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before washing up, and you are going to go gather the girls. In”—he checked his watch fob—“approximately twenty-six minutes, I will see you in the drawing room. I fully expect you to revert to your earlier enthusiasm at the divine pleasure of my company by then. No more worries about Richard behaving badly, all right?”
    She nodded, and he winked before taking his leave. Despite his nonchalance about the whole thing, she found herself thinking there was just something . . . off about Mr. Benedict. She gave a little shrug and started up the grand, curving staircase. It was probably nothing. And really, when one was as handsome as he, one could get away with a bit of peculiarity here and there.
    When she reached the top of the stairs, the door to a nearby guest room clicked closed, catching her attention. Evidently, Mr. Benedict had been given the Blue Room.
    Anticipation skittered through her at the thought of seeing him again, and she bit her lip against the delectable feeling. Why was it she had the sudden desire to go knock on the man’s door? She shook her head at the scandalous thought.
    Perhaps it wasn’t Richard’s behavior she should be concerned with.

Chapter Four
Bravery aside, I am a man of my word, and I wouldn’t break an agreement with a lady. I also wouldn’t break one with you. Besides, it is much more fun to banter with you by letter than to mind my manners in person. Wouldn’t you agree?
—From Hastings to Evie
    W hen the last servant shuffled from the room and pulled the door closed behind him, Benedict closed his eyes and blew out a long breath.
    Thank God that was over.
    Too bad he had mere minutes to come up with an explanation for Richard that would not result in Benedict either being kicked out on his arse or meeting Richard on a grassy knoll at dawn, weapon in hand. Or worse—being handed over to Evie as the liar he was.
    Peeling off his jacket, Benedict tossed it across the foot of the gigantic four-poster bed and inspected his surroundings. Across from the bed, a small sitting area was arranged around a fireplace where freshly lit logs cracked and popped noisily. The meager warmth of the fire worked to chase the faint chill from the enormous room. Huge, nearly floor-to-ceiling windows lined the back wall, and the afternoon sunlight poured through in slanted columns, highlighting the stirred-up dust in the freshly prepared room.
    He dropped onto the upholstered bench at the foot of the bed and went to work removing his boots.
    What could he possibly say to Richard to explain his reasoning? Perhaps he should say he was running from the law and had assumed a false identity to avoid capture. Or that a jilted lover was after him. Or that he had suffered an attack of the mind and had momentarily forgotten his own name.
    He dropped his left boot on the floor with a thud. No, he should tell Richard the truth—or at least as much of it as possible. He was Benedict’s closest friend, for God’s sake. He couldn’t look himself in the eye if he just started piling on the lies.
    A sharp knock sounded on the door. “Enter,” he called, yanking off the right boot.
    Richard strode in, looking remarkably refreshed. “All settled? Yes? Good—now I am positively rapt to know what the devil possessed you to introduce yourself the way you did, Mister Benedict.” The question was said without anger, but with genuine curiosity. He settled on one of the blue-and-white-striped chairs beside the fireplace and waited for Benedict’s response.
    Benedict ran a hand through his hair, blowing out a breath. Here goes nothing. “I know—not my most intelligent decision today. But you remember the correspondence your sister and I shared when we were children?” Richard nodded, and Benedict continued. “From what I have gathered over the years, she never actually shared with you how that particular relationship ended.”
    Richard’s left eyebrow rose. “I had assumed it died naturally when you left