to make eye contact with anyone if she didn’t have to, not even Benna.
“Jago’s a good man,” Gilly said in her strangely flat voice.
Benna smiled. “A very good man.”
“We can trust him,” Gilly added, mechanically.
“Yes, we can. I am going to talk to him right now, but I shall still be able to see you from the Garden Room terrace. You can look up and wave to me if you have a mind to do so.”
Gilly nodded.
Benna turned to Mrs. Taylor, the older woman she’d engaged to help with her sister.
Mrs. Taylor’s kindly face creased into a smile. “I’ll take care of her, Your Grace.”
“Did you hear that, Gilly? Mrs. Taylor will be here with you.”
But Gilly had already gone back into the world of flowers.
“Those are lovely roses,” Mrs. Taylor said, using a normal voice, rather than the patronizing tone people often employed with her sister—as if she were a child rather than a grown woman. Gilly wasn’t stupid; she just had little need for people. After the life she had led, Benna couldn’t blame her.
Benna had to force herself to walk slowly, even though she wanted to break into a run.
Not only was running undignified, but it was too difficult to run in skirts and flimsy slippers.
Besides, she needed a moment to calm her thundering heart. Even though she had been expecting him, her stomach was churning and her thoughts were fluttering like flustered pigeons.
It had been five and a half months since Benna had seen Jago that night. They’d not even exchanged letters for five of those months.
“Lord Trebolton and Viscount Fenwick have their hands full explaining the unfortunate incident that occurred at Stanford Hall that night, Your Grace,” Jonathan Parker—Stephen Worth’s frighteningly clever solicitor—had told Benna. “It would be disastrous if your name were associated with any of it until we’ve settled, er, everything. Letters might seem harmless, but—as you know—servants talk and secrets always leak out.”
Benna thought about Lady Mariah—and her hobby of lurking in stairwells—and agreed to the solicitor’s request, even though she hadn’t liked it.
It turned out that she’d had little time to lament letter writing as Mr. Parker kept her extremely busy—and exhausted—cleaning up the mess that Michael had left.
For all except the last two weeks her only communication with Jago had been through Mr. Worth, who’d kept them both apprised of important developments.
Even after Parker told Benna that she could write to Jago, their letters had, by necessity, been circumspect.
There was still so much she didn’t know.
And so much more that she did not want to tell …
Benna stopped beside the door to the Garden Room, her favorite of Wake House’s sitting rooms, and checked her appearance in the glass.
The woman who looked back at her was still a bit of a stranger.
She’d stopped dying her hair and it had slowly faded to her natural color. Her dress was a simple white muslin but the addition of delicate pearl earbobs made her look, if not pretty, then at least more feminine. Even though she was now her own mistress and could wear whatever she liked, she wore gowns most days, but would never give up breeches or riding astride.
I’m dithering.
Benna swallowed, turned from the glass, and opened the door to the sitting room.
***
Jago was staring so hard as she dropped a graceful curtsey that he forgot to bow.
Rather than rectify his social solecism, he strode across the room with ungentlemanly haste, wrapped his arms around her, and crushed her mouth beneath his.
A mixture of relief and desire flooded him when he realized that Benna’s hunger matched his own.
“Good God, but I’ve missed you,” Jago murmured, only pulling away because he decided that she probably needed to breathe. “I want to look at you.” He took her face in his hands and held her for inspection. Her hair was a little longer and it gentled the strong angles of her face, which was no longer as tanned. Her short, wavy locks were like fresh corn silk, a beautiful and unusual color; Jago now understood why she’d dyed it.
She blushed adorably under his scrutiny. “It’s the same old me, just in a dress.” She looked away, clearly mortified by his attention.
“I’m relieved—because that is who I was hoping to find: the same old you.” He gave her a lingering kiss and then pulled away with a happy sigh.
She took his hand and led him out onto the terrace. “I need to stay where Gilly can see me.”
“How is she?” Jago asked, sitting as