“Mmmm. Long.” They turned off the main hall into a parlor where the drapes were open wide and the sun spilled in. The rays had long since beaten into the upholstery and faded it comfortably. There were roses here, rising out of porcelain and crystal. Eve dropped onto a sofa and drew in the scent. “Let’s say I’m glad to be on the ground, glad to be here. Tell me how everyone is, Ben. Your sister?”

“Brie’s wonderful. She’d planned to meet you at the airport, but her youngest has the sniffles.” He chose a bottle of dry vermouth and poured it over ice. One of his greatest charms was never forgetting a woman’s preferences. “It’s still hard, after all these years, to picture my sister as a mother—especially a mother of four.”

“I’ve a letter from Chris and orders to hand-deliver it. She also wants a full report on her goddaughter.”

“Let’s see, which one is that? Ah, Camilla. I can tell you firsthand she’s a scamp. Drives her brothers mad.”

“That’s what sisters are for.” Smiling, she accepted the drink. “And Reeve?”

“He’s fine, though there’s no doubt he’d be more comfortable if they were settled year-round in America on that farm of his. They’ve done some pretty incredible things with the little farm here, but Brie’s still official hostess in Cordina. Reeve would like nothing better than for Alex to marry and shift those duties onto his wife.”

“Or you.” She sipped, watching him over the rim. “If you took the plunge, some of Brie’s responsibilities would shift.”

“I love her, but not that much.” He sprawled on the sofa, kicking his long, booted legs out.

“No truth to the rumors about Lady Alice Winthrop, then? Or was it the Honorable Jessica Mansfield most recently?”

“Lovely girls,” he said easily. “I notice you’re tactful enough not to mention the Countess Milano.”

“She’s ten years older than you.” Her tone took on that of a lecturing aunt, but she smiled. “And I’m always tactful.”

“So what about you, Eve?” When things came that close to the bone, Bennett was the master of evasion. “How does someone who looks like you manage to keep men at arm’s length?”

“Karate. Black belt, seventh degree.”

“Yes, I’d forgotten about that.”

“You shouldn’t have. I decked you twice.”

“Oh, no. It was only once.” He tossed his arm over the back of the sofa and looked as he was, arrogant, comfortable and sure of himself. “And I let you.”

“It was twice.” She sipped again. “And you were furious.”

“Luck,” he said firmly. “Added to the fact that as a gentleman, I couldn’t hurt a woman.”

“Bull.”

“My dear, a hundred years ago you might have lost your head, lovely as it is.”