More Than a Stranger: A Sealed With a Kiss Novel (34 page)

For years, I have endured the constant bother of your barbed tongue. You are, to be quite frank, really just an annoying little pest of a girl with all the grace and decorum of a common horsefly. I have had it with your constant, unrepentant browbeating, your venomous pen, and your infantile reasoning. I thought, even despite your being female, that I might improve your mind over the course of our correspondence. I was wrong. Ergo, I’m washing my hands of you at last.

Hastings

She tossed the thing aside, not wanting to look at it a moment longer. Why would he ever wish her to read that again? Did he want to rub salt into her wounds? His last correspondence had broken her heart, and it had taught her that no man could be trusted. Yet he had seemed so blasted sincere when he left her, as if the letter would reveal something wonderful.

Clenching her jaw in an effort to stave off more ridiculous tears, she glared at the slightly yellowed sheet of paper. His parting words flitted through her mind.
Read between the lines.
She pursed her lips and considered the request, then finally picked up the page once more. This was pointless. There was not a single line drawn on the paper. She saw nothing that would delineate something important or special.

She was about to toss it to the floor, when a thought occurred to her. Smoothing the paper out, she squinted at the unusual folds. A double fold ran down the left side of the page, capturing the first letter of each line along the way.
Oh my goodness.

F-o-r-g-i-v-e-M-e.

She gasped, raising a hand to her mouth. There it was, plain as day. An odd sensation washed through her, as if somebody let a shaft of sunlight into the darkest part of her heart. He had been telling the truth about the letter. He must have had a reason for writing it in the first place. Clearly he didn’t mean what he wrote.

Evie shook her head in wonder, adjusting the way she looked at so many things.

She loved him. She would give up everything she knew to be with him, were she the only person impacted by the decision. But she wasn’t. She had to think of her sisters. She could never do something that would harm their chances for marriage, and tying the family name to that of a traitor could have devastating repercussions.

Her heart squeezed painfully. How could this be happening? How could she find the man she wanted to be with, only to have him taken from her before they ever even had a chance? She closed her eyes, pressing a fist to her mouth.

She couldn’t have him. The truth of it settled around her and chilled her like a blanket of snow.

But, even if she couldn’t be with him, Evie had to try to help him. She might not be able to fight his enemies, but she could free his mind and clear his conscience by telling him that she forgave him. Their last conversation, when she had been filled with anger and resentment, could not be the last one they shared. It pained her deeply now to know that she had hurt him with her callousness. And Evie couldn’t stand for him not to know that she forgave him. She had lived too many years hurt by a betrayal that she hadn’t understood; she couldn’t sentence him to the same fate.

When she opened her eyes, it was with new resolve. Her mind made up, she threw aside the covers and swung her legs around. The lingering discomfort in her shoulder hardly registered, she was so focused on her determination. She strode to the wardrobe, opened the doors, and pulled out a small traveling bag.

Chapter Twenty-six

France is very lonely without your letters to keep me company. Do you ever think of me? Never a day goes by that I don’t think of you.

—From Hastings to Evie, never even put to paper

A
fter the suffocating silence of the empty cellar, the sound of the door scraping against the stone as it opened was jarring, to say the least. Benedict squinted against the blinding daylight that flooded the void and, to his eyes, lit the room like frozen lightning. He struggled to see as a dark figure filled the doorway. Damn, he hated being at such a disadvantage.

“Hello, Benedict. How nice of you to join us.” Henry’s nasal voice was tinged with even more arrogance than Benedict remembered. “I trust you are enjoying your accommodations?”

Standing with his back against the wall several paces from the door, Benedict refused to rise to the bait. “Henry.” He nodded in greeting. Just beneath the surface, his blood rolled furiously through his veins. This was the man who had brought about Evie’s pain. This was the man who brought shame to the family. Everything that was wrong in his life at that exact moment could be traced directly back to Henry.

“Follow me, if you please. I am very interested in hearing why you attempted to break into my home, and I would prefer to converse in the comfort of my study. Nigel here will escort you.” Henry stepped out of the doorway, and the hulking footman took his place, motioning for Benedict to join them. William was waiting a few paces farther back.

Benedict ground his teeth at the mandate but followed obediently. With such a distinct disadvantage, he had to keep his head about him until the opportunity to strike presented itself. As he emerged from the cellar, Nigel fell into step immediately behind him, and William remained at a distance with what Benedict could now see was a pistol in hand.

Together, they walked up the hill to the house and entered through the double glass doors in the back. The doors led directly into the small study. Once inside, Benedict took in his surroundings. The shelves lining the majority of the wall space in the room were mostly empty with the exception of several layers of undisturbed dust. The luxurious rug that had once lined the wood floor was absent, as were any of the normal accoutrements one might expect to see in a study.

Henry walked around the small desk and seated himself, flipping out the tails of his coat with flair as if he were in the finest drawing room in London instead of a dreary, ill-used hunting lodge. Once seated, he gestured to Benedict to sit in the remaining chair, which was positioned opposite the desk.

“Thank you, I would rather stand,” Benedict responded tersely. Really, the whole situation seemed rather absurd. What was his brother playing at?

Henry pressed his lips together in displeasure, then looked past Benedict and gave a flick of his wrist. Immediately a large hand came down on Benedict’s shoulder and relentlessly maneuvered him into the chair.

“On second thought, I think I’ll sit,” he said drolly. If their formative years had taught him anything, it was that nothing got under his brother’s skin like being flippant in the face of his “superiority.” Undoubtedly it was ill-advised for Benedict to taunt the man who held almost all of the cards at the moment, but Benedict simply could not help himself.

Henry gave him a patently insincere smile and leaned back in his chair, pressing the tips of his fingers in a steeple. “I am on tenterhooks waiting to learn why you broke into my house.”

Henry raised his eyebrows with mock politeness, looking to him expectantly. Benedict eyed him a moment. Was he serious? What was the man playing at? Benedict was not in the mood for games.

He crossed his arms and said bluntly, “After Barney failed in his
murder
attempt, he kindly provided me with his employer’s address. Imagine my surprise when the house turned out to be the very hunting lodge that has been in the family for years.”

Henry’s right eye squinted slightly, and his nostrils flared perceptively. “Murder attempt? Don’t be absurd. Barney had his orders to bring you to me—and he was paid very well for the service. There is no need to be so dramatic.”

“He shot at our hunting party without any provocation. A young lady—and I do mean lady, as her father is a marquis—had the extreme misfortune of being thrown from her startled mount, thus suffering serious injury.” His stomach clenched when he said the words. He would never forgive Henry for causing her pain. “I assure you my
imagination
played no part in the lady’s wounds.”

Benedict watched in surprise as Henry’s face paled noticeably at the disclosure of Evie’s injury. Interesting. Though he betrayed nothing in his expression, Benedict’s mind raced to reevaluate possibilities he hadn’t considered before. Perhaps Barney had gone rogue. It could have been retaliation for Benedict’s role in the downfall of the smuggling empire from which Barney profited so handsomely.

Henry leaned forward, looking Benedict in the eye. “On my word as a gentleman, it was never my intention for anyone to get hurt. I hired Barney to find you once you disappeared and to bring you to me, nothing more, nothing less.”

Henry stood and began to pace slowly behind the desk, his hands clasped behind his back. “Well, that is unfortunate. Truly, I do hope the lady recovers. Barney will have to be . . . rewarded for both his loyalty and his ability to carry out my instructions. And it also appears things have come to a head between us.” He paused and placed his hands on the top of the chair back. Eyeing Benedict, he said, “You were seen in Folkestone by one of Renault’s men.”

Benedict nodded, not trusting himself to speak just yet. His teeth ground together at the gall of his brother to mention Renault’s affiliation so casually.

Henry pursed his lips. He was probably surprised that Benedict was not denying he was there. “You have made quite the nuisance of yourself. Renault wishes to speak with you, but I thought things might go more smoothly if I could find you first.” He began to pace once more.

“Your sense of familial loyalty knows no bounds.”

Henry snapped around to face him. “Yes, you’d best not forget it. Without me, this family would be in ruins by now.”

The nerve of the bastard. “Thanks to you, this family
is
in ruins!” Benedict made to stand but was slapped back down by one of Henry’s men behind him. Benedict growled in frustration. In his fury, he had forgotten their presence.

“Without me, Renault would have hunted you down like a dog.”

“Why didn’t you let him?” Benedict cried, resentment coursing through his veins like black tar. “It would have been easier than this.”

Henry paused and looked at him in astonishment. “You ungrateful bastard.”

“Ungrateful, yes. Bastard, unfortunately not. I’m still your full-blooded brother, no matter how much it grieves me to admit it. You have brought shame down on all of our heads.”

Henry drew back as if slapped, his slim shoulders going rigid. “So this is the thanks I get. I try to help you, and you spit in my face.”

Benedict snorted in derision. “Help me? By climbing into bed with a cold-hearted criminal? And not just any criminal, but the very man who would like nothing so much as to have the pleasure of personally watching me die. Forgive me if I am unable to properly express my gratitude.”

“You have only yourself to blame. When you decided to double-cross that low-life scum, what did you think would happen? Because I agreed to his terms, he won’t leak your name to the authorities. He wants the goods you stole from him, but he is not going to bloody kill you.”

Benedict went rigid in his seat. Wait a second—what did he mean? Did Henry think Benedict was the one working with Renault? He cautiously considered the possibility. Is this what his years of lying to his family about his profession had earned him? If his brother believed he had to bow to Renault to protect not only the family, but Benedict . . .

“Call off your men so we can talk man-to-man.”

Henry threw him an incredulous look. “Do I look like an idiot to you? I—”

“For God’s sake, have them tie me to the chair if you must, but we need to speak privately.” He leveled a stubborn glare at Henry and sat in silence, all the while mentally beseeching his brother to do as he asked.

Henry eyed him critically for a moment, lips pursed in thought. More than anything, his dark eyes reflected confusion, as if uncertain about what to do next. It was not an expression Benedict would have expected from his brother, the earl. Finally, Henry gave a stiff nod and instructed his men to tie Benedict tightly to the chair. Once the bindings were secure, he waved them out of the room, admonishing them to stand outside the door. When the door clicked closed, he motioned for Benedict to continue with exaggerated deference.

Benedict decided at that moment he was done with secrets. He was done with deceit, with living a double life, and with lying to his family and friends. It appeared that all the deception in his life was what led him to this exact spot—being tied to a chair in his brother’s study, missing the trust of one of his oldest friends, and having caused irrevocable pain to the most important woman in his life.

He pictured Evie as she had looked sitting on the stone bench in the garden by the light of the moonlight. Innocent. Undeserving of lies, especially when they culminated in depraved men showing up with murderous intents. Undeserving of a man like himself in her life.

He lifted his eyes to his brother with new focus. “I swear to you on our father’s grave that what I am about to say is the utter and complete truth. I was recruited by the War Office right out of school. My competition wins in fencing caught their eye, and my athletic skills combined with my social status and fluent French made me a perfect candidate for becoming an agent for the Crown.”