He waved an age-spotted hand. “No apologies necessary. I’m just pleased to have you here at all. Cursed rebels, trying to kill you. What a disgrace.” He turned toward the mansion. “Come, let me give you a tour, and then you can rest up. You’ll need your strength for tonight, as the king still asked that I put on a dinner. I had to invite several people I don’t like, so I decided I might as well make them all jealous. We’ve refinished parts of the house, and I’ve got my best riches on display.” He shot her a grin. “And of course I took great pains with the seating arrangements for dinner, so they can sit by people they despise.”
Imara chuckled. “How wonderfully devious of you.”
He winked. “My late wife always said I would make a wonderfully mean old man . . .”
Clare followed them as they moved toward the house, but she stole a peek back at the carriage and saw Venn helping Vera down. The instant the maid’s feet touched the ground, she tugged her hand away and turned her back on Venn, hurrying to direct Lord Francin’s servants who had arrived to help unload the carriage. Venn’s empty hand roll into a fist, his gaze focused on Vera.
It had been two days since Ivonne’s burial in Halbrook, and Clare had not seen Vera so much as speak to Venn. She knew her friend was hurting for the loss of her sister. It was obvious in the tears she cried at night, and the stoic face she wore throughout the day. She didn’t want to talk about anything. She wanted to lose herself in work. It was something Clare had experienced when she lost her parents, so she knew not to press Vera.
But Venn’s pain was obvious as well, and Clare’s heart hurt for them both.
As Clare walked toward the house, she sensed Bennick move into position behind her, leaving Wilf and Venn to secure her room.
Lord Francin’s tour proved long and thorough. Clare thought he must have been a bit starved for company, as he talked almost the entire time. He had a comment for every painting and a story for every room. Imara’s eyes glazed after a while, but Clare found him amusing. And his loneliness was obvious, so she was happy to let him talk. Several times during the long tour she caught Bennick staring at her, and her cheeks warmed as she shot him a secret smile.
After an hour, Lord Francin led them to the corridor with the guest suites. Imara excused herself rather quickly and slipped into her room, but Clare turned to Lord Francin with a smile. “Thank you for the tour, it was lovely.”
He scoffed. “I’m an old man who doesn’t know when to stop talking, and you’re a gentle soul who lets me.”
She smiled. “I enjoyed your stories.”
“Now I know you’re too kind.” Lord Francin waved toward her door. “Please, take some time to rest. I have final preparations to make for tonight. A storm is coming in, which means most of the guests will want a room for the night.” He shook his bald head as he turned, leaning on his cane as he headed for the stairs. “Simpering fools,” he muttered under his breath.
Clare grinned after him, aware of Bennick turning to face her. “I don’t think I’ve met another nobleman like him.”
“I like him.” She glanced up at Bennick, perfectly aware that they were the only ones left in the corridor. The warmth in Bennick’s intent gaze warmed every part of her. “I don’t think you were paying much attention to his tour, though.”
Bennick’s eyes remained fixed on her. “You’re right. I barely heard a word he said.”
Something low in her gut tightened. Her smile widened and her voice turned lightly teasing. “That’s a shame.”
Bennick eased closer. “Oh?”
“You didn’t hear him mention the private sitting room in this very wing that no one ever uses?” She shook her head. “A pity.”
His chin dipped along with his voice. “Well, I may have heard him mention it, and I admit I was intrigued.”
Heat spread through her chest. “Did you manage to hear where it is located?”
“I admit that I did not.”
“Hmm. That’s too bad.”
“Ah, but I trust you were paying attention.”
The flirtation felt good. Normal. And Clare wanted to embrace it fully. She grasped his hand, squeezing his fingers. “Luckily for you, I was listening, and we have a few moments.” She tugged him down the hall and he followed without hesitation, the two of them glancing around to make sure they remained unobserved.
They slipped into the room at the end of the hall, and Bennick nudged the door closed with the heel of his boot. The room was dimly lit, since the drapes were drawn, leaving the sunlight barely peeking around the edges, but Clare didn’t need to see much to know that they were actually, truly alone for the first time in weeks, and that Bennick wanted this moment just as much as she did.
Her fingers curled in his uniform and she dragged him closer, their mouths coming together easily in the semi-dark. His hands were also moving, one curling around her side while the other dragged up her back until he cradled the back of her head.
Her fingers lifted to his face, then got lost in his hair and her heart pounded as her back was somehow pressed against the wall. Had they moved? Crossed the room? Or was it the door beside her? It didn’t really matter, especially as Bennick eased closer, until there was no space between them.
Her skin hummed and warmth exploded in her chest when he tilted his head, changing the angle of the kiss. He captured her mouth, taking over what she had started. His body curved around hers, as if he could not resist some invisible pull.
They were both breathing raggedly when he finally dragged his mouth away from hers. His stubbled jaw rasped against her cheek as he ducked his head, his lips at her ear, his voice rough with emotion. “That wasn’t exactly what I thought would happen when I closed the door.”
Her short laugh was breathless. “What did you think was going to happen?”
“I don’t know. I thought maybe we would talk. Sit together. Maybe kiss a little.”
“Sorry.”
He leaned back, his eyes serious even though his mouth twitched. “Never apologize for that.”
Her hand drifted across his cheek. “Did you want to talk now?”
“Talking isn’t as enjoyable as what we were just doing.” His chin ducked as he lowered his lips to hers, but she kept a hand on his jaw, holding him back.
He groaned, and she smiled a little. “I love kissing you, but we can talk.”
“What do you want to talk about?”
“How are you feeling about your father?”
He drew back. “Do you really want to discuss my father right now?”
“I just want to make sure you’re all right.” Her brow furrowed. “The more I’ve been thinking about the latest note from the Rose, the more I think his obsession with you is dangerous.”
He frowned slightly. “I agree. But I still think leaving you isn’t the answer.”
“Neither do I. But I think it’s clear your father only wants to protect you. He cares about you, Bennick.”
He sighed, his shoulders dropping. “I know. And it bothers me.”
“Why?”
His hands shifted to her waist as he let out a slow breath. “He didn’t care about me or my mother in the past. Why should he get to now? He certainly shouldn’t dictate to me, or expect me to do everything he wants.”
“I don’t think you’re wrong. Everything you’re saying . . . it makes sense.” She balanced her hands against his chest, prompting him to meet her gaze. “But for all your father’s flaws, he does love you. He doesn’t want to risk losing you.”
“But I can’t lose you. That’s why I can’t leave.” His fingers tightened against her waist. “And yet I’m fates-blasted terrified of making a mistake and having you pay the consequences. If my father is right and the Rose would follow me if I left . . .”
“We’re stronger together, remember?” She tipped her head back, meeting his hooded gaze. “You have good instincts, Captain Markam. You have my unwavering trust. Trust yourself in this and don’t let anyone—especially your
father—make you question yourself.”
His thumbs drew small circles against her flat stomach, and it was entirely distracting. “How are you so perfect?”
She snorted. “I’m not.”
“You’re perfect for me.” He searched her face, and when he spoke again, his words were soft but sure—simple, and beautiful. “Clare Ellington, I’m in love with you.”
Her heart pounded and her eyes flew wide.
His grip on her waist tightened, his gaze steady as he met her startled eyes. “I have been for a long time, and I’ve been wanting to tell you, but I didn’t want you to think I was just saying the words. That it was too soon. Because I mean it, Clare. I love you with everything I have. Everything I am.” His throat bobbed and he lifted one hand to brush back a strand of hair that had escaped her braided crown. She shivered as he tucked it behind her ear, his fingertips trailing down her skin.
She could not look away from his intense gaze.
“I love how you defended Serene in that hallway, before I even knew you. I loved watching you with your brothers, seeing how much you love them—how much they love you. I love that you didn’t forgive me right away for lying about who I was. I loved our conversations—your wit. You challenged me. Surprised me. And I loved every second I spent with you on the training ground, loved watching you discover the strength and courage you’ve always had. I loved every excuse I had to touch you, and every time you would touch me. I love how you showed kindness to my mother, and how you stood up to my father for her. And even though it terrified me, I admired how you stood up to Newlan at the banquet. I love your compassion—that you still love Eliot, even after all he’s done. I love your smile. Your spirit. Your loyalty.” A furrow pulled between his eyebrows. “The only moment I ever hated is when you walked away from me, and I thought I’d lost your friendship forever. Because I knew then that what I felt for you went beyond friendship—beyond anything I’d ever felt before, for anyone.”
Tears stung Clare’s eyes and she blinked rapidly, her throat swollen with emotion.
Bennick lifted one hand to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing across her quivering lower lip. His eyes never left hers. “I never want to give you any reason to walk away from me again. I want you in my life forever. I don’t care what obstacles are in our path—I will do anything to keep you with me.”
A tear slipped from her eye and Bennick’s thumb was quick to swipe it away. “You don’t have to say anything,” he whispered. “I don’t expect anything at all, I just needed to—”
Clare grabbed the back of his neck and pulled his mouth to hers, kissing him deeply. When she pulled back, she couldn’t stop her grin, or her happy tears. “I love you, Bennick. Of course I do.” She wanted to say more, tell him all the reasons and the moments, make her declaration as wonderful as his had been, but her voice failed her.
His grin was slow, the light filling his eyes steadily increasing.
If she had not already been completely in love with him, she would have fallen for him in that moment. With that look. The absolute joy and adoration on his face was something she would never, ever forget. Nor would she forget how beautiful, strong, and courageous he made her feel when he looked at her like that.
He planted his free hand on the wall beside her, his other still cupping her cheek, no doubt feeling her grin. “Well,” he whispered. “I think we should find private sitting rooms more often.”
“I agree.” To emphasize her response, she lifted up on her toes and kissed him again.
The storm Lord Francin had predicted was already lashing the mansion when the first guests arrived. Heavy rain beat at the roof, with gusts of wind buffeting the walls. The torches and lamps that glowed in the entry hall guttered as drenched nobles dove inside, sloughing off their heavy cloaks and hurrying to adjust their hair and clothes before they joined the line.
Clare and Imara stood beside Lord Francin at the dining room entrance, personally greeting each guest. She was a little surprised how many nobles had braved the rough summer storm, but Lord Francin merely rolled his eyes and whispered, “The lot of them wouldn’t normally venture out in a drizzle, but for a chance to see you, they’d probably swim the length of the Lambern. Ridiculous.”
Clare leaned in, keeping her voice low. “Can you imagine them swimming in the lake with their finery?”
The old man chortled, gripping his cane planted firmly before him. “Lady Riven’s ridiculously voluminous skirt would terrify any ghastly lake monster.”
Clare grinned, the tug on her lips reminding her of the moments she and Bennick had shared earlier. Her skin still tingled with the memory of his touch.
He loved her. And she loved him.
Saying it out loud was freeing. Empowering. And it made it extremely hard to focus on anything else, which is why Francin’s humorous asides were all that helped keep her somewhat present as they greeted the seemingly endless stream of nobles.
Clare had chosen to wear the blue dinner dress that matched Bennick’s eyes. It was perhaps a little less formal, but it seemed the perfect choice for tonight. The flowing skirt rippled to the floor, the bodice snug at her waist. Silver embroidery twisted in basic but lovely designs at the hem. Vera had helped tame her thick hair into an elegant bun at the nape of her neck, and Clare had disregarded the gloves she normally wore as the decoy, which helped to hide the small scars on her hands from her life as a kitchen maid. The garrote bracelet Bennick had given her was tucked under the edge of the sleeve, and her knife was sheathed at her calf.
She was perfectly aware of Bennick’s eyes on her. He and Wilf stood behind her, along with two of Imara’s towering bodyguards. Venn was stationed at the bedroom and Vera was inside, claiming a headache. Clare’s heart was breaking for her friend, but she didn’t know how to help her through this grief—except to be near, for whenever Vera was ready to talk.
As they stood in the entryway, Lord Francin made introductions and Clare greeted each noble with a smile and polite greeting before smoothly passing them to Imara. Lord Francin would then lean in and whisper some comment about them or their ancestors, and Clare would have to smother the urge to laugh.
She recognized several faces in the sea of nobles she greeted; all people she had met at previous stops on the tour who were interested in seeing the prisoner exchange. Some even planned to journey all the way to Duvan to show their support for the alliance.
One of the many guests to arrive was Lord Finch, the young man who she’d met at the Paltrow’s ball. She hadn’t seen him since the fair in Lindon, where he had grappled with Bennick. She smiled genuinely as she offered her hand. “Lord Finch, I’m pleased to see you here.”
“Princess.” He took her hand and brushed a quick kiss to her knuckles, his grin stretching wide. “I must say I’m glad to hear that. Wouldn’t want you to be sick of me.”
“Nonsense, familiar faces are always welcome.” She peered past him. “Are your sisters with you?”
“No, but they insisted I commit every detail to memory to recite to them later.”
“I’d nearly forgotten, you said you were coming to the prisoner exchange.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “If you forgot, I must not have made enough of an impression. I’ll have to remedy that.” He glanced beyond her, no doubt catching sight of Bennick. Clare could feel him standing behind her, and she had to fight a grin when Finch immediately dropped her hand. His smile was a bit apologetic as he faced her again, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “It seems I still have the unwitting ability to make your bodyguard nervous.”
“At least there will be no dancing tonight,” Clare said.
Laughter sparked in his eyes. “True, he does seem to particularly dislike that.”
Lord Francin leaned over. “You do realize you’re holding up the line, Lord Finch.”
“Apologies. You’re going to regret sending me an invitation.”
“I already do,” he said blithely, before shaking his head. “F
rankly, I’m surprised you accepted.” He looked to Clare. “Don’t let his charming ways fool you. Lord Finch is a bit of a recluse.”
“Nonsense.” Finch met Clare’s gaze with a slow smile. “I merely require something remarkable to grab my attention.”
Clare hoped she was the only one to hear the low growl in Bennick’s throat, but it was quickly overridden by a commotion at the front doors. They all turned to see the crowd scrambling back, making way for the last person Clare expected to see.
Commander Markam’s cloak was drenched, his hood thrown back to reveal his severe expression. Soaked strands of darkened hair were plastered to his face and he seemed to belatedly realize that he had stepped into the middle of a procession. He drew up short, his motions stiff.
Clare excused herself from the line and hurried toward him, conscious of Bennick and Wilf following her. When she reached Bennick’s father, she had to crane her neck to meet his gaze. “Commander Markam. What an unexpected surprise.”
“Princess.” He bowed his head, though the action was tense. “May we speak in private?”
“Of course.” She gestured to an open sitting room just off the entry hall, and he preceded her inside. Once they were all inside, Wilf pushed the door closed.
Bennick faced his father. “What are you doing here?”
The commander’s mouth thinned. “It was a last resort.”
“What does that mean?” Clare asked. “Where are the prisoners?”
“Outside. I put them in the barn.”
“Why?” Bennick asked. “You should have been far past Wexon by now.”
“We ran into some . . . complications.”
“What kind of complications?”
The commander frowned at his son. “Some of the prisoners fell ill. We’ve been moving at a crawl ever since.”
“Are any of them still sick?” Clare asked.
“Yes.” His eyes narrowed. “With this storm, I had little choice but to seek shelter, and this was the nearest place with a stable large enough to house them.”
“You made the right choice,” Clare said. Everyone shot a look at her, but she ignored their cut of surprise. “The Mortisians must be cared for. It could be disastrous if we arrived at the prisoner exchange without all twenty.”
Royal Spy (Fate of Eyrinthia Book 2) Page 36