She supposed she was nearly used to having Reeve there, at her side almost every waking moment. Yet she felt no less a stranger to him, to her family. To herself.

“No, but there are times when …” She looked out over the lush, blooming garden. Looked beyond. “Bennett, did I always have this need to get away? Everyone’s so kind, so attentive, but I feel that if I could just go somewhere where I could breathe. Somewhere where I could lie on my back in the grass and leave everything behind.”

“That’s why you bought the little farm.”

She turned back, brows knit. “Little farm?”

“We called it that, though it’s really just a few acres of ground no one’s ever done anything with. You threaten to build a house there from time to time.”

A farmhouse, she mused. Perhaps that was why she’d felt so in tune with Reeve when they’d talked of his. “Is that where I was going when I …”

“Yes.” The dogs were restless, so he let them go sniff around the bases of bushes and beat each other with their tails. “I wasn’t here. I was at school. If father has his way, I’ll be back at Oxford next week.” Suddenly he looked as he was—a boy on the edge of manhood who had to bow to his father’s wishes even as he strained against them. From somewhere inside Brie rose up an understanding and an affection. On impulse she linked her arm through his, and they began to walk.

“Bennett, do we like each other?”

“That’s a silly—” He cut himself off and nudged at the dog that trotted alongside him. It wasn’t as easy for him to control his emotions as it was for his father, for his brother. He had to concentrate on it, and as often as not, he still lost. But this was Brie; that made all the difference. “Yes, we like each other. It isn’t easy to have friends, you know, who aren’t somehow tied to our position. We’re friends. You’ve always been my liaison to Father.”

“Have I? In what way?”

“Whenever I’d get into trouble—”

“You have a habit of it?”

“Apparently.” But he didn’t sound displeased.

“And I don’t?”

“You’re more discreet.” He gave her another of those quick, dashing smiles. “I’ve always admired the way you could do almost anything you wanted without making waves. I don’t seem to be able to keep a low profile. I’m still dealing with the French singer fiasco.”

“Oh?” Interested, she tilted her head up to look at him. God, she realized all at once. He was beautiful. There simply wasn’t another word for it. If a woman drew an image of Prince Charming in her head, it would be Bennett. “A female singer, I take it.”

“Lily.” This time his smile didn’t look young, but infinitely experienced. No, she realized, he wasn’t really a boy, after all. “She was … talented,” he decided with a flash of irony that was as mature as the smile. “And unsuitable. She sang in this little club in Paris. I spent a few weeks there last summer and we … we met.”