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“Evangeline.”
“Evangeline.”
“Evangeline.”
The whispers repeat a dozen times over, each voice slightly different from the last. I must still be dreaming, or maybe this place is haunted, and a prickly sensation runs down my spine as I groan into Kit’s chest. “Go away.”
“I will do no such thing,” says an uppity voice, and I sit up like I really have just heard a ghost.
Maisie stands in the doorway, dressed in what I can only call British country chic—a fitted tweed jacket, tan pants, and brown boots so polished that they look wet. Her hair is braided and wrapped into a stylish-but-casual updo, and I shudder at the thought of what time she must’ve gotten up to make it all happen.
“You do know it’s barely dawn, right?” I mumble as Kit stirs beside me. We’re both fully dressed—which includes fluffy robes, bulky sweaters, and fuzzy socks, considering it’s about two degrees above freezing in my room—but Maisie’s eyebrows shoot up anyway.
“Pardon me for interrupting,” she says, a note of amusement in her voice. “Did you not check your itinerary? We leave for the Christmas Eve hunt in thirty minutes.”
“I don’t kill innocent animals,” I say, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.
“But you do eat them,” she says, and I shrug, too tired todefend my hypocrisy. “It’s all for tonight, you know. EdwardIXhad a thing about hunting game for the Christmas Eve feast himself, and it stuck. You don’t have to shoot anything,” she adds. “The route also offers several lovely views of the estate.”
“I can see it just fine from my window.” My neck is sore from lying on Kit all night, and I dig my fingers into the offending muscle. “Is everyone else going?”
Maisie sniffs. “Mummy shares your softhearted sentiments, and Venetia’s always moaning about her manicure, but as far as I know, everyone else will be joining the hunting party.”
“Including Ben?” I say, and her eyes narrow.
“I expect so. He has yet to miss a year.”
If I was even remotely tempted to tag along, that immediately quells it. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not go anywhere near him while he’s holding a deadly weapon.”
Maisie scoffs. “I loathe Benedict as much as you do, but he wouldn’t dare try anything. Not with so many witnesses.”
“Still. Accidents happen, and I’d prefer not to give him an opening. You shouldn’t, either, you know.”
“He wouldn’t dare risk giving Daddy a public reason to cut him off,” she says, but underneath her dismissiveness, there’s a note of fear that she can’t hide entirely. “Benedict is nothing without this family, and he knows it. He may be a snake, and I certainly won’t be taking him into my confidence anytime soon, but I’m perfectly safe around him. We both are, and I assure you, he’ll be on his best behavior.”
“Maybe,” I mutter, though I don’t know who she’s trying to convince—me or herself. “His best behavior isn’t exactly setting the bar high, you know.”
With a sigh that makes it clear I’m the bane of Maisie’s existence, she looks at Kit instead. “Will you be joining us this year?”
“ ’Fraid not,” he says as he sits up beside me. His hair is sticking out in every direction, and he futilely tries to comb his fingers through his wild waves. “I was thinking about giving Evan a tour of the gardens and the walking trails through the woods.”
“At least she’ll be getting some fresh air,” mutters Maisie. “Whether you hunt or not, you’re both expected at the Christmas party this evening—we’ll be decorating the tree in the white drawing room, followed by a formal dinner and opening gifts. And,” she adds pointedly, “the dress code is black-tie.”
She eyes the cartoon reindeer on my socks with disdain, and without another word, she turns on her heel and marches out of the room, closing the door behind her.
As soon as she’s gone, I lie back down in a huff and wiggle my freezing toes. “It’s starting to feel like we’re the only people actually trying to avoid Ben.”
Kit settles on the sofa with me. “Everyone else is used to him, and it’s easier to resume old patterns than establish new ones.” He nuzzles my cheek. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” I say, relaxing as he wraps his arms around me. “You stayed over.”
“I didn’t mean to,” he says apologetically. “How do you feel?”
This, I know, is him asking more than just how I slept. I turn toward him and, mindful that neither of us brushed our teeth last night, I give him a closed-mouth peck. “I have a crick in my neck,” I admit. “Can we please aim for passing out in the bed tonight instead?”
Kit hesitates. “Are you sure? I don’t have to stay if you’d rather—”
“I want you to,” I say firmly. “You’re warm, and if it were any colder in here, it’d be snowing.”
