She tilted her head to look up at him. He stood about three feet up from her on the bank. If she squinted her eyes, she could imagine him as the Ben of her youth. He’d been lanky and broad-shouldered then, but now he had a man’s presence. “I was woolgathering.”
“You always did that,” he said good-naturedly. “But we have a ways to go, and you haven’t had anything to eat. Come along.” He moved toward the top of the bank.
Elin stood, but instead of following, she asked, “Are we ever going to talk about what happened between us?”
Ben stopped. “Between us? Yesterday? At your betrothal party?”
He knew what she meant. She knew it, and she was a bit stunned over her own audacity in mentioning the past openly.
This morning had brought a truce of sorts between them. She was now challenging what peace there was between them—and yet, she must.
“About the night we spent in that cottage together,” she said, her voice calm in contrast to the tightening in her chest. “About your leaving the next day.”
He crouched as if to bring himself to her eye level. The easiness had left his manner. Instead, a muscle worked in his jaw.
Yes, it was still between them. It would always be between them unless they confronted it now.
“I miss you,” she dared to say. “I miss the”—she paused, searching for a word that could protect her—“friendship we had.” She broke her gaze away from his, astonished at her honesty. She’d spoken up. She’d revealed more than she’d ever thought she would to him.
“Friendship?” he said. “Is that all we had?”
Her heart gave a start. “All?”
He dropped his arms to rest on his thighs. His gaze slid away from her to something in the distance that only he could see; and then he swung his attention back to her. “I loved you.”
Elin didn’t know what she had expected him to say, but it wasn’t those words.
A jumble of emotions, including a senseless amount of anger, welled inside her. “Love?” The word didn’t even taste good to her. It couldn’t. “Then why did you leave me?” Naked pain etched every word. Pain that she’d pent up through the hours, days, months ruminating over how Ben could have abandoned her.
And he had the impudence to claim he’d loved her?
His idea of love and hers were obviously very different, and she knew because she’d loved him.
Oh, yes, she had loved him.
Elin might not have realized it at the time, but that was only because she’d been too young. Her mother had claimed her feelings for Ben had been nothing more than an infatuation, a silliness, really.
However, standing here, out in the open, Elin realized her mother had been wrong. Elin had depended upon Ben. She’d trusted him, in spite of a confusing, disappointing, and, yes, unsettling experience between them. She’d wanted to talk to him about it—but he’d left.
His leaving was more than saying he didn’t care for her. It had been a betrayal of her trust.
For his part, the ever-mobile Ben had now gone very still, almost as if he’d turned to stone. As if he wasn’t aware of the minutes stretching between them as she sorted out her mind, pulling them further and further away from each other.
“Say something,” she demanded, angrily pulling on her gloves. “Speak.”
A glint came to his eye, a warning.
Elin didn’t care if she went too far. She’d spent too much time not going far enough.
But in the end, he was the only one who could decide what came next, and he did.
“Yes. Well.” He rose. “Come eat.” He didn’t wait for her response but began walking back to their haven of pine trees.
That was all he had to say?
Perhaps she should be glad for it. Perhaps, if he wasn’t such a selfish, disrespectable blackguard, then that love she had once had for him might have flourished—and she didn’t want that. Oh, no, never that.
In fact, in this moment, she was pleased, no, thrilled she was marrying Baynton.
And she was no fool. She knew Ben resented her betrothal along with everything else he claimed to dislike about his brother.
Well, he had now convinced her that her parents had been wise in choosing Gavin for her, and she would tell her father so when next she saw him. She would gratefully throw herself into his arms and beg him to keep Benedict Whitridge away from her.
Nor was she going to blithely follow him up the bank and munch on dried apples because he felt she needed it. She could take care of herself, thank you very much.
Elin lifted the hem of her cloak and dress. The stream was three feet across. If she wasn’t lucky, she could land right in it.
But she wouldn’t. She was too angry to fail.
She took a few steps back and then leaped for the other side. She almost lost her footing. The wet, soft bank threatened to give out beneath her, but she caught her balance and, with a few steps forward, righted herself by grabbing the thin trunk of a young tree. The rabbit poked his head out in surprise, saw her only inches away from his home, and scurried back to safety.
Elin wanted to roar in triumphant, pleased at what she’d done—until Ben appeared in search for her.
“Elin, stop brooding—” he was saying as he reached the top of the bank, then he broke off in surprise that she wasn’t where he expected her to be, that she was on the opposite side of the stream.
With a wave of her hand, she bid him farewell, scrambled up the other side of the bank, and dove into the dense brush of the forest.
Where the bloody hell did Elin believe she was going?
And was there a soul in the world who understood women?
If there was, Ben was certain it wasn’t a male one.
He was also discovering that Elin had changed since their youth. Back then, he had thought them completely compatible.
Now, he realized there was absolutely nothing compatible between the two of them. He’d confessed that he had loved her. Those words had not been easy to say. And who, with any amount of reason, wouldn’t believe it was true today?
Not Elin.
She’d behaved as if she hadn’t heard a word he’d said. She had dismissed him and gone charging off in a female tiff. She thought she was putting him in his place.
Indeed, if he was smart, he would let her go. After all, no one wanted to kill him. No one was threatening him—but they were her . . . and even if she was being erratic and unpredictable, he didn’t want harm to come to her—because he still did love her.
She was the woman by which he judged all others—and found them lacking—and it bit hard that she had been decidedly unimpressed with his confession.
Or was she too wrapped around the axle over her concerns? Too overwhelmed?
Then again, a man could only take so much. Elin had cost him his youthful pride, but it hadn’t all been her fault. And he did have an obligation, and a desire, to keep her alive.
Ben didn’t bother calling after her again. He knew she would ignore him. No, the only action he could take was to go after her. He’d have to chase her down, except he’d left the food sack and the cider jug by the tree trunk. He needed to fetch them first.
“But I’m coming after you, Elin. Oh, yes, I am,” he promised as he started off the way he had come. “And when I catch you, then we’ll have a discussion the likes of which you’ve never experienced before.”
Chapter Nine
Stop brooding.
Elin couldn’t believe Ben had said such to her.
However, after a good fifteen-minute trudge, the elation she felt at having outmaneuvered him and taken her fate into her own hands gave way to one overriding thought—she should have eaten something before she’d left.
Her stomach rumbled she was so hungry.
She could have stashed a few of Osprey’s apples into the pocket of her cloak, nestling them next to the pistol; and then she wouldn’t be so famished. Even the hard cheese sounded delicious. Placing one foot in front of the other, s
lapping overhanging branches out of her way, she walked with the determination of a woman too stubborn to admit defeat, her mind mulling over what sort of cheese Osprey had given them that had hardened.
From what little she knew of the tavern owner, it might have been a Leicester or a Swaledale, something relatively local. Why, he might even have made his own cheese, an idea she quickly rejected. Osprey’s stew had been good and serviceable but she doubted he would expend the time for cheese making. Besides, he would need a cow or goat, and she hadn’t noticed one around the tavern.
She herself was partial to Swaledale because it tasted richer, especially with apples. Those dried apples might taste very good with it.
Then again, Osprey may have given them a simple cheddar. One had to be careful with cheddar because it could have a bite. Elin never liked to eat anything where the taste was too sharp—
She heard the rustle of leaves, the footfalls of another presence.
She knew who was there. Ben had caught up with her.
Thoughts of cheese and hunger fled her mind. Her heart seemed to pick up its beat at the prospect of another confrontation. She’d acquitted herself well last time, and she expected to do the same during their next round of verbal sparring.
And yes, there would be another round because there was unfinished business between them.
Maybe there always would be.
Elin quickened her pace and found herself happier. It really hadn’t been pleasant to be marching along alone, with killers on the loose.
But she was not going to acknowledge Ben’s presence.
At least, not yet.
Of course, he didn’t wait to let her know he’d arrived. He acted as if he’d always been there. So Ben.
“Do you have any idea where you are going?” he asked conversationally. He was closer behind her than she had thought, which made sense. His legs could eat up ground. He could take one step for her every two.
She debated pretending he wasn’t there but couldn’t. “South.”
“Really?”
Elin drew her brows together. “Yes, really.”
“Are you certain?”
Well, no, she wasn’t.
She didn’t slow her step, but she did glance around. She’d been using moss on tree trunks as her guide. It grew on the north side of trees, so she chose the opposite direction. And London was south. She was heading to London.
“Yes,” she answered.
“Remember when my father’s huntsman Herndon taught us that one could always tell which way was north by the way moss grew on the trees? It turns out that isn’t always the case. Sometimes, if there is a great deal of moisture, like in a woods, such this one, well, moss can grow anywhere on a tree. Notice how it is growing all around the base of this beech right here? Fascinating.”
Elin didn’t find this information fascinating. It was dreadful news. She was tempted to change direction, to pause and consider where she was going . . . but that would be doing exactly what Ben wanted her to do.
He wanted her to doubt herself.
She could imagine how smug he’d feel if she even paused. He’d know he had the upper hand, and she was not about to let him have such satisfaction. She’d change her course, but slowly, so he wouldn’t notice.
However, she was very relieved to have him with her.
They walked in silence for a good long way. Elin marched in the front with, she pictured, Ben sauntering behind her. He could have outdistanced her. He didn’t. No, he shadowed her, obviously content to let her lead the way . . . wherever she was going.
The sky grew grayer, the clouds heavier, her hair curlier.
“Should we stop?” Ben asked.
Elin kept walking, feeling very noble that she was willing to plow on.
“I’m actually hungry,” he complained.
Her stomach growled its assent. Her mind had been so preoccupied with him, she’d actually forgotten how starving she’d been. But she didn’t stop. Her pride wouldn’t let her, while another corner of her mind was a bit afraid of him.
He had once been her undoing. A principled woman should be cautious, and Elin wanted to be that woman. She’d failed once, but she’d been young, naïve. She was wiser now. She knew what was expected of her, what her mother would have wanted. Marrying Baynton would fulfill her parents’ dream for her. So, instead of being so aware of Ben, she focused on his brother.
She began enumerating all of Gavin’s good points: He was handsome. Certainly more handsome than Ben. Everyone agreed to that.
Although Ben had charm—when he wished to exercise it—and a definite presence.
Well, so did Gavin . . . but Ben’s attention had always been focused on her. She’d never believed that he didn’t see her for who she was.
He said he’d loved you.
It was a dangerous thing to think about that candid confession. Especially since, except for the night of her betrothal ball when Gavin had given her the pearls, Elin couldn’t recall any meaningful conversations with the duke.
The thought unsettled Elin, and she wasn’t certain why until Ben interrupted her thoughts by asking, “Do you still wear breeches when you ride?”
When she was a girl, Ben had convinced her to don a pair of boy’s breeches under her riding habit. Her governess had objected strenuously and threatened to take away her riding privileges. A gentlewoman should never consider wearing breeches for any reason, she’d declared. However, since she never knew if Elin had breeches on under her habit or not, Elin did as she pleased.
Then, of course, the next step was to ride like a man. Elin had loved the freedom.
She’d continued the practice whenever she was in the country. The stable lads knew she rode astride every chance she could. But once she was married, she knew she’d have to give it up. Gavin wouldn’t condone such a thing. He would side with the governess who had been horrified.
Ben began humming under his breath. The sound didn’t carry any farther than to her. He hummed a jig, a silly sound, although she caught herself walking to its rhythm.
She tried to studiously ignore him, believing that would annoy him more than he was aggravating her.
After a few more minutes of winding their way through the forest, Ben proved her right.
“Elin, I cry quarter. Stop, will you? Look at me. You didn’t break your fast. You must be hungrier than I am. No wonder you are peevish.”
“Peevish?” Elin whirled on Ben so abruptly, he had to take a step back or run into her. “I’ve never been peevish in my life.”
“She said peevishly,” he tacked on. Adding disclaimers to the end of their sentences had been a teasing game they had played years ago. A hallmark of their deep affection for each other.
“I’m not ready to stop,” Elin murmured.
“Well go ahead then,” he said, pulling the cider jug from the food sack and uncorking it. “I need a break. I’ll catch up.”
But she didn’t move.
And when he tipped the cider jug offering it to her, she took it. Elin wiped the mouth of it with her gloved hand and drank. Her body needed the fluid.
When she lowered the jug, she found Ben holding a hunk of cheese he was prepared to slice with his knife. “Hungry?”
She was already reaching for a slice before he’d finished the word. Cheddar. But not a sharp one. She’d never tasted anything as good as that stale cheese.
“The apples are in the sack,” he said, offering her the chance to help herself from the sack that he had set on the ground at his feet. She did so.
Pairing one of Osprey’s apples with the cheese was divine, just as she’d imagined it would be. Ben kept cutting thin slices of the cheese, and she kept eating them.
“Feeling better?” he asked.
Elin nodded. “I’m never my best when I’m hungry.”
“I know,” Ben said. “I learned early on that you are a vastly happier woman when you are fed.”
She pulled a face before drinking more cider. �
��It is almost empty.”
“We’ll fill it at the next brook or spring we come to.” He took the jug from her and put a cork in it. He’d already wrapped what was left of the cheese and placed it back in the sack. As he did so, he said, almost casually, “I’m not your enemy, Elin.”
“I know that.”
He straightened. “Then can you let down your guard, even a little?”
She looked away. “You know I can’t, and you know why.”
“You’re afraid I’ll jump on you, rape you? Of all people, you should know better.”
Yes, she did. “I need to keep a distance from you.”
“Why?”
Oh, she did want to answer that question but couldn’t. She wasn’t certain yet what the truth was. It might not be wise to delve into matters best left in the past.
“It is wiser this way,” she explained. “I belong to your brother—”
“Enough of that,” he said, slicing the air with his hand to cut her off. “I believed this morning we were going to clear the air between us. Instead, you ran—”
“I didn’t,” Elin started, then stopped. She took a step away from him, unconsciously, then realizing what she was doing, she planted her feet. “I did. You caught me off guard when you . . .” She let her voice trail off.
“When I said I loved you?” he prompted.
“Or are you just trying to plant doubt in my mind about Gavin?”
Now it was his turn to inch away. He held up a hand as if letting her know she had hit upon something perhaps too touchy to pursue. “You hide behind that ‘I’m his’ very well, don’t you?”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that you use your betrothal to my brother to keep a wall up between us—”
“That happens to be a very good boundary between us.”
In two steps he was in front of her. “Really, Elin? Or is it just a way for you to punish me?”
“Punish—?” She did not like the word. “I don’t punish you.” The denial sounded false even to her own ears because she did want to punish him. She actually liked having a wall between them, a way to let him know he could not touch her . . . even while she longed for it.
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