agitation again. “Damn it, Benedict! We could have gone somewhere else, somewhere that would not have dragged everyone I hold dear down with us.”

He turned abruptly, slicing his hand in the air. “No, it doesn’t excuse your actions. I am sorry for the bloody awful situation you got into, truly I am. But it simply does not make up for the injuries my sister now bears, or the tears my mother cried, or the violation my father feels at having his child assaulted on his own property. Speaking of which, my father believes the attacker was a poacher. It is my intention that he continue to believe it—it is simply easier and less traumatic. I have let him know I will handle the matter entirely.”

Benedict was more than happy to have Richard’s family believe that particular scenario. Though he doubted it, it was also his hope Evie would not know the full extent of his deceit. His head ached at the thought of her hating him. He dipped his head slightly in an abbreviated nod, not quite ready to be let off the proverbial hook. “I know that what happened in no way justifies being dishonest to you and your family, but I just wanted you to know what has been going on in my life, and what would cause me to turn to you for help while not being honest with you.”

Benedict lifted his shoulders and said simply, “It was my brother. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

Richard walked slowly back toward him. Benedict wished he could know what the man was thinking. He just looked so . . . defeated.

God, Benedict felt like hell. He wished there were some way to undo everything that had happened. “I deeply, deeply regret my actions. I wish I had never come up with the ridiculous plan, concocted on a moment’s notice. And I thought your family was away until we arrived, not that it makes things any better. I hope you believe me when I say if I had had any indication I would be followed, that any danger would be presented to you, I would have never, ever come here.”

Evie’s crumpled figure materialized in his mind’s eye again, exactly as he had last seen her—lying prone on the forest floor. It was a physical pain to him; he pressed his palm first to his chest and then to his head in a vain attempt to alleviate it. He wished he could go to her, to see her awake and
whole
. All he really wanted in the world was for her to be vibrant and healthy again, the way she had been last night as they had sat on the bench in the moonlight.

A million years ago.

“What are you going to do now?” Richard dropped wearily onto the bench, placing his elbow on his knee and resting his chin in his hand.

“I need to finish this. I don’t see that I have any other choice. I have come to terms with the fact my brother is a treasonous bastard.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. Shrugging his shoulders, he continued. “I need to find my brother and apprehend him. I am still an officer of the Crown, and it is my duty to turn in any traitors I discover.”

Richard sat up straight. “Turn him in? For
treason
? Benedict, your family will be ruined! The title will be lost, and you and your kin will
never
be able to set foot in polite society again.”

And there it was—the real reason it had taken him so long to come to terms with what he had to do.

He could see the dawning realization on Richard’s face. Benedict had already thought all of this through. Turning Henry in would be a death knell to his family. The title, the lands, the income, and any respect he or his family once demanded would dissolve like sugar in boiling water.

But he was no hypocrite. If his brother was involved in illegal activities, he could not treat him any differently than he would any other criminal he had brought down over the years.

He only wished he had left
before
the bloody hunt.

The anger surged once again inside him, and it took all of his willpower not to punch the nearest inanimate object. He particularly wanted to thrash the unconscious lowlife who had brought the fight to Hertford Hall. Of course, it was his own brother he really wanted to have a go at.

The betrayal burned deep in his gut. After dedicating years to protecting British citizens and national security, his own brother was throwing all he held dear to the wind. Henry had put monetary gain ahead of all else, and for what? He already had a title, extensive lands, several houses, and servants aplenty. Even if he was operating at a loss, it was nothing a good estate manager and some belt-tightening could not fix. Or, if all else failed, there was a veritable plethora of heiresses who would be happy to plump his coffers in exchange for the title of countess.

Benedict pictured his older brother, dripping with jewels and fine clothing, purchasing the finest horseflesh and conveyances, stocking his wine cellars and liquor cabinets with the oldest and rarest varieties. With derision he realized Henry would never personally sacrifice for the good of others, particularly the lowly tenants of his lands. He would never give up any of his own creature comforts, regardless of necessity or obligation.

With a grave face and a heart that felt as if it were carved from crumbling marble, Benedict looked his friend square in the eye. “I don’t have a choice, Richard. My brother must pay for his transgressions.”

Richard held his gaze for a moment, then sighed deeply. “You must do as you feel is right. Wait until that bastard has come to so that you may question him. Tell Dunley what supplies you need. And take Brutus—he will serve you well until you can retrieve Samson.”

Richard stood and closed the distance between them. He stopped a few feet from Benedict, hesitation and uncertainty written on his face. At last he cleared his throat. “However I may feel about you right now, I hope you don’t get yourself killed.”

Benedict smiled humorlessly. “That makes two of us.”

Chapter Twenty-three

My greatest regret is that I cannot meet you at last, but the timing of my departure is not my choice. Can you ever forgive me?

—From Hastings to Evie, tossed in the fireplace before even addressed

E
vie stared at the solid, infuriatingly immobile door for perhaps the hundredth time in the past hour. Why had her brother not come to her? It felt like ages since she had seen Richard and Benedict disappear into the stables, and she was anxious to discover what had transpired between them.

She stretched her neck from side to side; it was stiff and sore from her having slept on the window seat. She would probably still be there if her maid hadn’t woken her, clucking like a mother hen as she helped Evie back to bed. Evie extracted Morgan’s promise not to tell Mama about the incident, thank goodness, and to fetch Richard.

It was difficult to quell the desire to go find her brother herself, as he had not seen fit to respond to her summons. She blew out an impatient breath and tried to focus on the book in her hands—again. She had been staring at the same page for half an hour and still had no idea what was written on it.

Finally, there was a light tap at the door. Throwing the book aside, she called out, “Come in!”

Pushing the door open a few inches, Richard poked his hand in and waved his white handkerchief back and forth. “I come in peace.”

Despite the somberness in his voice, his antics earned a snort from Evie. Shaking her head, she called out, “Oh, get in here.”

He pushed the door open the rest of the way and made his way to her bedside. He looked tired and strained, but he managed to stretch his lips into a semblance of a smile as he approached her. Pulling up her desk chair and sitting with his knees almost touching the mattress, he asked, “That sling really is quite the fashion statement. I do believe it could be the start of a trend.”

She smiled at his halfhearted attempt at humor. “Oh yes, it does rather frame the face, don’t you agree?”

“Absolutely.” He leaned forward slightly. “How are you feeling?”

“Dreadful. Sore, to be sure.”

“I suppose that’s to be expected. At least it’s not so dreadfully hot in here anymore.”

“Yes, I’m much more comfortable now.”

An awkward moment of silence hung between them. She was not exactly sure how to ask him what he and Benedict had discussed.
So, I was spying on you and noticed you and Benedict were engaged in an argument. What is that all about?
Especially when she had been so angry with him the last time they had spoken. She still was angry, but at the moment, she was more curious. Curiosity always trumped any other emotion in her book. She offered him a small smile and reached for his hand.

“I am feeling a bit confined in here, cooped up like a lame chicken. What is going on in the outside world? Any word from Benedict?” Try as she might, the words did not sound as casual as she had hoped. In fact, they seemed to fall flat to the floor with an audible thump.

The muscles around Richard’s eyes tightened, and he squeezed her hand. All traces of joviality were gone when he answered. “He is gone from here. There is no need to worry about him further. I doubt he will ever cross your path again.”

Excellent. Perfect. Exactly what she was hoping to hear.

She nodded briskly in acknowledgment and mentally washed her hands of the man. At least she tried to. Oh, who was she kidding? If those were the words she wanted to hear, why did her stomach drop to her knees in reaction to the news? If she really had no desire to see him again, the mere mention of his name wouldn’t send an enticing shiver down the back of her neck.

If what Richard said was true, he was not coming back.

Ever.

Well, of course not—why should he? They hardly knew each other—other than on paper—and just look at all the trouble his visit had caused her family. She thought of their ride together across the estate . . . of his hands clasping her around the waist and lifting her down to him, then lingering a moment longer than they should have. Her fingers tingled at the thought of his breath caressing her bare skin yesterday as they sat beneath the stars. And then there were his sweet—and increasingly passionate—kisses.

Balling her hand into a fist, she could not stop herself from asking, “Where is he going?”

Richard was quiet for a few beats, glancing out the window to the gathering dusk. “He is off to find his brother.”

Her eyebrows drew together. “The earl? What has he to do with anything?” Was the drivel about the Frenchman a lie as well?

“Quite a lot, actually.” He blew out a pent-up breath and dropped his chin in his palm, his elbow resting gracelessly on his knee. “It’s all rather complicated. Yes, Benedict lied to us, but he was going through a rather difficult ordeal and just wished to have some peace to work it out. He never imagined he would bring trouble to our doorstep.”

She felt a little hysterical bubble of laughter rise up. “Trouble? No trouble! Just a bit of an accident, that’s all. Really, naught but a flesh wound.” And to make the day even better, tears were pricking her eyes once more. Brilliant.

Really, she prided herself on her ability to keep a stiff upper lip, and here she was tearing up over a very stupid man who had done nothing more than turn her life upside down—twice. She swallowed past the lump lodged in her throat.

“Oh, Bit, don’t cry. He won’t come back here. He will never cause you pain ever again.”