“She told me,” said Elinor. “She’s determined to be betrothed by the night of her début, but she won’t accept either of you until both have proposed. She thinks anything less would be beneath her dignity.”
He stared at her. “Good God. You really are serious, aren’t you?” At her nod, he began to laugh helplessly. “Good God,” he repeated. “Poor Armitage. Little did he know he was ruining his own chances by scuppering mine. If he’d only realized…”
“The point is,” said Elinor, “you still have a chance. And I would wager anything that the Armitages have just as much to hide as you do. Miss Armitage is altogether too fond of ferreting out other people’s disreputable secrets.”
“Oh?” He stopped laughing and narrowed his eyes at her. “What secrets has she discovered about you?”
Elinor felt her cheeks heat. “None at all,” she said…and finally realized that she was still clutching the sleeve of his coat. She released it with a wince, hoping that her cheeks weren’t as pink as she feared. Perhaps the illusion would hide her blush.
“She tried, though, didn’t she?” Benedict reached out to take her hand even as she withdrew it; with a quick movement, she jerked her fingers away just before he could touch them. He frowned harder and leaned closer. “What did she do?”
“Nothing,” said Elinor. His closeness was beginning to make her feel very strange. Her skin was prickling as if with great cold or heat, and her voice sounded odd in her own ears. She cleared her throat and leaned discreetly backward, away from his disconcerting warmth. “She only asked insinuating questions, which I chose not to answer.”
“Hmm.” Benedict’s hazel gaze rested speculatively on her face. “Are you quite sure that’s all?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?” Elinor finally, belatedly, remembered exactly who she was supposed to be. She straightened, stiffening her back and lifting her chin. “I hope you don’t imagine thatIhave anything to hide, Mr. Hawkins.”
He opened his mouth as if to speak—then shook his head with a rueful half-smile. “When you look that way,” he said, “I wouldn’t dare. I’ll wager you stared Miss Armitage down like a queen.”
“Your faith overwhelms me,” Elinor said dryly.
“Good.” Benedict settled back in his saddle and nudged his horse forward into an easy canter...but his words floated back to her and stopped her breath. “...Because my faith in you is limitless.”
The sigh of relief that Elinor had been about to expel froze in her throat. From her lap, Sir Jessamyn cocked his head and looked up at her with an all-too-knowing golden gaze.
Elinor stared at Benedict’s back as he rode away from her, down the hill towards Hathergill Hall. His broad shoulders were outlined in his tight blue coat; his final words rang in her ears.
Be Mrs. De Lacey.
She swallowed hard and followed him.
They didn’t speak for the rest of the journey, but Elinor’s head buzzed with so many contradictory instructions, they nearly deafened her. She had to find out more about the Armitages and what they might be hiding, themselves… She had to speak to Penelope and persuade her that money wasn’t necessary in a suitor—
—Had Benedict really said—?
Don’t think of that now!
…She still had to find a way to expose Lucinda at the ball before Sally could fulfill her own threat to expose her…
She barely noticed the unfamiliar carriage that was pulling up in front of Hathergill Hall as they arrived, nor did the tall, thin man being ushered out of it seize her attention. It was only the look of hard satisfaction upon Sir John’s face as he stood and watched the carriage roll away that finally set belated warning bells ringing.
He looked up as they approached, and his expression eased into a false, jovial smile. “Nice trip, eh? A pretty set of ruins, ain’t they? I’d pull ’em down completely if it was up to me, but the ladies always like such fripperies. Don’t they, Mrs. De Lacey?”
Elinor raised her eyebrows and looked quellingly down her nose at him. As unimaginable as it would have felt only three days ago, it was surprisingly easy from horseback. Height really did give an advantage.
So did her illusion. Mrs. De Lacey couldn’t have cared less about civility.
“Who was the gentleman in the carriage?” she asked.
“Him?” Sir John shrugged, his smile turning fixed. “Oh, just an acquaintance. Here to see m’wife, you know.”
“Oh?” Elinor arched her brows even higher. In the corner of her vision, she could see Benedict watching her with an appreciative quirk of his lips. It made her jittery, and her hands tightened on her reins. Buttercup shifted her feet, and Sir Jessamyn, who had just begun to fall asleep, opened his eyes with a cheep of complaint.
“Your dragon will be wanting to get down, won’t he?” Sir John strode forward with obvious relief. “Here, allow me.” His meaty hands reached for Sir Jessamyn, who recoiled.
“I’ll do it myself,” Elinor said hastily. “Mr. Hawkins, if you wouldn’t mind…” She lifted Sir Jessamyn out of his harness and passed him carefully to Benedict. Their fingertips almost brushed; she let go quickly, and the little dragon settled against Benedict’s chest with a look of alert interest.
She slid down the side of her own mount with inelegant speed, waving off both Sir John and the footman who’d stepped forward to aid her. When she’d brushed down her skirts, she looked up and found Benedict idly stroking Sir Jessamyn’s back while the little dragon preened with satisfaction. She held out her hands…but Sir Jessamyn stayed exactly where he was, half-closing his eyes and leaning his head against Benedict’s chest.
